#remembering laying on my bed in My house. next to the window that i never got blinds for that made the whole room freezing all night. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luveline · 4 months

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𝐭𝐨𝐩𝐚𝐳, 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie has a staring problem that you barely notice, though you share an aching, awful crush. One of you has to bend first, and it’s not who you’d expect. fem, 5k

ditzy-ish reader, pining eddie, mutual pining, confessions, first kisses, fluff and hugging, idiots in love, mild states of undress

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

It’s a day fit for a funeral in Hawkins. Rain hammers his bedroom window like hailstones, plinking against the frame, condensation running down the panes in thick rivulets he soaks up with an old t-shirt.

It’s supposed to be spring time. Green grass, flowers, a gentle humming sun to warm the back of his neck while he sits out on the couch on the porch, a hand-rolled cigarette between his fingers, the tip shimmering with heat.

But the rain pours. He’s cleaned his room for the first time in a month, at least, and his back aches in the best way as he lays down amongst fresh sheets. His room feels strange when it’s organised, but he doesn’t mind. He pictures the state of it through a second pair of eyes. This is a boy who cares about things, who takes care of them, who could take care of me, too.

Rain again rackets on the metal roof above. He and Wayne keep a couple hundred bucks stashed for the day the roof flies straight off —they take turns hiding it, because cars break down and groceries get more expensive every year, but god will they need it, and so they safeguard it well.

He syphoned a little of the money recently with Wayne’s support. It was for a good cause.

“Jesus,” Eddie murmurs to himself, not tired but feeling dull as the clouds outside eat the remaining sun.

It’s depressing to be poor, and to lose a day trying to hide the evidence of an entire life in a small room. He could sleep a hundred years.

He’s just finished pulling the sheets over his shoulder when somebody knocks on the front door. Wayne opens it three rooms away, the sound of the rain doubled.

He gives a startling shout, “Ed! Your girl!”

Eddie topples out of bed. Doesn’t mean to, foot caught in the bottom of the sheets and stuck as he scrambles to slide out of the mess. He’s begged Wayne not to call you that when you’re within earshot, but Wayne’s a mean (kind) old bastard (middle aged dad) who wants Eddie dead (happy, and in love).

“Come on in, girl. You’re soaking.”

“It’s raining.”

“It’s pouring down. Did you walk here?”

“Took my bike. Thought I’d get struck by lightning in the car.”

“How’d you figure?”

Eddie goes to grab the door handle and spins on his heel, staggering onto his bed and up against the wall, where a mirrored tray once used by Dio himself for rolling hangs from the wall. He checks his face in the polished surface, his warped mouth and nose, too small eyes, and swears to himself that one day he’ll get a real mirror with a fully-functioning reflective surface.

Then he hops down off of the bed, causing a reverberation he knows traverses the entirety of the trailer floor. Eddie snatches a rare clean towel from his laundry chair and speeds down the hall.

“Hello,” he says, more casual than he feels to find you unexpectedly in his house. “You’re soaked.”

You give a sweet smile. “It’s raining out, did you not know?”

Your hair is dripping, water racing down the curves of your face to collect at your chin. Eddie can see the smudges of your makeup where it’s washing off as he wraps a towel around you, kohl on your cheeks, eyelashes turned to half-diamonds and sticky-looking. You grin at being covered, taking the towel from his fingers before he can dab you dry.

“Why didn’t you just call me?”’

“I can never remember if your phone number ends in three or four.”

“Seven. I wrote it down for you a hundred times.”

You rub your eyes and spread all manner of glitter and shadow over your skin. You wipe your neck and the glitter spreads like an alien rash.

When you talk next, you shiver, “I lost it a hundred times, sorry. Is it okay that I'm here?”

Wayne, who’s been watching with a distinct sense of amusement from the couch, lets out a chesty laugh. “Honey, it’s always okay that you’re here on my account. And it’s my house.”

“It’s fine.” Eddie turns your shoulder so he can mouth over it without being caught. Asshole.

Another laugh follows. Eddie would cut each of his fingers from his hand and then his hand from his wrist if it were something Wayne needed him to do, but that doesn’t make him any less of an opportunistic asshole. If there’s a way to fuck with Eddie, he tends to try it. He loves Eddie with all the tenacity of a father who loves his son, but Wayne got infected with little bitch disease or something and Eddie can’t cure it.

“Can I please wash my face? I didn’t expect to get soaked.”

“Didn’t you?” He regrets his flippancy quickly, leading you down the hall. “You could take a shower. What do you think?”

You’ve never showered here, but Eddie’s trying to, you know, date you. Romance you, get to cherish you, however anyone wants to say it. And it’s not a war of attrition, just a natural escalation of sharing, or a minimising of boundaries.

No, that’s pervy, isn’t it?

“I mean–” He starts to correct himself.

You interrupt with your answer, “Yes, please, do you think I could? But I don’t have anything to wear.”

“I have your purple hoodie in my room, and there’s gotta be a pair of sweatpants here that fit you,” he says.

They’ve got a whole bunch of clothes here that floated in from somewhere else, Eddie’s other friends or stuff they’ve bought by mistake. He’s sure he can find something.

“You have my hoodie?” you ask, black kohl spreading across the towel as you wipe your cheek.

Eddie only smelled it one time. When he’d realised you left it in his van he brought it in and folded it, waiting for the next time he’d see you to give it back, but that night he’d been getting out of the shower wondering if he could call you or if that was too soon, and your hoodie had been right there. So he stood there in his pyjama pants with his wet hair and he didn’t think about picking your hoodie up, he just did, and when he pressed it to his face it still smelled of your perfume.

He put it back and felt like a loser for days.

“It’s in my closet, you left it in the van Monday,” he explains quickly, nudging you through the doorway of the bathroom.

The Munson bathroom is teeny tiny but not unnavigable. There’s a shower pressed to the far wall that could squeeze in two people, their toilet to the right, a sink basin opposite that with a medicine cabinet and just enough room for a dirty laundry box that’s always, always full.

Eddie opens the shower and turns it on. “It takes a while to get really hot but then it’s not hot for long, sorry. There’s my shampoo if you want it, and soap, and body wash. Sorry, none of it is super girly.”

“Sorry sorry,” you say, pretending to hit him in the stomach. “What’s with all the sorries, handsome? I can’t wait to smell like a boy.”

The way you say it. Eddie doesn’t know what it is, but it’s why he’s crazy about you.

Probably shouldn’t tell you that as you're taking off your jacket, though.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Eddie heads out of the bathroom to their skinny linen cabinet hidden in the hallway. He grabs the last two towels from the middle shelf and takes pause, fabric starchy in his hands. Just be normal, he thinks, a pep talk from Eddie to Eddie. She hangs out with you all the time for a reason. She held your hand at the movies.

Eddie’s in better spirits when he remembers that. Your hand in his, your ring pushing his ring further down his finger, your cheek touching his shoulder as you’d leaned in and asked if he wanted some of your popcorn.

He opens the door without thinking, shower pattering against the perspex wall, your legs crossing tightly as he enters, turning yourself away from him.

“Woah!” you say, laughing.

“Holy crap.” The image of your red underwear immediately stamps itself into his mind as he pulls the door shut between you. They were really cute, red and white gingham, showcasing just the slightest curve of your– “I told you I was coming back!”

“I thought you’d knock!” you laugh. “Sorry I flashed you. At least I had my shirt on.”

At least, he thinks wryly, shoving his arm through the gap in the door, heavy towels pulling at his fingers. His head’s about to snap off, it's turned so far away from the door’s opening. “Here.”

“If you wanna see me naked so bad you can just ask,” you tease.

“Take the towels, loser.”

You take the towels and he closes the door, preventing any more accidental creeping, and giving himself a reprieve. Gingham underwear. Wavy lettuce edgings kissing your skin.

Holy fuck. Being a person is so lame, Eddie thinks. He wants to have a crush on you purely, and yet seeing the way you’d crossed your legs to hide from him, smiling, he can’t not think about kissing you —touching you. If he doesn’t get you laid out in his bed soon for some slow kissing he’s not gonna make it.

Eddie opens the strip vent above his window and prays it doesn’t flood his whole room. Clean, it doesn’t look half bad, he could bring you in here respectfully, you could stay the night without fearing for your life.

You take a quick shower. He’s barely gotten over his nerves when you’re walking into his room, a towel around you, not a hint of shyness about you.

“You didn’t bring me anything to wear,” you explain.

Eddie just stares at you.

“Eddie?” You wrap the towel tighter. “Come on, you’re staring at me.”

“Sorry.” His mouth is bone dry.

“You have my hoodie, right? Just need some pants.” You cross your arm tightly across your chest. “I don’t usually notice when people are staring at me.”

“You aren’t usually naked in my room,” he says, genuinely and embarrassingly apologetic.

“I’m not naked. Come on, please? Do I have to wait outside the door?” you ask with a laugh.

Eddie stands up. Shakes his head hard, almost trips over himself trying to get to his dresser. He decides honesty will be best at this point, lest you think he has only one thing on his mind, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m just in my head about something and I wasn’t expecting you to come out like that. It’s not right. You’re just… you’re really pretty.”

“Thank you.” He can’t see you, sorting quickly through his middle drawer and all his miscellaneous pants for a pair he’s sure would fit, if he could just remember where it was. “What are you in your head about?”

“What?”

“Eddie, are you okay?”

“No, no,” he moans, rubbing his face with his hand, ring scratching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not okay, princess, I’m overheating or something, Jesus Christ.” He finally lays eyes on the sweatpants he’d been thinking of, grabs your hoodie from the top shelf and drops them both at the end of the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“I don’t have any underwear.”

“And that’s something I can’t fix,” he says, leaving the room in a hurry.

Eddie gets to the living room and keels over. His hair falls in his face, his shirt slides down his back. What the fuck is wrong with him?

Wayne, sliding his shoes on in the recliner, gives a start. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie lifts his head, yanking hair from his face, the skin of his under eyes pulled down harshly. “Oh my god.”

Wayne wrinkles his nose.

“No ones ever been such a pathetic excuse for a man before,” Eddie says.

“Your dad’s in jail,” Wayne points out. “And not for the impressive stuff.”

“I’m pathetic.”

“You’re fine. You’re not supposed to be not pathetic, you’re twenty.”

“I’m twenty one.”

“The extra year doesn’t mean much. I know you think you’re all grown up, but you’re still an idiot.”

Wayne stands and shrugs on the jacket laying over the armrest.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I thought you were definitely gonna ask her?” Wayne asks knowingly. That’s what Eddie told him, after all. “Next time I see her, Wayne, I’m asking her to go steady.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You can’t leave.”

“Eddie.” Wayne gestures for Eddie to stop slouching like some fiend from a bad horror. “Listen. I get that you’ve always been sort of… behind everyone, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it. She likes you. She biked here in a hurricane.”

“What if she says no?” he asks.

Truthfully, Eddie’s more scared of you saying yes.

Wayne shrugs. “Girl like that’ll still be your friend after. It’ll be fine, okay? Do you need a hug before I go?”

“No.” Eddie rubs his eyes some more, sore now from being touched. “Maybe.”

Wayne crosses the room to give his shoulder a squeeze. “It will be fine. You’re great with rejection, Eds, but I have a good feeling about this one.”

Eddie felt better about it, before he embarrassed himself staring at you. But Wayne’s right, even if Eddie’s read things wrong between you, he’s sure you’ll still want to be his friend. You and Eddie are the same kind of weird, though he’s more angry where you’re carefree. If everything goes wrong, you’ll probably just give an unnecessary apology and offer to braid his hair. Which will be torture, but Eddie’ll still say yes.

Wayne calls goodbye, and you shout, “Bye, Mr. Munson!” to which Wayne wiggles his eyebrows.

“Get lost,” Eddie says.

“Go make her a drink. I’ll see you later.”

That’s not a bad idea. Eddie makes you a mix of orange and grapefruit juice with a couple of ice cubes and a plastic straw, your reaction predicted and then proved.

“It’s a cocktail,” you say, pleased, sitting on the side of his bed.

“It’s not a cocktail, just juice.”

“Can I have some socks, please, Eddie?”

Eddie passes you your drink, fingertips brushing. “Yeah. Anything else?” He pretends to be exhausted as he trudges back over to his dresser.

You laugh and sip your drink. “No, I think you’re treating me quite well.”

Eddie grabs a random pair and finally gets to sit down beside you, the dresser drawer left out, a spare sock fallen to the floor. You shuffle back into his pillows, propping your juice on his side table, and holding your hands out for the socks. Again, your fingertips touch his as he passes them to you. You seem to enjoy it, a smile lighting your face as you pull your knees up to put the socks on.

“Thank you for waiting on me,” you say quietly. Not shyly, just quiet.

“You’re welcome. Came all this way to see me, didn’t you?” He gives you a shove. You shuffle back further. “In the pouring rain.”

“It felt important at the time.”

“Yeah?”

You get the socks on and don’t care about them once they're past your heels. Eddie does the honour of smoothing out the bands so that the elastic won’t dig into your skin, and when he’s done he can feel you looking at him heavily. You’re not one for continued eye contact, but you smile like you were waiting for it all day, like it’s a relief to see him.

“Bad weather,” you say, slouching down. “I think I’m still wet on the inside.”

“Gross,” Eddie says, pushing you over bodily to sit beside you. This isn’t new, he doesn’t need any nerves, and he’s grateful when they don’t come. “Here, I’ll pull the blanket over you.”

“Can’t move,” you say, leaning back against the pillows.

Eddie stretches his legs out. You keep yours up, but you turn to his side, and before he can really make any sense of you, you’re dropping your face into his shoulder.

“Are you still cold?” he asks, searching for the truth in your strange comment.

You nod into his shoulder. “I’m freezing. The shower didn’t get very hot.”

“Sorry,” he says, letting his cheek rest on your head.

You lift your chin as he does it, his lashes pressed to your forehead, the two of you stuck together like two warped jigsaw pieces. You probably weren’t made to be together, but you make a nice picture, and you fit snugly now. That’s what Eddie thinks.

This is the sort of moment that makes Eddie wanna ask you out. Maybe you’re just the best friend he’s ever had, but something about this closeness feels different. You wrap your arm around his stomach in a hug and he knows this is different.

“It’s okay,” you say finally, sighing as you shift downward into his side, getting comfortable.

“Please don’t bike here in the rain. It’s, like, torrential. You could actually get sick.”

You feel warm where your body presses against his, but Eddie doubts that’ll make a difference if the cold already made you sick. The bike ride from your place to his isn't short. He covers your arm with his and tries to be your space heater, cheek sliding over your forehead.

“Eddie…” You hug him with tenderness. Eddie’s reluctant to say cuddle, but it’s close. “This might be a surprise to you, but I think it’s worth the rain and the cold to see you. Especially when you do this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re rubbing my arm.”

He hadn’t noticed his hand caressing up and down your arm where it rests on his stomach.

“You make me feel amazing,” you say, dropping your face into his chest.

That’s his last straw. Eddie gets both arms around you and cuddles you (it’s a cuddle, okay! he’s a loser!) to him, arms tight but not cruel. All this fuss and you’re finally laying on top of him. He decides he won’t ask you after all. He’s not that brave, and he doesn’t want this to end.

Your legs fall onto him. You relax completely. Even after you shower he can smell your perfume.

“You smell nice,” he murmurs.

“It’s on my hoodie,” you murmur back.

Right. Eddie should remember.

“You make everything smell like you.” Even his van keeps your scent most days.

“Too much?”

“The right amount,” he says firmly.

You lay on his chest for a while, just breathing. Eddie rubs your back, tells himself he will ask, actually, because he can’t imagine not getting to do this again. You might even stay over. He could live hours of this. He didn’t know having you lay on him could make him feel like this.

He can’t believe you’ve never done it before.

Rain pounds the window. Condensation drips down onto the sill. You let your legs stretch out flat and then manoeuvre to be laying half atop him, hoodie riding up your back.

“Any warmer now?” he asks.

“Yeah, you’re warming me up.” You lavish in his arms for a moment, and then lift your face. “Oh, this is a bad angle.”

“For me or you?”

“For me, duh.”

Eddie doesn’t think you could have a bad angle. He rubs at your upper arm as you start to shift. “You know, your bike has just as big a chance of getting hit by lightning as your car does. More, probably.”

“You think so?”

“It’s physics. So, please don’t do it again.”

You hum. “Hm, should I risk getting struck by lightning, or spend the evening without you?” you murmur, your arm moving, moving slowly, your hand resting gently on the column of his neck. There’s something ironic in your voice, wry, but your eyes are warm. He’s paralysed. No one has ever spoken to him like you. “I think I’d rather get struck by lightning.”

You stare at one another. He laughs. You join in, your thumb a pressure at his neck, and when you move up his chest to lean in, he isn’t expecting it.

“We’re very close together,” you whisper.

“Super close,” he whispers back.

“…Eddie, can I ask you something?” Your eyes slip shut, your lips so close that something in him aches, just enough wit about him to cup your shoulders in his forearm.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t sound half as calm as you do.

“Would you… Do you think we could be official? Would you want that?” You tilt your head to the side. “Is that stupid?”

“Official?” he asks, panicked, his eyes squeezed shut hard enough for a moment that they ache.

“Like, you’d be my boyfriend. I’d be your girlfriend. We’d be close like this all the time.”

Eddie panics so hard he just says the first thing that comes into his head, “Like, we’d kiss?”

“I hope so,” you say, your nose pressing against his, the tip to the side of his, and then against his nostril. The heat of your breath is hard to ignore. “What do you think?”

What does Eddie think about it?

He catches your lips in a slow kiss. Achingly slow, not even sure it’s a kiss until you reciprocate, and your fingers dig behind his neck to tease his hair. Your lips part against his, the heat of your tongue sudden and undeniable —Eddie didn’t know you had it in you. He squeezes you to him, attempting to crane his neck downward, reliant on your enthusiasm as you move up, as you use his neck to pull yourself closer.

Your noses crush together, and it actually hurts. “Sorry,” he says, easing you back, “you okay?”

“‘Nother kiss,” you say hopefully, distractedly.

He can’t not give it to you.

Your hand spreads flat against his chest and you kiss, you kiss, long and slow movements against him before turning your head to take it again. Eddie doesn’t always know what to do with himself, but he knows kissing, no matter what anybody might think about him, and he takes the lead.

His hand screws into a fist against your hoodie, the slip of your back further exposed as you shiver into his mouth, a sound you shouldn’t make sweet on his tongue.

You pull away, breath on his lips. “Wanted you to kiss me for so long,” you murmur.

Eddie knows you’re not saying it to flirt, and that makes it worse.

“I should’ve kissed you a long time ago,” he says roughly.

“You wanted to?”

“Yeah. Yeah, so much, I’m a loser about you–”

“I’m always a loser,” you interrupt, “but especially about you.”

You scratch your fingers through his hair, encouraging his head down for another kiss. This one rougher but not rough, his arm slips finally behind your head where he’d needed it to be, hooking you in his elbow to keep you in one place. To kiss you soundly, without interruption. Your almost feverish ebbing inward is a dream, your nose rubbing up against his is a fantasy.

His heart hammers and hammers at his ribs.

You pull away to let him breathe. “You’re very excited,” you tease lightly.

Eddie kisses you, breathless. He kisses you so much he’s surprised you allow it, but your thumb rubs his cheek, and he knows he’d been right all along. You want him like he wants you, with startling, mildly pathetic urgency.

He feels like a fucking prince. Girl of his dreams in his lap, everything he wants, and he didn’t even have to ask.

—

Eddie spends a week in bliss. You’re suddenly everywhere, all the time, attached to his hip or some other part of him, and he forgets for seven whole days that he bought you a ring.

The rain dries up, the Munson emergency fund lives to die another day, and he remembers the ring only minutes before you’re knocking at his door.

He trips over himself trying to answer it before Wayne, who’s taken to being as painfully embarrassing as is possible for one human being, can get it for him.

“One day you’re gonna eat shit and break your nose,” Wayne says.

Eddie yanks open the door. “Yeah, thanks. Hey, beautiful, what’s with the sunglasses?”

You slide them down your nose. You’re a vision on his front step, not that you’d ever notice your own intrigue. “The sunglasses?” you ask, tucking them away. “What do you think they’re for? Three guesses.”

He grabs your waist, leaning down out of the doorway so as to save Wayne the agony. “That’s smart,” he says, kissing you quickly in hello. “You’re funny. Need anything before we go?”

“No, I’m okay. Hi, Mr. Munson!” you add.

“Hey, honey! How are you?” Wayne calls.

You look up into Eddie’s face with an obvious delight. “I’ve never been better.”

Eddie grins back.

He waves a quick goodbye to Wayne and then he’s out the door. You grab his wrist and practically dance him to the car, where you offer your keys, and he deigns to drive. From there it’s smooth sailing, familiarity with a better twist, Eddie driving with the windows down and your hands twined on your thigh. Things haven’t changed much since you asked him to go steady, there’s just a whole lot more of this. Touching, kissing, no weird guilt about staring.

As it turns out, you’re as eager to be laid out in his bed as he is to lay you out. He’s never wanted to kiss you more, and now he’s allowed.

“Eyes on the road.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek. The sun has warmed your skin, and his kiss makes you smile. You look pretty no matter the weather.

“Before we get there, I have something to give you.” He takes his hand from yours to slide the box from his pocket. He holds it up. “But you can only have it if you swear you’ll call me tonight before bed. No excuses. You know exactly what number to call.”

“Ends with a three,” you say, nodding.

He sighs. “No, it does not.”

“I’m kidding! Two one nine seven, I have now committed it to memory.”

Eddie pays attention to the road, though it’s clear and long heading out of the trailer park and into town. “That deserves a gift.”

You’re back in your glitters today, a skirt to enjoy the fine weather, a button shirt with a cute triangle collar, you’re lovely as ever, if a tad much for some. Not Eddie. He loves the dark clothes, the tinkling bracelets, the fun way you smile like everything he says is a secret between him and you. People stare wherever you and Eddie go, but as long your arm is sewn through his he couldn’t care less.

“A gift,” you say, smiling in your way, and taking the box politely. “I don’t think I deserve it for just remembering your number.”

“You deserved it for less. It’s not much. You can pay me back in three or four amazing kisses. Right here.” He points to the tight juncture beneath his jaw.

You attempt to lean over and kiss him immediately. He pushes you back, laughing, worsened by your own breathless laughter as you steal one exactly where he’d tapped.

You settle back down, Eddie’s hand dropping kindly to your knee. “I wonder what it is,” you say.

“Then open it.”

“I am!” You pop the box open, it’s springing hinge snapping into place. “Oh, woah. Woah. Where did you get this?”

It’s a slim ring, with a weirdly shaped band of quality metal around some cheaper but not totally worthless gemstones, of which there are three different colours: a topaz orange, a lime green, and a pinky-red ruby colour centre stage. They have nice cuts. It’s strange as you are, and he knew when he saw it you’d have to have it.

“If I put it on my marriage finger, are we engaged?” you tease.

“That one would be way heavier,” he says, giving you a squeeze.

You slide it onto your middle finger and hold your hand up in the sunshine. It fits in with your other ring nicely, though it is, to Eddie’s pride, far prettier.

He has half a mind to pull over and kiss each knuckle, but he’s trying to be less dramatic about you. It’s not working.

“Thank you, Eddie. I love it.”

“Best boyfriend ever?” he asks hopefully.

To his mild fear but better pleasure, you climb up onto the console to press three quick kisses to his cheek and jaw, your hand under his ear holding him in tender place. “Best boyfriend ever. Even if you stare too much.”

“How am I supposed to not?” he asks, with more weight than he’s intended.

You speak matter of factly for the first time in your life. “I am going to cause an accident,” you promise, attempting to kiss his nose. “A bad one.”

“Sit down, please.” He lets you kiss his nose, and then jabs you in the side. “Sit down, oh my god! That’s not funny, you’re so pretty I will total your car.”

“Now who’s not funny?”

You both laugh at the same time, the unfiltered, un-cute cackling of two idiots with the same sense of humour, and the same wealth of ridiculous honeymoon love.

˚‧꒰ა ✮ ໒꒱‧˚

thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. if you did, please consider reblogging or commenting!! thanks very much <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

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inkykeiji · 8 months

Text

what now?

character: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking

words: 8.8k

It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.

Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.

You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side.

Yet.

It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you.

“Touya.”

He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons.

It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.

“Hmm?”

“That’s my real name. Touya.”

“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”

“Todoroki Touya.”

Oh.

