#this event creeped me out when i was younger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldfades · 3 months ago

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in her younger days, they called her delta dawn; prettiest woman you ever laid eyes on

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8.7k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | (requested: Paige Bueckers x Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader reader since she might be going to the Wings) when paige is drafted to the dallas wings, she knows her life is about to change, but she doesn’t expect you. as a dallas cowboys cheerleader with your own set of rules and boundaries, the last thing you need is a distraction—especially not in the form of the star wnba player who seems to turn every gaze in the room. but as the season progresses and paths cross under the texan sun, paige's world of fast breaks and buzzer-beaters collides with yours, leaving neither of you the same.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluff! paige teasing the hell out of reader, description of homophobia, the dcc being sweet(? whoa), one mention of man flirting w reader (EUGHHH), nothing else!

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | here's 8k of a tease!paige fic for yall... i hope yall forgive me for the last 3 soulcrushing fics 🫶🏼😘

You’ve always said you’d never date an athlete.

It’s a rule born of practicality, not bitterness. Athletes move fast—on the court, on the field, and in life. Your job as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader already demands a fine balance of composure and charm. The last thing you need is the whirlwind of someone else’s high-stakes career bleeding into your own meticulously crafted routine.

But tonight, standing under the hazy glow of the American Airlines Center lights, that rule wavers.

You’re here for one of those PR crossover events—a meet-and-greet between the Dallas Wings and the Cowboys organization, complete with forced smiles and photo ops. It’s the kind of gig you’ve done a hundred times, one where you’re used to being admired at arm’s length by players who rarely look past the sparkle of your uniform. You’re used to their lingering glances, their empty flirtations, and their assumption that you’ll fall in line with the rest of their carefully constructed narrative.

Paige Bueckers doesn’t look at you like that.

You notice her the moment she walks in, an air of effortless confidence preceding her like a tidal wave. She’s all sharp cheekbones and easy laughter, blending seamlessly into the room while somehow standing apart. Her presence feels unintentional, like she didn’t mean to be so magnetic but couldn’t help it anyway.

You try not to stare, but when her eyes catch yours—crystal-clear and curious—you know you’ve already lost.

"You're with the cheerleaders, right?" she asks, her voice low enough to feel like a secret, despite the bustling crowd around you. There’s no pretense in her tone, no undercurrent of ego or assumption. It’s disarming, the way she asks like she’s genuinely interested, not just making small talk.

"That’s right," you reply, lifting your chin with practiced ease. "And you’re with the Wings."

Her smile tilts, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. "Guess that makes us teammates now. Sort of."

You tell yourself it’s just a conversation. Just an introduction. But deep down, you already know—it’s the kind of beginning that doesn’t let you walk away unchanged.

The noise of the event fades into the background, dulled to a steady hum that makes it easier to focus on Paige’s voice—and the way she leans just slightly toward you, as if shielding the moment from the room around you.

“Teammates, huh?” you reply, arching a brow and forcing a practiced indifference into your voice. “I don’t know if standing in the same room counts as teamwork.”

She chuckles, low and warm. “Guess we’ll have to work on our chemistry, then.”

It’s a simple remark, delivered with the kind of ease that shouldn’t make your cheeks feel warm. But it does, and the sensation creeps up faster than you can stop it. You glance to the side, pretending to check on one of your teammates who’s caught in a conversation with a reporter, but the smirk on Paige’s face tells you she’s already noticed.

“You’re blushing,” she says, not bothering to hide her amusement.

“No, I’m not.” You shoot back quickly, the denial sharper than you intend. You straighten your posture, willing the heat in your face to cool. “It’s warm in here. Lights and all.”

“Sure,” Paige says, drawing the word out like she doesn’t believe you for a second. Her grin widens, and she takes a slow sip of her water, somehow managing to make even that look like a calculated move.

You cross your arms, trying to steady yourself. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Flirt with strangers at PR events.”

Paige lets out a soft laugh, her head tilting slightly as she considers your words. “Only the ones who pretend not to notice.”

The nerve of her. You fight the urge to look directly at her, keeping your gaze focused on the crowd instead. “I’m not pretending anything.”

“Right. And you’re also not blushing.” She leans in just enough for her voice to lower, her next words meant only for you. “But you are.”

Your resolve cracks slightly, enough for a small, involuntary laugh to escape. You quickly recover, shaking your head as you fix her with a look that you hope reads unimpressed—but the way Paige’s smirk deepens makes you think you’re failing miserably.

“You seem awfully confident for someone who just got here,” you say, trying to steer the conversation back into safer waters.

Paige shrugs, her shoulders moving in an easy rhythm that matches the cadence of her voice. “I’m just observant. And, you know, good at reading plays.”

“Plays?”

“Yeah,” she says, her grin turning almost playful now. “Like how you keep crossing your arms when you talk to me. Defense mechanism.”

You uncross your arms immediately, regretting the move the second her smirk shifts into something closer to triumph.

“See?” she teases. “I was right.”

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, though the words come out more like a laugh.

“And yet,” Paige says, leaning back just enough to give you a moment’s reprieve, “you’re still talking to me.”

She’s not wrong, but you don’t let yourself linger on that thought. Instead, you square your shoulders, offering her a saccharine smile that feels like a small victory. “Maybe I’m just being polite.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, though her tone suggests she doesn’t believe that either.

Before you can respond, one of your teammates waves you over, motioning for you to join the rest of the group as the event shifts into its next stage. You give Paige a tight nod, as if to signal that the conversation is over, and turn to walk away.

“Hey,” she calls after you, her voice cutting through the din like it’s meant just for you.

You glance back, already halfway across the room.

“See you around, teammate.”

It’s casual, almost lazy, the way she says it. But the spark in her eyes as she meets your gaze makes it feel anything but.

You don’t reply. Instead, you turn back toward your teammates, heart pounding against your ribs in a way that you’re certain Paige Bueckers has no right to cause.

The next day dawns like any other—a pale sliver of sunlight spilling through the blinds, the soft hum of your alarm shaking you from sleep. Your phone buzzes with a notification as you swipe to silence the alarm: a practice reminder from the squad captain, a half-hour earlier than usual.

You groan quietly, already feeling the weight of the day settle onto your shoulders. Between your nine-to-five at the PR firm and cheer practice, your days rarely allow room for indulgence, let alone distractions.

Except today, there’s a distraction.

She flits through your mind the way sunbeams catch on the windshield during your drive to work—brief but impossible to ignore. Paige’s teasing smile, the easy way she leaned toward you as if she had all the time in the world to figure you out. You shake your head as you merge onto the freeway, cranking up the music to drown out the thought.

You’re good at focus. You have to be.

By the time you clock in, you’ve managed to push Paige into the back of your mind, hidden behind the mountain of emails that demand your attention. Meetings stretch into the afternoon, punctuated by a working lunch where you barely taste your food. Coworkers buzz about the latest office gossip, but you’re laser-focused on the client presentation you’ve been perfecting for weeks.

The hours blur together, and when you glance at the clock, it’s already 4:45. Just enough time to dart home, change into your uniform, and make it to practice.

The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader practice facility is a world unto itself—bright, sterile, and unforgiving. The walls echo with sharp counts, the squeak of sneakers on polished floors, and the biting critique of your coaches.

“Sharper arms, everyone! This isn’t a yoga class!”

You’ve been here long enough to tune out the tone and focus on the instruction, but it doesn’t mean the sting doesn’t hit when it’s directed at you. “You’re late on the second count, [Y/N]! Fix it, or you’re doing it alone!”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply automatically, forcing the strain out of your voice. You adjust your footing, throw yourself into the next routine, and pretend you don’t feel your muscles screaming in protest.

Cheerleading at this level is a game of precision and endurance. Perfection isn’t just the expectation—it’s the bare minimum. Your coach’s voice drills into your head like a metronome, keeping you in line as sweat drips down your back.

And yet, even as you push through the routine for the third, fourth, and fifth time, Paige creeps back into your thoughts.

Her smirk, her voice, the way her laugh felt like a secret just for you. You bite your lip, snapping yourself back to the present. Distractions like this could cost you—your spot, your reputation, everything you’ve worked for.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” the coach finally calls, her sharp tone softening just enough to feel like a reprieve. “Clean up the routine and be ready to run it full-out tomorrow. Dismissed.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and head toward the lockers, shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

“You’re quiet today,” your teammate Dana says as she falls into step beside you.

“I’m always quiet,” you reply, but she shakes her head.

“Not like this. What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She smirks knowingly, bumping your shoulder with hers. “I saw you talking to Paige Bueckers last night.”

Your heart skips, but you keep your expression neutral. “It was nothing. Just small talk.”

“Oh, really?” Dana drawls, clearly not buying it. “She looked pretty interested for it to be just ‘small talk.’”

“She’s friendly. That’s all.” You tug open your locker, keeping your voice steady, but the blush creeping up your neck betrays you.

Dana’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. Friendly. Right.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “What do you want me to say? She was just being nice.”

“Sure. And you weren’t blushing at all.”

“I wasn’t,” you mutter, brushing past her, but Dana catches your arm, spinning you around just enough to read your face.

“You totally were,” she says, laughing. “I knew it. You’ve got a thing for her.”

“I don’t,” you insist, though the words feel flimsy even to you.

Dana studies you for a moment, her grin softening into something more thoughtful. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you should go for it.”

“Go for what?”

“Her. Paige. She seems cool, and you...” She pauses, shrugging. “You deserve to let someone in for once.”

You open your mouth to argue, to insist that you’re too busy, that it’s not practical, that Paige is just a passing thought. But the words don’t come. Instead, you nod absently, murmuring a quick, “See you tomorrow,” before heading out into the cool evening air.

As you drive home, Paige’s voice lingers in your mind, weaving through the cracks of your carefully constructed resolve. You don’t want to admit it—not to Dana, not to yourself—but something about her feels different.

And no matter how hard you try to focus on the road, the echo of her teasing smile keeps pulling you back.

Paige’s day started like most others: early alarms, cold showers, and an endless loop of drills designed to sharpen her skills to a razor’s edge. Practice with the team wasn’t just a routine—it was a second language, something she could move through on instinct alone.

But today, instinct wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering.

She tried to focus on the sound of sneakers squeaking on the court, the coach’s whistle cutting through the air, and the weight of the ball in her hands. Still, her thoughts kept drifting—back to the sharpness in your voice, the way your eyes flitted everywhere but her when she leaned in, and that faint blush you tried so hard to hide.

“Paige!”

The sharp call of her name jolted her out of her thoughts, and she turned just in time to see Aariyah toss her the ball. She caught it, but not without a stumble.

“Yo, where’s your head at today?” Aariyah asked, crossing her arms as Paige dribbled toward her.

“Nowhere,” Paige lied, attempting a casual shrug. She passed the ball back, forcing herself to stay in the present.

Her teammates weren’t convinced. Throughout the rest of practice, they kept stealing glances her way, whispering to each other when they thought she wasn’t looking. Paige pretended not to notice, but she could feel the weight of their curiosity as the session dragged on.

By the time practice ended, her nerves were frayed. She slung her bag over her shoulder and followed her team into the locker room, the sound of banter and laughter filling the space.

“So,” Aariyah started, leaning against a row of lockers. “What’s up? You’ve been weird all day.”

“Nothing,” Paige said, but Aariyah raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it.

“It’s not nothing,” Nyla chimed in, pulling her hoodie over her head. “You’ve been distracted since last night. What happened at that PR thing?”

Paige hesitated, debating whether to say anything at all. But the memory of your blush, your quick-witted deflections, and the way you seemed both intrigued and guarded all at once—it was enough to push her over the edge.

“Alright,” she admitted, leaning against the lockers. “There was this cheerleader there.”

“Ohhh, a cheerleader,” Nyla said, grinning. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“She’s… interesting,” Paige said, her voice casual but her mind racing. “What’s her deal?”

“She who?” Aariyah asked, curiosity piqued.

“I don’t know her name,” Paige admitted, running a hand through her hair. “She was there last night. Tall, sharp eyes, kind of guarded. You know her?”

Nyla’s expression shifted slightly, like she was putting pieces together. “You mean [Y/N]?”

“Yeah. That’s her.”

Aariyah let out a low whistle. “You’ve got your sights set on [Y/N]? Good luck with that.”

Paige frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s… complicated,” Nyla said, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been with the team for a while, but she’s always kind of kept to herself. No one’s ever seen her with anyone. Ever.”

“Like, dating?” Paige asked, intrigued.

“Yeah,” Aariyah said. “As far as we know, she’s single. Always has been. And, uh… probably straight.”

Paige tilted her head, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

“Come on, Bueckers,” Nyla said, rolling her eyes. “Just because you’re into her doesn’t mean she’s into you. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Paige shrugged, though the flicker of doubt in her chest was quickly overruled by something stronger. “Maybe you’re wrong. My gay-dar’s never failed me.”

Aariyah snorted. “Your gay-dar is not a superpower, Paige.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Paige said with a grin, though her mind was already wandering back to you—your sharp tongue, your quick wit, and the way you seemed to light up just a little when you thought no one was looking.

She couldn’t explain it, but something about you felt… different.

“Alright,” Aariyah said, shaking her head. “You do you. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

Paige just smiled, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, guys.”

As she stepped out into the cool afternoon air, she felt a spark of determination settle in her chest. You might’ve been guarded, but Paige wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

And something told her that getting to know you would be worth the effort.

The energy inside AT&T Stadium was electric, a sea of navy and silver filling the stands as the Dallas Cowboys prepared to kick off their first game of the season. The buzz of excitement was contagious, spreading through the crowd and spilling onto the field where you stood, stretching and loosening up with your team in preparation for the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders' first performance of the year.

Your routine was set to "Thunderstruck"—an intense, crowd-pumping track that had been drilled into your muscles and memory over countless rehearsals. The choreography was sharp, demanding, and thrilling, and as the minutes ticked down to showtime, you could feel the adrenaline beginning to build.

Stretching your hamstrings, you focused on controlling your breath, locking in. This was your ritual—shut out the noise, shut out the crowd, shut out everything except the beat and the moves.

But then you saw her.

Paige Bueckers, dressed casually yet effortlessly stylish, strolling into the VIP section with a small entourage. Her golden hair caught the stadium lights just so, and her signature self-assured smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she scanned the crowd.

Your focus cracked, just a little, as her gaze passed over the field. You could’ve sworn she lingered on you for half a second longer than necessary, though it was probably your imagination.

“Oh, look who it is,” one of your teammates teased, nudging you playfully. “Miss Basketball’s here to watch you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, trying to refocus.

“Someone’s blushing,” another teammate chimed in with a grin.

“I’m not blushing,” you shot back, but the warmth spreading across your face betrayed you.

“Alright, ladies,” your coach barked, clapping her hands. “Let’s lock in. Showtime in five!”

You nodded, shaking off the distraction as you straightened up. This wasn’t your first time performing on such a massive stage, but tonight felt bigger somehow. Maybe it was the buzz of the first game or the fact that Paige Bueckers was now seated comfortably in the VIP section, her eyes occasionally flicking toward the field.

You couldn’t afford to think about that. Not now.

When it was time to step onto the field, the roar of the crowd hit you like a wave. The drumline started, the booming bass syncing with your heartbeat as you marched into position with your squad. Your eyes locked forward, face set with a determined smile.

As the opening riff of "Thunderstruck" blared through the speakers, the adrenaline hit you full force. Every move was sharp, every beat perfectly timed. The routine was fast and furious, filled with high kicks, sharp turns, and intricate formations designed to wow the crowd.

You didn’t just dance; you performed. You poured everything into every move, channeling weeks of hard work, sweat, and discipline into the routine.

For a moment, you forgot about Paige entirely. You forgot about the teasing, the crowd, and even the VIP section. It was just you and the music, your body moving instinctively with every beat, every accent.

And when the final pose hit—arms stretched high as the crowd erupted into cheers—you felt a rush of pride. You’d nailed it.

As you walked off the field, your teammates high-fived and cheered, hyping each other up. “You killed it out there,” one of them said, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you replied with a small smile, glancing toward the VIP section despite yourself.

Paige was still there, leaning back in her seat, clapping along with the rest of the crowd. But unlike the rest, her gaze wasn’t on the team—it was on you.

The Cowboys had won, and with victory came celebration—a tradition as ingrained in the culture as the game itself. Even if it was meant to be a “lowkey” night, the so-called party still overflowed with boisterous laughter, the bass of music vibrating through the room, and the steady clink of glasses.

You stood in the corner of the dimly lit lounge, nursing a sparkling water. The oversized, lavish venue was packed with players, cheerleaders, and a smattering of VIPs. It was a mandatory-unspoken-rule sort of thing; showing face after a win was just part of the job. That didn’t mean you enjoyed it.

The football players were the worst of it. Sure, most of them were decent enough, but there were always a handful of rookies and cocky veterans who treated the cheerleaders like part of their post-game spoils. Your smile was polished and your patience saintly, but the constant attention grated on your nerves.

Tonight was no different. A rookie wide receiver with a too-white smile and a swagger far outpacing his résumé sidled up to you as if you’d been waiting your entire life for this moment.

“Hey,” he drawled, leaning in too close. The smell of his cologne—something aggressively woody—made your nose twitch. “You look incredible tonight.”

“Thank you,” you replied politely, sipping your drink and taking a half-step back.

He didn’t notice, or he chose not to. “So, what’s a girl like you doing standing all alone at a party like this?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “Just enjoying the night.”

He took that as an invitation to lean closer, his grin widening. “Well, maybe you need someone to enjoy it with. How about I—”

The hand on your arm made your skin crawl.

You turned, polite facade dropping as you said firmly, “Back off.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, his grin faltering but still holding onto a thread of misplaced confidence. “Don’t be like that. I’m just being friendly.”

“I said, back off,” you repeated, stepping out of his reach.

“Hey, no need to get all uptight—”

“Is there a problem here?”

The voice sliced through the noise, cool and edged with steel. You turned your head, and there she was. Paige Bueckers, hands tucked casually into the pockets of her jeans, exuding an aura of calm dominance that was impossible to ignore.

“Who the hell are you?” the rookie asked, puffing up slightly, his bravado clashing with her unbothered demeanor.

“Doesn’t matter,” Paige said, her eyes narrowing. “What matters is she told you to back off. Twice.”

The rookie opened his mouth to retort, but Paige cut him off, her voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “I suggest you listen, or I’ll be happy to explain it louder.”

The rookie hesitated, looking between you and Paige before finally muttering something under his breath and slinking away into the crowd.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Paige smirked, her hands still in her pockets as she leaned casually against the bar beside you. “Yeah, I did. Looked like you were about to throw a drink in his face.”

You snorted, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Would’ve been satisfying.”

“Bet it would’ve,” Paige replied, her grin widening. “But then you’d have to deal with the PR fallout. Figured I’d save you the trouble.”

“Chivalrous,” you teased, trying to hide the fact that your cheeks were burning.

Paige tilted her head, her grin softening into something quieter, more genuine. “You alright?”

The question caught you off guard. You nodded, still holding her gaze. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“Anytime.” She glanced at the drink in your hand, then back at you. “So, are you always the life of the party, or is tonight a special occasion?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Definitely a special occasion.”

Paige’s smile deepened, her gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “Well, in that case, consider me honored to witness it.”

Paige stayed by your side after the rookie incident, the two of you easing into a conversation that felt refreshingly unforced. For the first time that evening, you didn’t feel the need to wear the polished, ever-smiling Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader mask. You didn’t have to calculate every word, every laugh, every polite sidestep.

It surprised you how quickly you relaxed around Paige. Her humor was sharp but warm, and the way she listened made you feel... seen. The kind of seen that wasn’t about the uniform or the role you played. She wasn’t looking at the cheerleader. She was looking at you.

“You seem different,” Paige said at one point, leaning on the bar beside you, her fingers tracing the edge of a napkin.

You quirked an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Different? Is that your way of saying I’m weird?”

She laughed, her head tipping back slightly. “Not what I meant. You’re... real. It’s nice.”

That comment stuck with you, warming you from the inside. You weren’t used to people looking past the glossy, larger-than-life image you were expected to maintain.

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself craving something sweet and light to cut through the night. You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a Shirley Temple, please?”

Paige’s eyes lit up. “No way. That’s my favorite.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Really?”

“Swear on it.” She held up two fingers in a mock scout’s honor pose. “No judgment, but it’s kind of perfect. Sweet, nostalgic, doesn’t try too hard. Exactly my vibe.”

You smirked, shaking your head as the bartender slid the drink over. “Didn’t peg you for the Shirley Temple type.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises,” she said, flashing a grin that made your stomach flip.

By the time the party began winding down, the room thinning out, you realized just how much you’d enjoyed yourself. You weren’t even sure when the usual edge of tension had melted away, replaced by a lightness that felt foreign yet welcome.

Paige cleared her throat, her hands slipping into her jean pockets. “Hey, um... before you go.”

You looked up at her, noticing a slight shift in her demeanor. She wasn’t the effortlessly confident star athlete now. There was something endearingly hesitant about the way she scratched the back of her neck.

“Can I, uh, get your number?” she asked, her voice dropping just a fraction, as if saying it too loud might scare you off.

You tilted your head, lips curving into a teasing smile. “You? Nervous?”

She chuckled, the faintest hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Is it working?”

With a laugh, you pulled your phone out and handed it over. Paige entered her number quickly, double-checking it before passing it back. “Don’t leave me hanging, alright? Text me sometime.”

You nodded, feeling a strange flutter in your chest as her fingers brushed yours during the exchange.

As you turned to leave, you glanced back and caught Paige walking toward her teammates. She glanced over her shoulder at you, a cocky smirk spreading across her face as she mouthed, “Told you so.”

One of her teammates groaned and swatted at her shoulder, while another rolled their eyes, clearly unimpressed with Paige’s triumphant swagger.

You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. Somehow, you had a feeling this was going to get interesting.

A few weeks had passed since that night at the party, and in the time since, Paige had somehow woven her way into the fabric of your life in ways you hadn’t expected. It wasn’t anything dramatic, nothing earth-shattering. But you couldn’t deny it: she had become part of your routine.

Despite the whirlwind of your schedule—DCC practices, games, and the usual duties that came with being in the spotlight—the texts from Paige came often, little moments of respite during your otherwise hectic days. Sometimes it was a simple check-in: “How’s practice?” or “How’s the Shirley Temple holding up today?” Sometimes it was just something random, like a meme or a quote that had made her think of you. Every time you saw her name pop up, your heart did that little flip again, that same flutter that had been there since the first night you met.

The dates were simple and casual, which was just how you liked it. A quiet dinner, a walk in the park, the occasional movie, and for the first time in a long time, you could just be yourself. You weren’t the cheerleader. You were just you. No performance. No expectations.

You thought you had the balance down, figuring out how to make it work despite the craziness of both of your lives. Paige was patient, always understanding when you had to cancel last minute or cut the night short. She didn’t pressure you. And, for once, you didn’t feel like you had to live up to an image for anyone, especially her.

It surprised you how easy it was to be with her. You hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected her—but Paige was like a steady rhythm in the cacophony of your life. You found yourself looking forward to her texts, the way she’d always send a good luck message before your performances or a stupid meme to make you laugh on a rough day.

You didn’t mean to, but Paige was quickly becoming part of your routine.

But then came the photograph.

You hadn’t noticed the photographer—probably a fan at the café where you and Paige had been sitting, sipping iced coffee and laughing about some story she was telling. You only found out when the photo popped up on social media, your notifications blowing up with tags and mentions.

The picture was innocent enough: Paige leaning back in her chair, mid-laugh, while you rested your chin in your hand, looking at her like she was the funniest person alive. It was candid and warm, the kind of photo that screamed chemistry.

The next thing you knew, the photo of the two of you smiling, laughing, and holding hands was all over social media. The caption? "Paige Bueckers and the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader: New Couple Alert!"

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal at first. After all, both of you were public figures in your own rights, and being seen together wasn’t exactly a crime. But as the hours passed, the post went viral. Comments flooded in. Some were supportive, some not so much. And as the days went on, you started seeing more articles and posts about the two of you, your names being linked in headlines everywhere.

It felt like a dream at first—something light, playful. But then reality sank in.

The next morning, as you walked into the DCC practice facility, you could feel the weight of it. You hadn’t even spoken to your coach yet, but you could tell. She was watching you as you walked in, her gaze sharp, calculating.

Coach Anderson didn’t waste any time. After practice, she called you into her office, her expression hardening as soon as the door clicked shut behind you.

“Close the door, please.”

You did as instructed, your heart beginning to race as you tried to brace for whatever was coming.

“Listen,” she started, her tone measured but firm, “you’re one of our best, and I don’t want this to come off as harsh. But... the photo. It’s everywhere. And it’s not great for the team’s image.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Not great?”

She leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. “You know how this works. The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders represent a certain... ideal. We have an image to maintain, and this? People are already making assumptions. It’s distracting.”

The knot in your stomach tightened, anger starting to bubble beneath the surface. “What assumptions?” you asked, your voice steady but edged.

She hesitated. “You know what I mean. People are speculating. And it’s not... on-brand.”

You stared at her, disbelief mingling with frustration. This was exactly what you’d feared—the constant balancing act of being what everyone expected you to be. But as much as you hated confrontation, something inside you refused to back down this time.

“I’m not straight,” you said, the words clear and unwavering.

Your coach froze, clearly not expecting you to address it so directly.

“And I’m not going to pretend to be,” you added, leaning forward slightly. “I’ve given everything to this team. I’ve worked my ass off to be here, to be the best. My personal life doesn’t change that.”

She blinked, visibly stunned. You’d always been a “yes, ma’am” kind of girl—polite, compliant, eager to please. But now, your voice was steady and your gaze unyielding.

“This.” She sighed, gesturing vaguely, her lips curling into a tight line. “The public—our fans—they have an image of you. And this”—she motioned to the photos on her phone—“does not fit that image. You’re part of the Dallas Cowboys brand now, and I need you to understand that.”

You felt your stomach drop. You knew where this was going. This wasn’t just about the photos. It was about the implications.

“You’re a cheerleader, and you’re expected to maintain a certain image. You can’t just… throw that away because of a relationship,” Coach Anderson continued, her voice harder now, almost condescending. “This is about professionalism. Your image. Do you understand?”

You stared at her for a moment, feeling the familiar, suffocating weight of expectations pressing in on you. For a second, you almost nodded, almost let yourself fall back into that mold of obedience, that role you were supposed to play.

But then, you remembered something. You remembered what Paige had told you about being real, about not pretending. You remembered the feeling of being yourself in her presence.

And suddenly, you couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“No,” you said, the word sharper than you intended. Your heart was pounding now, but there was no going back. “I don’t think I do understand.”

Coach Anderson blinked, clearly taken aback by your tone. You took a step forward, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not going to pretend. Not for the team, not for anyone. If you think I’m going to sit here and fake being something I’m not for the sake of image, you’re wrong.”

Her eyes widened slightly, clearly shocked by your response. You were the quiet, obedient one. The one who never rocked the boat. The one who followed orders. To see you—to hear you—talk back like this was completely foreign to her.

“You’re talking about who I am,” you continued, your voice gaining strength. “And I’m not going to apologize for it. I’m not straight, Coach. I don’t owe you, or anyone else, an explanation for who I’m dating. If this”—you pointed at the photos again—“is a problem, then I guess I’ll have to deal with that.”

Coach Anderson stared at you, open-mouthed, for a moment, as if processing what you had just said. She blinked a few times, her face hardening into a tight, inscrutable mask. You could feel the weight of her gaze on you, assessing, perhaps judging, but you didn’t flinch.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. You felt like you.

Finally, she spoke, her voice cold. “I never thought I’d hear those words from you. You’ve always been… so compliant.”

“Well, not anymore,” you said firmly, not backing down. “I’m not going to play by your rules if they’re going to make me pretend to be something I’m not. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but that’s who I am.”

The silence that followed was heavy, your coach’s face unreadable as she regarded you. For a moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far, if you’d just tanked your entire career with a few sentences.

But then she sighed, rubbing her temples. “Just... keep it low-key, alright? We can’t afford unnecessary drama.”

You nodded once, standing. “I always do.”

And when you left her office, you felt lighter than you had in ages, like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The familiar tension that had always been there when you wore that uniform was gone.

You weren’t just a cheerleader anymore. You were you.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the room as you curled into the plush couch, a blanket thrown lazily over both your legs. Paige sat at the other end, her legs stretched out, socked feet occasionally brushing against yours. Some random movie was playing, one neither of you had really been paying attention to. The kind that served as background noise more than entertainment. It had been a long day, and this—just sitting together, the world quiet—was exactly what you needed.

You hadn't mentioned the conversation with your coach earlier. It wasn’t worth souring the moment, and besides, the heaviness from earlier had already lifted, replaced by the comfort of Paige’s presence. She had a way of making everything else feel smaller, less significant, like her calm confidence could shield you from anything outside these four walls.

She reached for the bowl of popcorn sitting between you, tossing a piece in the air and catching it expertly in her mouth. She smirked, satisfied, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her playful display.

“Show-off,” you teased, nudging her foot with yours.

“What can I say?” she replied, her grin wide and unabashed. “Natural talent.”

The movie’s dialogue droned on in the background, but Paige muted it with a flick of the remote, letting the quiet settle over you. She shifted slightly, resting her head against the arm of the couch, and looked over at you with a soft expression that made your chest feel warm.

“You know,” she began, her voice casual but carrying that undertone of something deeper, “when I was a kid, I used to think being good at basketball was enough. Like, if I could just be the best, everything else would fall into place.” She laughed softly, a self-deprecating sound. “Turns out, it’s a little more complicated than that.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I guess… I started realizing that it’s not just about being good. It’s about how people see the game. Women’s basketball doesn’t get the respect it deserves, you know? I want to change that. I want little girls to grow up seeing us on TV, in the spotlight, and thinking, I want to do that too. Not as some second-tier option, but as the dream.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, and you felt your heart do that stupid fluttering thing again. There was something so earnest, so fiercely passionate in the way she spoke, like the sheer force of her determination could bend the world to her will. You could see it—the little girl Paige, dribbling a ball on some driveway somewhere, dreaming of being a trailblazer, not just a player.

“That’s…” you started, struggling to find the right words. “That’s incredible. You’re incredible.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she smiled, brushing it off with a wave of her hand. “It’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, but you’re living it,” you insisted. “You’re out there, doing exactly what you said. You’re making it happen.”

She looked at you for a moment, her smile softening into something more vulnerable. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice quieter now. “That means a lot.”

The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, and after a moment, Paige nudged you with her foot. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your dream,” she clarified. “What was it? Little you, running around in pigtails or whatever, what did she want to do?”

You laughed, leaning back into the couch cushions as you thought about it. “I always loved dancing. I think I was four when I begged my mom to put me in ballet classes. I was obsessed. And when I got older, it wasn’t just about the dancing anymore—it was about the performing, you know? The way it felt to be on stage, like for those few minutes, nothing else mattered.”

Paige listened intently, her gaze fixed on you in that way that made you feel like the most important person in the world.

“The DCC gave me a place to do that,” you continued, your voice softening. “I know it’s not perfect—God knows they’re not exactly progressive—but it’s still a dream. Getting to do what I love, to perform for a crowd… it’s everything I wanted.”

Paige smiled, a small, thoughtful curve of her lips. “You’re good at it,” she said simply.

You raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t even seen me dance.”

“I’ve seen enough,” she countered, her tone teasing but warm. “And besides, you wouldn’t be where you are if you weren’t incredible.”

You felt your cheeks heat, and you ducked your head, pretending to adjust the blanket so she wouldn’t see. “You’re just saying that.”

“Maybe,” she said with a grin, leaning back against the couch. “But I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the quiet between you filled with an unspoken understanding. It was rare, you realized, to have a moment like this—where everything felt easy, natural. Where you could just be.

As the credits rolled on the muted movie, Paige stretched, her arm brushing against yours, and you felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket draped over you.

“You know,” she said, her voice light but with a playful edge, “I think little-you and little-me would’ve been friends. Or at least rivals.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Oh, definitely rivals. I would’ve wiped the floor with you in a dance-off.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “Bold claim, cheerleader.”

“True claim,” you shot back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, and as the night stretched on, you found yourself leaning into the comfort of her presence, the weight of the world falling away, if only for a little while.

Paige grinned, leaning back against the couch cushions with a kind of effortless charm that made your stomach do somersaults. “What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.” She winked, and it was ridiculous how easily she could fluster you with the smallest gestures.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping before you could help it. “That’s what you’re going to lead with? Popcorn tricks?”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” she shot back, her grin widening. “This could’ve been my party trick if basketball didn’t work out.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “Oh yeah? And where does ‘world-class popcorn catcher’ rank next to WNBA superstar?”