“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”

“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”

And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on.

He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you.

But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.

The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame.

Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.

He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.

He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer.

The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.

You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips.

“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.

“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”

“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”

Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.

“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!”

Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.

“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!”

“Shouto?”

“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.”

His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling.

“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”

“Oh, I can only imagine…”

…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.

“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!”

“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull.

“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”

Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors.

And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.

“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”

“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”

You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.

He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him.

And your heart sinks.

New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye.

“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.”

“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.

“And you’re hurt.”

He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!”

“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”

“But it isn’t even painful.”

“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.”

Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.

Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech.

And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute.

He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.

And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.

What now?

It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten.

What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process?

Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?

Does Dabi even care? Does Touya?

You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him.

You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly.

You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times.

You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man.

So what now?

“He tried to cool me down.”

The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw.

“What?”

“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.”

His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder.

The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.

“During the fight?”

His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once.

“I was overheating, and he…”

Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.

“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours.

Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice.

Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.

“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”

It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—

“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”

Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.

“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”

“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.”

You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…

What now?

It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat.

Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.

You refuse to steal this moment from him.

“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”

It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.

Always for him.

And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.

Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.

“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?”

The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face.

“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?”

“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.”

Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin.

“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”

“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”

“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.”

His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever.

It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you.

Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.

You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it.

You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.

But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.

Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much.

He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine.

“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.”

Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face.

The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh.

The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up.

Sicko.

His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.

Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.

His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams.

Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.”

A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth.

He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin.

His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.

Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt.

It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.

You need more.

“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction.

“Uh-huh?”

“Touya.”

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?”

Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.

“You want something? Huh?”

Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think?

“You know.”

He does, of course he does.

But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.

“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.”

Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.

Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny.

“W-Want your cock.”

His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring.

“That’s not asking, sweetheart.”

Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.

“Can I please have your cock? Please?”

“Please what?”

And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.

An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action.

He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.

As expected.

“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”

Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.

“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”

“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”

Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.

The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full.

And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.

“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.”

“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”

“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”

A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.

“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?”

“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips.

Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.

“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?”

The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him?

The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.

“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!”

Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.

Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.

“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”

God, you hope not.

“Please, please—”

And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar.

Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.

But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.

“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”

Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips.

Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.

It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything.

“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”

A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs.

“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.”

And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him.

And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.

It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.

Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.

“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”

He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.

Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.

It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.

“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul.

Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable.

“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”

“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.

“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.”

“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”

Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues.

“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.”

“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!”

The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.

“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”

Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.

You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock.

“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.”

A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.

“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”

“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!”

“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.”

Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue.

His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat

It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!

“Gonna—gonna—!”

A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls.

“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?”

Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues.

“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.”

“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly!

Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat.

“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?”

He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue.

“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples.

He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction.

Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you.

“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!”

The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords.

“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?”

“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”

“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.”

Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.

The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact.

He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails.

No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit.

Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.

You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling.

“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively.

“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?”

“I always do, don’t I?”

And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.

Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.

“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”

The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone.

He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking.

Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips.

“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.”

In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.

You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin.

Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.

His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt.

Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more.

So cute.

Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips.

It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.

Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole.

It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal.

A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis.

“Fuck, f-fuck—”

His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.

Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch.

Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever.

The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name.

But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm.

“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”

“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum.

“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!”

A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.

“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!”

And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix.

He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs.

You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one.

Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs.

“What now?”

You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.

What now?

They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin.

His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.

What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?

What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?

“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.”

You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob.

“The dream, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.”

A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.

“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.

He does.

You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude.

You know.

But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.

You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.

And you hug him tighter.

You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him.

#dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi x you #todoroki touya smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya x you #dabi angst #bnha smut #bnha x reader #happy belated birthdaaaay dabi i love you so much #eeeeee feel free to let me know what u think!!! i hope u enjoy it!!!

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squoxle · 9 months

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“Fuck Him, Let’s Play” ~ Felix ff 18+

👾pairing: Lee Felix!bf x Reader!gf | 👾wc: 1.7k | 👾summary: All you wanted to do was spend some time with your boyfriend, Felix. But when your little "Netflix and Chill" session is interrupted by his best friend, Chan, you must find another way to get what you came here for. No matter what. |👾cw: profanity, swearing, alcohol consumption, drunk sex, oral m. receiving, fingering f., creampie, facial, voyeurism, exhibitionism (basically porn with a plot: read at your own discretion)

link to part 2

You were over at your boyfriend Felix's house to spend some time with him. What you didn't expect was for him to be whisked away by his best friend Chan for an all night gaming session.

You sat idly on Felix’s bed as the two of the tapped away. You watched for a little while before you couldn’t take it anymore. You tried entertaining yourself on your phone but it was useless. You came over for your boyfriend not your phone.

“Felix~” you whined.

“Yeah, babe. What’s up?” He said with his eyes still fixed on the screen.

“How much longer are you gonna play the game?” You pouted.

“Uhhh…this’ll be the last game okay,” he said before getting back into the game.

You only sighed in response this was the third time he said that. He and Chan had been gaming for almost 3 hours straight now without a break. Unless you count pausing to laugh or change the game.

You were so annoyed by Chan right now. Most of the time you didn’t mind him being around, but he literally barged in.

Before he came over, you and Felix were laying on the couch together getting ready to watch a movie. You both knew that the movie was gonna end up watching itself after a while. But all sexy, freaky, horny thoughts went straight out the window as soon as you heard that knock on the door.

Chan had a special little knock. You immediately knew it was him before your boyfriend even got up to open the door.

“Hey bro!” Chan smiled as he walked in, dapping Felix up.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I told you to come over tomorrow,” Felix said as he ruffled his hair.

“Yeah, I know. But I need to take my mind off of a situation,” Chan raised an eyebrow.

“Situation?”

“Yeah. Remember that girl I was telling you about?”

“Yeah. What about her?”

“Well, today I met her boyfriend.”

“No way…” Felix’s jaw dropped.

“Way. And then she was all like ‘Why are you getting so upset bro? We’re just friends.’ I felt like such an idiot standing there. I couldn’t even hang around anymore. So I cooled off and came over here.”

“Damn. That’s insane. I’m surprised she never mentioned anything about him.”

“Exactly! I mean she could’ve at least told me that. Then I wouldn’t gotten myself so hung up on her y’know.”

“Yeah, bro. I get it,” Felix said placing a hand on Chan’s shoulder. "I think I know exactly what you need right now," Felix smiled.

"To get completely wasted and game till I pass out?" Chan tilted his head.

"You got it," Felix chuckled before walking over to you.

You were still sitting on the couch wrapped up in Sonic the Hedgehog blanket. Before he said a single word, you already knew what was coming next.

"Raincheck?" He smiled nervously. "I'm really sorry, babe, but this is kind of an emergency. I promise I'll make it up to you," he said before placing a kiss on your forehead. "Just a few games, okay. And then we can spend the whole night together."

"Go ahead," you sighed before following him to his bedroom and plopping yourself on the bed. And that's exactly where you've been this whole time.

Since talking to him wasn't working, you needed to try something else. You were desperate, and at this point, you were willing to do whatever to get what you wanted.

You climbed out of bed and walked over to sit on Felix's lap while he played the game. As expected, he happily allowed you to sit between his legs.

His chin rested on your shoulder as he continued gaming, ignoring you as if you didn't even exist.

It was time for the second part of your plan, casually turn him on to get him in the mood. "God, I hope this works," you thought to yourself as you began to slowly move your ass around on his lap.

He sat back at bit, assuming you were trying to get comfortable. That was until you started to do an up and down movement. Almost bouncing, but not quite. Chan was still sitting next to him and you didn't want to divert too much attention to yourself.

"Ngh," Felix grunted as you reached between your legs to graze his dick through his sweatpants with your fingers. "What are you doing?" he whispered to which you only mischievously smiled in response.

Felix wasn't pissy drunk yet, but he was getting there. And you knew once that happened, you could do almost anything to him. Chan on the other hand was a lot drunker than Felix.

Chan reached for the beer bottle that sat on the dresser before tipping his head back to catch the last drop on his tongue.

"Damn...I'm all out," he said looking at the empty bottle. "Did you want me to get you another?" Chan asked as he stood up.

"Ummm, sure. But they're none left in the fridge. You'll have to go out to my car and get the other case," Felix hiccuped as he guided you off of his lap. "Wait. Lemme get the keys for you," His words were slightly slurred together.

You watched as he staggered over to the closet to grab his car keys out of his jacket pocket. "Here ya go, mate," he said placing the keys in Chan's hands.

Felix plopped back down in the chair as Chan left the room. You were standing up near the TV, but instead of sitting back down on his lap, you crawled between his legs.

You took both of your hands and pressed them up against Felix's semi-hard-on. He was staring at the ceiling until you did that. "Woah, babe. What are you doing?" he said as his eyes widened.

"I'm doing exactly what I came over here to do. Have a little fun with my boyfriend," you smirked as you reached into his pants and pulled out his dick.

"Babe, we can't do this right now. Chan's still here. Can you please wait just a little bit longer?" he pleaded.

"Uh uh. I've waited long enough. I want it right now," you pouted before spitting on his tip and wrapping your lips around him.

He threw his head back as you began sucking on his tip. You bobbed your head up and down as your boyfriend gripped onto the arm rests.

"Mmm," he moaned softly as you looked up to meet his eyes. You knew that nothing turned your boyfriend on more than the lustful way you looked at him while sucking his dick.

"Hey, I got the drinks--" Chan stopped in the door frame as he came in to see you sucking his friend off.

"Oh shit!" Felix immediately snapped out of the seductive trance you had put him in and tried to cover himself.

"Umm...should I go?" Chan asked as both of you looked at him standing there in shock.

"Uhhh...I...umm" Felix stammered as his eyes darted back and forth between you and Chan.

"You guys can keep playing the game. I don't mind," you shrugged.

"What? Are you sure?" Chan asked while Felix sat speechless in the chair.

"Yeah. You two can play the game while I have fun down here," you smiled.

"Seriously?" Felix gasped.

"Yeah," you giggled.

"Umm...okay," Felix stuttered as Chan came over to sit next to him while you got back to sucking his dick.

You stroked up and down on his dick as he tried to stay focused on the game in front of him. However, you felt another set of eyes on you. It was Chan, he was almost drolling while he watched you suck his friend off. You looked down to see the growing bulge in his pants.

"Dude! What the fuck? This is my girlfriend," Felix spat as he caught Chan getting turned on by you. "Look, babe. We're gonna have to do this later. I don't wanna see my friend drooling over you right in front of me."

"Sorry, man it's just--"

"Fuck him, let's play," you said cutting Chan off as you started sucking your boyfriend's throbbing dick again. Before he could even argue with you, you moaned with his cock in your mouth. The vibrations from your throat were just what you needed to distract him.

You pushed your head down trying to fit as much of him in your mouth as possible.

"It's okay just this one time baby," you cooed as Felix nodded in response.

You caught Chan palming himself in your peripheral vision. Noticing that you were also getting him turned on, you really began performing. You started to suck harder and faster as you reached your hand between your legs to finger yourself.

Chan pulled out his dick and began stroking it up and down as he watched you sucking dick while moaning and fingering yourself.

You sat back to suck the wetness from your fingers before wrapping your lips around Felix's dick again. You could feel him getting more turned on as he pushed your head down and grunted loudly while he fucked your throat.

You could feel every inch pumping in and out of your throat. Every so often he would pull back to allow you to get some air, but at this point, he was using your throat like his own personal fleshlight.

"Keep playing with that perfect little pussy of yours," Felix groaned as your head bobbed up and down. Your body quivered as you were nearly about to cum.

Felix watched as your face contorted and pulled his dick out of your mouth as you came all over your finger. Your moans were so sexy that Chan nearly got off at that very moment.

Felix aggressively grabbed your head and forced it down as he filled your throat with his cum. He noticed that Chan was getting close too and motioned him to move closer to you.

It wasn't long before Chan came all over your face, streams of white fluids ran down your neck as he finished.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @nikisdubblchococake @addictedtohobi @parkjonseongswife @hynjinnn1 @hoyeonheeseung @cas104 @doseoflily @skzenhalove @neoteez01 @fics-jillian-liked @skzfelixlove @hyunjinswifeee @urfavberry @ihrtlix @emily1310universe-blog @tiddiesbruhposts @stay-berry @cherry8183 @hyunjinslovebott @ta3baee @skz-lover21 @skztalkersworld @hyunjinnie2000 @hyunjinswifeyy @luvyblossom @th3-g1rl-y0u-10v3 @bratty-tingz @hyunhoeee @xxstrayland @linovely @tinynana26 @skzblogworld @queenmea604 @yuknows @s-h-y-a @lixiebokie @straykids-is-love @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @yoongis-suga-bear

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loveywon · 2 years

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♡𓂃 START NOW !

part 2 is out!

pairing: jungwon x (gn)reader wc: 3.3k synopsis: you and jungwon never really got along, but one morning you're in bed with him and you both don't recognize the room that you're in. warnings: fluff, there's a baby, angst if you squint idk, not proofread, riki n sunghoon mentioned, you n jungwon are seniors in high school! a/n: my first fic on here...NERVOUS.....IM LAZY TO PROOFREAD......pls enjoy though !!!(≧∀≦)

“Anyone who has to endure waking up next to you every morning is definitely receiving karma for something bad they did,” you rolled your eyes at Jungwon who is currently looking at you with squinted eyes and a scowl on his face.

That's the last thing you said to him before leaving school and going back home to only fight with him again the next morning. Except, you didn’t wake up in your usual bed and you didn’t hear your usual blaring alarm off the next morning. Instead, you actually feel a little hot. You don’t remember putting an extra blanket on you before going to bed last night, but you still felt an extra weight and heat radiating around you.

You blink twice, eyes still puffy from sleep as you roll over onto your side to get out of bed, but before you could actually even move your legs, a force pulled you closer to the center of the bed. You suppressed a scream. What if it was a serial killer? What if Jungwon had enough and decided to hire a hitman to kill you?! Millions of thoughts began to run through your head, but you snapped out of it when you heard a grumble from behind you. You gulped, deciding whether or not your best option was to just lay still until your potential killer got tired of waiting or if you should grab your lamppost from your bedside table and whack the person with it.

You got this, y/n! You slowly reach for the lamp, your left hand reaching out slowly to unplug the lamp as quietly as possible. With the blinds slightly cracked open from the window, something on your left finger shined in the light and you paused from almost being potentially blinded, but also because you never wore any jewelry? You quickly looked at your hand, and saw a fat, bright diamond staring right back at you on your ring finger.

In the state of shock you were in, you quickly turned around to what could be your potential killer in bed with you, but to add onto your surprise even more (honestly how did you not get a stroke?), there laid Jungwon himself, face half buried into the pillow and an arm loosely wrapped around your waist.

“What the fuck…” you whispered, eyes darting between your ring and Jungwon. You quickly got out of Jungwon’s arms and got on your feet, starting to pace around from stress. You didn’t even recognize the place you were in, everything was decorated so nicely, but so different from your house that you were literally in last night. You quickly peeked through the blinds, seeing that you were in a very suburban neighborhood that you did not recognize. You stopped pacing after getting nowhere, turning to look at Jungwon’s sleeping state. He mumbled something in his sleep, his arm subconsciously moving around the bed where you were previously laying on. This caused him to blink his eyes open and lift his head off the pillow after not finding you in bed with him.

“Good morning, princess. You had a good sleep? Oh me too, now do you please mind telling me where the fuck are we!?” You exclaimed, walking back to the edge of the bed to greet a sleepy Jungwon.

“What.. what are you doing here in my house?” Jungwon muttered, not really wanting to fight with you in the bright and early morning. He failed to process that he is in fact, not in his own home anymore.

“This is your house? If I remember correctly, last time when Riki invited me over to yours for the party, your house did not look like this. And I highly doubt that your house would have frilly curtains like this. Your curtains were literally blue last time I was there,” you sighed, clearly frustrated with the fact that Jungwon seemingly did not know where they were.

He slowly sat up in the bed, rubbing his eyes in an adorable manner (you would rather barf every day than admit this) as he took in his surroundings. His brows furrowed as he did so, realizing that you were right (he would rather smell Riki’s feet than admit this). “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh!” your tone dripping in sarcasm as you started to pace around the bedroom again. You spot a vanity in the corner of the room, and you decide to look through the drawers for maybe something. You didn’t know what you were looking for, but literally anything! Something!

As you get to the vanity, you look at yourself in the mirror.

“Um…Jungwon…come here…”

He was still taking in his surroundings, rolling his eyes as he groggily got out of bed and trudged towards you. He bends down to look at the mirror, eyes widening at the sight before him.

Both of you looked much more mature than you did last night, your hair was a lighter color and Jungwon’s (handsome) facial features were much more fitting in his face.

“What. Why do we look like this??” Jungwon’s hands flew to his face, touching his cheek as he poked himself while looking at the mirror. “This is some serious sick joke, it has to be! I’m gonna call Sunghoon. It was probably his doing,” He rushed to grab his phone from the bedside table, only to find that his phone was a completely different model and much thinner than his original phone. He ignores it, opening his contacts to call up Sunghoon.

“I’ll call Riki, this seems like something he would also do,” you mumble more to yourself as you grab your phone as well, which is the same as Jungwon’s; much thinner than your actual phone.

Both of you dial up Sunghoon and Riki, holding up your phones to your ears. You bite on your lip absentmindedly as the phone rang and Jungwon tapped his foot impatiently on the carpeted floor.

“Sunghoon!”

“Riki!”

“Hey, um, you can take us back home now…this house is kinda starting to creep me out. The prank is over, right? Y/n is getting on my nerves,” Jungwon mumbled the last part into the phone, taking a slight peek at you. You return his look, sharp pointed eyes glaring at him since you heard his last sentence.

“Stop with this prank, seriously Riki! I think I might make Jungwon bald faster than he already is if I’m stuck here any longer!” You spoke into the phone, not bothering to keep your words shushed. You wanted him to hear it.

Jungwon merely rolled his eyes at your words, choosing to be the “bigger” person, as if he didn’t just say that you were getting on his nerves earlier.

Over the phone, Sunghoon spoke, “What prank? I literally dropped you guys off at home last night, what are you talking about? Also I thought after you and Y/n got married, you would stop with your silly bickering. Ah, you guys are so cute.”

Jungwon swore his eye twitched at Sunghoon’s words.

“Hi Y/n! I don’t know what prank you’re talking about, I swear! Whatever it is, it’s not me this time! Maybe it was Sunghoon, didn’t he see you guys last night? And you’re still bullying Jungwon after all these years? I thought we left that at high school!” Riki chuckled through the phone.

You swore your eye twitched.

You both hung up after saying your goodbyes, deeming them as useless. You and Jungwon turn back to each other from opposite ends of the bed.

“It’s not Sunghoon.”

“It’s not Riki.”

You opened your mouth again to start panicking, however, a spine chilling cry came from across the hall, through the closed door of the bedroom you and Jungwon were in. The both of you furrowed your brows in confusion. It sounded like a baby’s cry, and last time the both of you checked, you guys didn’t have any younger siblings.

You hesitated to check out where the crying was coming from, but the ever so (annoying) brave Jungwon didn’t think twice to leave the bedroom and open the door across the hall. You quickly follow behind, not wanting to be left alone in the foreign bedroom. You peek from behind his shoulder, only to find a baby crying in their cradle, flailing their arms around as they sob loudly.

“Oh my god, I think I’m gonna puke,” you say exaggeratedly. Truth be told, the baby was cute, but you were never a person that experienced baby fever.

Jungwon rolled his eyes at you before walking towards the cradle, shushing the baby quietly as he took it into his arms and started to rock it back and forth in his arms as if it was second nature. The baby surprisingly didn’t cry louder when Jungwon picked it up, which showed on Jungwon’s facial features as he continued to shush the baby. You watched silently, a slight pout unknowingly forming on your lips before Jungwon spoke.

“I think she’s hungry. Can you get me the baby bottle behind you and make the milk?” He asked quietly, not wanting to scare the baby since the baby doesn’t know him.

“Oh, uh, yeah…” you replied, turning around to the table behind you. You grabbed the baby bottle and twisted the cap open, but didn’t make a move to do anything else. You stared at the machine. It looked like an espresso machine, but you didn’t exactly know how to work it. You start to press a few buttons, however, none were successful.

Jungwon sighed, “You have no idea how to make baby milk do you?” He stated more than questioned before he walked towards you and gestured to you to take the baby out of his arms so that he could make the milk.

You stared at him. He wanted you to hold a baby? You considered yourself to never be trusted with a baby. “Um, I…” You started, forming excuses that were on the tip of your tongue but Jungwon stopped you before you could say anything.

“Just hold her. It’s not the end of the world.”

You bit on your inner cheek, grabbing the baby from his arms and started to cradle her with it. Hey! It was easier than you thought, like you had done this before (you haven’t, your parents never let you near your baby cousins).

You stared at the baby as Jungwon started to mix the baby milk formula, studying her features. She was actually a lot cuter up close, and before you even noticed, a small smile started forming on your features and the baby soon stopped crying and giggled upon seeing your smile.

Jungwon abruptly turned around, scared that you did something to the baby since she had stopped crying. “What did you d-” He asked hurriedly, but stopped himself when he saw you admiring the baby.

When you weren’t telling him that he was balding, he always thought you were pretty. This was the closest he’s been next to you when seeing you smile. Everytime he did see you smile, it was always from across the lunchroom at school, or on the other side of the class you two shared together.

Catching himself staring, he quickly turned back around to attend the milk, but his own little smile graced his face as well.

“Mama!” The baby babbled, small hands reaching out to touch your hair. You swore you almost dropped the baby on the floor, eyes almost popping out of your head as your jaw went agape.

Jungwon halted his movements as well, about to pour the milk formula into the baby bottle. He slowly turned around, the baby bottle still in hand but only half filled.

“What did she just say.” You and Jungwon said flatly in unison.

After putting the baby back in the cradle and properly giving her the milk, you and Jungwon both left the baby room and sat on a bench that was in the hallway.

It was silent after a while, neither of you guys knowing what to say or think.

“Okay…realistically, that is probably someone else’s baby, right? And she’s still young, so she probably just thought that you were her mother…” Jungwon said after some time, his hands running through his hair as he stressed about their current situation.

“Yeah, but,” you hesitated to say what you were thinking, looking at the door that led to the baby’s room.

“What? Say it. We only have each other right now. I don’t know where we are, and if Sunghoon and Riki insist that this is our house, they are either very, incredibly serious, or they are stretching out this prank. But I don’t think either would go as far as to use a real baby for a prank…right?” Jungwon started to ramble before realizing it.

“She looked like you.”

His head turned to look at you, but you were still facing the baby’s door. “What are you talking about?” He said suspiciously, for once hesitating to ask you about something. He’s never been scared of you - he thinks he never will be. At first, when you two first crossed paths in freshman year of high school, he didn’t think you were scary. Maybe intimidating, but not scary. He doesn’t even remember your first interaction, if he was being honest. He likes to think his first interaction with you was when you both were helping out Yearbook with taking photos of the dance and you asked him to hand you a SD card because your camera was missing one. He knows it wasn’t actually your first interaction with him.

You remember your exact first words with Jungwon.

“You said I stink?” You said as you stood above his desk where he was sitting, three minutes before your shared class starts.

He blinks up at you, studying your furrowed brows and the slight pout on your lips. His mouth falls open, but nothing comes out. You roll your eyes, reaching for something in your backpack. You take out a Jo Malone perfume, and start to spray it between you and him. You stopped until Jungwon started coughing from the amount of strong fragrance in the air, smiling like you won first place at an Olympic sport, before walking back to your designated seat.

Jungwon bought the perfume the next day, waiting for you to use all the perfume up and putting it in your locker when he heard you complain to your friends that it was getting empty.

“She has your eyes and your dimples when she giggles.” You say, matter of factly. You didn’t want to admit that you take in Jungwon’s cat-like eyes, the soft brown that they are and his cute dimples he has whenever he laughs at something stupid Riki said.

“She also has your nose,” Jungwon also says after a little silence. He noticed the baby’s nose when he first picked her up, how could he not when he spends your time arguing to admire your facial features?

You stay quiet after he says that, unsure of what to say. This was awkward, and there was literally nothing to go off of. The only proof of whose home this is, is that a random baby that spawned out of nowhere looks like both you and Jungwon. Is that really enough to go off of?

As the both of you are in deep thought, you snap out of it as your stomach grumbles from not eating dinner last night. You crashed in bed as soon as you finished your homework, completely forgetting to eat dinner.

Jungwon does his best to stifle a laugh, but he fails, which earns him a glare from you. He stands up from the bench, your eyes following his movements as he walks towards the stairs. He looks at you with an eyebrow raised, “Are you coming? Riki says I make a mean pancake.”

Your brows raise in surprise, standing up from the bench and following him down the stairs. As you take in the new surroundings, Jungwon just strides into the kitchen as if he knew exactly where he was.

“Are you sure you aren’t the one pranking me? You look so…natural in the house,” You start to question, but you highly doubt it because he panicked and over thought as much as you did. He shrugs at your question, but he begins to think the same as well. How did he exactly know where the kitchen was, not thinking twice about looking at yet another new surroundings.

As he starts to prepare the pancakes for the both of you, you walk towards the living room that is next to the open spaced kitchen. There’s a scrapbook laid open on the coffee table, and you quickly rush to look at it, thinking it would give you some hints about where you were.

You were wrong. It only made you even more confused as you started to flip through the pages.

Even though it freaked you out what was on the pages, you couldn’t help but keep looking at the filled pages full of photos and writings.

Every single photo had a photo of at least you, Jungwon, or the baby.

You’re flipping through the pages backwards, so when you get to the first few pages, you see a photo of you and Jungwon under a decorated wedding arch. Your eyes widen at the pictures, one of you kissing him on the cheek and another of both of you kissing on the lips. You felt like throwing up.

Fighting through it, you keep going backwards until you reach the first page. There lies a taped letter, and you instantly recognize it as Jungwon’s writing. You read it, and the further you get down to the end of the written letter, you don’t notice Jungwon calling your name.

“Y/n! The pancakes are ready…” his voice fades out as he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re looking at. His face pales.

He wrote that letter in junior year. He remembers so vividly, him planning to put it in your locker. Even though he enjoys your little bickering here and there, he wants to be able to hold you, kiss you, and love you. He wants to see you smiling, not because of your friends, but because of him. You only frown whenever you’re around him.

He wishes you didn’t mishear what he said. Maybe if you heard “Riki stinks” instead of “Y/n stinks”, you two would have been a couple sooner.

“You like me?” You ask him, but you’re not looking at him. You’re staring blankly at the last words written on the letter that reads, “Please accept my liking for you! - Jungwon<3.”

His mouth is dry.

He never did put it in your locker. He really was! But their senior, Intak, beat him to it. You rejected Intak for whatever reason, but he lost his courage to shove the letter into your locker for the rest of the year and decided that bickering and fighting with each other would be enough to satiate him for the time being.

After a long silence, you shut the scrapbook and put it back on the table. You shift on the couch that you’re sitting on, turning around to look him in the eye, however, he’s not looking at you. He’s staring down at his pancakes, teeth capturing his bottom lip as he thinks of what to say.

He doesn’t think you reciprocate his feelings. Why would you when you pick a fight with him every day at school? He thinks you’re just bored and find entertainment in bickering with him, and he’s fine with that. At least he gets to interact with you daily, it’s enough for him.

But now? He’s scared. He’s scared that if he answers yes, he does like you, then you will never speak to him. Knowing you, you might walk out the door of this foreign house that they’re in, and never come back.

“I don’t know if I like you, to be honest.” You say flatly, as if you were so sure of what you were saying. He still doesn’t look up from his pancakes. He expected this.

“But, I can start now.”

part 2 out now!

#enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #jungwon drabbles #jungwon oneshots #jungwon imagines #jungwon scenarios #jungwon fluff #enhypen x y/n #enhypen x gender neutral reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jungwon fic #enhypen fic #loveywonenha #jungwon #jungwon fanfic #enhypenfanfic

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inthe-dark-tonight · 1 year

Text

whatever’s on tonight

joel miller x fem!reader

part 2

summary: a weekend in the desert is anything but lonely with joel miller around

word count: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ (mdni), no outbreak AU, established relationship, no mention of age difference, fluff, unsafe p in v, creampie, swearing, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, hot tub sex with joel miller ;)

notes: came up with this idea while listening to the next best american record by lana del rey <3 i wrote this all last night and barely looked it over so sorry about any mistakes and thank you for reading!!

Whatever's on tonight // I just wanna party with you // Topanga's hot tonight // I'm takin' off my bathing suit // You made me feel like.., // There's somethin' that I never knew−I wanted

You and Joel decided to rent a bungalow outside of big bend national park for the weekend, somewhere you can both relax and disconnect. It was a last minute decision, you can’t even remember the last time the two of you got a chance to do something like this. You made sure to book a place that was a little more secluded so you could enjoy the peacefulness of the desert, and having a hot tub to relax was a necessity.

You both took a half day at work, packed up the truck then headed out. It was nearly a 7 hour drive, you spent the time talking and listened to music while looking at the scenery to pass the time. About half way through your trip you stopped at a little diner to have dinner, then got back on the road.

As you get closer to the bungalow the two of you are staying in, you begin to feel more excited about the little get away. As Joel drives down the winding desert road leading to the house, the sky is fading into a dark blue shade, dusk slowly taking over. You look over at Joel as he drives, the silhouette of his side profile made more prominent by the fading light behind him. A smile grows on your face as your eyes trail over his features.

“What?” He smirks and glances at you for a second before looking back to the road.

You shake your head. “Nothing,” you break into a smile. “Just excited that’s all.”

He takes one hand off the steering wheel to find yours on your lap and intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly. You sit in silence until he’s parked in front of the bungalow, only letting go of your hand to get out of the car.

“Here we are.” He gives you a content look as you both unbuckle your seatbelts and climb out of the car.

You stop for a second after closing the passenger door staring up at sky in awe, now filled with stars as the moon takes the suns place in the night sky. Joel comes up behind you, wrapping his large arms around your waist. You rest your arms on top of his and lay your head back onto his shoulder, eyes never leaving the sky.

“Beautiful” He whispers, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Mhm” You hum, unaware that he was talking about you.

“Let’s bring our stuff in.” His voice is soft, you turn your head to look up at him and his lips immediately meet yours in a gentle kiss.

You let out a sigh before he moves to unpack the truck, hands lingering on your hips for a short moment. You help him grab a few things before the two of you walk up to the house. Joel sets down his bag while he fiddles with the lock box that holds the key for a minute, and you can’t help but laugh.

Once he finally unlocks the door, you walk in and the space is beautiful, a small kitchen lined with floor to ceiling windows that leads into a cozy living room. You set down your bags to take a look around, the home is mid century style and it’s exactly what you hoped for when you booked it. You walk to the other side of the living room and find another wall filled with floor to ceiling windows, a small bathroom, and a door that leads to the bedroom.

Joel trails behind you as you enter the room, a large king size bed facing a sliding glass door that leads to the patio and hot tub, and a bathroom with a huge walk-in glass shower across from a vanity with a giant wall to wall mirror. You turn around and walk over to Joel, a thrilled smile on your face as you jump up and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Woah there.” He chuckles and wraps his arms around you, squeezing tight as he buries his face in your neck.

“Sorry, I’m excited.” Your voice is muffled as you nuzzle into him.

He pulls back from you, planting his hands on your hips and kissing the tip of your nose.

“How ‘bout I grab us some drinks and we go out back?” He’s resting his forehead against yours now.

“Only if you go in the hot tub with me.” You give him a playful look.

“Whatever you want, baby. We’re here to relax.” He squeezes your waist before turning around to head for the kitchen.

You grab your bag from the living room and dig around for your bathing suit and snag a shirt from Joel’s bag to slip over it. As you’re putting on your bathing suit, you hear music coming from the living room. You tie your bathing suit top as quickly as you can and throw on Joel’s shirt before walking towards the music.

You see Joel in the corner messing with an old radio, switching through the staticky channels until he stops on one that’s coming through mostly clear. You recognize the song that’s coming through the speakers, and he turns around setting his beer on the coffee table before walking over to you.

Anyone who’s ever had a heart

Wouldn’t turn around and break it

He grabs your hips pulling you into him, hands resting on the small of your back as he holds you close. You rest both your hands on his shoulders.

“Dance with me.” He whispers before starting to sway back and forth.

You move your hands up to wrap around his neck,and rest your head on his shoulder, listening to his heart beat as you sway back and forth with him. Your eyes close, getting lost in the moment just feeling his warm chest move under you with each breath. As you sway back and forth, you lift your head to look up at him and rest your hands on his chest. His nose gently brushes against yours as he stares at you with heavy lidded eyes.

Heavenly wine and roses

Seem to whisper to me when you smile

Joel spins you around causing you to let out a laugh before pulling you back in, his lips meeting with yours in a feverish kiss. One of his hands moves up to cup your cheek, pulling you closer as he lets out a content sigh.

Sweet Jane

Oh sweet, sweet Jane

He breaks the kiss still holding you close, eyes locked on yours as he continues to sway with you until the end of the song. He gently tucks a hair behind your ear before breaking the silence.

“Let me get changed and I’ll meet you outside.” He whispers to you, and you nod in agreement.

He plants one last gentle kiss on your lips before you walk to the bedroom and open the sliding door to the deck. When you step outside it’s a bit chilly, you quickly remove the cover from the hot tub and dip your hand into the warm water. When you look up towards the sliding glass door you see the silhouette of Joel’s broad frame in the dim light of the room as he walks towards the door. He’s holding two beers in his hand when he steps out, his eyes meet yours before closing the door.

You stand there with your hand in the water still as he sets the beers on the edge of the hot tub. He walks over to you and you turn around, leaning up against the hot tub facing him. Your eyes roam over his exposed chest and shoulders as he saunters towards you wearing a pair of dark blue swim trunks that hang dangerously low on his waist. He reaches out to grab the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, knuckles skimming the skin on your thighs as he slowly lifts it. You raise your arms allowing him to remove it before throwing it off to the side somewhere, leaving you in just your black bathing suit. His warm hands run up and down your sides caressing your soft skin as his eyes roam over your body.

“You’re heavenly.” He squeezes your hips, shaking his head in disbelief.

You rest your hands on his stomach right above the hem of his swim trunks, he sucks in a deep breath as you slowly move your hands up his soft stomach, over his chest and rest them on his solid shoulders. His hands move to squeeze your ass and you let out a small yelp causing Joel to chuckle.

“Very funny,” you roll your eyes giving him a playful smile as you grab his hand. “C’mon.”

You pull him along as you walk towards the steps to get in the hot tub. As you climb in, he rests his hand on your lower back. Once you're sitting he climbs in after you letting out a low groan as he sinks into the warm water. He grabs the beers from the ledge of the hot tub and hands you one, eyes staying locked on you as he takes a sip of his own. You’re sitting across from him, watching him as you sink further down into the water. He rests his arm over the edge of the hot tub holding his beer, and runs his other hand through his hair dampening it slightly.

“C’mere baby.” He sets his beer down and sits up straight.

You push yourself off the edge of your seat and swiftly lift yourself to straddle his lap, your drink forgotten on the other side of the hot tub. You settle in his lap, hands resting on the sides of his neck as he looks up at you. He trails his warm hands lightly up and down your back, causing goosebumps to form all over your damp skin.

“Joel…” you breathe out, rolling your hips into his.

“Goddamn.” He lets out a low moan.

You lightly pull at the hair on the back of his neck causing him to close his eyes for a moment, tongue sticking out to wet his lips. You can feel his hardening length start to grow beneath you, and when he opens his eyes again they’re immediately glued to your chest.

As his warm breath fans across your skin you move one of your hands to find the tie on the back of your bikini, pulling at the string once you find it. Your bathing suit top loosens and his eyes widen, darting up to yours. Then you move both your hands to the tie at your neck, pulling it loose and letting your top fall into the water before placing your hands on the ledge behind him. You can feel Joel’s fully hardened cock underneath you now as he takes in the sight of your bare chest.

“Fuck.” His hips lift and you press yourself into him.

“Like what you see?” You grind your hips into his again.

He looks up at you with wide eyes and a slack jaw as he nods in agreement. You grab his hands from your hips and lift them up to your tits, his eyes falling back to your chest. Your hands cover his as he lightly squeezes and kneads them while you continue to roll your hips into him.

“So pretty.” He hums.

You let out a small moan and his eyes turn dark as they snap up to yours. You remove your hands from his and slowly move yourself back, reaching into the water for his swim trunks. He sees what you’re doing and lifts his hips up as you pull them down, exposing his fully hardened cock.

He removes his hands from your breast to untie the strings on the bottoms of your bikini, pulling them out from under you and tossing them to the other side of the hot tub causing the water to slightly splash on you. You flinch and let out a small shout, leaning into Joel.

“Sorry” he says between laughs.

You wrap your arms around his solid form, laying your bare chest against his before meeting his lips with a passionate kiss. A long sigh leaves you lips as your body relaxes into him. His hard length is flush against your folds, tip nudging at your clit as you slowly thrust against him.

You’re breathing heavily as you break the kiss. “Need you.” It comes out quiet and soft.

“I’m all yours baby.” He grabs your face, placing his lips on yours again.

You slowly lift your hips until you feel his tip catch at your entrance, causing him to let out a low moan that vibrates through your chest. Joel slips his tongue past your lips deepening the kiss as you start to slowly sink down onto his cock. You remove your lips from his and let out another soft moan.

“Oh my god Joel, feels so good.” You mumble against his lips, nose nudging against his.

He’s speechless, both hands on your face as he looks up at you. You slowly move yourself up and down on his cock at a steady pace, just taking in the way he feels slowly stretching you. You tug at his hair causing his head to tilt up towards you more, and that sets something off in him.

He lets out a low growl before lifting you up off of him, spinning you around so your back is to him. Then he starts gently pushing you to the other side of the hot tub, his hands rest on your hips as you settle on your knees and your hands grip the ledge. Seconds later he’s thrusting his cock back into you, causing your body to jolt forward as you let out a gasp.

His pace starts out slow as he trails kisses down your bare back and shoulders. Then he starts to pick up his pace resting one of his hands over yours, the other on your hip as his broad frame leans over you. You turn your head to get a glimpse of him, and he leans forward, removing his hand from yours to grab your jaw as he kisses you.

“Take me so well baby.” He hums as his pace quickens.

Heat is building in your stomach, ready to snap at any second. His hand on your hip moves to wrap around you, holding you flush against him.

“I’m close.” It comes out barely audible.

The hand that’s holding your chin moves to rest on your shoulder as he lets out low grunts into the side of your neck, leaving hot kisses on your skin.

“Let me feel you, sweet thing.” He whispers into your ear, his deep voice making you shudder.

It’s enough to make the coil in your stomach finally snap, eyes fluttering shut as your walls clench around him. He lets out a groan as he fucks you through your orgasm, your name falling from his lips in low moans as his pace starts to faulter. He starts to pull out and you quickly grab his hand that’s resting on your shoulder, stopping him.

“Inside Joel,” You let out a breath. “Please.”

He slows down and plants both his hands on your hips, your words were enough to send him over the edge as he releases himself into you. A whimper leaves your mouth as you feel his warm load coat your walls. His forehead rests on your shoulder as he comes down from his high, breathing heavily while trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck, baby.” He leaves a soft kiss on your shoulder before pulling out of you with a low hiss.

After a moment Joel sits up and turns his body towards you, one hand resting on your inner thigh, the other draped along the edge of the hot tub. You sit up a little and your eyes meet his.

Both of his hands move to rest on on your cheeks, caressing your soft skin with his thumbs as you wrap your arms around his neck. He leans in to kiss you again, deep and slow as your lips move in sync. He breaks this kiss too soon leaning his forehead against yours, eyes closed and he takes in a deep breath. You keep your eyes closed, carding your fingers through his hair as you take in this moment.

Your chest swells, as you open your eyes you find him peering at you through heavy lidded eyes.

“Joel…”

“It’s true, all the roads lead to you. Everything I want and do.” He takes a deep breath.

Your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you brush your lips against his, taking in what he just confessed to you.

“I love you.” It’s barely audible, lower than a whisper.

Your lips fully meet with his and he grabs your legs to swing them over his lap, lips still attached to yours.

“I love you too.” He nuzzles his nose against your cheek.

You curl up closer to him, laying your head on his shoulder. His large hand runs up and down your back as you both sit there taking in the moment, listening to each other's breathing and the faint noises of the night.

tagging a few moots <3

@sscorpiiio @gracieheartsspedro @ilovepedro @pedrospartner @joelsversion @javiscigarette @jenispunk @beskarandblasters @tinygarbage @shatteredbaby @nostalxgic @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @isitmeulookin4

thanks for reading 🤍 and thank you @pr0ximamidnight for letting me ramble and send updates ily AND thank you for the summary 🫡

thinking about a part 2 also if anyone’s interested 👀 my asks box is open to chat!

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #soft!joel miller #joel miller #joel miller fic #couldn’t stop thinking about hot tub sex with joel

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stevie-petey · 2 months

Note

I have a blurb idea!

A stug sleepover that wasn't set up by Dustin. Lets say Steve's parents are having a dinner party and instead of being degraded in front of his parents'friends he decides to leave and go to bugs house. He crawls up onto her roof and knocks on her window. She opens her curtains and when she sees Steve she just lights up! She scrambles to open the window and let him in. Steve's heart is so warmed because not only is bug elated to see him, but she's in her pajamas and Steve just thinks she looks perfect😭. Remember in the jealous Steve blurb how he said he wishes that one day he could come over and know he's going home, he's finally getting to feel it!!! Maybe bug even lets Steve lay in her bed BUT only for a little while soon he is demoted back to the bean bag. Still it was nice while it lasted.

steve vs windows ,,, he will never win. this isnt exaaaactly the prompt, but i kept the pjs and coming home <3

enjoy !

"im coming over."

"oh, alright." while you hadnt been upset by steves sudden insistence on coming over, the lack of warning had surprised you. normally he'll ask ahead of time, make a plan, but at almost ten at night he had called you saying he was coming over. "drive safe, please."

"always, angel."

that had been nearly fifteen minutes ago.

normally steve is at you house in under ten minutes, so his slight delay worries you. standing at your window, you wait anxiously for any sign of him. your view of where he normally parks is blocked by a house, so all you can do is stare out at the yard in front of you.

thats when you hear the thud, which is followed by a very pathetic "ow."

"hello?' you call out beneath you, squinting against the darkness of the night. you cant see anything, but you know you heard something.

"down here," someone says weakly, and you recognize the voice to be steves.

squinting even harder, you make out the faint outline of his body sprawled on the grass beneath your window. "oh my god." you start trying to climb out your window to go and help, but steve sees and stops you.

"dont come down," hes out of breath, pain still piercing his body.

"but-"

"im fine, just need to-" steve winces as he stands, his shoulder pops and his knees buckle. "god tonight sucks."

he stands before you now, a foot or so beneath you. for once, youre taller than steve, and you enjoy looking down at him. his eyes are almost black in the dim lighting, though the moon casts a soft glow on his tanned skin. summer has made him beautiful.

you reach your hand out and gently fix his hair. "what happened, honey?"

steves heart warms at the touch, he leans into it and closes his eyes. pain be damned, your fingers tug at his hair and steves heart skips a beat. "missed the jump."

"well, obviously."

"it hurt."

"you poor thing."

"can i come in now?"

you giggle and nod, stepping aside so that steve can climb the ledge and into your room. his arms strain, the outline of his biceps can be seen in the night. hes always been so delicate with how he climbs through the window, far from jonathans clunkiness that always alerted your mom of his arrival.

as you watch steve, you sit on your bed and make room for him to join. you havent forgotten about his unexpected call earlier. "is everything okay?"

"what do you mean?" steve takes his shoes off and places them against your wall. he undoes the first three buttons of his shirt, getting comfortable, before he slides into bed next to you with a tired sigh.

you wrap your arms around him, resting your head over his heart like you always do. "you never just randomly show up."

"i called."

"right before leaving."

"same thing."

"steve." you chastise him, place some annoyance in your voice. hes dodging.

steve sighs, knowing hes been caught. "my parents... theyre having some stupid dinner party tonight. needed to get away. they kept asking me about college and why i was still living at home. one women clutched her goddamn pearls."

"im sorry, honey." you hate that so much is expected of him, more than you know is fair. steve has his own job, he takes care of all the kids, he does the best he can with what hes given, and it infuriates you that his father refuses to see that.

"its whatever. figured id come here instead, see my girl."

my girl.

youre steves girl, and he came to you tonight.

"cute pajamas, by the way." steve adds absentmindedly. his fingers pluck at your spider-man shirt. its old and worn, the material thin now from years of use. "spidey looks good on you."

you blush at his words, innate reaction to being so loved by steve harrington, but you know hes also purposely changing he topic. he doesnt want to talk about what happened tonight. hes already opened up to you more than hes wanted to, so you go along with it.

"he does, doesnt he?" you hum, kissing steves ear. he hums at the sensation, arms tightening around you. hes relived youve seen through his ruse, though that doesnt stop you from reminding him of where he belongs. "welcome home, honey."

steves breath catches. his arms tighten even more. a wave of emotions wash over him. love, belonging, sanctity.

"you cant sleep in my bed, though." you break the silence, knowing steve has gotten lost in his thoughts. you want him to laugh, to see him smile. "the bean bag gets lonely at night."

it works. steve chuckles, kisses the tip of your nose. "well, we cant have that, now can we?"

#ask #anon #m speaks #come home blurb #m's writing #set in between seasons 3 and 4 !#richard harrington when i catch u

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mama2bears · 13 days

Text

Guardian In The Night - Part 2

Warnings: A few curse words maybe, use of pet name Sweetheart

Pairings: Tyler Owens/F. Reader

A/N: Thank you for the likes! Hope you enjoying the story. I am planning on one more chapter maybe to finish this one up.

Catch up here with Part 1

Tyler was awoken later that night by sirens, or what he thought was sirens. He peeked out the window, and saw blue lights going down your drive way.

He grabbed his cell phone quickly calling your number as he ran out to his truck, still wearing nothing but his boxers.

“Tyler?” you answer your phone and he could tell you were crying.

“What happened? Are you okay? I am on my way now.” he said in one breath.

“Someone tried to break in. They were trying to kick down the door then broke a window.” you couldn't stop the tears and he heard the tremble in your voice.

“I am pulling up to your house now. See you in a minute.”

He barley got the truck parked before jumping out and running over to you, wrapping his arms around you. You were giving a statement to the police officer.

“And you are?” the police officer looked at Tyler.

“I am her neighbor, Tyler Owens.” he said.

“Any idea who could have been around here?” the officer asked, addressing both of you.

“There was a creep at the bar tonight.” Tyler said. “We got into a little altercation when he put his hands on the lady. I followed her home and didn't see anyone following us. Other then that though. I don't know.”

“Ever have trouble out this way before?” he asked.

You shake your heard, “No, I have always felt safe here. Never have had anyone prowling around.”

The officer asked for a description of the guy from the bar, which you gave. They promised to keep a patrol car out this way and would be on the lookout. Other then that, there wasn't nothing else they could do.

Once the officers left, Tyler turned to you. “They broke the window?” he asked.

You nodded, showing him the front porch window smashed with a rock. “I had my daddy's gun and told them I was going to shoot and the police were on the way.” You were shaking, “They took off running.”

“I'll get some stuff in town and fix the window tomorrow.” Tyler told you, “In the mean team, come on over to my house. There's a guest bedroom you can sleep in for the rest of the night.”

“Okay, thank you.” You wipe the tears from your eyes as Tyler pulls you into a hug. “It'll be alright.” he whispered.

You lay your head on his chest, arms tightly wrapped around him, just taking in his scent. You felt safe and protected as Tyler lead you to his truck, opening the door.

Within a minute, you were over at his place and he was leading you up the stairs to the guest bedroom, “You want some tea or anything?” he asked.

“No..I am okay. Thank you.”

“Alright.” he smiled, “My room's right down the hall. Just yell if you need anything.” he backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The rest of the night, he spent sitting on the sofa, unable to go back to sleep. He felt that he needed to stay up, stay on guard.

* * * * *

Early that morning you awoke to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. You saw one of Tyler's shirts and sweatpants laid out on the chair next to your bed with a note, “Bathroom down the hall. Feel free to take a shower and put these on. I know we forgot to grab you some clothes last night. Thought you'd feel more comfortable in something other then your nightgown to wear. Breakfast will be ready for you.”

You smile, picking up the clothes and heading into the bathroom, turning on the hot water.

Tyler hears the water running upstairs, so he goes ahead and fixes you a plate of food and pours your coffee, setting the cream and sugar out on the table for you.