She pretended to think, tapping her chin dramatically. “Probably right under future Hall of Famer and your biggest fan.”

That last bit caught you off guard. Paige said it so casually, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that could make your heart skip a beat. She didn’t even look at you after, just grabbed another handful of popcorn like she hadn’t just said something that would live rent-free in your mind for days.

You tried to play it cool, focusing on the screen and not the way your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” she teased, nudging your leg lightly with her foot.

And damn it, she wasn’t wrong.

The sound of her phone vibrating against the coffee table pulled both of you out of the easy rhythm of banter. Paige reached for it, glancing at the screen. The shift in her expression was subtle, but you caught it—the way her brows furrowed just slightly, the ghost of a smirk softening into something more reserved.

“Press conference clips,” she muttered, tossing the phone back onto the table without opening the notification. “Guess they’re making a thing out of it.”

It didn’t take a genius to know what “it” was. The photo, the headlines, the endless speculation. You felt the weight of it again, creeping in at the edges of this quiet moment. But before you could say anything, Paige turned her attention back to you, her expression steady.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, her voice firm but warm. “People are going to talk. Let them. It’s not going to change anything.”

You studied her, the way she always seemed so sure of herself, so unshaken by the noise. It was one of the things you admired most about her—the way she carried herself with this quiet confidence, like she knew exactly who she was and didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

“Doesn’t bother you?” you asked softly, the words coming out before you could second-guess them.

She shrugged, her lips curving into that easy, self-assured smile that felt like a safety net. “Why would it? I get to date you. Let ‘em be jealous.”

And just like that, the tension dissolved, replaced by the warmth of her words and the steady, unflinching way she looked at you. Paige Bueckers, always cool under pressure, had a way of making everything else fade into the background.

The next couple of weeks pass surprisingly smoothly, at least on the surface. Coach Anderson hasn’t said a word about the photos since your last meeting, and it’s not hard to figure out why. You’re the top cheerleader, the face of the squad, and the one she relies on to land those impossible stunts and lead the team’s routines. Letting you go now would only create a whirlwind of drama she clearly wants to avoid.

But that doesn’t mean everything is perfect.

Your teammates—most of them, anyway—don’t go out of their way to make life easy for you. There’s no outright hostility; it’s all subtle, quiet, passive-aggressive. Like when you’re practicing the pyramid, and someone “accidentally” tightens their grip too much on your ankle, or when you call for a run-through and the response is a too-sweet “Of course, captain,” followed by exaggerated sighs and barely concealed eye-rolls.

It doesn’t happen all the time, but often enough that you can feel the weight of it. Even when no one’s saying anything, the whispers just outside of earshot, the exchanged glances, and the forced smiles remind you that the photos are still fresh in their minds.

You grit your teeth and keep going. Every time you land a clean tumble or nail the timing on a routine, you know you’re proving them wrong. Performance after performance, you remind everyone why you’re the one leading this team.

Then, one Friday night after a big game, the dam breaks—but not where you expect it.

The team’s win had been huge, a tight match that came down to the final seconds. The cheer squad had been flawless, their chants and stunts keeping the crowd alive and electric. As you gather with your squad on the sidelines, still buzzing from the game’s energy, the reporters swarm in.

The questions start innocent enough. Someone asks about the routine, another about the game’s atmosphere. You answer them like you always do—polished and professional.

But then a reporter steps forward. A man with a smirk that makes your skin crawl, and a voice dripping with fake politeness. "Great work tonight," he starts, holding his mic out to you. "But I have to ask—given all the controversy around those photos recently, do you really think you’re the right person to represent this team?"

The question catches you off guard, even though maybe it shouldn’t. You feel the weight of it settle like a rock in your chest, heavy and sharp. Around you, the other girls stiffen, and the camera lenses zoom in, waiting for your reaction.

You take a breath, keeping your expression calm even as irritation simmers just beneath the surface. "Well," you say, your voice steady, "those photos have nothing to do with my role here. What matters is the work we put into this team—on and off the field. And if you watched tonight’s game, I think the results speak for themselves."

Your response is measured, professional. But it’s not enough for him. "Still," he presses, his smirk widening, "don’t you think it sets a... questionable example for young girls watching?"

It’s such a loaded, condescending question that the irritation flares into anger. Before you can reply, though, one of your teammates steps forward. "Excuse me," she says sharply, her voice cutting through the tension. "What kind of example are you setting by asking that question? Maybe focus on our performance instead of gossip."

The reporter’s smirk falters, and another cheerleader speaks up, her arms crossed. "Yeah, seriously. We just worked our butts off out there, and this is what you want to talk about? Seems like a ‘you’ problem."

A few of the others chime in, their voices firm and united. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel like you’re standing on shaky ground. The reporter stumbles over his words, trying to regain control, but someone from the PR team steps in and quickly ends the interview.

When the chaos dies down, and you’re gathering your things, one of your teammates catches your eye. "We’ve got your back," she says simply, offering you a small smile.

The others nod in agreement, and it’s all you can do to keep your voice steady when you reply. "Thanks. That means a lot."

It’s not a perfect resolution, but as you leave the field that night, you feel lighter. For the first time, it feels like you’re not fighting this battle alone.

The atmosphere shifts after the interview ends. The biting coldness that had lingered for weeks, the pointed whispers and passive-aggressive smiles, seems to melt away. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like an outsider among your own team.

One by one, the girls gather around you. At first, it’s tentative—an awkward shuffle of sneakers on the turf as if they’re testing the waters. Then someone breaks the tension by stepping closer and wrapping their arms around you.

It’s unexpected, but the gesture cracks something open inside you. Before you can process it, another cheerleader joins in, and then another, until you’re at the center of a warm, chaotic huddle.

The hug isn’t perfect. Arms bump into shoulders, someone’s pom-poms tickle your cheek, and there’s a faint whiff of sweat and body spray mingling in the air. But none of that matters. What matters is the sincerity in the way they hold you, the murmured “We’ve got you” and “Don’t let them get to you” that make your throat tighten with unexpected emotion.

“Look,” one of them says with a grin as the group hug breaks apart, “we may not always be the easiest people to deal with, but you’re our captain. No reporter or stupid photos are gonna change that.”

Another girl chimes in, smirking. “And if they ask anything dumb again, we’ll handle it. You just focus on flipping in midair like it’s nothing.”

The laughter that ripples through the group is light, genuine, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like part of the team again. The weight of their support, of their acceptance, feels like armor you didn’t know you needed.

When the moment starts to fade and the team begins gathering their things, you feel a familiar hand slip into yours. Paige is there, her grip warm and steady, her smile soft in a way that’s meant just for you.

“Ready to go?” she asks, her voice low enough that only you can hear.

You nod, glancing around at the others. The team is still buzzing, joking and chatting as they trail toward the locker rooms, but a few of them shoot you quick, encouraging smiles.

As you and Paige step out of the arena, hand-in-hand, the crisp night air greets you. The world outside is buzzing, reporters still milling about, cameras flashing as fans cheer and chatter. You know they’re looking. You can feel the weight of their stares, the subtle tilt of a camera lens in your direction, the whispers that follow wherever you go.

But tonight, for once, you don’t care.

You hold Paige’s hand tighter, her fingers lacing through yours in a way that feels unshakable, grounding. You catch her eye, and there’s something fierce in her smile, a kind of defiance that mirrors your own.

“Let them look,” she says, her voice firm but laced with humor. “What are they gonna do? Take more photos?”

The words make you laugh, a sound that feels freer than it has in weeks. Together, you walk through the crowd, the world around you blurring into the background as you focus on each step forward.

People snap pictures, murmur among themselves, and even call out questions, but none of it matters. Not the flashes of cameras, not the speculative headlines that will follow. What matters is the solid warmth of Paige’s hand in yours and the knowledge that, for the first time in a long time, you’re not walking alone.

As the two of you disappear into the night, you feel lighter. Stronger. You’re still the same person who weathered the worst of the storm, but now, you have people at your side who will weather it with you. And that makes all the difference.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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kirislovelygf · 3 months ago

Note

Req: (pre end of s1 events) Sevika falls in love with the (maybe younger??) reader who works at the last drop and she awkwardly has to figure out how to talk to them, knowing that she's intimidating.

across the bar (sevika x gn! reader)

contents: sevika has a crush on the bartender and keeps coming by but doesnt know how to talk to reader, have a little late night walk, they talk more, fluff, first meeting, confession, first kissesssss, reader has a FAT crush on sevika wrd count: 3.1k (yikesss)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i’ve been a bartender at the last drop for about a couple months now. and almost every night i’ve been working here, sevika’s been in the corner. i thought she was hot at first.

but then i caught her staring. at first i thought it was cute, like eye flirting but she never actually came up to talk to me. i’d bring shots to her table, some of her minions would come up and order for her, but she never talked to me.

and every time i tried to talk to her, i’d miss her. she’d walk out ot he bar before i could get the chance.

i was kind of creeped out. a big scary woman with scars and dark eyes watching me?

i got freaked out and started carrying a knife with me for the late night shifts.

but then later, she actually started saying hi. my first instinct was to be nice. and there’d be instances where she’d try to come up to the bar but i was busy running around, making drinks.

but the day came when she actually came up to order from me.

i was laughing with my friend as they were sitting, sipping on a beer, when sevika came up and slammed her beer glass on the wood. we stared at her awkwardly and my friend took that as a sign to walk away. “i’ll.. come back later.” he said.

i glared as he left. i look up at sevika. “hi. need a refill?” i asked.

“nah.. what’s that?” she tilted her chin to a green and yellow colored drink a woman was enjoying in the corner booth.

“oh... zaun sunset. want one? i make them myself.” i said to her. she tilts her head slightly. “don’t you make all the drinks yourself?

“i make some of them. but i just pour everything else.” i said. she squints her eyes at me, making my heart drop to my stomach.

“anyway.. i’ll get started on that.” i smiled softly.

i went to get the drinks to make it while glancing every couple seconds. she didn’t leave the bar and everytime we made eye-contact, she’d look away.

now that she’s not in the darkest corner of the bar and i can see her face, she’s actually really hot.

hopefully she’s just hot and not a creep.

i placed two cherries on the drink and went and placed it in front of her with a napkin beside it.

“here you go.” i smiled softly.

she stared at it. “it’s a little.. frilly, don’t you think?” she muttered.

“is it the cherries?” i chuckled.

she stares at it for another second and picks out the cherries onto a napkin i placed beside the drink. i laugh softly before she takes a long sip.

i watched her eyes widen and i chuckled softly. “is it still too frilly?”

“what the hell did you put in this?” she asked. “everything.”

i smiled at her. she's kinda..

someone called me over for a refill. “you enjoy that.” i said to her. i took the cherry from her napkin and popped it in my mouth before i walked away.

the rest of the night continued to pour people's drinks and stuff.

around two a.m, i closed the bar for the night. i waved bye to the last person that walked out and locked the door.

i then turned to the dirty, unorganized, sticky, smelly bar and sighed out.

it was my night to clean so i walked over to the record player before getting started.

while looking for some music, someone knocked on the door.

“we’re closed, go away.” i yelled out, looking back at the door. the silhouette looked familiar and i walked over to the window. i stepped on a chair to look through it.

it was sevika pacing the floor outside the door.

“oh..”

i jumped down from the chair, unlocked the door and opened it. she had her fist rased, about to knock again.

“hey. sorry about that, um.. you know we’re closed right?”

“i know. i just uh..” she stuttered.

“i noticed you didn't leave.. and there’s some drunk guys down the alley. i just.. didn’t want you walking home alone.” she explained.

so she was waiting for me to leave..

“oh! okay.. well, i have to clean the bar, so maybe once i’m done, you can walk me home?”

her eyes widened slightly. “um..”

“i’ll be quick. i could use the company anyway.”

she nodded and i let her in before locking the door again. i went over to the record player and found a song. “la camisa negra” played the opening notes before i turned up the volume.

“can i help?” she asked as i walked over.

“nah, just sit. talk to me.” i smiled. i went to find a rag and spray.

“your name’s sevika, right?”

“um.. yeah.” she said as she took a seat at the bar.

“do you know my name?” i asked as i walked to a table.

“i might be wrong. is it y/n?”

“yeah, good guess.” i chuckled.

i looked up at her, smiling softly. she shakes her head. “i feel bad just sitting here.” she stepped off the bar stool and walked over.

“here..” she stands in front of me and gently takes the rag and spray from my hand.

“i got these tables.” she hummed in a low tone.

i have never been so turned on. oh my god.

i stared up at her as my face went hot. “uhuh.. thanks..” i muttered as i walked away. i looked back at her wiping down the table with her hand.

i huffed and waved a hand at my face. “hot.. hot in here.” i whispered.

i found another rag and spray bottle and joined her.

it was silent for a second before i started talking to her.

“so.. what do you do? besides hang around here..” i asked. she glances up at me before muttering. “um..”

“if i had to guess.. cake decorator?” i smiled. she laughs softly.

“orr.. maybe you make cute clothes for little dogs.” i said.

“dogs need clothes?”

“yeah! they get cold.” i joked. she shakes her head.

he picks up her supplies and moves to a table closer to me. oh my god, look at her muscles. she looks so good.

“so what do you actually do?” i said, regrettably taking my eyes off her.

“i work for vander.. sort of.”

“wow.. i was way off.” i moved to another table. “you just.. move deliveries for him or something?”

“sort of.” she hummed.

i look over and she’s not smiling anymore.

“what about you? is this the only thing you do?” she asked.

“the only thing i get paid for. and it’s not much, you know how cheap vander is.” i joked. she smiles softly.

wait, she's so cute, aw.

“but i paint and stuff sometimes. that canvas over there?” she looks at me and i direct her to a canvas hanging over the booth in the corner. it was of the skyline of zaun but brighter with happier colors.

“i just finished it last month.” i told her.

“whoa...” she hummed. “it’s nice.”

i smiled. “how long did it take you?”

“just a week or two. it’s hard to stop when i’m really into something.” i said.

“hm.. is there more?” she asked.

i look up from the table. i move on to the one she was at. “yeah, i paint stuff all over the city. not those dumb, sloppy graffiti tags kids make.. most of the murals you see, i made them.” i shrugged.

“no way.” she said. “you should show me once we get outta here.”

“you sure? we’re gonna walk a lot.” i said, looking up at her. oh my god, her lips look so biteable. would she mind if i jumped over this table right now?

“i don’t mind.” she shook her head slightly before moving on to another table. i watched her before moving to another table.

we eventually finished and she insisted on lifting all the chairs to put them over the tables. i’m so glad i let her.

i got to watch her flex her muscles for like ten minutes while pretending to clean the bar.

i wasn’t cleaning no damn bar. i was imagining what her muscles would feel like around my head.

“you finished?”

“huh?” she was in front of me on the other side of the bar. she blinked. “are you finished here?”

“oh! yeah, just about.” i chuckled. i quickly wiped it down before moving to put away the bottles of liquor i left out.

i was too lazy to get the step stool from the back, so i tried reaching the top shelf to put away the whiskey.

“let me get that for you.” i heard sevika mutter.she went up behind me and she took the bottle from my hand before placing it on the shelf with ease.

she goes for the other bottle. “this too?”

“yeah..” i breathed out.

i was under her, watching her, staring at her face before she looked down at me.

i should have some shame but i don’t. and i don’t care!

“thanks.”

“no problem.”

“i could use your help around here more often. to reach the tall stuff.” i hummed softly.

i thought she was going to kiss me before she walked away. “maybe..” she hummed.

i swear she was teasing me. or what if she hates me?

my eyes rolled to the back of my head before i went to go find the broom.

she tried to take the broom from me but i insisted it was fine. “it’s okay! i got it.” i laughed.

“just go sit.. pour yourself some whiskey or something.” i chuckled.

“i just put it away.” she said as she walked over to sit. “then water, i dunno.”

we look at eachother, chuckling softly.

“i still feel bad just watching you.”

“there’s literally nothing else for you to do. just talk to me.” i chuckled as i sweeped under tables.

“i’m not.. very good at that.” she said.

“that’s okay. um.. what's some stuff you like to do?”

“drink.. gamble.. smoke.. read.. that’s it.” she shrugged.

“okay..” i chuckled. “reading is cool. what do you like to read?”

“old history books mostly. sounds boring, but i always loved learning.”

i look over at her. “that's… unexpected. you don’t see many people over fifteen reading down here.”

“my old man made me learn when i was young.” she said. “ohh.” i chuckled.

“so history.. what about fun fantasy books, hm? you like the ones with magic and stuff?” i asked.

“when i was a kid, yeah.” she chuckled. “grown-ups can read those books too.” i said to her.

i look over at her. her back against the chair, her arm and hand on the bar, my clothes slipping off.

i mean, whaaatt.

“i dunno.. after growing up down here, i stopped believing in those stories, you know?” she walks over to the record player and changes the music.

“just like everyone around here.” she hummed.

i stared at her. i realized i just sweeped up the whole bar. i walked over to stand next to her seat.

i leaned against the bar. “isn’t it better to believe in those than in whatever mess zaun is?”

“it’d be nice but it’s not reality.”

i studied her face. she had dark circles under her grey eyes. i wonder if her lips look that good naturally or if she likes wearing lipstick.

she looks down at me before nervously averting her gaze.

“d-don’t you need to put that away?” she muttered.

“ah.. yeah. i’ll be right back, then we can get out of here.”

i walked away from her and came back to her, taking a cigarette out of her pocket.

“alright, i’m done. lets go look at some of my art.” i sighed out.

she turns off the record player and i turn off all the lights.

she holds the door open for me. “what a gentle-lady, thank you.” i smiled. she laughed nervously and i turned to lock the door. i glanced at her.

she was nervously flicking her lighter to get a flame.

i smiled to myself at how such a terrifying woman can get nervous so easily.

“come on..” i said to her.

i’ve gone home with other hot people but i never completely trusted any of them. but for some reason, i felt so safe with her behind me.

probably because she’s 6’5, like two hundred pounds of muscle and has a gun on her belt.

i led her through the lanes, showing her a couple of my smaller murals. she had little to say about them but seeing her face, i knew she liked them.

i finished showing her another one before taking her hand. “my best one is this way, come on.”

i led her to an alleyway before i let go of her hand. we turned a couple corners, climbed a couple stairs, until we reached the rooftop of an old building and then onto its balcony.

she jumped down first before holding her arm out to help me.

“thanks.” i smiled at her as i touched the metal floor. we look over at my mural on the wall of an old factory that towered over the neighborhood we were in.

“this is the biggest one i’ve ever done. took me a couple months.” i said to her. “i named her 'the woman in the wind.' i think it’s my best piece.”

she stared up at my piece in awe and i never felt so accomplished for a piece.

i look up at her face. “you’re.. so incredibly talented.” she spoke. “how’d you even come up with something like this?”

“it was supposed to start out as a mural of my mom, who died when i was little.. but i realized when i was sketching out her face that i didn’t remember her as well as i thought i did.” she both leaned against the railing to stare at the artwork.

“even now, i’m not completely sure i remember what she looked like. and it was just barely.” i smiled.

“so, i called it the woman in the wind because everytime i tried to remember her, it was like little details would come and go, like they were blowing past in a breeze..” i shrugged.

i look up at her and she’s still staring. “i know it sounds weird and corny but-”

“no.”

oh??

“it’s.. absolutely beautiful.” she nodded.

she looks at me and smiles. suddenly, the scary woman who never spoke was the sweetest and prettiest person i’ve ever seen.

“you know i’ve walked past this mural… probably a hundred times.” she sighed out.

“i think it’s even more beautiful now that i know someone like you made it.” she said.

no she didn't! that was perfect.

i laughed softly. “come on, don’t make me blush.” i jokingly hit her arm and she laughs.

we’re silent for a moment, just staring at it.

“have you always dreamed of doing something like this?” she asks, taking a drop from her cigarette.

“yeah, but.. i dreamed of becoming someone famous and getting out of the undercity. i’d dream of owning a fancy apartment up on topside, selling my art..” i said.

she chuckled. i shoved her arm. “hey, don't laugh. i was a kid.” i laughed.

“okay, okay..”

ugh, she’s gorgeous.

“you had to have had crazy dreams when you were little too., right?” she chuckled.

she blinks and looks away. “nah..”

“yeah, you do. come on, i won’t laugh.” i smiled.

“i mean.. it was a long time ago but for a while i wanted to be a zookeeper. i liked animals, so..” she shrugged.

“that’s.. not crazy. that's so cute! never would've assumed you were an animal lover.” i said teasingly.

she laughs softly. “you have any pets?”

“nah, i don’t got any time for that. running all over the lanes keeps me busy.”

“hmm..” i watch her with a smile on her face. i dont know why i was ever scared of her, she’s so cute and sweet.

“anyway.. we should get you home.” she said, exhaling smoke. “it’s getting late.”

“you can say you’re bored of me, it's okay.” i said jokingly. “what? no!” she chuckled. i climbed up to the roof before turning to help her but she barely needed it.

we walked through the lanes lit by neon green and purple lights. we talked the whole way home and all the weird junkies and prostitutes and just weird night people walked right past us or avoided us.

i have to take like ten shortcuts just to avoid the main streets. but everyone was terrified of even making eye contact with sevika.

the closer we got to my house, the more she started opening up to me.

we finally arrived to my small place. i had my key in my hand and stepped on one of the steps that led to my front door.

“i really appreciate you walking me home.” i said, leaning on the railing.

“yeah, of course. but.. do you usually work so late? and walk home by yourself? it’s not very safe.”

i laughed. i pulled up my pant leg and took out the knife i mentioned i started carrying when she first started borderline stalking me.

“whoa-” she jerks her head back at the size of the blade.

“yeah, not safe for anyone who talks to me. me? i’m good.” i shrugged. she laughs slightly before i put it back.

“huh.. well, next time, just let me know. i’d be happy to do it again.” she inched closer to me. her chin was slightly lifted up as i’m now around her height.

“unless you have a scarier and taller person to do it instead.” she shrugged. i laughed.

“nah, i think i'll just stick with you.”

ugh can she kiss me already. okay, you know what? i’m getting this over with. fuck a slowburn, i need her tonight.

“actually, it’s way too late for you to walk home.” i said. her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

she knows she will obviously be fine walking at any hour at night by herself.

“you can stay over tonight..” i hummed.

“are you sure?” she asked. i simply shrugged. she looks down at my hand and takes it in hers.

she stares at me for a second before pulling me forward. i caught myself on her chest and we laughed as my hands went to hold her face.

we kissed before her hand snaked around my waist.

i never walked home by myself again after that night.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: thank you @dopemusiccowboy for submitting this!! i had fun writing it!

#arcane #writers #wlw #wlw writing #sevika #sevika x reader #sevika arcane #BIG MAMAAAAAA #i need her so bad ngh #SEVIKAAAA COME HOME THE KIDS MISS YOUUUUU #oneshot #sevika fic #sevika mommy

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runningupthatvecna · 5 months ago

Text

get the peach(es)

bestfriend!eddie munson x reader

it's the day after chrissy got vecna'd and you and the gang decide to check up on eddie at rick's. he's still in so much distress that you can't help but selflessly stay with your best friend (who you've been harboring a crush on for quite some time) and keep him company. 6k words, not proofread.

cw: the good old friends to lovers trope, eddie is an anxious bean who just needs to be held (by you, ideally), mutual (and not so secret at all) pining, i wrote this with fem!reader in mind (she/her pronouns) but can also be read as gn i guess, fluff, hurt/comfort (for eddie), pet names, mentions of chrissy's death, there shall be kisses and a lot of softness. nothing too explicit but minors are still advised to LEAVE

a/n: totally not self indulgent, that scene of him being so terrified in 4x02 ripped me to shreds so this is my fix-it attempt, trying to still my need to hold him and scratch his head. disclaimer: this piece of writing is based on the ending of that episode, meaning all credits for the setting go to the respective writers. sources to the header images here, here and here. lovely divider by saradika. ok thank you so much for reading byeeee love y'all <3

–––––

The overwhelming need to befriend the satanic metalhead found you at that party at the Wheeler house. You had almost said no to Nancy when she invited you, knowing damn well how the night would end. Steve passed out with a girl on his lap, Robin silently pining after Vickie from some corner of the room while clinging onto the red plastic cup in her hand, Jonathan getting higher than a kite with his old school mates, the younger kids asking you every five minutes if you could give them a ride since you usually were the one staying sober.

Additionally this time, there would be Eddie Munson. This familiar stranger Dustin, Mike and Lucas had met and somehow befriended over the last months, due to them joining his DnD club. "He might come off as a bit intimidating ... but I promise he's super chill and easy going!", Mike had tried to convince his sister, poking the tip of her shoulder repeatedly with a bunch of pleases during lunch break in the editing room of the school's newspaper. Until she rolled her eyes theatrically and agreed to let the ambiguous stranger, which the whole town collectively perceived as not really fitting in (and who you both certainly knew under the not so chill reputation he carried around), attend the celebratory events at Casa Wheeler. Occasion: Karen, Ted and their youngest leaving the house for more than one day, off on vacation.

You'd always kinda stayed out of his ways, used to observe his antics back at school with a silent laugh and this .. intrigue poking at your guts. To you he always stood out, and if anyone asked you'd be hesitant to admit it, but his willingness to go against the flow and not conform to the acceptable standards set by society was honestly impressive. And besides, surely this whole mysterious drug dealer rockstar image must just be a fassade and deep down he's just a dork, right?

His eyes follow you through the living room, an echo of your name crossing his mind repeatedly after having pulled Dustin into a corner for a brief interrogation. He finds it endearing how quickly and almost bashfully you look away every time your curious gaze meets his. As you redirect your focus to the conversation you're becoming engaged in, there's a soft smile creeping onto your lips. Little did he know it would soon start to haunt him in his dreams at night.

"Anything specific you're looking for?"

God, his voice. The close proximity invites your nose to inhale a mix of fresh cigarette smoke, bergamot and sandalwood, allowing you to sense what can only be him standing behind you as you skim through the cabinets of the Wheeler kitchen. You turn your head for your eyes to confirm your assumption and what they find is the deepest brown of round baby cow eyes they've ever met, up so much closer now. The paring of his gaze and plush smile somehow manages to dissolve every little prejudice you've been involuntarily harboring about him. Eddie Munson, the town's freak. Prime reason for the existence of the satanic panic. Drugs. And then you realise that you should probably do the polite thing and give him an answer. "Yeah uh, I was just trying to find the peach syrup", holding his gaze with a small lopsided smile, lost in its warmth which you wouldn't have dared to expect from it, before facing away from him again. He snorts a little, "peach syrup?", pauses to bring a thumb to his upper lip, lightly scratching the skin above as if to wipe something away, before he removes it again and the dimples appear around the corners of his mouth, "that is oddly specific." His response spreads a smile over your face, and the next thing he says widens it, "looks like you have taste though."

You move one step to the side, about to investigate the insides of the next cabinet, the kitchen itself almost empty of people with only three others chatting away in the corner across the island. He follows, undoubtedly trying to stay close, and the heat from the fire he just ignited somewhere inside of you rises to your cheeks. "Thanks, I really like peaches. Especially in my drinks. It adds a little ... kick to my sobriety", you explain, Eddie now quirks an amused eyebrow paired with a lopsided smile at you, and as you get to the last cabinet it dawns on you (and also Eddie) that this household severely lacks peach syrup. An atrocity. Thanks Ted.

After he helped you rummage through the entirety of the kitchen without success but under a lot of small talk, the metalhead vanishes from the function for an hour or so. At least that's what your brain concludes when your vision fails to spot him among the people who are in attendance. Maybe he's selling out of Nancy's bedroom. Maybe he's puking up his insides in the bathroom because he had too much of that weird beer he's been downing all night. Maybe he's banging some random girl in the bathroom upstairs. Or summoning a demon. Or both. At the same time. You once again try focusing your attention back to the conversation you are involved in. Munson already feels so dear to you that the lack of his presence is starting to form an ache in your heart. It's tugging on those strings with how much you already want him near you. Yeah. You're gonna be in trouble with this one.

And then he stumbles into the room from the direction of the front door, an event you're totally unable (and unwilling) to miss. He doesn't look like he just puked, nor sold a whole lot of the stash since you notice it still bulging out the left ass pocket of his black jeans. Instead, as he pushes past the small groups of people socialising – and towards you – while you notice a red net of round fruits dangling from his right hand, and you start to think that his disheveled hair and that rosy tint on his cheeks might actually not be from shagging either. He meets your gaze again as he approaches you with a grin and your heart dares to swell at his attentive gesture (you think you might as well pass away on the spot).

"Have some, peach."

It's not syrup, but you'll take them anyway. And with your next drink, you swallow down not only that peachy sweetness on your tongue, but also whatever this tingly feeling in your chest is.

"Chchhrhch.."

Pause.

"Hey, uh– chrhchhr.."

Silence in your bedroom, the only thing illuminating the space is the moonlight softly falling through the window.

"Chrch– a-are you there?"

You stirr awake from dozing off in your bed, trying to piece together the information your senses are giving you.

Eyes gone dry, you have to blink a few times. Figure out which year it is and so on.

Confusion lies between the static crackle for a moment. That nap after your shift at the diner was necessary. God, you need to fucking quit.

"No I'm sure she'll pick right up, just– hey pleeease b-be awake, goddamn it!–"

Is it already past midnight?

You don't know and you can't tell, the clock on your nightstand still broken. What you do know though is that the familiar voice belongs to your friend Dustin and it's desperately trying to get ahold of you.

They must have found him.

"Dustin? I copy, where are you? What's going on?", you finally grab the device from the nightstand, fully awake and aware of your surroundings now.

You need to know. If he's okay.

There's that all too familiar instant tingle in your chest again, an ache that made itself familiar to you for the first time when he was introduced to you at the one and only Wheeler party several months ago. The dungeon master of Hawkins High's Hellfire club, the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin and a super chill and easy going guy, to put it in Mike Wheeler's words.

What you didn't expect back then was your heart starting to develop that feeling, that tingle you'd always get to feel when you were in his presence, or like now, when his name is threatening to spill from your friend's lips on the other side of the connection at any moment.

"Aha! See? I told you she'd respond in no time."

You can practically feel Dustin's shit eating grin through the frequency, basking in being correct over Steve Harrington once again. It never gets old between these two.

"Oh my god", Steve's muffled voice is what you can make out vaguely from the off, he's probably palming his face.

"Dustin!", your voice disappears into the device, and your impatience grows with every passing second, hoping he gets the hint.

There's the sound of a door falling shut, leaves rustling under shoes, he must be outside now.

"Alright, okay yeah, so we found him at Rick's and he's really upset and he's been asking for you. I know it's late but can you meet us out here? And maybe, uh, stay with him?"

It's not even worth questioning. You're already wearing shoes. Your biggest hoodie in tow, you stumble into your kitchen with the intention to raid your own snack drawer. Pulling out Eddie's favourite, which you of course had stocked up on ever since hanging out with him at your place had become more of a weekly routine for the both of you.

Ten minutes, you told him. You'd be there in ten.

The drive feels like forever. The longest ten minutes of your life, you think.

You know the route like the back of your hand, having driven along the gravelly road leading from the last intersection before Hawkins' border to the outer world, to the serene woods surrounding Lover's Lake countless times. Eddie would take you here ever so often, for picnics, an occasional smoke after picking up a new delivery from Rick's, cloud or star gazing, listening to Metallica and Tears for Fears on Wayne's old walkman.

The gravel crunches underneath your white reeboks as they land on the ground. You close the door to your car as quietly as possible after you've taken out the bag and your hoodie.

Dustin and Steve are stood outside the boathouse, waving like madmen in the darkness once you come into their periphery.

The younger boy hugs you tightly.

"So glad you could make it", he gets out, the relief palpable through his voice as well as the grip he holds you in for a brief moment.

You look at them both after Steve presses you against him cordially, and breathe out through your nose, making your nostrils flare.

Dustin cracks open the case to you as he starts to ramble about the state in which they found your best friend, "well first he attacked Steve with a broken bottle, we had to put in great effort to convince him that we'd be on his side, and we came to the conclusion that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, basically."

What you want right now goes without saying. Everyone here knows how close you and Eddie are. As friends, of course. No one would think anything different.

Without wasting another second, the boys lead you inside where Max and Robin are knelt on the wooden floor. Heads turning towards the entrance of the room where you're now standing.

The sight of what's offered to your eyes, sitting opposite of them, breaks your heart.