“Morning.” he smiles when you walk down the stairs, “Breakfast is ready.”

“Thank you. It smells delicious.” you smile.

“Still like cream and sugar in your coffee?” he asked.

“You remember, after all this time?”

“Of course I do. Used to be three creams and two sugars. I wasn't sure if it changed, so I just put the cream and sugar on the table.”

“It hasn't changed.” you smile.

“I am going to head into town and get some glass to fix that window for you. Want to ride along?”

“You don't need to fix it. I'll file a claim with the insurance and get someone out there.”

“It will take days if not weeks to get someone out there. It's no problem to fix it. I just need to take measurements, have them cut the glass and put it in. A few minutes I'll have it in.”

“Thank you, Tyler...for last night, for everything.”

“Anytime. That's what friends are for.” he looked at you, sitting at the kitchen table in his t shirt and sweats, sipping coffee and eating a breakfast he prepared for you. He couldn't help but to think if this might have been what every morning would have looked like if he had only returned your call five years ago. Maybe you would have had a little one or two running around the table.”

“Ever wonder what could have been?” he asked softly after a few moments.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“What if you didn't leave for school? What if I didn't leave to go chase storms? What if I wasn't an ass and I returned your call or even called you. What if we didn't go five years without seeing or speaking to each other.”

You only shook your head, “There's no way to know what could have been, so I just don't think about it. Life goes on.”

“Yeah...yeah it does.” he starts loading the dishwasher, then drives you back home. He makes you wait in the truck while he runs a check though the house and around the property, making sure no one was hanging around and nothing else had been broken into.

“I'll be back in about an hour or so and get that window fixed.” he said before leaving.

“It's my turn for lunch today. Since you made it yesterday, I'll have us some sandwiches ready when you come back. Maybe make some of my sweet tea.”

“Ah, I used to love that sweet tea! It was always the sweetest.” he smiled, “Alright...see you for lunch then, sweetheart.”

You smiled, that was the second time he had used 'sweetheart' with you since last night.

Going into the house, you double check all the doors to make sure they were locked and called your dog Jack into the house before sitting down to try and read a book. You try to concentrate on the words in front of you, but every little sound was making you look. You felt like someone was watching, but you knew no one was there. You felt alone, and for the first time that you could remember, you were actually scared to be alone.

You toss the book down and turn up some music before beginning to make lunch. You kept glancing out the window, watching for Tyler's truck to come speeding down the drive way. Two hours seemed to drag on forever, until finally, you heard the music blasting and soon the truck appeared in a cloud of dust.

Finally, you felt some relief. You felt safe again.

As promised, it only took Tyler a few minutes to get the new window put in.

You brought the sandwiches and tea out to the front porch and set them on the table between two rocking chairs. “Bathroom is right in the door, to the right if you want to wash up.” you tell him.

“Thanks. Those sandwiches look amazing.” he lingered in the doorway for a moment, everything in him wanted to kiss you, but he forced himself to go on into the bathroom and wash up.

Again, he thought about what could have been. Him fixing things around the house for you. You having lunch ready for him and you two sitting there on the front porch, making small talk and enjoying the view.

Tyler sat down, taking a sip of the tea you made and gave you a smile, “Still the sweetest tea ever.” he paused looking out over your front yard, towards his house, “There's a few cells about an hour west of here into Texas. The team and I are going to head out soon as I am done eating. Would you care to put the horses in the barn for me tonight? It might be late when I get home.”

“Yeah, sure.” you say, dread filling you as you thought about night.

“Thanks. You gonna be okay?” he asked.

“Yeah..fine.” you force a smile, “I am sure whoever it was last night is long gone.”

“Probably. You got my number, if you need anything, call me, okay?” he asked.

“Will do.” you pick up the plates and glasses and carry them into the house. Tyler waits a moment before standing and opening the door a bit, “I am heading out now. See you in the morning, I'll send the money I owe you to your Venmo before I leave.” he called.

“No problem. Whenever you can. I trust you. Be safe out there.” you call back.

“Bye.” He says and walks to his truck, 'I love you.' He whispers under his breath, taking one more look at the house before driving away.

* * * *

You get the kitchen cleaned up and then run over to Tyler's place to bring his horses into the barn and feed the dog. The sun was just starting to set when you made your way back home and you quickly ran into the house, slamming the door and locking it.

Your dog, Jack laid in middle of the living room floor looking at you as tried to catch your breath. Why were you terrified of the coming night? Surely there was no one out there. They were gone. There was nothing to fear...that's what you kept telling yourself.

Going over to the sofa, you pick up the phone, seeing a message from Tyler,

“We're going live on the YouTube channel in a few minutes...this one looks big...maybe you wanna check it out?” was the message along with a link to the Tornado Wranglers you tube.

You sigh, settling in and opening up the channel. The first thing you see is Tyler's truck in middle of the tornado, fireworks shooting off the back of the truck, lighting up the twister.

This was worse then bull riding...you thought. You continued watching as the team danced around the truck hooting and hollering once the tornado was over. Somehow, not feeling quite so alone as long as you were connected to the live feed. It was like you had a connection to someone else, and weren't sitting here alone with who knows what outside.

A thump outside made you jump and you ran to turn on the lights. Your dog only glanced up at you and didn't seem alarmed, but you were. You thought you heard footsteps and you run though the house turning on lights at each room you came too. Then you dart back to the living room, turning on the TV and turning it up louder. Maybe, if you had the TV on, whoever or whatever outside would think you weren't alone...and would leave.

You sat on the sofa trembling in fear until sleep finally won out.

* * * * *

It was almost 1 am when Tyler was approaching his drive way. He slowed as he passed you house, noticing all the lights were on. He quickly turned into the driveway and sped up to the house.

Picking up his phone, he texted, “You okay?”

The ding of your phone startled you awake, once more. You kept drifting in and out of sleep, every little noise you heard or thought you heard make you jump.

“Yeah. Where are you?” you sent him a message, noticing the time. Why was he texting you at 1 am?

“I was heading home and saw the lights on.” he answered, “Everything okay?” Tyler decided not to tell you that he was sitting right outside your door just yet.

“Yeah, I just thought I heard a noise. Guess it was nothing.” you replied.

Tyler scanned the area around your house, then picked up the flashlight he kept next to the driver's seat.

He called you instead of sending another message.

“Tyler?” you answer on the first ring.

“Hey, I am just outside of your house now. Where did you think you heard the noise at?” he asked, on full alert.

“I...I don't know. All over I guess. I can't sleep. Every time I fall asleep, something wakes me up. Just jitters probably.”

“I am going to take a look around just to be sure. Stay in the house with the doors locked. I'll let you know if I find anything.”

“Tyler..no.” you protest. “I am sure it's nothing.”

“I'll call you back in a few. Hang tight.” he hanged up and stepped out of the truck, shining his flashlight around. He made a full circle around the house, checking the windows, bushes and ground then moved on towards the barn, checking in every corner he could. Once he was satisfied there was nothing there, he walked back to the truck and called you.

“Everything okay?” you asked, peering out the window, your voice trembling a little.

“All clear. No signs of anything out here. Probably was the wind.” he paused, “Wanna come crash at my place again?”

You thought for a moment then answered, “No...I'll be okay. I am just really tired. Thank you, Ty. I feel safer now that you checked out things.”

“No problem. Good night, Sweetheart.” he smiled, getting back in the truck. He sat there for a few moments, watching as one by one each light in the house was turned out.

He leaned his seat back and did his best to get comfortable before dozing off. He wasn't about to return home if you were afraid. If you weren't going to come home with him, then he was going to stay out here in his truck, making sure you were safe.

* * * * *

The sun was just peeking up over the horizon when your dog started fussing to go out. “Alright, fine.” you mutter, stumbling out of the bed and to the door. You were shocked to open the door and see the red Dodge Ram sitting there in the drive.

“Tyler?” you called.

He jumped awake at the sound of your voice, quickly looking around, then smiling at you.

“Morning Sweetheart.” he smiled.

“What the hell are you doing sleeping in your truck in front of my house?” you scold him, hands on your hips.

“I didn't want to leave last night. You seemed worried and if you were hearing noises out here, I wanted to stay here and makes sure everything was okay.”

Your heart was filled with love. Actually, the love you had always felt for Tyler Owens never did go away. It always lingered, and maybe that's why you never got too serious with anyone. Your heart always belonged to him. Even if you would never be anything more then friends, the thought that this man would willingly sleep in his truck outside your house... just to make sure you were okay, made that love grow ever more.

“Well come on in and I'll make us some coffee. Want some pancakes for breakfast?” you offered.

“Sounds great.” he smiled, hoping from the truck, giving the dog a pet on the head before following you in. “Let me help with something.” he offered.

“You take the plates out if you want, after you wash up.”

“Yes, ma'am.” he grinned, washing his hands in the sink, “Where's the plates?” he asked? “Right side of sink, second cabinet, first shelf.” you direct him, pouring the pancake mix in the skillet.

“Wanna go for a ride today? We can load the horses up on the trailer and take them to one of the trails around. I am sure the dogs would like to come too.”

“No storms to chase today?” you asked, standing to clean up the dishes.

Tyler puts his hand on your arm, then stands. “Nope...sit back down. You cook, I clean.” he grinned, “And no, don't look like there's any storms until maybe next week. There might be some over in Oklahoma.” he stated, taking the dishes from you and loading them in the sink.

“You don't have to wash my dishes. My house, my dishes, I clean.”

“Don't work like that, Sweetheart. Not with me. I'll get these washed up and run home to tend to the horses. Maybe we can pack a lunch and have a picnic up at the state park...if you wanted to go. I could help out with any chores around here before we left.”

“That sounds great.” you smile. It sounded like the perfect date to be honest...but it wasn't a date. You both had already established that you were friends...best of friends, but friends all the same. “I don't have much here to do. A quick shower and feed the dog. I'll get us some sandwiches and chips put together for a picnic.”

“It's a date then. I'll pick you up in two hours.” Tyler said causally, but hoping that maybe...just maybe it could have been the date that he wanted to take you on fifteen years ago...back when he first carved your name in that old oak tree. He walked to the truck with a skip in his step. He knew he had some work to do, but maybe...just maybe, he could make up for his past mistakes.

#tyler owens fic #twisters fanfic #tyler owens x reader #twisters x reader #tyler owens x you #twisters fic #twisters fanfiction

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tremendum · 3 months

Text

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Me and the Devil; vi

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 11k LOL SORRY

summary: "Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike."

warnings: blood and gore, graphic descriptions of violence (reader and others), allusions to noncon/incest/pedophilia (Feyd Rautha and the Baron), referenced past abuse, blood kink, predator/prey kink, allusions to dubcon, knife kink, rough unprotected PiV, slapping, flashback to Feyd-Rautha warning maybe i should say, drinking and making dubious decisions... pls lmk if i left any out.

notes: hi to my friends here who are reading this series! thanks for the patience I know its been a little bit since i last updated but in return, this chapter is the longest yet with almost 11k words... i promise itll be worth it!! things are moving along!! new chapter on AO3 is also coming soon :) as always please feel invited to leave feedback, its how i get motivated! love u all i hope you enjoy!

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My Dearest Niece,

I received your letter with great joy, though I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend the Space Trade Referendum or the arraignment as planned. It is with love that I must share the news that I am set to give birth around that time, and I am unable to travel in my condition.

Please know that my absence does not diminish my support for you in any way. Though I cannot be there in person, I will be thinking of you and sending you all of my love and support from afar. Should things become dire, please remember that you are always welcome at House Ginaz. Our doors are open to you, and we will do whatever we can to assist you in any way possible.

Take care, my dear niece, and know that you are never alone.

With all my love and best wishes,

Lady Ginaz

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The planets look tiny and unimportant from so vastly far away.

You've decided, in the last few days, that you are not particularly keen on space travel; The ship that transports you and the members of House Atreides is incredibly massive and freezing cold, and the empty void of space that sits just to the right of your bed has been a present reminder of your mortality.

You stare silently out the expansive window that covers one whole wall of your chambers; out into the deep dark, your breath nearly fogging the plexiglass from your proximity. Your lip, chewed raw, has cracked down the middle and bleeds gently as you sigh, one hand toying with the sleeve of the dress you wear.

It is now only three days until the summit Referendum is drawn - four days, then, until your fate is charged against the rest of the Landsraad - when you could lose your planet and your name, your right to marry Paul, your claim to the Noble class.

"I want you to be prepared," Duke Leto had said last night at dinner, "Baron Harkonnen will be in attendance, and it is likely that either of his nephews will be with him."

Your eyes bore holes into the window before you, showcasing the wide expanse of space that stretches deeper than you could fathom. The thought of seeing Feyd-Rautha festers in your mind; a dangerous, hungry beast that cannot be quelled but with the taste of flesh and blood.

It is with a twist of your gut that you realize you want him to be there.

Ever fiber of your being screams with the desire to see him, to scream, to rip the skin off of his face. More fearfully, though: deep down inside you feel a longing, quiet and unsure, that sings in your heart. There were those days when Feyd would come to you late at night, muscles weary, and he would lay with you; nothing more than his head on your chest, his breaths labored, as he fought back the gruesome memories of his uncle's vile ways. He never particularly opened up about his experience completely - but in those moments, where you'd tenderly stroke his head and listen to his uneven breathing, he'd whisper evil truths to you; truths that prove even the worst person you know can be hurt by another.

You'd shared moments of tenderness with Feyd-Rautha, even though it is now completely unimaginable - warped and disintegrated by the cruelty of your stay, the horror of their culture. Fingers, dipping into a bowl of black paint to be smeared over his taught torso; Lips, smeared with the same color and pressed on his palms, where he'd clutch blades in the arena.

Small gifts; the bright red wax currants from your homeworld, smuggled when the Baron was none the wiser; a new dress in your wardrobe the day after he'd ripped one apart. Feyd's hands, surprisingly soft when he was placated - pressing against your waist, or smoothing over your cheeks. The same hands that hit your skin and the same lips that said horrible things to you; the teeth that broke skin, the blades that cut yours.

There was once a semblance of care between you, however skewed and twisted it was; Now, all that remains is hatred.

A knock at your door makes your brow furrow; the view from the plexiglass window, thick and slightly warped, reflects your surprised expression. You are not set to land on Kaitain for another few hours.

"Yes?" You call, voice sharp; you are unable to shake the anger that has grown in you the last few minutes reminiscing upon your relationship with Feyd-Rautha.

"My lady," Your handmaid calls - it is not Hestia, but a sweet maid who is younger and less inclined to speak freely. "Lord Paul wishes to speak with you."

You find yourself relieved that it is him who wishes to speak with you, not sure you have the energy to face anyone else now. You send her a small faux smile, hoping to ease her anxiety - wherever it may stem from - and nod, "Let him in, please."

A few moments before he walks in, steps quiet against the floor as you stare out into the vast darkness. It's been over a day since you've seen Paul - consciously, at least - and he looks quite different away from the winds of Caladan. His eyes are dark, framed by those long lashes, face more serious than usual; a feat you never thought possible. Much like yourself, he is dressed quite formally - curls tamed away from his face, dark dress uniform that has the brass sigil of Atreides on the collar.

You wetten your lips as he arrives next to you; you taste the tang of your own blood, familiar and warm, as you greet him. "Hello, Paul." You say, turning to nod at him.

You haven't spoken alone since the few nights ago in the garden; during meals and meetings upon your travels to Kaitain you've exchanged pleasantries and discussed options for trade routes and embargoes, but nothing more. It's a good thing you're seeing him now, you remind yourself - to become acquainted with being seen publicly by his side. You'll land in a few hours and stand together upon arrival; a flicker of anxiety flares within you.

I don't know why you pretend to know anything about me.

He says your name, and it gives you that odd feeling in your stomach at his timbre. His eyes don't hold yours for long after greeting you; silently, he resigns himself to watch out over the ocean of space with you. Perhaps it's the sense of foreboding that lingers over your head, or the desperation that crawls through your veins when it hits you; while unlikely, there is still a possibility that you could lose your engagement to Paul in a few days, and by extension, lose the only grasp at power you might have.

His breathing is low and slow; you match your own breaths subconsciously, unaware of the comfort you find in his presence. "Will you sit in with your father for the drawings?" You ask, unsure why he's chosen to visit you before it is time to land and chosen to remain mute; but you are curious to know what he is thinking. It will be more beneficial to be on each other's good side going into the next few days, and it's better to start with tortuous slow talk as to avoid the arguments that are bound to sprout up.

"Yes," He affirms, "But not for the trial; only House representatives may sit on the bench."

You hum, your hands clasping in front of you, smoothing over the rich texture of your dress. You're not sure if it's a relief or another anxiety that Paul will not be sitting front row at your arraignment.

The starlight reflects in his eyes as he stares at you, as if unsure what to do. A violent rush of emotion floods through you - you realize in this moment just how much you've come to rely on him; not in the way you had with Feyd-Rautha, where you'd had to rely on him out of necessity, but because he understands what you are feeling, if not just a tiny bit.

It's been a lonely many years, and to finally trust someone - with your life, your future - uncertainty blooms in your gut untastefully, but you are finally beginning to let yourself ignore it. You're learning to let things happen as they come; resistance holds more pain than fortune in some cases. It's much easier to ignore your troubles when Paul's standing beside you, watching the stars silently.

"I used to get nauseous during space travel." He says quietly; introspectively. The corner of your lip quirks; you haven't felt too good yourself since setting off on the ship. You debate even responding, but curiosity piques you as you turn to regard him.

"Have you traveled off-planet much?" You ask. You've only ever been to Sabberon, Giedi Prime, and Caladan; Though once, when you were just barely fifteen, you convinced your father to take you to one of the smaller moons under the jurisdiction of your House, but fell ill and had to stay home.

He shrugs with one shoulder in that peculiar way he does, shaking his head. "Not particularly, but I've gone with my father to High Councils and meetings on Kaitain."

You nod, considering. "Is it really just one big city?" You ask, willing to play a pleasant game of small talk. His eyes are locked on a particularly bright star in the distance. Paul's response is thoughtful, his expression distant as he recalls, "It's mostly Corrinth City," he muses, choosing his words carefully. "There's certainly more variety than just buildings, but the parks and vegetation they have lack authenticity."

A wistful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you remember the natural beauty of your home planet, impressed by Paul's fascination with different cultures and planets. "Fresh air." You mutter. He watches you as you turn back to the glass, toying with the necklace in your hands. "Giedi Prime is similar," you confide, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words. "Not a single part of nature there that wasn't synthesized."

It's quiet for a heavy moment in which you're thrust into black and white memories of thick air, an oppressive sun, unwelcoming glares and hisses.

There's a brief pause as he considers his next words, a thoughtful furrow appearing between his brows, "I can't imagine what it must have been like," he admits, his tone gentle. "But I admire your resilience."

It's not a particularly enticing subject; the thought of Feyd-Rautha has you seeing red, and the prospect of it happening in a setting like you're about to be in is sickening to you. You are tired of people repeatedly telling you that you're resilient or strong after being forced to survive such tragedies; there is nothing irrepressible about it when enduring is the only choice. You sigh, "Maybe one day people will stop telling me how strong I am."

He turns to look at you in your peripheral. "And what would you have them tell you instead?" He questions.

You find yourself interested in the small glint that reflects within his green stare; attention fully on you, you've never particularly noticed what Hestia had once said to be true: There is a side to Paul which enjoys a small bit of humor, however odd it may be. And perhaps you are starting to recognize a similar side within you.

A pang of longing washes over you suddenly; a selfish wish. To enjoy your youth while you still have it grasped within your hands, to relish in the attention of the handsome boy who stands before you - no matter who he is - and to bask in the wealth and prosperity of the house you're marrying in to. When you were eighteen, before leaving Sabberon, you would have felt overjoyed to have such a connection with your future husband. Even in the eclipse of your anxiety of the days to come, a resentment grows within you - towards everything, perhaps, that threw you into the midst of crimes you did not commit, to have to answer the call for your family after those who cast it killed them.

"I don't know, maybe something shallow and complementary for once? That they like my hair, or the dress that I'm wearing." Your voice is tired - less sardonic than usual, though, and you find a kind of warmth within it. You shrug, "What do people usually tell noble ladies like me?"

Paul stares at you, and for a moment you flounder under the scrutiny: have you just embarrassed yourself, for acting so childish? But then, who is to say you shouldn't act childish, when your young adulthood has been so tainted and tarnished?

His small grin eases your worries quickly and even stirs something deep within you; you've never seen his expression so relaxed, so pleased except in dreams; The thought sends your stomach flipping. "Well, I do like your hair." He says simply, shrugging.

You send him a flat glare, ignoring the heat in your face at the blunt compliment. This is certainly untread ground. At your expression, Paul shrugs, pointedly staring at your knife that lies untouched by your resting area. "To be fair, if someone tried to compliment your appearance I believe you'd carve their tongue out."

You scoff, "Just because you think I'm some monster-"

He doesn't let you go off on another tangent this time; he dares interrupt you instead, tilting his head as if to prove a point. "-And as for your dress," he added, his tone teasing as he takes the time to take in your appearance, "I like the color. But I'd say it pales in comparison to the woman wearing it."

You roll your eyes at the cliché, the way his grin looks innocent and boyish in the starlight, and you shake your head. Concealing your heated cheeks with a glare, you huff, "I should cut out your tongue for that. That was painful."

"I'm simply following your orders, my lady." He defends, hiding a small laugh. His own amused smile looks completely foreign and quite beautiful upon his features, you can't look away. "Shallow and complimentary."

"I didn't mean it like that." You mutter, crossing your arms. He turns towards you; the viridian of his uniform is striking against the matte architecture around you. "You seem not to know what you want." He shakes his head.

This is, for some reason, sobering.

You clear your throat, smile dying down as your thoughts spiral, concern growing the closer you close in on Kaitain.

You hadn't acted much like a noble lady, especially when you'd arrived; though Duncan does not hold it over you, the look on everyone's faces after they'd seen the claw marks you'd left him is fully ingrained into your memory. You'd lashed out, been cold and distant, unwelcoming. Even as Paul tries to navigate through the thick haze of both of your dreams, you've been difficult - but you've come to understand that his introspective nature, which you initially perceived as snootiness, is just introversion and a sharp mind.

"I may not act like it all the time," you say smally, unsure who you're admitting it to - him, or you - "but I am very grateful for your help. Your house has shown more kindness than I deserve. And I'm sorry for the times that I seem less than so."

Like in the garden the other day, you almost add; hesitating, you let the words hang above your head. It's a hard thing, to trust him with your future. Despite the uncertainty that looms over you both, there's a quiet reassurance in his presence - even as he takes a step back from the window and looks towards the hall.

He doesn't say anything, but the corners of his lips uptick in a gentle smile.

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The weather is warm and sunny when Paul steps out of the space port.

The House Atreides is received by members of the Imperial House; Paul's father pulls one of the men into a tight embrace for a moment as he watches, a smile growing on his father's face. Each one of them wears a mask, even you; Paul stares on at the people before him with his chin up, just as he was taught in his youth.

You stand next to him, his father on his right and his mother on the other side. The sun burns brightly today - it's about midday, and though he is exhausted from travel, Paul's gaze is immediately drawn to the grandeur of the cityscape; the bustling city that reflects in your hairpiece as you tilt your head in his peripheral.

There are towering spires of gleaming metal - gold, too - and glass that stretches towards the heavens, reflecting the fountains below them. The fountains adorn the main plaza where a convoy waits to shuttle the house to the lodgings - cascading waters create a soothing symphony amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.

The entire walk, you stand beside him, your back straight as ever; your eyes are wide with awe at the vibrant energy of the city. Banners and posters line the boulevards, boasting of the Trade referendum; convoys with tinted shields carry other Noble Houses to and fro under the watchful gaze of the large conference building that towers above the other theaters and galleries.

Paul never cared too much for a large city, preferring the sparce Cala City with its docks and canals.

The ride to the accommodations is filled with views, too: grand theaters and lush parks, each more impressive than the last - a gentle breeze, barely a cloud in the sky above all the skyscrapers, statues of previous Corrino Emperors watching down the boulevards with golden stares.

His parents murmur gently in front of him - you, however, stare out the window solemnly, your eyes stuck on the large building in the distance: The Imperial Opal Palace.

There is a worry between your brows that does not subside the entire trip towards the accommodations; to save your dignity, Paul pretends to not see it.