You can see that he's slightly shivering, eyes glassy in the dim lit room. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips though once his brain grasps your presence, and he can't help anymore but let the water fall once his eyes lock with yours.

The pain that is swimming in those two deep warm brown oceans hits you like a dagger to the chest. Over the months of being friends with him you'd seen him various different states, none of them comparable to this.

"Peach", his shaky voice announces your arrival and the sound of your nickname spilling from his lips cracks through your bones. The bag that's slung around your shoulder drops onto the wood with a dull thud.

Wobbly legs carry him towards you with a gentle shove past Robin and Max. You're once again reminded of your best friend's sheer physical strength as he wraps his arms around you, instantly burying his face into the crook of your neck.

One arm of your own sneaks around his torso, pressing him against you as tightly as your own strength allows you, while your other hand comes up to bury itself underneath the mane and to end up scratching soothingly over the scalp above the nape of his neck.

Eddie lets out a muffled sob, sniffling into the collar of the sweatshirt you threw on in a haste. He doesn't really want anyone to see him like this, certainly not Steve Harrington, so he clutches onto you so tightly that he thinks you might just feel his heavy heart beating anxiously against your chest.

And you do. How could you not with the amount of world he means to you? Like an automatism your other hand rubs slow circles over his back. Comforting him in the best way you could. Not a conscious decision you make.

"Okay so, m'not meaning to ruin the party, in fact I'd love to stay for another round of doom talk, but I really should get home soon, guys", Robin scratches the back of her head after she gets up from her huddled position next to the wooden crate Eddie had been sitting on. Max joins in and agrees, mumbling something about having to move her mom from being passed out on the couch again into her bed.

"Yeah me too, actually. My dad's gonna be fucking pissed. We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?", Steve's voice echoes through the room and you can tell he's already shoved Dustin back outside, itching to drive the kid home.

As Eddie processes having to stay in hiding, added the possibility of everyone leaving without him, his grip on you tightens even more.

"It's okay, Eds", you speak softly, head slightly tilted so your cheek rests on the dark frizzy mop you could call his hair. The skin on his neck and scalp so warm underneath your fingertips as you keep scratching it, emphasizing your presence, "I'll stay."

A soft muffled whimper is what you get as a response, and the way he lets you see him in this state melts your insides to a puddle.

You just need him to be okay.

They wave their goodbyes behind your back, accompanied by mumbles of "see you in the morning", and you can't even bring yourself to turn your head around, fully focused on making the young man in your arms less terrified of the world. A world he was sure was now going to come for him with all its force – in deep conviction of him being responsible for Chrissy's misfortunate end.

The door falls shut and Eddie muffles a quiet thank you into the fabric of your sweatshirt. The skin on your neck is damp with his tears, wet eyelashes tickling every time he blinks.

"It's okay, Eds", you softly keep repeating your words to him while continuously rubbing over the denim of his signature Dio vest in a slow motion, when he feels the urgency to claim the truth into the collar of your sweater about what has happened, "I– I didn't do it, I swear."

As if you would need any convincing.

"Oh no of course you didn't, I know that", you're looking for a way to ease the distress this entire situation is causing him, his quivering voice adding to your desire to soothe him to inner peace, "can I make a suggestion?"

Eddie nods with another sniffle against your collarbone, the round wet tip of his nose brushing against the column of your throat lightly. To his ears, your voice sounds like silk right about now.

"How about we head over to the main house and get ourselves a little more comfortable? Since we're gonna be here for a little longer? My god you probably haven't slept or eaten at all, have you?"

You can feel him nod his head again with a hum this time, and you start to think that the tears might not just be pouring because he just witnessed someone suffer a gruesome death right in front of him, but also due to physical exhaustion.

It makes your heart ache even more, that tingle still present, even more so now. It hurts to see your best friend hurt.

He just needs to be okay. And in that heart of yours there's that little spark of hope that leads you to believe you could be the one helping him with that.

You'd really want that. Be all his to find comfort in, to hold close, to kiss stupid

Stop.

A sigh escapes your lungs at the thought. That tingle, that longing, it's selfish. It familiarly pools in your belly and slowly drips downwards. You push your brain aside. This is about soothing your best friend now.

"C'mon then", you utter softly, encouraging him with your hand to lift his head from where it leans against your shoulder.

For your heart it's almost too much to look at, the hurt still swimming in the glassy big brown irises, his waterline red and puffy. The soft smile returning to his lips causes the wet apples of his cheeks to push up slightly, reflecting the dim light coming from the one torch Robin left you, placed on one of the crates.

He really hadn't been able to close an eye for a single second since he he'd gotten up for school the day prior.

You smile back at him almost bashfully as you slowly create space between your bodies.

Eddie is grateful that it's you who grabs his ringed hand next.

He squeezes yours, hoping to get the message of this meaning something to him across.

And he closely trails behind you as you lead the way.

The house feels empty, like no one's really been here in months. You'd never been inside. The few times you'd accompanied Eddie grabbing stash you'd stayed in his van, waiting. But as far as you now can make out in the darkness, there's a couch with knitted blankets, a little TV with a whole stack of VHS almost rising as high as the screen itself, spilled and spluttered empty cans and papers and wrappings littered all around. Maybe this is why he never let you come inside with him. Keeping you out of this definitely not sterile mess. Along with keeping you out of the business.

In the middle of the living room, you let go of his hand and shuffle one step away from him. He's inside now. Safe. Job done. Doesn't need physical contact. You shouldn't, he's your friend. You feel like something between you would break if you'd go there.

Eddie thinks otherwise, regarding close proximity at least. He promptly follows you into what you believe to be the kitchen where you hope you might find a tea bag or two. He comes up behind you and encases you in his arms as you rummage through the cabinets (feels familiar, hm?), not at all ready to say goodbye to the warmth of your body pressed against his own just yet.

You giggle at the silliness of him putting weight on you just to make it harder for you to reach into the cabinets. It's endearing. And very Eddie.

Twenty minutes later and there's two mugs – cleaned to your best ability – with steaming hot liquid on the sixties wooden coffee table. Next to them a plate filled with the almost equally hot insides of a ravioli in tomato sauce can. Thank Rick for a still functioning microwave.

You drape the knitted blankets over both you and Eddie as you settle into the cushions. The only light existent coming from two lit candles on said coffee table. It wouldn't be too wise setting up the torch you think.

The side of Eddie's face glows in the orange yellow, his wide brown bambi eyes dried after the first grand storm, and there's this tug on the corner of his pink plush lips again. He exchanged his leather jacket for the freshly washed hoodie for comfort and a small part of you hopes he doesn't spill his dinner onto any of it.

You lean back into the backrest of the worn out couch and watch as he eats, a domestic thing you've done a thousand times already, yet you still find comfort in knowing that he's nourishing himself.

Or well, in this case, inhaling the raviolis.

"Thank you Peach", he moves to put the empty plate back on the coffee table and it makes the spoon chink and glide along the edge, "I really needed this."

His voice is a little hoarse, probably from the emotions of the hours behind him. Maybe he has indeed calmed down a little. His hand moves down to your thigh, squeezing.

You give him the most empathetic smile you can bring yourself to display, painfully aware of the blaze that is transpiring through your leggings and seeping into your bones, "it's no big deal, really. I mean it is– uh, being there for you, is."

And he can't bring himself to look up at you. Instead, he stares at the empty plate on that coffee table in front of him.

"And to me as well. It really helps that you're here."

He doesn't bother moving the calloused warmth of his hand from the soft warmth of your thigh. It lights your entire nervous system on fire. In a good way.

And that's when you begin to wonder if everything that has just happened and is still happening right now changes anything.

"I'm so glad it does", is all you're able to get out.

Eddie decides that it's time to lean into your side and wrap his arms around your torso once again, drop his head back to its favourite place with a soft content little hum.

He just needs physical comfort. Of course. Just that. Nothing more, nothing else.

The words are redundant but your mouth articulates them anyway, "try to get some sleep, yeah?"

His back already lifts and falls evenly. You place your hand on the back of his head that rests in the crook of your neck again, scratching through the curls lightly, searching to help him shut off even deeper.

–––––

The candles have gone out by the time your eyelids slowly open. It takes you a moment to recall the location you fell asleep in, and you hope that the nightly darkness the whole room is now filled with hasn't invited any stranger to take advantage of your unconsciousness.

There's a warm hand holding your face, the pad of a thumb tracing over the apple of your cheek softly. It makes its way from the bridge of your nose to the outer corner of your eye, and back. And forth. And back. And forth.

You must have moved to lie down on your back in your sleep, with Eddie's weight still on your body, legs entangled. It's not the first time you've slept like this, there had been movie nights that had ended similarly.

His hand caressing your cheek though, yeah that is new. There's something unspoken in the air this time around. Your stomach is doing flip flops when you realise that he is propped up on his elbow, just .. looking at you. With eyes that don't require light to hint at whatever it is he is trying to say, or maybe not trying at all.

"Eds, what are you doing?", you ask almost in a whisper followed by a lopsided smile, expecting an unserious answer, because he always tends to make a joke whenever he tries to avoid conversing about emotions regarding his heart.

His thumb stops its acrobatics on your cheek, comes to a halt.

"I'm–", he takes a deep breath before he continues, "I'm just so grateful it's you that's here right now."

Your hand comes up to cup his. Brush over his rough knuckles with a thumb of your own. Enjoying the warmth that is seeping from his palm into your skin.

"Yeah, I figured you were gonna be a little opposed to spending the night with Harrington", you laugh, an attempt to turn your nerves into humour.

Eddie snorts a little, "yeah right, it's almost like you know me", he grins and pushes himself even closer to your face than he already is. It doesn't necessarily help in extinguishing the fire that's consuming you whole at this point.

"It's almost like we're best friends and I know what you think of him because every time Dustin or literally anyone else mentions his name around you, you're not necessarily secretive about it."

"Hey, my own worldview is not my fault, it's just– ... he just kinda seems like a douche of the highest order."

"He's quite alright, Eds. Try giving him a chance, I think he'd look great as Coffin's tambourinist."

He snorts again and you feel his breath on the column of your neck next when he dips his head down, nose pressing against the soft skin, his small giggle being swallowed by the collar of your sweatshirt.

Your favourite sound. Ever. Followed by the relieved moan Eddie lets out at the way your other hand is softly rubbing over his shoulder blade. The vibration against your neck makes you twitch as much as being pinned into the couch cushions by his body allows you.

It's soothing as much for you as it is for him.

When he lifts his head, the soft gaze he eyes you with is enough to let the goosebumps erupt. Even in the darkness of the room you can still make out those round buttons that could melt the entire north pole.

"Thank you, Peach, really. I'd be goin' mental right now and probably tryin' to counter that by smoking an equally mental amount of the stash I've been hiding here."

Your heart aches.

"I'm just glad I can be that kind of comfort to you, Eds. You don't have to go through whatever the fuck this is alone."

"I know I'm never gonna be alone as long as you are there."

You almost cry yourself now, his words making your hand travel from his own to his cheek, almost passing out from the way his eyes bore into your own once again.

Eddie isn't sure what it is that is making him feel lightheaded right now. The whole rollercoaster of events of the past hours. Or your words of affirmation. Or mayhaps it is your cute soft hand with that little ring on your thumb which is gently swiping over his damp skin.

That cute soft hand he'd been imagining countless times at night, silently yearning for your eyes to look at him differently, to finally see him in a different light the next time you'd hang out.

Probably a combination of just everything.

You reciprocate his soft half-lidded gaze, hand moving from his cheek to tuck some of his hair behind his left ear, revealing that delicate silver hoop earring you'd gifted to him for his birthday, after having talked your ear off about getting his ear pierced for literal months.

He'd insisted you join him for the appointment, "another metal moment for the books", as Eddie had called it, the need to have his hand held during the stab comically urgent in the way his voice sounded when he called you that day. And in the pace in which he picked you up.

"I'm here no matter what", you respond to his sentiment, that hand that brushed his hair away resting on the side of his neck while leaning the weight of your head into his palm that is still attached to your cheek.

Eddie's confidence reaches a new all time high with the admission of your unconditional support being stirred into the cocktail of hormones and emotions that's been circulating in his bloodstream for a generous amount of time now.

Because then he goes on by saying impossible things.

Impossible things with a slightly less platonic undertone.

"You're so fucking sweet, has anyone ever told you?"

You smile as you shake your head, heat rising to your cheeks once again and you're sure he won't be able to see just how flustered he's getting you (joke's on you he does).

You're also sure he's out of his mind for saying that. Now.

"A shame, honestly. You should scold your best friend for not telling you sooner. Tell him what a fucking idiot he is."

Eddie earns another giggle from you. Music to his ears. Better than Metallica. Okay maybe not but .. pretty fucking close.

"I'll let him know next time I see him", you say with a grin, playing along with pleasure, and you ask yourself why it is only now that you realise just how fucking close his face is to yours.

There is a moment of silence in which Eddie hesitates articulating whatever is seemingly bugging his mind.

"Do you, uh, still like him?"

If you lifted your head just a little your noses would be touching. A silly and utmost redundant question, and yet, Eddie dreads your answer. If the circumstances were different, less dystopian and tragic, you'd seriously wonder what would spark the doubt in your friendship in him, but considering that everyone else would be going to pour their judgement over him, you understand.

Every word exchanged between the two of you at this hour is soaked in mutual infatuation, something the idiots in both of you are slowly starting to fathom as well.

"Of course I do, he's everything to me."

As you say it, you can't help the grin which reappears reliably each time you finish verbalizing your thoughts. It's contagious, you notice.

"And do you think – just hypothetically of course", it's only then he breaks eye contact to clear his throat, "of course", you interrupt him still smiling and cocking an eyebrow at him, "d'ya think it would be okay for this best friend to, uh, maybe...", Eddie pauses, internally watching the ship containing his confidence set sail slowly and ultimately letting the irrational thoughts win for tonight, "would you let him..."

Eddie generally wasn't someone who lacked confidence. It showed in the way he boisterously wandered the halls of Hawkins High, the way his demeanor never changed, his mask never faltered no matter who was around. Except for you. You who he had always granted a look underneath the impulsive, extroverted surface.

"Eds", you try everything in your power to stay calm even though everything inside of you is screaming right now and you're certain you can feel your pulse in your earlobes.

"Would it be just insane of that best friend to kiss you right now?"

You want to squeal and kick your feet, pull him into your face, pinch your own forearm, pass away, leave the house and never return, and stay right where you are forever, buried underneath your favourite metalhead, the parts where your bodies are touching practically on fire, cosy and content.

Instead, the most fond smile spreads over your lips as you try to contain your internal overwhelm.

It's still dark, the only light source being the full moon outside. Eddie's so hopeful of your reciprocation and even more terrified of ruining his entire life at the same time, those deep doe eyes at this point pretty much resemble the shape of the space rock orbiting earth. Rejection from you, his pretty Peach and the Bonnie to his Clyde, would be unbearable.

"I think so," you almost whisper, the hand that's been rubbing over Eddie's back coming up to lightly trace one of his eyebrows with your index finger because you just can't seem to not touch him in some way, "but you should know that I love his insanity."

Your small giggle is being silenced by a soft and cautious kiss from Eddie Munson. Like he doesn't want to break you. Or he's afraid you'll snap out of a haze, slap him and leave if he starts kissing you like he really wants to.

And then it's you who goes for it, you feel at home, right where you belong, you don't think you've ever felt this good. The hand on his jaw tugs him closer softly, pressing your lips to his with a bit more urgency.

It gives him all the confirmation he could possibly need.

That tingle, it grows and fills up your chest and shoots through your entire being, goosebumps and all. Eddie moans and breathes against your lips, tongue dancing over the thin skin, asking for permission.

His ringed hand digs deeper and slowly moves to the nape of your neck, intending to hold you in place, afraid you could slip away from him if he didn't. This blossoming thing between you could slip away from him. If he didn't.

It's so soft, the way his lips touch yours, and before you know it they move to your cheek, to your jaw, down your neck before Eddie comes up again, smiling from ear to ear, to gently bump his nose against the tip of yours and his lips return home with a soft and deep hum escaping from his lungs into your mouth.

Relief floods his veins along with whatever it is you're doing to him. The ability to shut out the insanity of the past hours is what he so desperately wants to cling to for as long as you allow him, even if the dawn will remind him of the horrid reality he's involuntarily become subject to live through now.

"You're making things so much better, Peach, you're so sweet, so fucking cute, so fucking good for me, do you even know for how long I've been dreaming of this?"