He is likewise stuck with a sense of apprehension for the days ahead, but doesn't dare voice his thoughts out loud. He's spoken with his father already about his concerns - The political landscape of the Landsraad is fraught with tension now more than ever; every decision made during the referendum will have far-reaching consequences. Not to mention, the very present chance that, after the arraignment, you may be stripped of your House's land and wealth - most of which was absorbed by the Harkonnens but some of which still remains on Sabberon.

Blinking away drooping eyelids, Paul rests his chin in his palm. Sleeping has become quite a chore as of late, and he's found that more often than not, each slumber leaves him less rested than before.

It's only thirty minutes until you're being received again at the gates of their lodgings; A plethora of people in uniform who bow to the members of House Atreides and their staff before shaking hands, pressing small kisses to you and his mother's knuckles. You look stricken with panic; though your face is completely schooled and placated, he can see in the tenseness of your neck and the way your eyes flicker sharply that you've found that feeling again - to run. He almost feels it, too.

Glancing sideways at you while staff directs everyone to their quarters, Paul feels his hand brush against yours; a fleeting accident, but the look you send him before entering your own quarters is less than chilly - he turns forward, leaving you without a word when a maid gestures him down a different hallway.

The days on Kaitain are long and filled with conferences, galas, and 'town halls' in which Paul takes diligent note of every single person, who they are, and what their stance is on the upcoming voting; His father insists on debriefing each evening and then again in the morning. There is little time for rest and even less time for speaking with the others.

Paul cannot help but miss the routine of life on Caladan; perhaps he's grown keen to the architecture that has held up his entire life - intricate windows and hexagonal wooden floorboards that creak every third left foot - but the streets and buildings of Corrinth City are much less pleasant and too gaudy for his taste.

The sun is more inviting on this planet; he decides the intermittent gloom that creeps into Castle Caladan might have put an even worse damper on the anticipatory moods of him and his House members.

During supper the second evening, his mother mentions the court building she'd accompanied you to with Thufir earlier in the day. You'd gone to provide your genetic data for the upcoming trial and arraignment, as well as sign the correct paperwork as final heir to your house. Paul has to suppress a look of exhaustion when you make a face at the thought of the courthouse.

"Was it bad?" His father asks you, a glint of amusement in his eye. You, as you often do, miss the jesting in his voice. "It was perfectly pleasant, I suppose, despite why we were there. I didn't quite like the golden dome, though."

They love their gold here, Paul thinks. Your eyes flicker to him after a split second and he blinks, somewhat startled by the sudden attention.

It's over as quick as it came, and dinner sullies on.

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You don't see much of Paul or Duke Leto in these days leading up to the Referendum; Attending the meetings and councils for the Great Council are forbidden for you. Deemed a person of interest, you are not allowed a seat at this conference; instead you stay back and try to ignore the impending doom growing in your gut.

The few days between your arrival and the actual Referendum are littered with pointless social gatherings; you observe as Paul attends every single meeting, gala, dinner, and everything in-between with a grace you never actually thought imaginable. He's up bright and early each morning, mumbling deeply at the breakfast table and rubbing the sleep from his eyes while reviewing subjects with his father. Besides the short visit to the court building to provide genetic data, there is nothing for you to do besides wait for the others to return and relay information to you, waiting to hear your thoughts.

There is a play you attend at the opera house that one of the Emperor's daughters is also in attendance to; this is a big buzz for the other Nobles, who you have grown to detest even more through the last few days. Lady Jessica keeps her stay with you when she can but attends several of her own more mysterious meetings off-campus; some that leave you wondering and doubting, spending hours of your day staring at the wall, trying to recover the full knowledge behind the Shortening of the Way.

Hestia was unable to come with you, and though you enjoy the company of your maid, she is quite jumpy around you, and stares with fear at the knife that sleeps beside you on your pillow. Despite being around many, you still feel alone - more than you have in a while. Perhaps that is why you fall asleep so early the night before the Referendum.

Perhaps that is why you dream what you dream.

Your feet slap bare against the cold floor of the halls; your breath comes, but it is ragged.

If Giedi Prime's atmosphere was capable of it, you'd imagine a harsh ice storm slamming against the echoing walls, berating and mocking your racing heart. Plumes of clouded breaths betraying you as you pant, holding a shaky hand to your lips as you turn your neck.

A distant shout; His voice rolls, feet sliding down the same hallway upon which you crouch; Your heart thunders in your chest, fear striking you as the dull heat in your stomach grows lower, aching in your core.

You should not feel excited for what is to come - but something dark in you dares Feyd-Rautha to come near you, to try and best you in combat; you, unlike the others he fights, are not drugged.

Despite your fear you're as sound as ever tonight, because it is your nameday. And you know what the Harkonnen grooms gift to their betrothed on their first nameday spent together - it is strapped to your waistband, sheathed and perfectly pristine.

After tonight, that blade will weep with blood.

A deep chuckle through the walls; you slide as quietly as possible from shadow to shadow, the billowy dress skirt you don providing no ease. Perhaps another day, you'd find this entire thing a complete waste of time - if Feyd-Rautha felt the need to exercise his control over you, he need not look further than, say, your living quarters, which were small and attached to his; the slaves they gave to serve you, with their tongues cut off; the complete regulation over anyone you come into contact with; the times you go to the arena and train or fight.

Every part of your life, he can control - except one.

One part of you, nestled deep down from the last few years on Sabberon with your mother holds onto the power of sex; a power of yours that Feyd-Rautha yields to quicker than anybody else.

It is not exactly true, either, to say that he takes things of that nature from you unwillingly; though he'd probably enjoy to anyways. Because the worst part of it all is that deep down - in the evenings, when the shadows glint over his brow bone, in the mornings, when you agree to paint him before he goes to the arena, when that smooth chuckle echoes in your chamber, when you take down yet another competitor in the arena and you meet his hungry eyes, or even when his hand wraps around your throat - you like it. You love that deep arousal, the simmering fear that bubbles into hunger.

You've begun to crave the darkness that spills out of him, relish in the feeling of him on your body far after he's gone.

Feyd-Rautha's appetite cannot be satiated; he is hungry for you, for warm skin against his, constantly. He has his Harpies, and you are thankful for that; without them you fear you'd have to kill him in his sleep.

Tonight is different, though - because you have just celebrated the first steps in a long-seated tradition of House Harkonnen and are now hiding in the depths of the stronghold, hiding away and hoping your betrothed cannot find you.

The walls creak, hallways groan; something disgustingly personified about some of the areas of Barony's Castle that sets your skin on edge. Fingers shakily skim over the leather hilt of your new blade - curved, silver and foreign, it is engraved with an odd language that you do not wish to read.

Suddenly, a chilling laugh echoes through the empty halls; back flying rigid, shivers wash over your spine. Freezing in your tracks, your eyes scan the darkness for any sign of movement, knowing he is much closer than you'd wished.

You've made it - from what you can tell - a long time running from Feyd; he grows impatient with every breath, every step - though you are not on your way towards either of your quarters, you wish you had been. There is a dull ache that has sprouted in your anticipation that you know Feyd-Rautha will be eager to satisfy your arousal after the ritual; though you are unsure if either of you will be in a state good enough for it.

You hear a whisper around a corner and shrink back further into the shadows of the room you've slid into. Across your vision lies a grand table, its legs a thick dark wood with a glossy finish in the moonlight.

And then, like a specter, his shadow slides up against the backlit hall - casting a tall frame over the glint on the table. You resist a gasp, your eyes pealing over the twin knives that hang dauntingly in his grasp. "Come out, little pet," he taunts, his voice a sinister whisper. "There's no use hiding. I can smell your fear."

He might be bluffing, but you're not sure; there is a part of you that has fear quaking through your bones and nearly sets your teeth to chatter - but a larger part of you is ravenous, hungry for a chance to get your hands on him.

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, heart pounding in your chest as you make a quick plan; you're not foolish enough to believe you are any match for Feyd-Rautha in your current state of panic - But still, you refuse to give in to despair; You might be able to outwit him for just a bit longer.

He draws closer, entering the room. The footsteps echo ominously in the silence and send a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a silent prayer to the void, you dart down a narrow corridor, footsteps quick and light as you seek refuge in the darkness. But Feyd-Rautha is relentless in his pursuit, his laughter echoing through the halls as he gives chase.

"You can run, little mouse," he calls, his voice filled with cruel amusement. "I'll still find you."

Desperate, you press yourself into the shadows, not daring to breath as you wait for him to pass; then, with a surge of courage, you spring from your hiding place, drawing your knife from its place at your hip.

For a brief moment, your blades clash; he, with a small light of shock in his dark eyes, and you with fury and anger. You're too weary from running for over an hour - he, on the other hand, had adopted a leisurely stroll through the castle he's known for years longer than yourself; barely winded, he attains the upper hand in moments.

You get several cuts in; he, per tradition, does not have a shield on and takes the pain with a glinting smirk.

You relish in the crimson that beads at the seam of each strike.

But you are too little, too late; in a sudden blur of motion, he is upon you, his frame crashing into yours with a force that sends you sprawling to the cold stone floor.

The impact is harsh; you squint your eyes to ward off the dizzy spell that accompanies the ache in your skull. For a moment, you lay there, stunned by the impact and mind reeling as you struggle to catch your breath. Feyd-Rautha follows you to the floor swiftly- you feel his weight pressing down on you like a jolt of electricity.

It's a sensation unlike anything you've ever experienced before; a heady mix of fear and desire, arousal and revulsion, all swirling together in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions that makes you scream out, exhausted and petrified. Feyd-Rautha's hands roam over your form, one blade still in his fist; lifting the tip of it, he traces the curve of your jawline gently. You gasp at the cold metal, the sweet sharpness slicing gently down your cheekbone. When the blood pebbles, his tongue is there to lap it up; a shaky sigh you admit into his ear lets him grunt and from there, he's all but forgotten the purpose of the hunt itself.

You, foolishly, drop your blade in a last-ditch hope he will too; instead he leans just so, dragging the curved knife over your neck and down between your breasts, where he begins seamlessly slicing your dress down the middle. You squirm under his thighs; not for discomfort - no, that would be too sane - but in desire, your body alight with a primal hunger you cannot deny.

Your mind rebels against the intrusion, screaming out; you should push him away, fight back against the overwhelming tide of desire threatening to consume you - but why shouldn't you? He will be your husband one day - there is nothing wrong about satisfying your desires with him. Perhaps it will distract him from his task.

You yield easily; into his lips, a whisper against sharpened black teeth and a hungry growl. Your body melts against his touch in a dizzying haze of surrender and desire - "Have you ever tried spice, my pet?" You think he asks. You shake your head, body trembling as the knife lowers across your waistline, nicking against the pair of underwear you don. Your hips buck with desire in response.

He hums, tongue sliding from your bleeding cheek to your chest; teeth marking you as he chooses to do every night; over the cacophony of yellows, blues, purples, blacks and browns. He tsks into your throat as he throws the blade to the ground; having cut open your dress you are nearly bare for him, spread out and eager on the stone floor. "When we go to Arrakis we will have it." He promises; an odd thing to remark but you can barely focus as he presses his length, hard and eager, to your heat.

Your eyes close, trying to visualize where your knife's gone, and where his are; because at some point, he will have to finish the job, and you will be prepared. A harsh twist of your budding nipple has your back arching, pain and pleasure flaring within you.

"Are you listening to me?" He growls. You yelp in pain, hand slapping him hard across the face. His eyes roll back as he inhales sharply; a twitch as he roll his hips against you. "I'd listen better if your cock were inside me." You dare say, fed up with waiting; you glare impatiently as he stares with pupils so wide they swallow your next words. A hand on your throat, pressing you into the ground with a snarl.

"When I am inside you, you tend to forget your own name." He grunts into your ear, hand fumbling with his own belt; with anticipation you move against him, hand snaking down to pull his length from his slacks.

"You caught me," You breathe into his ear, risking a reminder of the game you'd been set to play and how deliciously it'd been forgotten. "Claim your prize, na-Baron."

He does.

Unfortunately for you, you are not as lucky as you'd hoped after Feyd enters you. Indeed, minutes later when you are at the very apex of your own pleasure and he is just about to find his, he must come to his own senses; and that is very unfortunate for you.

Your legs tightening around his hips, back arched and bare chest pressed against the rough texture of his tunic, you barely feel his hand slip from your throat and upwards, to your left above your head. If you'd opened your eyes, you'd have seen the sadistic smirk upon his face when he thumbed the virgin blade, as your breaths of satisfaction fogged it up.

You feel it very presently when it happens.

You've hit your high; spasming, gasping, fingernails drawing blood in streaks across Feyd-Rautha's scarred back, yet you feel the blade as it pierces through your skin.

You freeze for a moment and your eyes widen; he's watching you, eyes fanatic and excited as he plunges the blade just between your ribs; just so, shallow enough to avoid serious injury but still enough to stake claim. You scream louder than you ever have before. He moans along with your curdled, cracking voice as he slows his thrusts, your legs spasming and arms pushing him away in shock and pain.

His spend leaks from you as you gasp, hands shaking as blood seeps from your torso, hatred coursing through your very veins. How dare he defile you, take your own virgin blade and stain it with your own crimson; you're luckier than most Harkonnen brides, perhaps if only for the fact that you knew of this ritual before it began, but you are filled with a newfound hate for your betrothed.

It doesn't make it any less real when the wound heals but the scar does not; the feeling of Feyd-Rautha's tongue lapping your blood never quite subsiding even years later.

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The day of the referendum finds Paul in an extremely dreary mood.

He is plagued by a horrific dream - one he knows is more of a memory - and cannot bring himself to eat breakfast, stuck avoiding your stare all morning as the members of House Atreides break fast together.

There is no time to speak with you about what you dreamt, but the fear that has clawed in the back of his mind - what is being set up for us? - is starting to wage a serious war within him.

The minutes tick by in droves as Paul's mind whirs; calculating constantly- your eyes, flashing to his every time he thinks about you, as if you know. You couldn't possibly know, though?

His mother stares at him intently, too; a gaze that he'd usually just find mildly concerning but has since grown with every day pushing towards the outcome of this trip.

His father discusses the plans drawn from the previous day with you and you're perceptive; insightful as you double-check Gurney and Thufir agree with your opinion on fruits exports at the end of summer harvest, should the redrawn routes go less in the House's favor. At one point, to Paul's surprise, you even coax a short laugh out of Gurney and the Duke.

But Paul is too consumed to tune in himself.

Chewing on his lip, he sticks a slice of melon between his teeth and chews half-heartedly, struck by another bout of confusion concerning the entangled dreams.

At first, he had considered the possibility that it was some manipulation by the Bene Gesserit. Something that was cast by the Reverend Mother and carried out by his mother - a subtle ploy to influence your relationship, to harden the bond that was indeed barely there at all. This can't be, though; Paul has grown up his entire life preparing to marry a complete stranger, as is requested by almost every noble person in the known universe - why, then, wouldn't they trust him to carry through with it, even if he had once believed you to be a spy? There is no dire need to ensure the marriage would happen - both of you have admitted your reluctance, but not once have you nor him declared to refuse the union.

But this last dream was a memory, he's sure; and he wasn't in it, which implies many things he wish not unpack presently. Not to mention that even his mother, with all her training and abilities, has never found a semblance of this kind of connection, through conscious or subconscious, with him.

A stroke of concern clouds his mind at this; might this be a manifestation of his Mentat abilities - some latent aspect of his training that allowed him to perceive the world in ways others couldn't? To see into your mind and, in turn, project his into yours?

Paul's eyes accidentally find yours again; he casts his gaze to his plate, recalling unpleasantly the blood-curdling scream you'd let out as that same knife you still carry was plunged into your ribs. A sense of unease stirs deep within his core.

Resolutely, there are other matters to attend to that are more time-sensitive. He and his father are informed that their transport has arrived, and so with tight nods and farewells, they leave for the final addendum.

Paul will have to ask Thufir about these concerns after the convention; But for now, Paul tucks the question away in the recesses of his mind, awaiting the opportunity to seek answers.

The chamber hums with anticipation as Paul sits attentively beside his father - looking over the crowd, he notes representatives from each of the Great Houses Major and Minor of the Landsraad, along with delegates from the Spacing Guild and stakeholders of the Imperium fill nearly every seat in the grand hall, their voices a low murmur punctuated by occasional bursts of conversation.

He can only imagine how it will feel for you tomorrow; each face staring down at you as you perch on a stool, subjected to answering for the family that never answered you. He bites his lip, recalling the trunk he'd requested be brought with them on the trip to Kaitain; perhaps you could use a distraction tonight from what's to come - or would that just make you more skittish, more ready to bite any hand near you?

He hopes you aren't agitated by what he'll offer this evening - don't you deserve to enjoy at least one part of this whole trip, even if the worst may come in the morning? Paul suppresses a groan, wondering when any of that ever started to really matter to him.

The lights are too bright and it makes his eyes squint; drawing, somewhat unintentionally, to an unpleasant splattering of black and paled, sickly skin just several rows away.

His spine straightens, stomach curdling.

"House Harkonnen." He whispers; his father hears it, though, and his eyes trail over to the grotesquely gigantic man who takes up two seats - the machine suspending him as he reposes with several others around him. Memories, faint and not his, flash in his mind and disgust trickles through his veins.

Paul flares in fury; His father sighs, "Paul, you mustn't start anything."

As if he was going to walk up and slit Baron Harkonnen's throat in the middle of the Referendum?

He grits his teeth, "I won't." He says calmly, eyes stinging from the stare he casts.

A deep-seated rage simmers within him even as the meeting begins; fueled by a sense of injustice and a fiercely warm burning in his chest when he thinks of you- left to fight alone for years. The Harkonnens represent everything he despises: cruelty, deceit, and a complete disregard for the well-being of others - his House's deepest enemy, the vilest of beings.

Paul maintains his composure and pays attention to the council, but an extremely violent hatred gnaws at him relentlessly. Is one of those heads glinting in the fluorescents Feyd-Rautha? Will you have to stare into his eyes as the charges are read to you tomorrow?

His fingers twitch, but he does not dare disrupt the meeting. Now is not the time for recklessness; Paul will bide his time, watching and waiting for the opportunity- with a small flicker, he casts down the side of him that wishes to see Feyd-Rautha's head on a spike.

Things do not get better after this.

One by one, the representatives from each House cast their votes, their voices ringing out in the vast hall. Paul watches on with a sinking feeling as House after House sides with the proposed changes; Not necessarily a sealed fate for the economy of House Atreides, but certainly putting it at risk should the Baron decide to leverage his holdings.

After a recess, the final votes are tallied; Imperial Mentats, their eyes flashing, approve of the calculations. The presiding official steps forward - Paul, too lost in his thoughts of your dream last night, had missed the man's name - and addresses the gathered delegates.

"Esteemed members of the Landsraad, members of the Imperium," he begins, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The new spacing trade routes have been decided."

Paul's mind whirls with possibilities as the herald of change continues, "The routes are set to transform, with a large expansion through the Epsilon Opiuchi system and the Campas system," the herald announces, "along with direct routes through the Core Worlds of the Imperium."

As the implications of the announcement sink in, Paul feels a bizarre wash of calm; If nothing changes within the proprieties of the surrounding systems, the new routes present opportunities for expansion and growth. On the other hand, they also represented a shift in the balance of power within the Imperium; the Spacing Guild is in the Harkonnen's palm and the risk of the Baron leveraging this against the rest of the Landsraad is concerning.

Paul pushes through his mental calculations to admit that despite the changes, there are still open routes they could take without relying solely on Spacing Guild transportation if the market becomes saturated. With a quick turn to his father, he makes eye contact with Gurney. "What do we do now?" Paul asks, voice barely a whisper. His father's jaw is tight.

"We adapt." He responds.

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You're in the beginning stages of panic when the request comes.

Having bathed and taken a good thirty minutes to stare at the wall, letting your insides eat you alive in apprehension of tomorrow, you're startled when your handmaid comes and informs you the Lord Paul Atreides has requested your presence in his chambers.

Your brows furrow; it's much too late for that, but you are certain you'll go crazy if you spend the evening on your own.

You barely blink, hair still drying as you slip on a night gown, following the woman down the hall. Your anxiety is gnawing on you from the inside; and how does Paul seem to find you in every moment, with any weakness you may find? Several times before he's taken the grace to check in on you, be it out of duty or order by his parents or simply his good will and empathy, you are caught off-guard each time and still keenly unsure how to react.

Supper this evening was an affair dampened by the recounting of the official Referendum outcome; an event which boasted very little confidence in your small group considering the possibility of Harkonnen route monopoly. You’d barely touched your food and Paul looked more trouble than he normally does (another feat, considering the constant analysis he seems to impose upon his mind at any moment). In fact, you do wish to speak more about it- and freely, if you dare say so, without the hawk ears of the Sisterhood nor the political influence of the others to weigh in. You'd like to hear what Paul really thinks about it.

When you do enter Paul's room, you stare, bewildered, at the sight before you.

It's certainly not what you expect.

The table, positioned just near the lit hearth, is gaudy and full of at least five wine bottles - two fine crystal glasses rest, untouched, next to them.

Paul sits, his expression somber, as he uncorks one of the bottles; with a pop, the rich aroma of the wine fills the air and you tilt your head, walking cautiously further.

This is certainly not what you'd expected.

"Celebrating with a few bottles of wine, are we?" you remark, tone laced with bitterness.

Paul looks up, meeting your gaze with resignation. "There's little else to do but drink." he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of irony. This is not necessarily true - this planet is full of parks, theaters, galleries, clubs, even. Paul seems uninterested in this tonight, though, and you barely got yourself over to his own chambers without disassociating for less than thirty seconds - there's not a chance the two of you will be venturing out into the Kaitain air tonight. You've got quite a big day ahead of you tomorrow.

You take the seat opposite him, body heavy with worry. "I suppose." you concede, fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you watch him pick up the bottle. "Your hard work's all but finished."

He doesn't respond to the jab and it makes you feel even worse.

"You told me once that you've never tried wine." He states simply, as if you weren't teetering on the edge of the worst day of your life, "I thought you'd like to taste." He says, tilting the bottle into your glass; the liquid flows viscously, a deep maroon color that reminds you of blood. You suppress the warmth that blows through your chest at this, surprised he remembers those off-handed few sentences you exchanged so many moons ago.

"They taste mostly the same to me, but I prefer red." His eyes don't leave the crystal, watching as it stains with the dark color.

You're so shocked - bewildered - and exhausted that you can only grin; a true, unimbued smile, because you do not want to think about what will happen tomorrow, and perhaps Paul can see that.

Looking at the glass, you bite your lip: you should have just stayed in your quarters and gone to sleep; But you don't necessarily want to be alone, either.

You wait until he's filled his own glass and then clink the rim of yours to his; watching as he lifts the liquid to his lips. His eyes flicker, lifting a brow when he sees you hesitating. "It's not poison." He mutters dryly. You sigh, taking a sip yourself as you avert your eyes.

It's bitter, but not in an unpleasant way - your gums tingle slightly, the smell of oak and a deep hint of pitted fruits. Cherries, plums, dark licorice... It almost tingles on your tongue. Spicy, deep.

You're pleasantly surprised as you swallow, making a noise of content. It feels warm all the way down and leaves a peculiar taste on your tongue after.

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Paul's lips are stained a reddish color by the end of the third glass.

Things seemed to slip from your grasp by the tasting of the second bottle - a Zincal, from the Southern Continent of Caladan. It was much more robust, and though Paul doesn't know much about wine he has studied his homeplanet's culture enough to impress any guest who visits - and talks you through each tasting as if he were a professor. It almost makes you want to laugh - the first sign that you are not completely your sane self.

The second sign is the low simmering heat that begins to grow the second that Paul leans back in his seat and stretches his shoulders back; the uniform from earlier discarded he is still in his under-tunic, a white number that was more unbuttoned than when you'd arrived earlier in the night.

His chest and exposed throat, gleaming and flushed from the heat of the room and the tannins of the wine, glisten gently. Your heart pounds hard in your throat; is this what being intoxicated feels like?

You're sure your lips are just as purple-stained as Paul's, but your mind is too fuzzy to consider this at all. You feel warm, surely the fire in the hearth is too high - your cheeks are on fire and your mind is more at ease and foggy than you've even felt in your dreams.

There's that distinct feeling again that you'd had days ago on board the ship before landing at Kaitain; like yourself, but more careless, free. Content, despite the doom that rumbles in the near distance.

On the fourth tasting - a bubbly white wine that is crisper than snow and delicate as lace - you feel yourself loosen, opening to Paul and letting words flow freer than you'd ever found before; he listens with gentle, large eyes as you sprawl on the floor, having taken the liberty to get more comfortable in his chambers.

"I met the Harkonnens when I was young." You explain, leaning back to stare at Paul through your lashes. "My mother was instructed to have me mate with Feyd-Rautha when I came of age, so we saw each other twice before I was sent there. Once at ten, then at fourteen."

There is a noise of disgust from the bedpost.

Paul lays, un-chivalrously sprawled on his bed; head upside-down, his dark curls hanging in tendrils towards the floor. His features, handsome and sharp, look most foreign upside-down, even as you sit on the rug, toying with the strings that have come loose with time.

His eyes are heavy with the effects of the wine, the room smells like cinnamon and cherries. You stifle a laugh at his noise and even more so at the look upon his face at your choice of words. Your hands move over your face but you don't really know if you have control over them, a feeling of lost control sending nothing but amusement to your muddled brain.

"It was a Bene Gesserit match?" He asks blurrily, but you know he knows the answer. You laugh - had you been slightly less inebriated, you'd never dare let out such a girlish thing, especially in his presence, but you can't help it.

You swipe hair away from your eyes. "Of course, it was." You sigh, leaning back to support yourself on your palms, head tilted sideways; His brows are incredibly full and move oddly, as if he's trying to make you laugh again. "As is ours."

It's a disquieting thought - one that sends you reeling through your drunk mind, trying to recall the Kwisatz Haderach and all you've learned about it. He seems to be lost in thought, too- his brows have settled low upon his lids in a calculating look, his hands laying neatly folded over his chest.

His face is red; perhaps from the hearth, or the wine, or from laying with the blood rushing to his head - it occurs to you with a bitter jealousy that he looks pretty even like this.

"It's late." You observe, watching the clock as it chimes; Paul hums in agreement, lazily tilting his glass until the remnants drop onto his tongue. You watch on with a fuzzy, aimless interest.

You should return to your bed- you'll be up in the morning early to be escorted to court.

A pang of fear and resistance courses through you.

You don't want this evening to end - or, you don't want the morning to begin. Plus, leaving Paul's quarters would require fighting to walk all the way back without rousing anybody else and settling in to bed on your own. And you quite like the blissful ignorance the wine has given you; an excuse to just be you for a night, not the disgraced and fallen noble woman, not the betrothed-twice and likely never again.

You sigh. "I don't enjoy sleeping like I used to." You hum, finishing your own glass and reaching for the half-empty bottle beside you. Your voice is syrupy and sweeter than usual, and it floats warmly in the room.

Paul watches your motions with slight amusement, eyes widening microscopically when you try to gnaw off the cork with your teeth. You suppose you’ll be embarrassed by this in the morning.

"I can't imagine why that could be." He muses, voice barely more than a murmur. You like his voice, you realize; it's quiet, deep, but contemplative.

You shrug, finally plying off the cork, blinking in surprise when your vision shifts with the movement. The vertigo reminds you of the feelings you find in those more pleasant dreams, the ones with Paul; the ticklish feeling of lips fluttering around your throat, a playful nip of teeth against your breast, the tight grip of hands upon your hips, pinning them down - that must be the reason for the words to fall from your lips so carelessly. "Some of my dreams I don't mind." Your words almost echo in the chamber, the fire crackling and spitting in the silence that follows.

This captures his attention, his eyes snapping to your frame quick; you ignore the gaze, focusing intently on pouring yourself another helping of the wine. This one, the fifth bottle, is more sweet - dessert wine, Paul had explained.

He doesn't respond to your words, but his lips part in a soft exhalation of breath.

You offer the bottle to him and numbly he nods, as if still reeling from your admission; you try to ignore the heat in your cheeks at such a profession, the weight of the words occurring to you only after you've said them.

Perhaps due to your state, you finally let yourself consider the thought that's been actively repressed for days: If he's been dreaming similar things as you, does that mean he dreams of... all of it? How does he feel about that?

Your eyes flicker to his hands, how deftly they move as he cracks a few knuckles - the vein that trickles down his arm, the creamy smooth skin that glows against the fire light. Does he see you similarly when he observes you in waking hours? Does he, in turn, dream about your sighs, about how it may feel to run his fingers through your hair as you lie on that white sheet in the middle of nowhere, to touch your heat and feel your desire?

You’re unsure what flares hot in your stomach at the concept; you can’t find it in you to care.

I don’t mind some of my dreams either.

The voice is low, no more than a distant rumble of thunder in your mind, a decisive declaration; with a fuzzy stare you register that his lips don’t even move.

Your blink is syrupy as you watch him with intrigue, staring under lidded lashes.

You can't be bothered to move more than a crawl; your head pounds, but there is a warmth within you that spreads like wildfire in the summer when you move.

He watches you with a stare that sends a shiver of intrigue over you- a predator frozen, watching prey creep forward. It is not what you expect; you expect wide eyes or maybe a blush - his cheeks are already pink, though, and there is something dark and hungry below his hazy, inebriated stare.

"You got me drunk," You say suddenly, blinking down at him. He stares back at you, lips parting - lips that are plush, pink, stained with the red from the very wine he'd brought all the way from Caladan

"Did I?” he asks, skeptical as he watches you upside down. You nod but it feels sloppy. Truthfully, you've never been safe enough to be drunk before, but you feel more safe than you’ve been in a long time here, on this strange planet, with this strange boy.

He shakes his head, "I told you to slow down," He furrows his eyebrows like he always does, but it looks very peculiar from where you sit before him, "-you're the one who took it as a challenge instead of a warning."

You blink, eyelashes slow and syrupy; shaking your head, you shrug. He’s right, he did encourage you to slow down, and you did take it as a challenge. You can't help it.

His lips are glossy - bitten and swollen, "I had to try them all," You say breathlessly, face hot, "-who knows if I'll be able to afford it after this week." At your words, he scoffs gently; you can smell the wine on his breath as it hits your cheeks.

"My wealth will be yours in just a few weeks. As will my name." He argues, eyes cast onto yours. After all this time, you're still hit with the surrealness of it all when it's said out loud.

You wonder, briefly, how odd you must look from his perspective; perched back on your shins, one hand in your lap and the other holding the bottle you'd intended to give to him.

"If you want wine for every meal, you can have it." He promises; you imagine he'd intended for it to come out teasing, but it comes out deeper. "Whatever you want." He adds.

It tugs your heart in a way that makes your hair stand on end; you know what you'd do if your legs weren't cemented to the ground, if your lips weren't gravitating towards his own. You'd probably run, against your better judgement.

Or, perhaps that would be the better judgement.

Whatever you want.

"I don't know what I want." You admit, your lips parting as you stare at his beautiful, angled jaw; it clenches under your scrutiny before he whispers softly, "That's okay."

There is a magnetism that pulls you to him like a moth seeking a warm flame.

Your hand finds itself on his skin before you can think about it. Soft, slightly ingrained with the beginnings of stubble; over his jaw your thumb strokes, feeling the sharp edges that lie below the soft, porcelain skin. To your surprise, he lets you touch him, as if both of you are pulled by some strong force towards the other and cannot stop.

"Is it?" You ask, a whisper under the flickering light of the hearth. “You made it seem like a flaw.” you muse, watching in intent fixation as those very lips move under your finger’s manipulation.

His lips part when your thumb runs over the bottom one, tugging it down curiously.

“It’s not a flaw,” he mutters in a gentle motion against your thumb; a sensation that is as foreign as it is exciting. The breath that leaves him hits your own lips. When did you lean closer? When did he?

His eyes are sparkling from this angle and they focus on your lips. You almost voice your doubt, but there is something that is pulling you to him- you are tired of talking, and his face is so incredibly inviting in the firelight.

When your lips press to his, you have to angle your face; the plush bottom lip against your top one feels odd, foreign.

It’s chaste, short as you pull your head away slightly. Heat chases you as you back away, blinking away your surprise; he doesn’t let you get too far though, as his cold fingers slide around your neck to stop you from pulling away.

Your stomach flutters as he tugs you back against him with fervor; as if this moment was one of forbidden lovers embracing for the very last time.

Your hands cup his jaw and his hair tickles the goosebumps that run over the exposed flesh of your chest.

There’s nothing in the room but a heavy syrupy scent- did you knock over the dessert wine? Your lips slide against Paul’s and you’re surrounded by his smell, the feeling of his fingers threading through your hair.His lips are soft as he lets out a sigh in your mouth, tongue prodding your lip gently. Your sharp inhale keens your chest forward, coaxing your lips apart as he presses forward into you.

Everything slides off-kilter. Time starts to melt and warp with every slight movement you make, a low pounding in your head as you tilt your head to taste more of Paul.

The clock in the corner ticks, but the metronome is skewed and it starts to beat with your heart.

Pulling away for a moment, you let yourself gather a breath; His fingers are cold but you presently notice how warm the rest of him is- cheeks, jaw, shoulders, everything.

He’s moved upright on his mattress now; sitting up, he towers over where you perch on your knees, staring up at him with glossy eyes. A starved transgressant begging for salvation from the solemn preacher before you.

A hand soothes over your hair. Between his knees, your hands settle on his thighs; a heat rolls over in you and a yearning ignites. Paul stares down at you, eyes darkened and glossed over with the sheen of alcohol as he leans down, hand cupping your jaw.

What are we doing?

You think it gently, bewildered and surprised; but Paul stops just as his lips brush yours again. He gives you a look that sets unease- had you said that out loud?

It’s over as quick as it happens- Paul’s mouth has found purchase over your own and has taken the liberty of pushing against the plushness of your bottom lip.

Something flutters in your stomach; A need for more. His tongue slides against the seam of your lips with a drag of heat and you open for him, pressing further as your hands slide up and over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under your palms.

But even amidst the dizzying rush of sensations, you feel when Paul breaks the kiss, his warm breath lingering against your lips. The room is at a standstill, but you feel as if you're spinning.

“You should probably go to bed,” his words are barely audible over the pounding of your heart, the beating in your head. They flutter like the wings of an insect over your lips.

For a brief moment, clarity pierces through the haze of desire, and a flush of embarrassment washes over you; The arraignment tomorrow, the dreams, the Bene Gesserit, House Harkonnen - all of it hits you in a dizzy spell and you break away from Paul's grasp suddenly, eyes wide.

Trying to regain your composure you nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his low-lidded, slow gaze. You find your footing as you rise from the floor and to your chagrin, Paul follows; ever chivalrous.

"I should." You say quietly, righting your hair and dress awkwardly. "I'm sorry I kept you up so late." You grasp for anywhere to hold on to, lest you fall into the chasm that has opened below you. He shakes his head, "It was me who kept you up." He mumbles; laced with sleep and something else.

He fumbles to open the chamber door, but you're grateful he attempted it before your shaking fingers did. The walk back across the hall to your quarters is shorter than you remember, thankfully; only a few hiccups from you and a few heavy breaths from him before you're standing in front of the large door, a settling of doom clouding around you like a bad thunderhead.

His hand, having never dared touch you so boldly before tonight, cups your arm gently. Staring at it, your eyes skip over the blurry figure before you; you swear, there's something of a halo lighting up his curls. "It'll be over quick, and we can go home." He says. There's no need to elaborate what he's speaking of; he always knows what you're thinking.

Perhaps you're too tired to conceal your worries, or you've just finally found yourself capable of admitting it to him. "I'm scared." You mumble.

His eyes are on your lips - he doesn't kiss you again, but you wonder faintly if he wants to. You'd like him to, you realize. It's a disquieting thought, borne from weeks of tense conversation, long glances, and arguments. How odd to miss the lips of a near stranger.

He nods shortly, "I know." He says, and it does nothing to quell the raging sea of despair that has resided from its previous numbness. Wine and handsome men can only do so much, you suppose. "I'm going to be there tomorrow." He says, voice low and quiet, still bleeding together from the crimson wine you'd poured. "You may not see me, but I'll be there."

You can only nod, knowing that tears will come soon; you will be caught dead before Paul sees you cry. You bid him good-night and then lie on your mattress, tears leaking emotionlessly through the cracks in your lashes.

You are enveloped in fear, worry, hate; numb to whatever just happened in Paul’s chambers and even more numb to what is to come in the morning.

You're not sure how, but you sleep through the night without a single dream.

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#paul atreides x reader smut #paul atreides smut #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x you #paul x reader #dune smut #dune fanfiction

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hyunfilms · 10 months

Text

blue side of the sky (lmh) | fourteen.

♡ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: waking up after 3 months with no recollection of your past, your friends do what they can to help you remember. except, they omit an important piece to the puzzle - afraid you would remember the heartbreak and hurt all over again.

—pairing: lee know x f. reader

—genre: (18+) exes to lovers, bestfriends to lovers au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 4.4k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, cuddles, small, sweet kisses, cute gestures of affection, whatever happens later in the chapter - it's really not what it looks like (aka minho means it), minsung heart to heart, flashback scenes - one that is cute, the other that is a bit more angry and full of emotion (some pushing involved), jisung is trying hard to be an equal middle person between his bestfriends and respect boundaries, pls prepare because the next update will not be fun ... 😅

minho: get to work okay?

you: yes!

minho: stopping by?

you: maybe.. ☺️

minho: 🥺

minho: i'm literally just down the street, why is it a 'maybe?'

minho: i never hear chan or seungmin get 'maybe's'

minho: san too......

you: oh please, how would you know!

you: chan and seungmin are my favorites, remember? same thing with san 😉

minho: bye 😞

You giggle to yourself as you tuck your phone in your pocket, knowing Minho is probably sulking after the teasing you've done. A little teasing shouldn't hurt. Though, it doesn't change the fact that you do plan on visiting him during your break and it doesn't change the fact that you really, really miss him already.

And he really, really misses you, too.

☁︎ FLASHBACK | THE OTHER NIGHT

"Y/N?" You hear your name being called, followed by a few soft knocks. You get up from the easel, halting the current watercolor painting you were working on. When you pop your head out of the room, you see Minho looking through the small windows on your door— a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Hi." You smile up at him. "What're you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see you." You step aside to let him in, bits of the cold, night air rushing in just before you shut the door close.

"Didn't you have class?" He nods, pushing the hood down from his head.

"Yeah, took a quick shower then came here." He chuckles.

"How was it?"

"Good. Tiring." He says, sitting on the edge of your bed when you return to the easel. "What're you working on?"

"Trying to paint one of the flowers from the conservatory." You giggle. "What's your house up to?"

"Nothing. When I left, Ji and Seungmin were playing this board game while Chan was just watching his show in the living room."

"I don't think I'm any better company." You laugh.

"You are."

"Did you teach today, or did Hyunjin teach?"

"Hyunjin. I had to help him figure out his last 8 count though because he didn't know how to close out the piece." You nod as you continue to paint the last strip of pink onto the canvas, setting your brush down off to the side before getting up to keep Minho company.

"Did you eat?"

"Kinda yeah, but I'm not hungry."

"You sure?" Minho nods, pulling you in between his legs. He gently wraps his arms around you and lays his head against your stomach. Minho doesn't say anything, but you can feel him relaxing in your hold— your arms wrapped around him while your hand massages the back of his head. "You okay?"

"Mhm." He mumbles. "I just really missed you." You're not sure if Minho is speaking in the moment, because his actions, the way he doesn't want to let you go, says he's speaking about the past. How he's been feeling. How he's been yearning for you just as you have for him. It's more than a simple 'i miss you.'

"I missed you, too." He looks up at you, resting his chin against your stomach. "Come, let's go and watch something, yeah?" You unwrap his arms from around your waist, slipping your hand into his to lead the way. Before you can walk further into the living room, Minho pulls you back. Your body is pressed flush against his, his hands on your hips and giving them a gentle squeeze. "What?" You shyly giggle.

"Nothing, I like looking at you, remember?" He breaks his silence, a small laugh falling from his lips. He edges forward to kiss you on the forehead, before moving down to your lips; hands squeezing at your hips again to show you how much he loves kissing you.

How much he adores you.

You only smile at him before leading the way to the couch, where Minho plops onto his side and makes some room for you to lay in front of him. There's a debate about which movie is going up, but Minho quickly waves the white flag and surrenders the decision to you. He doesn't mind watching Hocus Pocus even though it isn't remotely close to Halloween yet, he just wants to be here with you;

Holding you, keeping you close.

Feeling your warmth against him.

Minho is surprised that you even make it past halfway into the movie before you fall asleep. He chuckles to himself when he hears your soft snores amongst the Hocus Pocus background noise. He presses a few kisses to the back of your head that wakes you up for a few seconds— only for you to shift in your position and face him.

"Baby, do you want to sleep in your bed?" He whispers, hoping you're still awake enough to hear him. "I can go and let you sleep."

"No." You simply mutter against him, shifting closer to his body as if there was no way you'd separate from him at this moment.

"Okay." Is all he says before he's silently chuckling again, wrapping an arm around you to keep you safe. Because this time, he will. He can't help but press a few more feathery kisses across your face, making sure to give a little more love to your scars.

He missed you.

Really, really missed you.

And this time, he'll keep you safe. He'll protect you, choose you.

Yours.

☁︎ END

"What's the cute giggle fit for?" Mrs. Pak smiles at you and softly nudges your arm, making you shake your head.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just, happy?" You respond in a questioning tone, followed by another small giggle.

"Happy looks good on you, sweetheart." Mrs. Pak chuckles as she helps you get a big bouquet together. "Is it San?"

"San." You repeat his name. "Right, I forgot to tell you about that." You give her a small toothless smile. "Just friends."

"You talked to him?"

"I did. He was very sweet about it."

"Good. How did you do it? Tell me all about that evening."

"It was nice! He took me to that famous unagi restaurant and Peace Piece. Then, he took me to the movies for the Studio Ghibli event. We watched Spirited Away."

"That sounds like a lovely evening."

"It was." You look at her. "He took me to the beach to talk about everything, but he was very understanding about it when I told him I just wanted to stay friends. I told him I thought we worked well this way."

"It's good he was understanding. Says alot about his character and how much he respects you."

"He's truly a great friend. It hasn't been long, but San has done a lot to help me feel comfortable, especially in my own skin."

"That's good." She hands you some ribbons. "How about the one you have feelings for?" You giggle.

"The one that I have feelings for? Hm, he's one of my bestfriends." You fiddle with the ribbon and tie it nicely around the tissue paper to keep the bouquet secured. "He actually owns that café down the street. Sunday Morning."

"Oh, he does? I've gone there before, it's a nice café."

"Mm, yeah. Might pay him a little visit later." You smile at her.

"What's his name?"

"Minho. Me and Jisung met him in high school." She nods. "I'm not really sure how to explain this, but I've always felt something for Minho after I woke up. I feel connected to him on a deeper level—" You pause just as you set the bouquet aside. "Attached, almost."

"Do you guys have history?" You shrug.

"I think so. Wish I could remember. But, Minho said he'd tell me in time. He didn't wanna rush it because he didn't wanna overwhelm me." Mrs. Pak gives you a toothless smile. "I trust him. I know he'll tell me when the time is right."

"That's good. He wants to tell you, I'm sure. But, he's still thinking about you and helping you get comfortable."

"I'm just scared."

"Why scared?"

"I.. I don't know. I don't really know what to expect."

"That's okay. I'm sure he'll tell you, just like you said. When the time is right." You nod.

"Yeah." You simply agree before grabbing a vase to fix another bouquet. "I don't know how else to say it, really. But, I like him. A lot. We.." You let out a small sigh. "Things happened between us already over the past few days. It escalated so quickly? But, I don't think any of this is weird. These aren't unfamiliar feelings."

"Sometimes, the heart just knows."

"What if our history isn't the greatest?"

"Well, that's okay. We are only human, and we aren't perfect." Mrs. Pak softly says next to you. "It's up to you how you'd like to take it, but I would take it as something that can help you grow and learn. We are always learning, and there are always ways to improve. It's never a linear path, my dear." You sigh and nod, eyes darting to the customers that just walked in.

"True."

"Do I get to meet this young man?" You chuckle just as you walk away from the front, looking over your shoulder with a small smile.

"Of course. I'd love for you to meet him and my friends—" At this moment, just as you're about to greet the customers that had walked in, another body comes through the front door; eyes landing right onto you just as you shift your attention to them.

"Minho." He smiles when he hears his name slip from your lips, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear shyly.

"Hey." He steps in and patiently waits for you to tend to the customers. You walk over in the cutest outfit, with the brightest smile on your face, and Minho can't help but melt.

"What're you doing here, sir?" You joke and he holds up a cold drink and a pastry bag.

"Since you didn't wanna visit, I thought I'd come make the walk." He hands you the drink and food. "Also wanna make sure you're eating."

"I am, or.. I will." You chuckle. "Once I get a little break." You turn to look at Mrs. Pak as she's ringing up a customer, a small smirk planted on her face. "Come." You loosely lace your fingers with his, dragging him over to Mrs. Pak for a quick little meet-and-greet. "Speaking of Minho."

"Speaking of Minho? What does that mean?" He asks, and you simply laugh it off.

"Mrs. Pak, Minho. Minho, Mrs. Pak."

"Oh, he's a handsome fella." Minho blushes, shyly acknowledging her from your side. "You know how to pick 'em." She whispers and teases you. "It's nice to finally meet you. I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Only good things I hope." He looks at you and you simply shrug. "I hope I'm not being a bother, just wanted to make sure she had something to eat." Minho scratches at his temple. "I'm sorry I didn't bring another for you, Mrs. Pak."

"It's okay." She smiles and nods at you. "Go take your break, I'll be here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, go. It's time anyway."

"I'll be right back." You reassure her even though you know she isn't looking for it. You look up at Minho and he gives her another small smile and a shy wave, rubbing his grubby hands against his jeans when he gives her one last goodbye.

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Pak."

"You too, handsome!"

"Please." You mutter just as you turn on your heel to walk out the door and Minho scoffs.

"Wow, someone's in a mood today."

"No." You giggle. "You didn't have to drop by, I was going to come." You start walking towards the nearest bench until you feel Minho's hand gently wrap around your wrist and pull you back towards him.

"Were you?" He pulls you close to him, hands slowly wrapping around your waist. "Cause it almost seemed like you were gonna go visit San instead." You laugh.

"Just a joke." You playfully hit him. "Besides, he's still my friend, you know? You're gonna have to get used to San." Minho purses his lips into a tight smile.

"Right." His slight jealousy leaves when he feels your lips against his cheeks, your eyes falling back onto his— glistening like they hold the entire universe in those orbs.

"But anyways, I was going to visit. Because I kinda sorta missed you?" You say so innocently, so shyly, all doe-eyed and pure.

"I missed you, too." Minho taps the tip of your nose before giving you a chaste kiss to the forehead. He laces his fingers with yours, finally bringing you over to the bench to sit and let you eat.

"What did you make today?" You chuckle when you peek into the pastry bag, finding a thick, fluffy, slice of coffee cake. "Coffee cake?" You look at him and sip on your iced vanilla latté.

"Mhm."

"You spoil me too much."

"I don't, not enough at least." You giggle.

"Shop busy?" Minho shrugs.

"Hm, it's been on and off. The usual. You?"

"Mm, nothing too overwhelming."

"That's good." You both sit for awhile, enjoying the the fresh air, the perfect breeze. Minho has his arm resting on the bench behind you, finger gently drawing shapes on your arm. "You've been feeling okay, right?"

"Mhm. I feel great." You nod and look at him. "It's been nice being able to help Mrs. Pak out."

"She seems very sweet."

"She is." You chuckle.

"You sure we can't hang out tonight?" Minho brushes the hair away from your face.

"Nope. I promised my uncle I'd have a movie night with him. It's the first night he doesn't really have something to urgently work on. Says he can finally sit back and relax for a bit." You chuckle.

"That's good. He deserves some rest." You nod, popping another piece of the coffee cake into your mouth.

"Yeah, he does. Maybe we can hang out tomorrow after pottery class?"

"Here we go again with the maybe's." He pouts, making you laugh.

"I'm sorry. We will, okay? I'll come by and wait for you."

"You sure?" You nod.

"Positive." You check your phone and sip the vanilla latté a little more, letting out a small sigh. "I should probably get back in there. Thank you for my coffee cake and drink." You stand and do a little stretch, Minho following suit.

"Of course. Just needed to make sure you were okay."

"I am, especially now." You smile. "Thanks again. I'll call you later?"

"Okay, sounds good." Minho cups your cheeks and gently caresses the surface before pulling you into a quick, but sweet kiss. "Have a good rest of your shift, okay?" He continues to look you in the eye and caress your cheek before pulling back to let you go. "Call me if you need me."