Eddie greedily pulls your face into his again, not even giving you a chance to reply and not nearly getting enough of your affection it seems with how fervently his tongue searches for yours.

A gentle collision of skin.

The soft whimpers you let out only spur him on. You not backing away from him, staying with him, letting him be this close to you?

You, the only constant source of consolation Eddie's ever really had.

Life changing.

Soft touches follow soft touches, your thumb traces his jaw repeatedly.

"You don't–", kiss, "for how long–", kiss, "I've been dreaming–", kiss, "of you as well", you breathe against him and Eddie thinks he might be about to resort to sniffling into your collar again with the amount of relief he is experiencing.

You'd let him.

"Yeah?", he presses his nose into your cheek with his eyes closed, smiling from ear to ear, relaxing his entire body into yours as you let him slide inbetween your legs.

"Yeah, you know how much of a sucker I am for peaches", you grin, another peck to his cheek, his jaw, his neck, your hips slowly finding a rhythm against his own.

Eddie groans at your allusion with a wide grin on his face (and the feeling of your warmth against his dick), before pressing his lips against yours again lovingly, "me too baby, me too."

–––

taglist (thought you might be interested): @josephfakingquinn, @ghost-proofbaby, @analogkraken, @wroteclassicaly, @songforeddiemunson, @joejoequinnquinn, @somnambulic-thing, @trashmouth-richie, @eddddiemunson, @ceriseheaven, @userchai

comments, reblogs and other forms of affection towards the author are greatly appreciated thank youuuuu <3

#nora writes #get the peaches #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #this took me way too fucking long to finish holy shit #but it's here now #it's here !!!#finally lol #also sorry for the title it makes me cringe but i couldn't come up with anything else for the life of me #oh well i hope y'all enjoy this either way :)#thank u for reading <3

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edenesth · 1 year ago

Text

The Way to His Heart [15]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 14 | Fic Masterlist | Part 16

"I still don't understand why you had to creep around instead of just approaching her and introducing yourself properly," Jongho remarked, rolling his eyes as Wooyoung clicked his tongue in frustration, "Oh, come on! Can you blame me? She's so beautiful, I got nervous, alright?! I've never had to talk to her before, and I just... I panicked!"

The assistant squinted at his friend, "You do realise if the general catches wind of any of that, you'll be out of a job. Don't tell me you have a crush on our mistress..."

"And you don't?!" The private investigator squeaked, eyes widening in disbelief as Jongho shook his head, unamused, "That's inappropriate. Don't you ever suggest such a thing again."

Wooyoung kept his mouth shut, realising that his friend would be the last person interested in hearing him gush about how pretty he found you. He was fully aware that you were his employer's wife and therefore off-limits. Still, it wouldn't hurt to indulge in the innocent fantasy of being a secret admirer.

Besides, he still valued his life, and it wasn't as if he was actually in love with you or anything. Deep down, humans are all visual animals, and he found his tiny crush on you completely justifiable.

Turning serious, Jongho inquired, "So, what did the mistress need help with? She's been secluded in the study ever since Prince Yeosang's departure and hadn't spoken to any of us until you showed up. Something must have happened."

With a smug nod, Wooyoung responded, "Ah, it seems I already know more than you. How does that feel, senior assistant Choi?" His grin disappeared when the younger man did not react as expected, only staring him down intimidatingly, as if daring him to continue with his playful shenanigans, "Ugh, fine, sheesh. The fourth prince invited her to his birthday banquet happening next week. She's really anxious since it's her first royal event and without General Park. She wants guidance on dealing with the royals."

Head shooting up at the revelation, the assistant knitted his brows together in concern, "The fourth prince... invited her to his birthday banquet? Did he say why?"

The private investigator shrugged, a hint of nonchalance in his tone, "He mentioned that since General Park is away, he hoped Lady Park could represent him this year."

A troubled expression clouded Jongho's features as he processed the information, his mind racing with possible implications. The idea of His Highness extending such an invitation seemed out of the ordinary, sparking unease within him.

Noticing the younger man's troubled demeanour, Wooyoung nudged him on the shoulder, concern evident in his voice, "Why do you look so bothered, man? What's on your mind?"

Jongho's stomach churned as he mulled over his thoughts, his voice tinged with apprehension as he responded, "I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been any of the other princes. But Prince Yeosang? He hasn't hosted a single birthday banquet in years. And besides, his connection with the general is minimal at best. So... what do you think he wants with our mistress?"

That revelation made the private investigator sit up straight, suddenly grasping the complexity of the situation. If what his friend said held true, it meant the fourth prince was plotting something. A surge of protectiveness for you washed over him, wanting to ensure your safety and not let his role model down.

Turning to the assistant, he asked, "Damn, I don't like the sound of that. So what's our move? Should we warn her?"

Jongho shook his head adamantly, "Absolutely not. She'd panic, and that's the last thing we need. I'll fetch the dressmaker; he's one of the general's closest friends, and along with Physician Jung's help, we'll try to figure this out."

"Oh, one more thing!" Wooyoung interjected, grabbing the younger man's attention, "Lady Park did mention that it would be great if she could somehow get in touch with Royal Secretary Choi. It seems she believes he's the only one who can offer helpful advice for navigating the royal event."

Pondering this information quietly, the assistant nodded, "Fortunately, I've corresponded with him on behalf of the general several times. I should be able to reach him easily."

Jongho furrowed his brows, noticing the unsettled expression on the investigator's face, "What's bothering you now?"

Wooyoung sighed, his expression clouded with uncertainty, "The lady also expressed her doubts about whether the royal secretary would even consider helping her. She's unsure if someone as busy as him would take the time to assist her."

Shaking his head, the assistant offered reassurance, "Don't worry. Royal Secretary Choi is genuinely one of the kindest people you'll ever meet. He shares a friendship with the general and will certainly lend a hand to our mistress if she needs it."

That would soon be clear to them all when San arrived to grace everyone in the general's estate with his presence in just a few days, leaving Hongjoong, Yunho, and Wooyoung in awe as they watched the handsome man with an exceptionally fit physique—perhaps a little too fit to be a mere secretary—walk past the three of them, who were sitting in the living hall, with a respectful nod and courteous smile.

Jongho exchanged knowing glances with them as he ushered the royal secretary into the estate and towards the study, where you awaited his guidance with your studies.

"Am I the only one who thinks that guy seems more suited for the battlefield than the royal office?" Wooyoung quipped, prompting a reluctant nod from Hongjoong. For some inexplicable reason, he found the private investigator mildly annoying, almost like a younger brother, "As much as I hate to admit it, you're right about that. He does give off that vibe."

Yunho, known for his wisdom and maturity, offered a shrug in response, "We shouldn't judge someone solely by their appearance. Perhaps the royal secretary excels in matters of intelligence rather than physical strength."

Rolling his eyes, the dressmaker fired back, "Obviously, we're just joking. Lighten up a little, Yunho, or you'll never find a wife with that boring ass attitude."

The physician pursed his lips at the jab, while Wooyoung watched with amusement as the banter between the two friends unfolded, "Says you? You're older and still single. Perhaps the problem lies closer to home."

Hongjoong scoffed in disbelief and placed his hands on his hips, "Excuse you, I'll have you know there are plenty of women vying for my attention every day. It's not my fault I have standards."

"I could say the same." Yunho retorted.

Before the banter could escalate, Jongho intervened with a heavy sigh, "I leave for a minute, and you're already arguing. How is it that all of you are older than me?"

"I agree, assistant Choi. Their behaviour was rather immature," The investigator remarked, feigning innocence when the doctor raised an eyebrow, "You're the one who instigated the whole thing."

Just as Wooyoung opened his mouth to defend himself, the assistant rubbed his temple wearily, "Oh my god, enough. Let's not forget why we're here today—to figure out the intentions of Prince Yeosang regarding our mistress."

"Is that the purpose of this gathering?" Eunsook queried as she appeared by the entrance of the living hall.

The four nodded in confirmation, and the head maid sighed before joining them, "If that's the case, I believe I may be of help. I was with the mistress in the palace on the day the master discovered he had to depart for war. Something happened with the prince while we awaited the general's return from his emergency meeting."

As she recounted the incident at the cherry blossom garden, a dawning realisation settled over all of them. Suddenly, it all clicked into place: why Yeosang, known for despising his own birthday due to its reminders of his painful existence, was now planning a celebration and extending an invitation to Lady Park, of all people. It was clear to the group that the prince had set his sights on the general's wife, and this elaborate scheme was likely his attempt to lure you away from Seonghwa.

"I understand we're all concerned about what His Highness might attempt to win over our mistress, but I believe we should have a little faith in her. Her devotion to General Park is undeniable. I don't think she would easily forsake him after all he's done for her." The physician suggested, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

As the others visibly relaxed with the reminder, the dressmaker appeared to be the only one still troubled, "Yeah, about that..." The dread in the room heightened at Hongjoong's uneasy expression.

"What is it?" Jongho inquired cautiously.

With a frustrated expression, the eldest man among them ran a hand through his hair before recounting the recent encounter with Jinjoo, your stepsister, and the doubts you were starting to entertain about your husband, "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

The elderly woman's stomach sank at the revelation, but she shook her head to reassure the dressmaker, "No, Hongjoong, it's not your fault. You couldn't have known her stepsister would be there. No matter how much we deny it, the truth has a way of surfacing. We can't hide it from her forever."

The others nodded in agreement, though filled with worry at the implications. They knew Eunsook was right. Eventually, you would likely discover the truth. They just hadn't expected it to happen so soon, especially with Seonghwa away at war. The thought of you being possibly swayed by the fourth prince's charms sent shivers down all their spines.

Well shit, that's not good at all.

"San, you're an absolute lifesaver. Thank you so much." You expressed with gratitude after the lengthy crash course he had just given you on dealing with royal figures when attending such events, offering a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

Returning the smile, the royal secretary noticed the fatigue and stress evident in your expression. He sensed there was more to your distress than just the fourth prince's sudden invitation to his birthday banquet. Perhaps his close relationship with his elder sister had sharpened his perception of women's emotions.

Observing your troubled expression, San gently inquired, "Are you feeling quite alright, Lady Park? If you're worried about the general, I can assure you that he is being partnered with only the best military strategist in all of Joseon. They have yet to lose a single battle thus far, I'm sure this time would be no different."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you at his words. On one hand, you appreciated his attempt to ease your worries about your husband's safety. On the other hand, a nagging curiosity gnawed at your mind, Jinjoo's words still lingering, urging you to delve deeper into the mysteries surrounding your family's punishments.

San's position as the royal secretary and his close friendship with the general made him an ideal source of information. Surely, he would know the intricate details of the case and could provide you with the answers you sought. However, the thought of uncovering the full truth filled you with trepidation.

What if reality's more than you could bear?

You wrestled with your inner turmoil, unsure of whether to broach the subject with Royal Secretary Choi. Part of you yearned for closure, to finally understand the events that took place without your knowledge. Yet, another part hesitated, fearing the potential consequences of unearthing Seonghwa's carefully buried secrets.

As you glanced at San, who was patiently awaiting your response, you grappled with your decision. Would you dare to confront the shadows of your fears, or would you continue to dwell in uncertainty, afraid of what truths lay beneath?

To hell with it.

Taking a deep breath, you responded, "Thank you for your reassurance regarding my husband's capabilities. However, that's not precisely what's weighing on my mind..."

He arched a curious eyebrow, intrigued by what other concerns could possibly be bothering you besides Seonghwa's safety, "I'm all ears, my lady." He offered, inviting you to share your thoughts.

Lowering your head, you recounted your recent encounter with your stepsister and the unsettling doubts it had stirred within you. Then, with a hesitant tone, you inquired, "May I seek clarification from you regarding my husband's role in the Jang family's punishments?"

San maintained a composed smile, betraying no hint of shock at your revelation. With a calm demeanour, he laced his fingers together before him, "I empathise with your concerns, Lady Park, and I want you to know that they are valid. While the details of the case are confidential, I can offer some clarity to ease your worries."

You held your breath as he continued, "The truth is, His Majesty was responsible for determining your family's physical punishments, but the general took charge of overseeing the entire process."

So, it's true.

Your heart sank at the confirmation.

"Understandably, you may find his involvement frightening. However, you need to know that this has always been the nature of his job. If you think him cruel, remember that every drop of blood shed was in service of this nation's security. He's doing what only a few have the guts to do. And in this case, it's out of love for you that he was determined to ensure that those who harmed you and your mother faced justice. My lady, can you truly fault him for that?"

His words struck you like a boulder, and you realised he might be onto something.

The royal secretary grinned as he observed your expression, knowing his words were making an impact, "Besides, you've been here long enough to witness how good he can be to those he cares about. That includes you, all the staff in this estate, as well as his loyal friends currently seated in the living hall. Surely, there must be a good reason why these people choose to remain by his side, wouldn't you agree?"

Noting your silence and contemplative expression, San understood that you needed time to digest everything. While he hoped he had made a valid point, he knew that your conflicting emotions wouldn't dissipate so easily. Nevertheless, he had done his best to encourage you to keep an open mind and speak the truth.

Ultimately, the next steps were up to you.

"As much as I'd like to stay and chat, I have another appointment scheduled in an hour, so I should probably head to my next destination." He announced, rising from his seat opposite you.

His words snapped you out of your reverie as you got up after him, "Ah, yes, of course. I can't thank you enough for everything, San."

As you escorted him towards the exit, he smiled warmly at you, "You're most welcome, Lady Park. Don't fret too much about the royal event next week. I'm sure you'll do splendidly, especially considering you've already managed to impress the fourth prince. He's not an easy royal to handle, so that's quite an achievement."

Prince Yeosang is... not easy to handle?

Before you could ask him to elaborate, the royal secretary was already boarding his carriage. With a defeated sigh, you waved at him as the vehicle began to pull away.

Heading back inside, your mind reeled from his words. His Highness had never seemed difficult around you, so you struggled to comprehend what San meant. Besides his slightly playful demeanour, you didn't find the prince hard to handle in any way.

Before you knew it, your head began to throb with the endless thoughts swirling around. Eunsook rushed over in concern when she saw you swaying, your hands pressed against your temples.

"Mistress! Are you feeling alright? Oh dear, you look exhausted," She exclaimed, her worry evident in her voice, "That's enough studying for today. Go and rest. I'll bring you dinner when it's ready."

Throughout the rest of the week, Jongho and the others couldn't bring themselves to warn you about the potential advances of the fourth prince. They noticed how visibly stressed you were, dedicating all your time to refining your ladylike etiquette and practising formal speech with the head maid. Your determination for perfection in your debut at a royal event was clear as day.

After receiving all the help you needed, you were finally ready for the banquet. Standing before the mirror, you inspected yourself, admiring the delicate red flower the dressmaker had once again helped you paint on your forehead, perfectly complementing your new hanbok, "Are you pleased with the look, Lady Park?"

You nodded enthusiastically, "Absolutely, Hongjoong. You never disappoint, and you know that."

With newfound confidence, you departed from the general's estate, accompanied by Jongho and Eunsook. Mentally reviewing the list of potential royals in attendance, you appreciated Wooyoung's efforts in the past week as he assisted you with retrieving specific books from the public library and studying the royal family tree.

The private investigator lingered near the estate's entrance after seeing you off, his jaw slightly agape. He had always found you pretty, but seeing you all dressed up and with the flower on your forehead, he was struck by your ethereal beauty. Just as he was about to entertain the thought that Seonghwa must have saved an entire country to deserve someone like you, he realised that might actually be true.

"Excuse me, Jung Wooyoung. That's not your lady to be ogling like that. Behave yourself, or I'll have to whoop your ass on behalf of the general." Hongjoong warned, rolling his eyes as the younger man pouted before sulking back inside the estate.

As your carriage approached the familiar high palace walls, Jongho and Eunsook exchanged determined glances. They had agreed to stick by your side at all times, wanting to protect you from whatever schemes Prince Yeosang might have planned for the event.

"We've arrived, mistress." The assistant announced as the carriage came to a stop.

With the head maid's assistance, you stepped down from the carriage with slightly less ease than when your husband carried you, feeling a pang in your heart as you were reminded of him. Despite your complicated feelings, you couldn't deny the longing for his presence. You hoped he was safe and well while you attended the birthday celebration of another.