"I will." You wave him goodbye, turning on your heel to continue your shift. You take one more look at Minho, who is still waiting until you safely make it back to the register before stepping away.

That night, Minho cooks dinner for him and his roommates— setting aside the food on serving plates until they find themselves hungry and ready to eat. He gathers his own plate and pours himself some beer before walking out to the outdoor sectional in the backyard. He pulls up some videos on Youtube, occasionally watching in between bites to entertain himself while also responding to your texts. He's a bit sad since your responses are slightly delayed, but he understands that you've been wanting to spend time with Uncle Adrian, and you should be.

He just misses you, and feels a constant need, yearning, for you whenever you aren't around.

"Yo." Jisung pops out into the backyard from the house, adjusting his beanie as he plops onto the sectional next to Minho. "Just eating?"

"Mhm. I made some extras, they're on the counter."

"Thanks." Jisung leans forward and rest his arms onto his knees. "I'll probably eat a bit later. What else have you been up to?"

"Nothing really. Been kinda bored. Popped in to check on Y/N earlier while she was at work."

"She was okay?"

"Yeah, she seems happy to be there." Minho shrugs. "I met the owner, she's really sweet."

"That's good. Where is Y/N?"

"Movie night with Uncle Adrian." Jisung nods.

"I haven't really texted her today, I've been swamped at work." Jisung lets out a small sigh. "You don't have class today?" He shakes his head.

"Nope."

"Wanna do something then? Where's Channie and Seungmo?"

"Like what? Seungmin is taking a nap in his room and Chan hasn't been home."

"Damn, nevermind then."

"We can hop on FIFA after I eat?" Minho asks him, trying to keep him entertained for tonight.

"Okay." Jisung responds right before nodding towards Minho's phone. "What're you watching?"

"I've been trying to perfect this recipe for awhile, so I'm trying to see how other people bake it." Jisung watches, even though he has no interest in baking or cooking whatsoever. But, it doesn't last long when he's easily distracted by Minho's text tone all of a sudden going off.

One text,

and another,

and another.

He can't help but be a little nosy to see who's blowing up his phone. Surprisingly, it isn't you. And this is the shit Jisung was afraid of.

"Dude." Jisung furrows his brows at Minho's phone, watching the un-named number pop up a few times. Even though it no longer has a name to it, Jisung knows.

"What?"

"Okay, seriously. Can we talk about this?" Jisung pauses the video for Minho before pointing at the texts coming through.

"Shit. It's Kat." Minho groans. "It's really not what it looks like though." He sighs and picks up his phone, briefly scrolling through the angry texts from Kat. All of a sudden. "I cut it off with her completely awhile ago and blocked her number. She's texting from someone else's phone."

"Okay, but you can't say you're done with her and keep the line open. Block that too and be done with it. She's obviously going to keep creating issues if she feels like you'll keep letting her in."

"I'm not letting her in, okay? It's done. Completely."

"Please don't repeat your behavior, for the love of god. I know you hate the nagging. But, how am I supposed to react when Kat is still popping up on your phone even though you claimed you were done with her before?" Minho groans a bit and lays back on the outdoor sectional.

"I really have no intentions of going back. I swear I haven't reached out to her. This is the first time she's trying to text me again on someone else's phone, I'm not even sure why she's texting me all angry." Jisung watches as Minho texts away and asks for her to stop reaching out, blocking the number and deleting the thread shortly afterwards.

"Swear on our friendship?" Jisung asks.

"Swear. I don't know where this is coming from." Jisung sighs a bit and shrinks back into his seat.

"I just.. I don't know. I think we're all just scared about you reverting back to your old ways. It takes two to tango, but Kat has always played a big part in this." Minho sighs.

"I know, I know. I hear you."

"Have you even told Y/N? Because I know you're trying to get back together with her. But, I think that's a crucial step that you need to take first no matter how it makes everything turn out. It'll need some time and I think that's much needed. Not saying I don't ever want you to stop proving yourself and try again, but I think you both need the time to heal."

"I do plan to tell her."

"Alone?"

"It's better if I do."

"When are you going to tell her?" Minhi shrugs at the question and lets out another sigh.

"Tomorrow." Minho solidifies the thought because even though it will kill him to do so, it’s time for him to be honest about it.

"Okay. I just need you to tell her before it's too late, or if she somehow finds out through word of mouth. It'll be harder for her, and it could seriously fuck everything up." Jisung looks up at Minho and he can't even lie, he feels his heart ache a bit seeing how distraught and conflicted he is. He knows he loves you, and that has never changed. He just made the wrong choices.

"I.. I know. I'm going to." Minho swallows the lump in his throat before shifting his attention to Jisung. "I'm sorry."

"I'm just afraid." Jisung says lowly. "It's not that I don't trust you to do better, I just hate seeing her hurt. She's been through so much, and the whole reason I did this was because I just wanted to give her time." Jisung shrugs. "Time to get used to the world and being in it again. I didn't want to see her shrink and hide from the world again. That's all."

"I made some really dumb mistakes, but I wouldn't hurt her. Not again. I'm learning from all of that, and I don't ever wanna go back."

"Yeah." Is all Jisung responds with because of course he wants to trust him. But, he'd be lying if he said he does fully. He can't. Not after he sees Minho prove himself a bit more. "You're going to tell her about that night too, right?"

"Yeah, I have to. I'm sorry, I really am." Minho repeats.

"I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I haven't really been there for you but.. Y/N." He looks at Minho and shrugs. "Maybe time would be really good for the both of you."

"I understand. I really do. However this pans out, I'll be there for her. I'll respect her space and give her all the time she needs." Minho's thoughts shift back to that night, his heart wrenching thinking about it because not only had he broken up with you once over Kat, but he acted like he chose her that night. When in reality, that was never the case. You got back together and things seemed great— until that very night. The argument was huge, Minho can still hear the yelling repeating in his head; over and over again like a fucking siren.

You got back together with him because you trusted him to love you, to protect you and keep you safe.

But, he didn't. He didn't protect you, keep you safe. He acted like he chose her that night.

He let you leave even though he shouldn't have.

"Either way— please." Jisung says close to a whisper. "All I ask is that you're sure this time. No more playing with her emotions, no more second-guessing her. Please mean it."

☁︎ FLASHBACK | SENIOR YEAR IN COLLEGE

When Jisung is finally able to get you to bed so that you can take a nap, he leaves a note saying he'll be back and that he's grabbing some food for you to eat later.

Which, isn't entirely a lie. But, he has other plans right now.

He's fuming as he pulls off to the side of the curb, barely putting the car in park before he's hopping out and racing to the apartment.

"The hell is wrong with you?!" Jisung storms into the shared apartment and pushes Minho.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Minho pushes him back. "Not today, Jisung. I'm not doing this—"

"No, you don't get to do that. I just left Y/N after she's been crying for hours over you!"

"Am I fucking wrong to be honest?! I just think we need some time apart to figure things out."

"Figure things out? You've clearly figured things out. If I only knew you'd pull this and leave her for somebody else, I wouldn't have let this shit happen in the first place." Jisung furrows his brows at him and shakes his head. "You don't even look like you care—"

"Of course I do!" Minho's tone raises. "God, it was the fucking hardest thing to do! Of course I care about her, that's why I didn't wanna hurt her more!"

"Then why do it!" Jisung yells back.

"I don't know!" It falls silent between the two before Minho lets out a breath and runs his hand through his hair. "I don't know what to tell you. I really tried not to, but it just wasn't happening. It wasn't working." Jisung scoffs.

"All because of Kat?" Silence, again. "What the hell has Kat given you that Y/N hasn't?" More silence. "Right."

"I'm sorry." Minho says lowly. "I love Y/N, I do. I just haven't felt in love with her for awhile now. I don't really know what it is, I thought maybe—"

"Bullshit! Not with the way you easily disposed of her and made her feel replaceable." Jisung shakes his head. "You don't get to say shit. There's gonna be a day when you realize that tossing your relationship over one girl wasn't worth it, but I hope you don't come crawling back. Y/N is worth way more than that." Jisung begins to walk away but comes back to face Minho once more, stepping closer towards him. "I trusted you. I really trusted you to take care of her and be there for her. I would've understood if you two needed some time apart, but never would I have imagined that you'd do it over another girl." Jisung probably sound so ridiculous calling his bestfriend out, but what can he say? He really is upset, and he really did trust Minho to take care of you. There wasn't a single thing that made Jisung think he'd ever leave your side. Sure, he noticed Minho getting close to Kat, but he didn't think it'd get to the point of this—

Of hurting you, leaving you;

Making you think you were disposable. Replaceable. Not worthy enough to stay.

Because you are worthy, you are all the amazing things and then some. If it's anybody who would know, it's Jisung. You've always been his other half, and he knows how big your heart is. You've always put everyone else before yourself, and you've always given your all— loved harder than anybody else has loved.

Minho was making a mistake.

But Minho is also his bestfriend, and he knows he would prefer for him to be honest. He wouldn't want him to go behind your back, god no. He just doesn't understand Minho's thinking process, and maybe he never will.

Wasn't this just a phase?

Was it really worth throwing it all away to see if something new would make him happy?

Maybe.

Jisung doesn't really understand it entirely.

What he does know is that he's angry at Minho, and he's hurting to see you cry. What he does know is that he can't really look at Minho right now, and he can't really talk to him. What he does know is that he may not be able to talk to him properly for awhile.

"What just happened here?" Chan asks, confused as he walks through the door. He feels the tension already, and he's not sure how to react. He's barely seen Minho and Jisung like this.

"I don't know, ask him. Maybe he'll tell you more." Jisung diverts his attention to Chan briefly before returning to Minho. "Whatever. Do you, dude. But, keep your bullshit away from Y/N."

☁︎ END

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oldiesstationlover11607 · 1 month

Text

Bullies - Peter Parker x fem!reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! Super fluffy <3

Word Count:

Description: Peter comforts reader after a hard day at school. It can be any Peter btw but I imagined it as Tom :)

Peter knew things at school weren’t good. They never had been. I had six weeks left before I graduated and we’d been counting down the days together, despite being at different schools. Peter was the smart scientific boy who I’d met at the library and I was the music obsessed girl who was brutally bullied for who I was. I’d been shoved up against a locker before my English class by Carson, the boy who was committed to ruining my life. I had banged my head badly and was sent to the nurse’s office after passing out in the lesson. My mom had been called and I was sent home. After watching a couple episodes of (your favorite tv show), there was a sharp knock at my window. Spider Boy. Peter. I stumbled out of bed to unlock and open the window so he could come inside.

“What are you doing in bed?” he asked, crawling in next to me. I rubbed my eyes, hoping the throbbing sensation would stop.

“I came home from school early. Had a headache,” I muttered. He knew full well I never got headaches, which was reflected by the conflicted look on his face.

“Tell me the truth y/n, why are you in bed at 3:00?” I tried to figure out a decent lie but had absolutely nothing. Maybe I’d fallen down some stairs, maybe I’d accidentally broken my nose in dodgeball. He wouldn’t believe that, he knew I never showed up to phys ed.

“Remember how I told you about Carson?”

“Oh so that’s why you currently have a black eye and a half,” he seethed. Well guess that answered the question of whether I looked as bad as I felt. “Are we going to talk about it?”

“I’d rather not,” I responded, cuddling closer to him. His arm was around my shoulders, body turned into mine.

“Did he hurt you?” Of course he hurt me. No one else would’ve done this to me.

“I just said I don’t want to talk about it,” I looked up into his glowing brown eyes, not able to tell if he was worried or raging.

“Fine, we don’t have to talk about it. But just know Spiderman is going to have a very stern conversation with Mr Carson,” Peter spoke with severe clarity, “he’s not going to hurt you again y/n.” I knew he meant what he had said. We sat there in silence while my computer continued to play (your favorite tv show). He watched the episode with me, occasionally asking questions so he could catch up. Once the episode ended I turned off my computer and put some music on.

“How was school today Pete?” I asked. School was much easier for him, his teachers actually cared, he had his friends MJ and Ned, and he didn’t need to study to get an A.

“Not too bad, we’re just getting ready for finals and prepping grad stuff, y’know,” he explained. I nodded, excited for the short period of time we had left before college.

“What time do you have to get home?” Aunt May always knew Peter was at my house, but she had standards, especially knowing Peter was Spiderman, and a high schooler.

“Like 10:30, we’ve got time,” he pressed a kiss to my temples and ran his fingers through my hair. I could feel the tension in the air, I wanted so desperately to cry over the day, over how much pain I was in.

“I’m going to hurt you y/n. I’m going to hurt you as much as I can. And once school is out I’m going to fucking kill you,” Carson had whispered into my ear as he pressed me into the lockers. I could still feel the padlock being pressed into my back. My eyes started to water and a few tears slipped onto Peter’s shirt.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” He sat up and held me back so he could get a proper look at my face. I shook my head, letting the floodgates slip.

“H-he told me he was going to kill me Peter. I can’t go back there,” I sobbed. He pulled me in close, his forehead resting against mine.

“He won’t lay another hand on you ever again. I mean it y/n.” I could feel the tension in his body.

“You promise?” I cupped his jaw, my fingers resting behind his ear.

“I promise. I’ve got you.”

Please submit any requests y'all have! I love to write so let me know if you've got any!

@urmykindofwoman let me know if you like this! I haven't written to Peter in a wee bit

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veeluvss · 1 year

Text

we're here for you

jemily x reader

1K words

tw depression/self harm but fluff

"oi, oi, baby girls," emily teased, heading down the stairs from her office. i couldn't help but smile at her, even slightly. emily walked over and kissed jj's head softly before walking and standing behind my chair. i hoped she didn't touch me. "i'll have you know, prentiss," morgan muttered, leaning over. "i am not your baby girl." emily smirked. "oh yes you are," she replied before putting both her hands on my shoulders. i froze. "it's date night tonight," she told me, "your turn to pick." JJ and emily were both looking at me expectingly and i felt so much pressure. i didn't want a date night. i wanted to be in my own bed at my own house with my blanket and my comfort show. not out on the town with them. i loved them, i really did - but , everything was so scary. "y/n," emily said, waving her hand in my face. i clicked out of my trance and looked up at her. "date night?" "i don't really feel like date night today, how about you go without me?" i said sweetly, tilting my head to the side and pouting. "you said that last week," JJ sighed, coming to sit by me. i lowered my head and blushed. i didn't want this conversation at work. "okay fine. you're coming next week though," emily said. she gave my shoulder and squeeze and walked away. she was upset with me now. goddamnit. JJ didn't leave though, staying at my desk. i shuffled over to the computer, hoping to do some work- even with her sat there. "what's going on with you, y/n?" "that's such a broad question, right now, my body is pumping blood around my entire bod-" "y/n," jj sighed. i lowered my head again. "why you cutting us out like this? you loved date night! you suggested date night!" she exclaimed. i sighed and shook my head. "i don't want to talk about this now," i said, pushing out my chair. "then when are we going to talk about it?" she said, reaching out to me but i pulled away, making sure she didn't grab my wrists. "you never talk to us." "because you won't understand now leave me alone!" i shouted. the entire room looked at me and i felt all the blood rush to my head. jj's eyes pooled with tears and i felt emily's eyes on me. "i'm going home," i muttered- feeling the overwhelming need for my own bed. i picked up my bag and left for the stairs, not bothering with the elevator. i didn't turn off my computer, or pack away my table. i just needed to get out.

i'd had my fix but left the bathroom floor a mess. i had no energy to clean up, not right now. i crawled into my bed, grabbed my blanket and curled into a protective ball- ready to sleep all the negative thoughts away. my arms stung but it was okay. i was okay. i'll be okay.

emily pov

JJ and i walked into y/n's house, using our spare key. we'd knocked on the door, on the window and tried calling her too and there was no answer. the house was silent, eerily silent. my hand instinctively went to my belt and i headed up the stairs, JJ on my tail. i went into the bedroom and paused, seeing her asleep in her bed. JJ saw the bathroom light on, hearing the fan. she headed over and pushed open the door. i watched as she froze. staring into the bloody bathroom. her entire body began to tremble as she dropped to her knees. i rushed to her side. "baby," i whispered, grabbing her. i knew what she was thinking, i knew what she was remembering. she saw me and looked towards the bed, body shaking and eyes filling with tears. "is- is she-" she asked and i shook my head. i went over and sat beside y/n on the bed. "sweetheart," i mumbled, shaking her shoulders. she was hurting, so, so bad and i felt terrible knowing she thought she couldn't talk to us. her eyes began to flicker open and she stretched in the bed, looking around her. when she saw us, her eyes grew wide and she whimpered. JJ sighed out in relief before coming to sit beside us on the bed, yet still shaking. none of us said anything for a good few minutes. she lay awake between us on the bed, blinking. i stayed sat up, looking between her and the bathroom and then JJ sighed. she slid off her shoes and curled up behind y/n, spooning her- holding her as close as she could. i watched the relief on y/n's face and i knew she was scared. i grabbed her hand, caressing the back of it and then slowly moved the duvet off her arms. i got out of bed and headed towards the bathroom cupboard, grabbing her first aid box. i returned to the bed and she left me do what i needed to do, JJ holding her close, occasionally kissing her head and cuddling into her neck. once her arm was done, she handed me her other one which made me smile a little, she wanted me here, to help her.

JJ stayed with y/n whilst i went in to clean the bathroom. i shut the door behind me, not wanting her to see it.

after about twenty minutes, i returned from the bathroom and saw them both still laying there, cuddling. "i want waffles," y/n mumbled, looking at me with her puppy eyes. i couldn't help but laugh, JJ did too. that caused y/n to pout. "please." "we'll get you waffles baby," i whispered softly. i crawled under the covers with them, grabbing the tv remote. she moved up the bed and i noticed the bloody sheets. we're gonna have to sort that out. y/n sat up and moved to sit between my legs, in her usual spot. JJ then curled up next hs both, putting her head on my shoulder. i kissed her forehead and squeezed her thigh, offering my support. y/n looked small, curled in my arms, head on my chest. "waffles please," she whispered, sending me looking at her. JJ chuckled and pulled out her phone to order waffles.

for the rest of the night, the three of us ate waffles, watched romcoms and shared sweet kisses. it was a bittersweet night. not many words were shared but that was okay, we didn't leave her side. i took her for a bath whilst JJ cleaned up her bedroom up, changing her bedding etc. i saw more scars all over her arms and legs now and i knew it would break JJ to see them. i knew she'd see them eventually but not yet, not right now. "i love you," i whispered in y/n's ear as she snuggled into me, letting the water sit around us. "i love you," she replied. "i'm sorry," she said too, after a few more moments. i kissed her cheek. "we're here for you, don't push us away."

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss head canons #emily prentiss x reader #jennifer jareau head canons #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau imagine #emily #jemily #jemily x reader #jj x reader #emily x jj #emily x jj x reader

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killthewhisperingart · 9 months

Text

"It's Cold Without You"

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 2,452

Summary: A perfect description of your psyche while your husband is gone, would be the color blue. When he leaves, he takes the warmth with him, dragging the color orange behind himself, only bringing it and the sunrise upon his return.

Warning(s): Angst and descriptive thoughts of anxiety and death

A/N: It's a little abrupt, but I really wanted to post something. And I also wanted to express a specific energy (my requests r still open)

I am an 18+ Blog.

The house is cold. Maybe it's the slow approach of Winter, or the fact that the heater was busted and you refused to call someone to fix it. But the house wasn't as warm as it usually was. You stopped using the lamps with yellow bulbs, instead opting for either the blinding overhead light, or no light at all. The curtains were perpetually drawn, closing your bedroom off from the world outside, closing you off from the world outside.

Everyday is the same thing on repeat, go to work only to return home. But no matter where you are, you're always miserable. When you're at work you want nothing more than to be at home, wrapped in a blanket of silence and warmth. Though, when you're at your house, you feel lonelier than ever, longing for the human connection of your job and coworkers.

It isn't always like this, the chill in the air. The chill that settles so deeply within your bones your teeth chatter, it isn't typically present. And you know why it's here, but admitting it feels colder than the wind that hits you harshly when you walk outside. Saying it out loud, or even thinking about it for too long makes you feel... shitty, for lack of a better word to describe yourself in your head.

You don't tell him the problems you're having. You especially would never tell him why you are having these issues. Because you know him, inside and out, and you know he'll feel guilty. But you also know yourself well enough to be aware of the fact he knows you just the same. He would so easily see through the facade you have created, look through the walls you've built up as if they were a window pane. This is why you've been dodging his calls, and why he currently thinks you are sick with the flu.

You simply wait, counting the days until he's home, begging time will move faster. And while you lay in bed alone, ponder on the idea that perhaps you're wasting your life. You know it's pathetic, the fact your existence is dependent on the presence of your husband. And you feel horrible, the codependency clawing its way up your throat. It's even worse when you remember you haven't always felt this way, and you don't know what's changed. You don't know why you can't seem to act like yourself when he's gone.

Well, perhaps you do know. You just don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit that you're terrified. You don't want to admit that every time he comes home complaining of a new ailment due to a painful ejection, you get nervous. That every call from one of his superiors, or even one of his colleagues, you have a shock of terror that has your heart beating out of your chest. That you only ever feel comfortable knowing he's alive when he's next to you.

When he's home, it's different. He doesn't realize he does it, but he chases the chill away. The nervousness that wraps itself around your ribs, squeezing until your heart constricts, it lessens. You find yourself distracted by the feeling of his hands on your hips, the pressure of his kisses against your skull, that it all disappears for a moment. But you know, as your ear presses against his chest at night, listening to him breathe, that the problem is still present.

"How do you feel about kids?" He asks one day, standing behind you as you analyze the paint samples for the bathroom after it's remodeling.

And your heart sinks, because you don't know. You don't know if you'd be able to handle a baby with him, let alone when he leaves. How would you be able to calm a crying baby when you consider yourself one when he's gone?

How would you be able to handle his death...?

You think about it a lot. The idea that he will fall to his demise the same way his father did, leaving the same trauma his dad left him, on the child you two have. But you don't know if you're as strong as Carole Bradshaw. You never considered yourself a weak person, but that's what he does. Bradley makes you weak, and you don't know if you'd survive his death. If you'd be able to go on with your life, go back to normal. You don't know if you'd be able to handle your own grief, not to mention teaching your child how to do so.

You don't give him an answer that day, and he lets it go. He's good at that; letting go. It was always something you admired about him, his ability to let things slide over him, continuing on easily. The only exception he had ever displayed, was his attitude towards Pete Mitchel, never letting that go. And you can't help but wonder if you'd do the same thing to your child. Would you hold them back? Perhaps beg Jake Seresin to pull your own sons papers because you'd be so blinded by the grief for Bradley, that you'd stop your own child from achieving his dream as well.

Today is a day like any other, the calendar is marked with a bright red heart exactly six days from now. You tell yourself the house will be clean three days prior to his arrival, and the Bronco will be washed the day before, and you will be presentable the day of. But for now, you hide within the comforter that his smell still lingers on. You've taken the week off, avoiding your job with a simple call that ends with a cough you and your manager know is fake.

Bradley is never early. He's a punctual man. He's never late either. He has a talent of showing up to things at the exact time as expected. And you adore this about him, because you're never nervous about when he'll show up. After ten years together, why would you ever think that would change?

He notices the house is darker and colder than normal. He softly drops his duffel by the door, removing his boots slowly before treading towards the lamp in the living room. And the home looks eerily different. He knows you're sick right now, but he questions the extent of it as he takes in the mess.

Almost all of the dishes are piled in the sink, definitely not the amount someone who has been sick for a little over a week would use in that time. His eyes move from the dishes to the rest of the counter, where mail is scattered. He removes himself from the room, drifting into the laundry room where what can only be your entire wardrobe laying haphazardly in front of the washing machine.

It's not that Bradley ever expected you to be the sole proprietor of the household chores, typically every task being traded between the two of you. But this was clearly out of character for you. He always came home to a spotless house, something he dearly appreciated. Internally he wonders if it's his fault, for coming home too early, but he can't help but be concerned.

His chest constricts when he walks into your shared bedroom to find you, curled into the fetal position sleeping. You look exhausted, even though you're sleeping. For a moment he forgets all about the fact that his back hurts, or the fact he's been wanting to sleep in his own bed for almost two months. All he can think of is you.

"Baby," He whispers, a hand softly against your shoulder. "Honey?"

You awake with a sharp intake of breath, heart beating out of your chest in a panic. Realizing it is your husband and not in fact a murderer, does little to quell your anxieties.