Approaching the grand entrance of the hall hosting the fourth prince's birthday banquet, you noticed that the palace staff responsible for announcing guests had recognised you immediately, sparing Jongho the need to introduce you. As you reached the entrance, the staff announced in a loud voice, "Miss Jang, eldest daughter of the former Minister of Military Affairs, has arrived."

Your shock was palpable as the announcement rang out, your eyes widening and your stomach sinking at the unexpected introduction. The last thing you wanted was to be associated with your father, especially not at such a prestigious event. You had been specifically told by the prince that you were here to represent your husband. So why would they announce you like that, using your past title, when you now held a new and official one as the general's wife? The discrepancy left you feeling uneasy and out of place as you stepped into the grand hall.

What's the meaning of this, Your Highness?

« Preview of Part 16 »

"General Park! Letters for General Park!"

The messenger's urgent cry echoed through the camp, drawing attention to the main tent where Seonghwa typically conducted his affairs between battles. Bursting into the tent, the messenger gasped for breath, his eyes darting around, "Sir, may I enter?"

"Come in," A deep voice replied, but it wasn't the general's. Officer Song, the military strategist, sat alone inside, his gaze fixed on the newcomer, "General Park is uhh... preoccupied elsewhere at the moment. What brings you here, soldier?"

Handing over the stack of letters he carried, the messenger answered, "The general has received a few missives, one from his assistant and another from His Highness, the fourth prince."

Mingi's brow furrowed in confusion, "The fourth prince?"

The messenger nodded vigorously, "Yes, His Highness mentioned it's regarding an urgent matter and should be delivered to the general as soon as possible."

Officer Song nodded in acknowledgement, "I see. Leave it to me, soldier. I'll ensure it reaches him as soon as he's available."

As soon as the messenger departed, Mingi's curiosity overwhelmed him, and he unfolded the letter from Prince Yeosang. His breath hitched as he absorbed the concise yet weighty message. The prince started off by conveying gratitude for Seonghwa's service to the nation and extended well wishes, reassuring him not to worry about returning.

However, the content took a surprising turn with his final paragraph.

'Out of respect for you, I am writing to inform you that I will be proposing to Miss Jang. I believe she deserves the freedom to choose her own husband. Perhaps what she needs is someone who can remain by her side and not cause her any worry. If you truly care about her happiness, you would understand.'

Once again setting the stage for the main event HAHA sorry for the (sorta) filler chapter, but I promise there will definitely be drama in the next part.😈

Also, thank you so much for 1.3k followers! As always, thank you for reading and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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woewriting · 1 year ago

Text

cold coffee

pairing: tara carpenter | fem detective reader warnings: mdni! no major warnings, fluffy and soft moments, implied sex; this take place after scream vi events. word count: 3049 a/n: this one is for you, @wesstars 🫶

masterlist

“Think you can warm me up?”

The low request came almost unnoticed by you, making you take a step back and look carefully at the ball of blankets on the couch.

Hidden there, under a couple layers of cozy blankets, a small Tara appeared with a red nose.

You smiled softly at the adorable view in front of you.

“I can’t, babe, I have some reports to look at, and it’s getting late.”

She pouted, looking at you with doe eyes that never failed, wide, soft with shining little stars dancing in the brown as she looks at you.

“Please? Just until I fall asleep.”

How could you say no to that?

You fold in the same second, forgetting that you have long pile of files to look at, carefully placing your mug filled with hot coffee on the side table, you took off your slippers and slid under the thick fabric, opening your arms towards the younger one.

Like she always does, Tara threw her legs over yours and hugged your torso, resting her head on your shoulder.

“You know…” you started, pulling her closer to you. “You wouldn’t feel cold if you wore more than just underwear and a tank top.”

“I don’t need to wear clothes; I have you to keep me warm,” Tara said back, looking at you with soft, sleepy eyes.

You smiled fondly, caressing her thigh with your hand. Leaning forward, you placed a kiss on her forehead, admiring the way the corner of her lips slightly tugged up, eyes closed and tip of nose red, the freckles spread on her face like stars in the dark night; Tara was a work of art.

“I love you so much, did you know that?” You whispered close to her lips.

She wrinkled her nose, “I know, but I don’t mind hearing you saying again, and again…”

Stopping her rambling, you pressed your lips on hers, sighing with such familiar taste of cherry of her lip balm. Tara was all soft, and when she was like this, calm and patient under your touch, it made your heart race.

When you first met her, during a rainy night at the police station, the girl could barely sustain your eyes, always avoiding them and fixating on somewhere or something else, like on her older sister, Sam. She came in because some idiots from a frat house were harassing her and her sister following the events from last year. You didn’t know much about the Carpenter’s sister, it was only your first month as a detective in New York, only heard rumors and whispers about it.

You ignored the others eyes on her, taking off your jacket to cover the small body that was trembling, being closely watched by the older Carpenter. Carefully, you placed the brown leather jacket around her shoulders, taking a couple steps back once you did, giving her a safe space.

Tara went home with your jacket that night, and when she brought it back, leaving it at the front desk, 5 days later, a small note was inside the pocket, written in a delicate handwriting, a small “thank you :)”. You smiled, keeping the note inside and going back to work.

The precinct was a place filled with gossips, theories and lies made up to creep you out. Your colleagues — if you could call them that — weren’t the most delightful people to be around, as most of them were men, you felt misplaced, an outcast, even thought you were on a higher level than them, mere police officers with a giant ego. Respect was a word that, apparently, wasn’t taught to them during life. You could count on your fingers the ones that were truly a nice officer and decent human being.

As the days went by, more talking took over the place, annoying ones that always got your rolling your eyes and ignoring them, the Carpenter sister’s being the subject of it 90% of the time, it’s like the big apple only had two young girls living in it and they were the reason to all the chaos that perpetuate in New York.

One day, late at night, you were finishing some reports to call it a day when a familiar voice caught your attention, the short blonde hair and leather jacket automatically bringing a smile on your face. You closed your computer and stood up, grabbing the brown leather jacket from the chair’s back and tossed over your shoulder.

“You’re too loud, did you know that, agent Reed?”

The woman turned around the same second your known perfume filled the room, a big smile tugging on her lips. She waited for you to get closer, annoyingly punching your arm as a form to say ‘hi’. Standing in front of her, the younger Carpenter was awkwardly looking at you, curiosity in her eyes as she watched you and your old friend interact.

You didn’t notice, but Tara was carefully watching you, the way your eyes light up whenever Kirby said something that happened while you were away from each other, crazy stories like the one where she almost got killed, again, a couple months ago. Funny ones, like when a common friend of yours got scared during a mission and yelled like a little girl because of a cat hidden inside a locker, causing you to throw your head back as you deliciously laughed. She smiled too, tilting her head to admire the way your nose scrunched or how your lips moved when you talked, or how your browns furred when Reed told what happened last year during Halloween, only then your eyes met Tara’s for more than a few seconds, a pinkish color painting her cheeks.

You didn’t know much about it, choosing to ignore the comments as you never knew what was a fact or what was a lie purposefully made up to destroy the sister’s images. All you were aware off, was that the masked killer that terrorized your colleague, and friend’s, life years ago in Woodsborro came back and worked at the precinct.

Kirby wasn’t the type of person that spoke about her fears and the horrors that haunted her over the years, all you knew was what she chose to share and the reason to why she decided to become a detective. You didn’t push her to talk, patiently waited for her to open up to you by choice because she trusted you. It took a long time for the moment to come, but one day, the alcohol in her made her talk and boy… she really had a lot to share, and it was very graphic — you swore you could feel the knife twisting inside you.

And now, with your eyes connected to Tara’s, a girl that seemed so sweet and kind, had gone through the same traumatic event as Reed did and, knowing her the way you did, you could only image the scars that hung onto the young Carpenter’s body and soul. You smiled at her, reaching your hand to hers.

“It’s nice seeing you again, miss Carpenter.”

Her hand was soft, warm and delicate against yours.

“You too, detective.” She smiled, hand still on yours. “I didn’t know you and Kirby knew each other.”

“Well, when I joined the force,” you started, forcing yourself to break the contact. “Reed was the first one to reach out to me and invite me for some beer after out shift.”

“She’s a very quiet girl, but it’s a great listener.” Kirby said with her costumery side smiled. “If you ever need someone to talk to, Tara, she’s the one you can go to.”

You looked at Kirby with pursed lips, head tilting in a silent ‘what the fuck are you doing?’

Tara let out a small laugh, “It’s good to know that, Kirby. If you trust her, then I do too.”

“Well, I don’t believe in that,” you said, licking your lips as you gave your attention to the girl. “I rather earn your trust than Kirby just giving it away. Trust is a very precious and intimate thing, Tara, you should only trust someone you know.”

“In that case, we should get to know each other better.” She smiled. “Don’t you think, detective?”

“I think that’s a great idea, miss Carpenter.”

That night was the first time you went out with Tara; Kirby tagged along in the first two hours but went home after a few rounds of beer, the alcohol getting to her way easier than you remembered. Helping her into the cab, you made sure to share her live location with you before sending her home, an old habit you had acquired after the truth about her life in Woodsboro.

“You know…” Tara started, her index finger messily playing with the sweaty, half empty, beer glass in front of her. “It’s sweet what you did there.”

“What do you mean?”

You have always been strong when it came to alcohol, maybe it was due to your position as a detective or you had a really good regenerating immune system — even a common cold couldn’t get to you.

Tara, apparently, wasn’t like you. She was leaning against the table, playing with the glass cup like a little kid that was sleepy but refused to close her eyes and drift away in slumber. You carefully watched her, afraid that she would eventually fall off the chair.

“The location, I saw you sending her live location to your number.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your beer. “It’s nothing, really. I just want to make sure she gets home safe.”

“Still,” her hand reached yours on the table, thumb softly brushing your skin. “it’s sweet. You’re sweet.”

“And you’re drunk.” You laughed awkwardly, finishing your beer in one long sip, still allowing her to touch you. “Come on, let’s get you on a cab.”

Her hand grabbed yours when you threatened to stand up, ready to pay the bill. “No, please. I want to get to know you better.”

“We can do that some other time, miss Carpenter.”

“Promise?”

You didn’t like promises, it carried an obligation that you didn’t like, but you just couldn’t get yourself to say no when her big, sparkling eyes stared at your soul.

You sighed with a small smile, “I promise.”

When you were paying the bill, Tara was standing close to you, holding onto your arm as if you were going to run away from her. It was cute, you had to admit as you looked at her while the cashier waited for your card to approve the payment, the different height between you two very noticeable when her head barely reached the top of your shoulder.

Before you could put her inside the cab with her apartment address on it, you made sure to save her phone number and share her location with you, just like you did with Reed over the years.

“Text me when you get home?” Tara asked through the open window when you closed the door for her.

“I will.” You smiled, turning to the old driver. “Take her home safely, please?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You stood there for a few seconds, watching as the yellow car drove away, Tara’s happy face outside the window waving at you. You waved back, heart warm at how adorable she was.

When you got home that night, you weren’t exhausted even after the busy day and all the beer you had, you felt alive and giddy as you texted the newly-added number, telling her you were safe and sound at the comfort of your home. The reply came in the same second, telling you that she was in bed already with a kiss blowing emoji next to it.

Now, a year after that first night out with Tara, you had the young girl sleeping safely in your arms, the morning sun breaking the thick, rainy clouds and invading the apartment, waking you up. Tara was hidden in the hollow of your neck, her calm and heavy breathing tickling your skin, still sleeping soundly.

You looked around the scene, still half asleep. Your coffee mug, now cold, still on the side table. The birds were chirping for the first time in a while since the winter arrived in New York. Some blankets had fallen to the floor, leaving only one covering your bodies. It was true, Tara only needed you to keep her warm.

Feeling your eyes on her, she stirs in her sleep and you’re fast to tighten your arms around her, but after all the incidents that happened around her in the past years, she was a light sleeper.

“You’re suffocating me.” She giggles, hand resting on your neck.

“I should suffocate you after you made me skip work last night.”

“Did I? I don’t remember putting a gun to your head and making you cuddle me.”

Your eyes widened, pulling back just enough to find hers.

“You did worse! You looked at me with Bambi eyes and you know I cannot say no to that.”

She laughs, “You’re very weak for a detective.”

Rolling your eyes, you ignored the fake teasing, caressing the scar on the right side of her belly.

“I’m only weak when it comes to you. You’re my only weakness, Tara.”

Her expressions softened, eyes analyzing your face. She knew you weren’t lying, just like she knew you would do anything to protect her, other than the four core, you were the only one that took her walls down.

“Well, then I guess I’ll have to use this against you so I can have you all to myself.”

“You’ll always have me all to yourself.”

“I know,” she shrugged. “but sometimes work steals you from me.”

You smile, “I have to keep my girlfriend safe, don’t I?”

“I guess you do, but today,” the tip of her fingers slid under the collar of your sweater, noticing the lack of bra; she wet her lips. “I have you all to myself, and I am not letting you go.”

“I certainly don’t want you to.”

Tugging you by the collar, she climbed on top of you, the blanket falling to the floor with the sudden motion.

For the first time you could fully see her as she sat on your hip; black panties and an equally black tank top, slightly wrapped around her thin waist, the tip of her scar visible, messy hair cascading down her shoulders.

Biting your lower lip as your eyes followed her curves, hands on her thigh following to her hip, then her waist in a strong squeeze. When she leaned down, lips oh so close to yours, you jumped when a low clearing of the throat coming from the kitchen filled the room; your instinct quick to pull a blanket from the floor to cover Tara’s body and pull her against you.

Standing in the corner of the brick wall, Sam was avoiding looking in your direction until her sister was fully covered, arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Please, tell me you two weren’t going to have sex on my couch, again.”

Tara hid a laugh against your neck, unlike you — who felt heat rising from your toes all the way up to your face, cheeks burning with Sam’s disgusted look. This wasn’t the first time the older Carpenter walked on the two of you, but it was funny that this happened twice on the same week, at least this time you both were fully covered…

You opened your mouth in an attempt to say something, an apology, or maybe try to convince her that this was not what was happening at all, but all that came out was a struggled sound that caused Tara to laugh muffled against you.

Sam took a deep breath, reaching out for her keys that were settled next to your mug. She adjusted the black beanie as she walked to the door, unlocking the 4 sets of locks and turning to you with a tired expression, “If you two are still on my couch when I come back, we’re gonna have a whole different conversation. Got it?”

You nodded fast.

“Good.”

And left.

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding when you heard the jingling of keys on the other side of the door and distant steps going down the stairs.

Removing the blanket from her head, Tara looked at the closed door before staring at you, a loud and delicious laugh breaking the almost palpable tension that was left in the room.

“How can you laugh like this when your sister walked on us like this, again?” You were in disbelief, heart beating in your throat.

“If you could see your face, you’d laugh too,” she whipped the corner of her eyes, pressing a fast kiss on your lips. “I might be your only weakness, but Sam is your only fear.”

You huffed, agreeing with your girlfriend.

“I’ve seen what she’s capable of, I am not risking having my hands cut off, I’d miss them a lot!”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” she leaned in, hands on the side of your head, a hard grip on the cushions you laid your head on. Tara brushed her lips on yours, a fainted smell of cherries filling your lungs. "I would miss them too... more than you could ever imagine.”

Before you could close the small gap between your lips, the jingling of keys got you sitting up, arms firmly wrapped around the youngest waist, walking to bedroom at the end of the hallway, a giggly Tara clinging to your body for her dear life; you kicked the door close and leaned against it, breath caught up to your throat as you faced Tara with pursed lips.

Sam had her eyes closed when the door swung open, one hand on the door knob and the other covering her face. She had forgotten her cellphone. When she was met with silence, her index finger moved up a little, enough for her to peek at the scene.

The living room was a mess, blankets all over the floor, your slippers and Tara’s lost in between, a couple cushions in the middle as well, but what made her take a deep breath to keep from freaking out was the overturned mug on the side table, cold coffee dripping on the wooden floor.

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hischierhoney · 2 months ago

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event masterlist

crack open a pomegranate // Jack Hughes (Just Friends)

Jack is drunk.

He’s been well on his way for hours, now, a steady climb that’s honestly been entertaining to watch. After all, he deserves a chance to let loose a little. Celebrate with family and friends. Jack loves New Year’s Eve. You’ve known it about him for nearly as long as you’ve known him in general. He likes the time of year, he likes the partying part of it, and most of all, this year, he hasn’t stopped talking about kissing you at midnight.

It’s your first New Year’s Eve together. It’s sweet.