"Bradley?" You blurt, springing up. "What are you doing here? It's not the twelfth is it?" You go to reach for your phone, frustration leaking through your voice. "What are you doing home?"

"I came home early," He exhales, brows knitted in concern as you rush around the room. You're clearly distressed, pacing before you finally stop and run your hands down your face.

"Why?" You dare to ask, voice warbling against your will. "Why are you home early?"

"You sounded like you were really sick, and it was only six days-" He clenches his eyes shut before looking at you with his sad eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You aren't supposed to be home yet." You whisper, crossing your arms. Your face crumbles as you remember the state of the house, the state of yourself.

"Baby if you've been sick longer than you told me, we can go to the hospital," He stands up, stepping towards you. "Something can really be wrong-"

"You're not supposed to be home," You repeat, turning it into a mantra under your breath as you cover your eyes. You can feel the slow burn as tears erupt from your eyes, strong emotions wrapping themselves around you like an octopus around a crab. Faintly, you can feel Bradley's hands touch your shoulders, and the way he rubs up and down doesn't feel the way it normally does. His touch burns your skin, itchy and irritating in a way that makes you want to cry harder.

"Will you let me take you to the doctor?"

"Will you shut up about the hospital?" You hiss, your frustration coming to head as you explode. His hands pull away as you look at him with such venom on your tongue, you can taste it. "God! Why are you home?"

His face twists in confusion, then to his own form of irritation matching yours. He doesn't understand, and typically you'd feel bad because it isn't his fault. But he wasn't supposed to be home yet.

"I don't understand." His mouth is slightly agape as he exhales. "I thought you were sick, you weren't answering my calls, you haven't been to work in two weeks-"

"You called my job?"

"I was worried!" He shouts, and you feel itchy again. "I was worried about you! And evidently I needed to be because the house is a mess-"

This strikes a chord within you. The house is yours. Bradley and you share ownership of it, you bought it together, decorated it together, but it's your domain. Every detail is finalized by you, from the color of the floors to the oven you own. It's yours. And it hurts that he points out how you've mistreated it. It hurts on a deeper level that he thinks this. No matter how much you know it's true.

"Don't you dare talk to me about my house." You can hold yourself back, snapping back at him.

"It's a fucking mess!" He points out, and you know. You know it's true. "It's never like this so clearly something is wrong and I'm worried about you!" You don't know what to do, because you had everything planned out, you knew when things were going to be put back-

And he's home early.

You prided yourself on being able to hide this part of your life from him. Being able to disguise your pain behind a mask of stability, pretending nothing had changed. That you hadn't changed. But now that's all gone. He's taken a peak behind the curtain and now the entire illusion falls apart, like ashes between your fingers.

"I just want you to tell me what's wrong." His voice is lower now, and he knows you're avoiding eye contact. "You've been pulling away, and I'm worried."

You can't bring yourself to lift your eyes from the floor to his face, where you know his eyes are bright regardless of the hurt that paints them.

"Is it me?" He asks, bending slightly to try and put his eyes in your line of sight. "Do you not want me anymore? Us?"

"No-" You can see his heart break in his eyes as you look up. "It's not that. No, Bradley, it's not that." You step closer, harshly laughing at yourself. "It's the opposite."

"I don't understand, honey."

"I love you." You whisper, feeling warmer now as his hands slide to your hips. "I love you so much, there's no one else in the world I'd even consider replacing you with. And I can't imagine my life without you."

He watches you apprehensively, eyes darting to your hands and back up to your eyes.

"I'm scared." You finally let it slip, soft like a prayer, quiet like a secret. He tilts his head slightly, practically begging you to elaborate. "I'm scared, when you leave the house for work in the morning. I'm scared when you go on missions-" your voice cracks harshly. "My heart drops every time Mav calls me instead of you, and when someone knocks on the door."

"I don't..."

"I'm scared that you're going to die soon." You blurt, not missing the way his eyes widen.

"Baby, I'm not going to die-"

"Do you think Goose told Carole that?" You ask, knowing you're crossing a line. Tears blur your vision. "You can't tell me you aren't going to die because you are, and there's nothing I can do to stop it-"

The hug is abrupt, your face being pushed into his neck and your bodies close. You feel nothing other than Bradley, and you can't even bring yourself to apologize as your hot tears drip onto his skin and inevitably his shirt. Your fingers tighten around his back, desperate to have him closer because you don't think he'll ever be close enough unless you're beneath his skin.

You know this conversation isn't done, it's not tied neatly with a bow on top. You know there's an entire can of worms that inevitably will be opened. But for a moment you feel warm again. Heat bubbles beneath your skin, rumbling through your chest as you feel his heart beating against your chest. Reds and oranges fly behind your eyelids in a way that has you breathing easier.

As he silently pulls the both of you to the bed, he hugs you a bit tighter. The smell of him surrounds you in a thick layer, your skin buzzing beneath the feeling of his lips against your forehead. You whine as he pulls away, tucking you in like you're a child.

"We're not done talking about this." He whispers, looking down at you with his sorrowful eyes. "Not even close to being done talking about this."

"Okay," You say softly back, agreeing.

"But you should get some sleep," He advises with a crooked smile. "I'll be here when you wake up."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun x reader #writing #top gun angst #top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm x reader #x reader #x reader angst

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wito-chan-bla-bla · 5 months

Text

Wrong number

Gojo likes to write Nanami and chat about (Y/N). The problem is… that all this time he was writing… to you.

"Hey, Nanami, you know what? My future wife gave me a very sweet smile today! I always thought that my Six Eyes didn't have even the slightest flaw, but in fact, there is still one! Why can't I use them to take photos? I would like to remember her smile forever!"

"Nanami-i-in, you have thirty seconds to say what (Y/N)-chan likes out of food! If you don't tell me, I'll come to your house and yell under your windows until you tell me!"

«NA. NA. MIN! Can you go to (Y/N)-chan and find out what her ring finger size is? I want to order a ring for our engagement in advance, but I do not know what size my princess' fingers are."

Again. Again. Again and again. Gojo sent these messages... to you.

It all started about six months ago. You were lying quietly in bed and enjoying a well-earned sleep, when suddenly you jumped up and almost hit the ceiling. Your phone rang abruptly and woke not only you, but definitely your neighbors as well!

You mentally cursed the fact that you forgot to turn down the volume or turn off the sound completely. The phone was in your hands, and you were instantly almost blinded by the bright light. Cursing everything that was happening, you canceled the call and lay back on the cool sheets…

Only to hear three loud sounds in a row in a second, notifying you of the incoming message!

You sat up and growled softly to yourself. Belatedly, it occurred to you that you might be urgently needed as a sorcerer. So that you, overcoming the burning light in your eyes, could finally see the message that came. And there…

"What do you think, what kind of filling do I need to take anpans with?"

You sat for a few seconds, remembering what "anpan" is. Your sleeping brain found somewhere in your head the information that this is dessert, threw it at you and continued to sleep. You looked at the message again…

"Gojo-san, how did you get my number?"

Who else could it be? It was two o'clock in the morning, and an unknown person suddenly writes to you and asks with what filling to take a sweet! This was one hundred percent Gojo.

You turned down the brightness of the screen and turned down the sound, lay back on the bed and decided to finish this conversation quickly so that Satoru would no longer distract you from sleep.

"Ha! Because I am the great Satoru Gojo! You thought you changed your phone number and got away from me? Ha! A genius like me will find someone like you without any problems!"

You frowned. You haven't changed your phone number. But you decided not to think about it, you wanted to sleep.

"I don't want to deal with all this. Take all the filling options for anpans, you're still rich. I'm going to sleep."

And then you turned off the sound on your phone, put it away from you, and went back to sleep.

The next day, you decided to find Satoru and ask him how he got your phone number. You had a weekend off, so you didn't dress in your usual dark uniform, but in something more elegant. As you walked through the school grounds, you listened to the sounds around you. Yes, it would be more logical to find the tall man with white hair using your eyes, but you knew that it is much easier to go to where the loudest and "violent" sounds come from.

Suddenly, your phone tells you that you have received a new message. You have opened the appropriate tab…

You froze, looking around. Yes, there could be no mistake. Gojo photographed you from the roof of one of the nearby buildings.

You wanted to write to him and ask him not to joke, to come here and talk to you, but you froze, looking at the new message from Satoru.

"Hey, Nanami-i-in, do you see this? (Y/N)-chan is so cute today! Oh, I know! If I'm the "strongest", then she's the "cutest"! I think my cheeks will ache for a few more weeks from this memory!"

You continued to stare at the screen in shock. «(Y/N)-chan»? He never called you that! He always referred to you as "(Y/N)", sometimes as "(Y/S)".

But that's not even the strangest part! Why does he suddenly say you're... cute?

You were so confused by this sudden information that you couldn't speak to Gojo when he appeared next to you. You just mumbled something in embarrassment and ran to the bathroom, trying to cool off by splashing cold water on your face.

While you were washing up, I received another message.

"He-he-he-he, I really am not only the strongest, but also the most beautiful. I have a new record, Nanamin! I was able to embarrass a girl in seven seconds! And given that it was (Y/N)-chan… This is my absolute victory!"

After that, you couldn't even talk to Gojo.

You were in a hurry to go home, but so successfully encountered Nanami! You asked him to talk to you alone. Kento nodded and calmly followed you into one of the empty classrooms. All this time you have felt the heavy gaze of the heavenly eyes.

When you were in class, your phone made that familiar sound again.

"Why did (Y/N)-chan call you to this small room, m? Are you trying to take my little girl away from me? Quickly get out of there so I can see you! I don't trust your sharp cheekbones!"

–Is something wrong, (Y/N)?

You looked at Nanami and suddenly realized why he was so tired. When you were in school with him, you were even more or less tolerant of Gojo's antics, finding them funny... but Nanami…

–Did you change your phone number, Kento-kun?

The sorcerer gasped softly and nodded quickly.

–Yes, I'm sorry I didn't warn you sooner. I was on a mission, so I couldn't warn you. You couldn't reach me?

–Um... that's not really the point... I have a... problem here.

You showed him your phone screen. Kento quickly ran his eyes over the messages and then groaned loudly.

–I knew he wouldn't stop there…

–W-what are you talking about?

–I actually changed my phone number so that Gojo wouldn't write or call me anymore, – Kento said with a serious face. – And even though I knew he would try to find me, I didn't think he would try to do it so quickly.

–Um... what he writes to me… is this a hoax or something, y-yes?

Nanami looked at you. You've looked at Nanami.

–I could try to smooth things over, but our senpai deserves to be punished for distracting me from my legitimate vacation so often and forcing me to answer his stupid questions. Gojo has been in love with you since our first year of school. He keeps writing me stuff like that about you. This is one of the reasons why I decided to change my phone number and not tell him a new one.

You stood there in shock. You... you couldn't believe that Gojo has been in love with you for so long! You can't believe it, because even now, when you received such information and re-analyzed all his actions, you couldn't believe that he was in love with you!

Yes, he brought you food. But at the same time, he was carrying packages for his students! Yes, he invited you to dinner. But with him and you always went your colleagues, friends or his students! Yes, he brought you souvenirs. But to whom did he not bring souvenirs after his travels?!

You've thought about it over and over and over again. And with every encounter with Gojo replayed in your head, you didn't understand how Satoru could be in love with you.

Meanwhile, Nanami noticed your reaction and tapped you on the shoulder.

–I understand you, (Y/N). I would also be traumatized if I found out that someone like Gojo had fallen in love with me.

–T-that's not the point! G-Gojo-san hasn't shown any signs of attention to me all this time! He... h-he just existed next to me and sometimes acted like Gojo-san usually does!

–However, this does not make my correspondence with him any less adequate, – Kento sighed and patted you on the head, trying to calm you down. – Gojo may not have shown it, but he's incredibly in love with you. I even think he's mentally unstable... and it's not just his romantic feelings for you. (Y/N), – he looked you in the eye, – you can do whatever you want with this information. You can even make him feel a huge amount of shame and opprobrium, which is usually felt by people around him. I personally don't care.

You just nodded in embarrassment.

When you were exchanging phone numbers with him, you suddenly asked:

–Kento-kun, why didn't you just block Gojo-san if he annoyed you so much?

–Because, – Nanami clenched his jaw tightly, – he broke into my apartment, stole my phone, guessed the password, and unlocked himself! I logically decided that it was better to continue reading his whining than to clean the apartment again after a person who does not take off his shoes indoors!

–What makes you think... that he can't just break into your apartment and get your phone number?..

Nanami grinned broadly at you.

–Because I moved out.

You left the room with Kento, happy for him and his new apartment. Suddenly, you got a text message again.

"Why is she so happy around you?! What did you tell her?!. I'm serious. What did you tell her to make her so happy?.. Oh, I know! If you tell me, I'll buy you bread!.."

You put your phone in your pocket without a word.

You wanted, you really wanted to write Gojo that you are not "Nanamin", that you are not "(Y/N)-chan", that you are not his "princess", "sunny", "rabbit", "goddess", "the most beautiful woman on Earth" and so on. But…

Sometimes it was so nice to feel like the most loved person in the whole world.

You didn't have a romantic relationship. You weren't sure what it was about, but the fact remained. No one gave you loud compliments, no one praised you and your body in a way that didn't make you feel uncomfortable and nauseous, no one gave you gifts or told you that they would put the world at your feet.

And Satoru Gojo... he said all that.

Every time you felt sad, you opened a conversation with him and read his endless "simp's messages". When you didn't have enough of that, you wrote and asked Gojo what exactly he "likes about (Y/N)". And each time Satoru wrote "oh, you finally asked, Nanamin, I thought you didn't want to be in this topic" and the next message flooded you with a portion of compliments.

When you thought about someone great like Satoru Gojo having such feelings for you... you couldn't help but feel better, and you had hope for the best.

But there was still a problem. Gojo... he never once did what Nanami asked him to do. It was like... bullying.

"Nanami-i-in, what kind of cologne do you wear? (Y/N)-chan said you smell good. Maybe if it suits me, (Y/N)-chan will also stick her nose into my chest?"

You answered it by asking Kento first. But Satoru didn't change in any way after that. He smelled the same as before. (Yes, you specifically checked this out).

"What was the name of that restaurant that you and Shoko were discussing? I hear it has a great kitchen. I want to book a table to ask out (Y/N)-chan!"

No one asked you out on a date. Gojo didn't even hint at it.

"What kind of food (Y/N)-chan likes to take with her? She's going on a mission with me, so I want to cook lunch for her!"

No one shared the food with you that day. Moreover, Satoru left when you asked him to eat together, saying that he had urgent business to attend to.

"What gems do you think will suit her? She got a beautiful manicure, and I want to give her a ring and a bracelet that will match the color of her nails!"

You didn't get any expensive (or cheap) jewelry either before the nail polish was still in place or after it was worn off.

Gojo seemed to know… that it's you. (You thought so). You started to doubt that you were able to parody Nanami's perfect grammar, but then you remembered that Kento himself said that he constantly received messages from Satoru of a similar nature. And your friend will not lie to you, especially in something so serious.

In the end, half a year passed. You woke up and fell asleep with questions... and messages from Gojo. You didn't know what to do at all, especially now that you've come this far.

But there was exactly one huge plus in all of this. Nanami always wrote without errors and abbreviations, he even placed commas in the right places! So you were filled with the wisdom of your language and even learned a few dozen new words, because sometimes Kento dictated to you exactly how to answer Gojo.

The fourteenth of February came unexpectedly... or almost. And you planned to end your suffering soon. Because if you once again receive incredible praise in the text and see the usual behavior in life… you'll go crazy.

"Gojo-san, are you awake?"

"What do I see?! Did Nanamin finally text me first?! I don't believe it! I'll go and ask that ugly curse to pinch me! Wait a second!.."

"I can't wait. It's about (Y/N), if it makes you think faster."

You stared at the screen for a few seconds, and then…

–Hello?

–(Y/N), why Gojo is breaking into the classroom where I wanted to take a nap and yelling that he's going to kill me?

–Um... I texted him on your behalf that I wanted to talk to him... C-can you ask me what kind of chocolate he'd like for February fourteenth? Better yet, l-let him write!..

Kento ended the call abruptly. You decided to write to Gojo as soon as possible that "(Y/N) is interested in what kind of gift for the fourteenth of February you would like". Suddenly, Nanami called you again and thanked you for saving him, because he had already started climbing out of the window so that Satoru wouldn't kill him.

Gojo has started typing you a message… He wrote it for a minute, two, five… You decided to leave your phone alone and go for a cup of tea.

When you returned from watching an episode of your favorite TV show, you looked at your phone…

Did he w-write me a whole book?!

You scrolled and scrolled and scrolled down the screen... until you finally reached the end.

"So much information is normal? I can think some more if (Y/N)-chan can't choose from what I've suggested!"

You decided to quickly convince him that everything is in order and so.

You started viewing his message… You have a feeling that you didn't read so much in high school.

In the end, you came to a simple conclusion that you didn't have to spend at least ten minutes reading this entire text: Gojo will be happy with everything you give him, but he will be most happy with homemade chocolate.

You planned to hand him a chocolate bar with a note like "it was me all along, (Y/N), not Kento-kun." But it turned out that you don't know how to make sweets. In the end, you decided to ask Nanami for help, taking up his entire evening.

Everything was fine. The wizard really knew how to cook, you quickly finished all the "dirty part", now the chocolate was cooling in the refrigerator and waiting in the wings. Slicing vegetables for Nanami to make a stew doesn't feel quite right. You were proud of the work you did. And yet you were afraid of what was coming.

–If you're tired, I can make dinner myself. You saved me from Gojo's nagging, so this is the least I can do for you.

–No, no, it's okay, Kento-kun… I was just thinking about it… Why is it that Gojo-san practically confesses her love to me in every message, but when we get close?… Why is he acting like he doesn't feel anything at all?

–This may sound corny... but he probably doesn't want you to get hurt, – Nanami reached out and patted your head, bringing back memories of the day you were in the classroom with him. – He is the strongest sorcerer, and he has many enemies. If he has a "favorite", then they will be in danger. This is especially true for the person he loves.

–But why then does he not try to suppress these feelings, but only remind himself of them by 'communicating with you'?

–Because Gojo is an annoying jerk who doesn't know how to control himself, – Kento started cutting carrots. – If you love him, I hope you both start dating as soon as possible. Then all his energy will go to you, and we, all the rest of his environment, will breathe calmly.

–Hey! Are you just making me a victim, Kento-kun?!

–Yes, you're right... – he chuckled softly. – Even you can't completely neutralize someone like Gojo.

You silently poked him in the shoulder.

Shortly before the fourteenth of February, you took out chocolate in the form of hearts, which was cooling all this time, and with the help of white chocolate you wrote an inscription on the sweets (each candy had one letter). "It wasn't Kento-kun's cell number".

And now everything was ready. You bought chocolate for your male friends and prepared to give joy to your colleagues.

You ran from building to building, finding your friends and giving them gifts. (You were planning to get a lot of gifts for White Day, so you had to take care of every man in your environment, hee-hee!) You decided to approach Gojo at the end.

The tall, solitary figure was easy to find. You clutched the colorful box in your hands and prepared for this important step in your life.

–Gojo-san... I have a gift for you.

Satoru instantly turned around and pulled the black blindfold from his eyes. He smiled slyly at you and began to draw out the vowels, saying something teasing. But you didn't listen to him. You wanted to understand... how you're feeling right now.

If you were disgusted with Gojo or something like that, you wouldn't be reading so much of what he wrote for Nanamin. And yet... you didn't act like an embarrassed teenager either... or basically a person in love.

But then why did you do it? Why did you even make homemade chocolate for Satoru Gojo in honor of the fourteenth of February?..

You froze, looking at the sorcerer who said something like "are you frozen, struck by my beauty?". You thought about what he said... and then you nodded.

Gojo has been close to you for several years now. People might call him annoying... but you found his behavior funny.

You liked his jokes and antics. Yes, sometimes his pranks got out of hand, you felt more shame than laughter, but... in the end, you couldn't be mad at Gojo.

Satoru was the one who always protected you on missions because you were "too weak". He was the one who threw a cold water bottle at you on hot days. He was the one who talked about himself and his "incredible coolness " over and over again when you were feeling bad, until you switched to anger at him, forgetting about your problems.

After all... Satoru wasn't as "bad" as some people thought he was. Or maybe you're already used to the fact that he's such an active, funny, and funny fool.

You didn't know why he fell in love with you. Maybe you just handed him a dessert when he was weak, and he remembered you as his hero. It doesn't matter…

Because you tripped over a rock!

You flew down in a rush, but suddenly big hands grabbed you by the waist. Gojo lifted you off the ground vertically and laughed, there were tears in his heavenly eyes.

–Y-you tripped in the air?! I want to make a GIF out of this! It was just perfect!

–Y-yeah, yeah, I know… Can you put me on the ground? I can't give you chocolate in this state.

Satoru nodded enthusiastically and placed you on the ground. It vibrated impatiently on the spot, reaching out to you and waiting for you to give it a sweet. You looked at his face carefully. His skin was as pale as usual.

You gave him the box. Gojo started chatting about how he was so incredible that they even made him homemade chocolate. Satoru put the lid aside... and you were horrified to see that all the candies had flown up and got tangled up, so the phrase was impossible to read.

While Gojo chewed happily and theatrically, enjoying your cooking and praising you, you clenched your hands into fists. You didn't know what to do. You couldn't just give up and walk away. You…

–Gojo-san, did you like the candy?

–Yes! – he looked at you with great joy. – You made them especially for me? Oh-oh-oh, (Y/N), you're such a good and hardworking girl!..

It started pulling at your cheek. You listened to his phrase. He didn't sound serious, he was teasing you.

And you couldn't stand this ambiguity any longer.

–Gojo-san, by the way... can you call my phone? I lost it somewhere in my bag, I can't find it…

–I can use my Si…

He suddenly shut up and suddenly started nodding vigorously. He took out his phone and asked you to give him your phone number. You were talking digit by digit, shrinking from the inside out and afraid that it would end right now... no, you were afraid that you didn't know how it would end.

And now the end has come. The last digit. Gojo tapped the screen with his finger…

–I think you gave me your phone number wrong. I called Nanamin for some reason…

You took your phone out of your bag with a trembling hand and looked at the screen. All of a sudden it became bright, two options appeared. "Accept incoming call" and "Cancel incoming call". You hit the green button under the shocked gaze of the sorcerer and bring the phone to your ear.

–Hello?

Gojo stood blinking in surprise for a few seconds, then canceled the call.

–S-so... everything I wrote... wasn't seen by Nanamin, but b-by you?

–Y-yes, – you gulped and nodded. – And I wanted to talk about it…

Before you finished your sentence, Satoru threw his phone at you and ran off in an unknown direction so fast that you didn't quite understand where he ran to in the first place. The only thing you realized... was that his face, ears, and neck were completely red.

You are left alone with your thoughts, feelings... and his phone.

After that failed declaration of love (or whatever it was?), you were on missions for several days and couldn't talk to Gojo. Just in case, you carried his phone with you, so that if something happened, you could give it back. So when you finally got back to your apartment, showered, and ate... there was a knock on your door.

Satoru was on the doorstep. It looked calm when you looked through the peephole in the door, but now that you opened it, it was getting redder and redder before your eyes.

–Um... I came to get my phone, and... my mistakes and my shame.

–Do you want to... talk about it?

–I t-think... you already know.

You looked at Gojo and were surprised. You've never seen him look so confused. Usually Satoru made all the people lose their patience and calmness… but now, he was the one who had lost his playfulness and fun.

You silently stepped aside, hinting at the sorcerer to come in. But he didn't budge from his spot in the communal hallway.

–Um... please come inside, I don't want any of the neighbors to see the mess in my apartment. I think... we need to talk.

–Ar-re you sure... you want to do this after everything I've written... to you?

–Yes. Because... your words really supported me when I was having a hard time, – you smiled faintly and hid your embarrassment by burying your nose in your shoulder. – So... please... let's talk.

Gojo Satoru, a great sorcerer, the strongest user of cursed energy in this generation, a tall and incredibly handsome man... came into your apartment blushing and hunching like a teenager. You smiled faintly and closed the door behind him so that he wouldn't run away.

Because you couldn't escape his messages. And now he... won't be able to run away from you either. Perhaps... it's time for him to know what you think of him, too, even if you tell him all this while looking him straight in the eye... and not through messages on your phone.

[In my head, it looked better... eh…]

#x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #fem!reader #gojo #satoru x reader #satoru gojo

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