Which is why, as it creeps close to midnight, you’re surprised to find that Jack is nowhere in sight. You’re chatting with Nico in the living room, laughing as he tells you a story about Jack from their last road trip, when Luke comes stumbling towards you, eyes wide.

“Hey. Jack’s drunk.” Luke spits out.

You nod. “It’s New Year’s, Luke.”

“Yeah, but- he’s- he has a knife.” Luke adds.

You stand up in a panic. “Next time, lead with that.”

You’re relieved to find no injuries when you stumble into the kitchen behind your boyfriend’s younger brother. Jack’s standing at the counter, something red in his hands, a large knife laid out on the granite next to him. He looks up at you and Luke and scowls.

“You weren’t supposed to tell her,” he sighs. “You promised.”

Luke huffs. “That was before you pulled out the giant knife.”

You move towards Jack, brows furrowed. It’s a pomegranate, in his hands, you realize- it looks a bit worse for wear, a bit dented. You cock your head at Jack.

“It’s good luck,” he says, with a sigh. “I was trying to surprise you. But apparently I don’t know how to open a pomegranate.”

You smile at him, and he returns the expression, albeit sheepishly. There’s a piece of hair falling in his face, and you brush it out of the way. Then you slip the knife off the counter, away from him.

“Can I help?” You ask.

He nods, his cheeks going pink.

“Grab a bowl of water, would you, Luke?” You ask.

“What, is the pomegranate gonna give birth?” He shoots back.

“Do you want red splatters all over your counters?” You ask. Both of them shake their heads. “Then get the water.”

Luke gives you a mock salute and gets to work. Meanwhile, you set about cutting the pomegranate, trying to recall the instructions one of your friends gave you. Jack watches, enthralled. It’s not perfect, but when you hand it off to Jack, you think it’ll work.

“Now try breaking it open,” you nod at him.

Jack, starry eyed and smiley, pulls at the fruit with his hands. It cracks open, revealing the bright red seeds inside. He grins wider.

“Pretty,” you say, leaning close.

“Mhm,” Jack agrees.

When you look up, he’s looking at you.

Luke clears his throat and hands over the bowl of water. You take one of the pieces and dunk it underneath.

“And then we take the seeds out like this, so that if they pop the juice doesn’t go everywhere,” you tell him. Jack nods along. You scoop a few seeds out of the bowl. “And there we go. For good luck!”

“Guys, the countdown’s starting!” Someone calls from the living room.

Luke snatches the seeds from your fingers and hurries away. Jack stays rooted, right there. You stay put, too.

“Guess it is good luck,” Jack says, words slightly slurred. “It got you next to me at midnight.”

You laugh as you wrap an arm around his neck. “Jack, baby. I was always gonna be here.”

He kisses you before the clock actually strikes twelve, but you think it probably doesn’t matter. He’s still kissing you by 12:01, and that’s enough. Between that and the pomegranate, you think you’ll have plenty of luck to last the year.

When he finally pulls away, his lips and face are flushed. He reaches down and fishes a few seeds from the bowl, and hands a few to you before eating his own. The fruit stains his lips bright red, and you thumb at the bit of juice that trickles from the corner of his mouth.

“For good luck,” he repeats.

You laugh. “I was already the luckiest girl in the world.”

His cheeks go red as the fruit between the two of you, and you lean in to kiss the smile off his lips.

#jack hughes x you #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #jack hughes fanfic #jack Hughes blurb #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fluff #nhl fic #nhl blurb #x reader #honey writes #honey’s new year’s rewind

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thetxtdevil · 8 months ago

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The 'Girl' Friend

Huening Kai x Reader

summary: Kai turns envious of Taehyun's new friend, thinking she's his girlfriend. A turn of events happens when the 'girlfriend' finds Kai in a compromising position.

content: smut, friends to lovers?, fem.reader, masturbation, jerking off, slight fingering, penetration, just softness no hard stuff

word count: 1.7k

Kai and his friends have been doing game nights at the local bar every Fridays. At first it was just the five of them but then it became a bigger group. Kai is one to keep to himself so he comes alone appreciating the already big group that has been collected by the other members.

One Friday night all the boys arrive at the bar with additional company. The bar was modern yet woodsy, wood panels upon the walls with black furniture throughout the establishment it was cazy and fun. Music blasting getting guest excited for the night, Kai sits down placing the beer on the table looking at the night's trivia themes.

"Hey, Kai I have someone for you to meet" the familiar voice of Taehyun appears in the man's senses. Kai tilts his up looking completely astonished by this someone's beauty. "This is y/n"

Kai launches out of his chair to shake your hand but bumps the table making his drink spill everywhere. You three all gasp, you quickly reach for napkins to soak up the liquor.

"You're going to need another drink after that" you giggle.

The man couldn't speak, you were pretty and your voice was so enchanting. Tae was quick to catch on when he witnesses the two of you have a moment looking into each other's eyes. The rest of the night felt weird Kai couldn't stop laughing loudly at your joke and his eyes were glued to you. He felt like a creep.

---

Kai has a crush, ok maybe he has fallen for you. The problem is it seems you're taken because you were always hanging out with Taehyun. Yes, you would carry conversations with the other members of Kai's group but you and Tae seemed to be close. Your presence started with a regular occurrence to the game nights and then became very often when Taehyun welcomed you to the boys' house.

This gave Kai more chances to be with you. However, envy would rush through his veins every time you would hug, cuddle, or simply whisper to Tae. Taehyun smirks seeing his younger brother give him the death stare. You and him were nothing but friends but he liked seeing Kai get so worked up by your natural touchiness.

"Does Kai hate me or something?" you ask Taehyun.

"No, he just has a big crush on you." he says nonchalantly.

You roll your eyes and smack Tae on his chest not believing the man. Kai sees this playful manner between you two and pouts, face turning red with anger wanting small touches from you.

---

Days become weeks, weeks become months. Kai's crush on you hasn't faltered especially when you start appearing in his dreams. Small awkward conversations here and there but he was always around when you visited the house. He never took the chance to ask you out because the way you got close to Taehyun felt like he had no chance.

So, He admires you from afar, noting that you seem to be growing out your hair, watching as you twirl your hair in your dainty fingers. He has studied the facts that you like to drink water after you eat something sweets, which you do often, so when he watches your lips surround and swallow every pocky stick he gets up fixes himself and gives you a glass of water. You're surprised and look at the tall man with the most lovely smile. Kai about loses himself wanting to grab your face to kiss it, but he's civil and simply nods. You chuckle to yourself when you watch him awkwardly walking out of the living room leaving you with the rest of the boys.

You sat there, watching the condensation drip down the cup Kai gave you. Where did that man run off to? You ask yourself, Kai tends to spend the whole time you spent with Tae. He never flirted with you like the other boys but you couldn't help but think his presence and small giggles so warm.

"I'm going to the bathroom, you can continue the game without me." you tell Taehyun and he simply nods too fixated with the television.

Did you really need to use the bathroom? No, your nosiness got the better of you, so badly wanting to know where that beautiful boy has gone. You had never been to any of the mens' rooms other than Taehyun's, but you as you walk down the hall your ears catch a suspicious sound. The door was thoughtlessly cracked open letting small sounds leave what you assumed to be Kai's room. Standing closer the sounds were as clear as day making your face red. Drawn out moans and gasps came from the man. Pushing further into the entrance of the room you were a little jealous of a possible partner Kai was with. You crack the door to hear "ah- y/n" he was touching himself.

Your jaw drops to the floor seeing his family jewels fully erected and exposed. Kai laid there in his bed, luscious dark hair spread out as his head tilted into the pillows, eyes squeezed shut mouth gaped from pleasure. The more you look at the beautiful man fisting his cock the more you felt heated, all you wanted to do is to help him.

Without your conscious consent you blurt "Kai..."

The man stopped his movement face flushed as he looks up to you with your hand on your mouth. He didn't know how to feel see you satisfying himself and obviously think about you. Angry? Embarrassed? Pleased? It was like as if time stopped, you two stared at each other contemplating the next move.

"I-i am so sorry, I just," your gut didn't want to apologize you really wanted to just go ahead and pleasure him yourself. Kai sits up and starts to fix himself to hide, "No.." Kai stops and looks at you confused "I want to see you if you let me."

"Aren't you with Taehyun?"

Your face contorts "No we're just friends, besides he know that you like me.."

Kai's face gets pinker the more you talk, avoiding eye contact. After a moment he lets out his thoughts, "and, what are your thoughts?"

"Thoughts? uh- I honestly didn't believe him until... now" you look at him with a hint of desire in your eyes. It was true how can a pretty boy like him be into you, but seeing Kai like he was moaning your name was a big falter on your doubts. You crawl on his bed getting closer to the man, he was hesitant at first but gives in.

"I like you Kai" you say with a small smile.

Kai's chest wells up feeling like he was dreaming "Y-you do?"

You hum while nodding your head "I think your really nice, and handsome, and now I now you look good in other places." A soft chuckle leaves the mans lips, "Can I end my apology by helping you out?"

All embarrassment aside, you hover over Kai one hand keeping you up while the other hand starts palming his dick. Kai groans, what a fast turn of events, he was just dreaming about you doing this, is he still dreaming?

"Can I kiss you?" Kai nods, puppy dog eyes staring straight into your soul.

You lean in for Kai to deepen the kiss, both of you excited to feel each other up. Your hands find their way under the poorly situated briefs finally touch the man's beautiful dick. Slowly moving your thumb along his wet slit moving down to outline the shaft. Kai moans trying to stop himself from cursing, but he felt so good. You start to move your hands faster pumping his dick making the man fall into his bed. Your lips kiss against his long neck listening to his sensual melodies. Bucking his hips it wasn't long until he came in his briefs and on your hand.

Kai stares at you with a grin on your face leaning back on his bed. You look at the mess he made sticking your tongue out to lap it up. "So, what fantasies do you have of me?"

Kai tilts his head to look at you, you were now lying comfortably on the vacant side of his bed. The man now makes himself hovering of you, chest against your plush mounds, his big hands engulfed your face pecking your lips. "I fantasize having you" he says in a low voice, growing the ache between your legs. You grab at his shirt trying to tear away his layers off but before he complies he gets up to lock the door. Both giggling at the fact that was the reason you two were in this situation. Articles of clothing throw everywhere in the room, Kai kneels between your legs.

The sight before him was glorious, your tits slumped yet nipples perked and your legs spread showing of your glistening pussy. He licks his lips fingers brushing against the damp flesh. The soft touches rouses you clenching around nothing. Sighs filled the room, now Kai was the one enjoying your melodies and they way you moved your body closer to him. With a light please, Kai pumps his dick lining it up to your waiting entrance.

Slowly pushing in stretching your walls until you whine out of fear it won't fit. Kai pecks your lips ensuring you that it will and slowly but surly he bottoms out. Staying still for a moment to get you used to the burning sensation, he begins to thrust. Your hands grip his biceps groaning at the pleasure, his tip found its way to a sweet spot making your nails dig into his skin. Kai watched as your face contorted with brows peaking and mouth gapped wide moaning so addictively. Pride filled the man knowing that you're like this because of him.

Kai advances his dick into you creating heat building up in your body. His staggered thrust was a clear sign of his climax. Thumb brushing your clit and a twitch of his dick had you both come unraveling. Kai falls down beside you panting, you reach for his hand to hold cuddling there in peace. He watches your eyes flutter and chest slowing its movements, elated with the state of bliss. Envy of not having you was washed away from the man, but the jealous rage may soon follow the next time he sees you with his 'guy' friends.

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil

read more from: Jealous/Envy TXT Masterlist

taglist: @inkigayocamman, @naoristerling, @incogrio, @f4iryfever

#txt devil #txt imagines #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #hyuka hard thoughts #hyuka hard hours #hyuka smut #hyuka x reader #huening kai x reader #hueningkai imagines #huening kai x y/n #huening kai x you #huening kai smut

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spookwriter-xo · 3 months ago

Text

Coppélia

Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate

Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.

warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.

My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.

The power. The greed.

I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.

I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.

I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.

I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."

My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.

"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."

My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.

Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.

"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.

"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.

I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.

"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."

I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.

"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.

"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.

"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.

San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.

"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.

"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.

I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.

I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?

I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.

The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.

I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.

I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?

I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.

"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.

"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.

I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.

"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.

"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."

I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.

"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.

"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."

I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.

"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."

"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.

"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.

The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.

There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.

Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?

It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.

"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.

"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.

I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.

"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.

"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.

"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."

"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.

"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.

"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.

A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.

A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.

"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.

The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.

"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.

"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.

"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."

I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.

I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.

I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3

Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

Note

But like instead of sugar daddy Price how about sugar baby Price.

Thinking about Sugar Baby!Price

Pairing: John Price x Male Reader

Cw: power dynamic, sugar daddy/ sugar baby dynamic, age gap,

Thinking about Sugar baby! Price who signed up to a sugar baby/ daddy website in an attempt to earn some money on the side but because of his age he only gets a handful of matches and those that he gets never lead to dates.

But one day, after going without a match for a good couple of weeks, he gets matched with someone.

At first Price is confused because in his preferences he clearly states that he would rather be matched with a woman but on his screen there’s a picture of you, a man, who looks to be much younger than he is. By looking further into your profile, he sees that you’re a successful businessman, who’s looking for a date to attend with you to events and he can also see you’ve got no gender preference.

So it couldn’t have been a mistake right?

But Price is still hesitant because he’s never been on a date with a man and he’s heard his fair share of horror stories of sugar daddies from the women that frequented the same site, but money is money and Price finds himself accepting the offer.

However as he drives over to the restaurant he can’t keep doubts from creeping into his head, wondering if there’s a slight chance that you’re expecting a woman on this date.

But all doubts disappear when he walks through the door only to be met with the sight of your smiling face as you go to pull out a chair for him.

So far you seem polite, charming even and you look really handsome. Price might have only dated women before but he can admit when a man looks good. However looks can be deceiving and behind that exterior there might be someone that’s expecting more of him, something more like sex.

Just hearing the word echoing in his head has his throat drying up as he fiddles with the napkin in his hand. “I’d like to make one thing clear, I’m perfectly okay with dates but anything past that-“

He’s abruptly cut off by you, a chore of no’s escaping your lips as you frantically wave your hands in the air.

“Oh no no no I don’t do that I don’t sleep with uh my clients”

Oh, okay. Good.

“I didn’t think-“ he shakes his head, looking down at the table, feeling his neck, ears and cheeks burn.

“Don’t get me wrong,sir-“

“John” the older man corrects, looking up at you beneath long black lashes and you feel heat creep up your own neck, ears and cheek.

“Don’t get me wrong John, you’re very attractive,” you say with a soft smile still displayed on your face, but the only thing he can focus on is your words.

Attractive .

Attractive ?

You found him attractive.

“But I’m just looking for a date to attend with me to different type of events,”

Price who’s still lost in the thought that you find him attractive only nods his head and the two of you proceed to order dinner.

The date goes exceptionally well. For whatever reason you seem more interested in hearing him talk about himself rather than talking about yourself.

Although it may sound wrong in someone’s ear, he can’t help but love how much attention you’re paying to him.

You even drive him home instead of asking your Chauffeur to do so and you don’t leave until he’s safe inside his house.

When he goes inside he almost feels like a teenager, face flushed hair mussed, hands jittery and you haven’t even done anything!

And when he gets a text asking for another date he happily agrees to it.

Date after date and you continue to stick to your words, never initiating anything that might make him uncomfortable but for whatever reason Price is unable to shake the feeling of disappointment that starts to grow inside of him.

The doubts that have made home in his mind start telling him that maybe you don’t even find him attractive.

Price isn’t stupid he knows he isn’t young anymore, that he isn’t the most desirable bachelor in the world but that doesn’t mean that it hurts any less knowing that you don’t find him attractive.

However things take a turn one day, when the two of you are trying out suits that he can wear for an event.

As he stands there in the changing room, looking at his reflection in the mirror, he can’t help but feel a surge of confidence running through his body.

For the first time in a while he feels attractive. You’d gone out of your way to get a tailored suit for him even though he’d vehemently denied it, fearing it’d be too expensive and that he had a perfectly fine suit somewhere buried inside of his closet.

But now that he’s looking at himself he can’t help but feel immensely thankful for your kind gesture because the suit hugs his curves so well, the rich black color compliments his skin tone beautifully, and there’s even a pop of blue in his pockets and buttons that match the color of his eyes.

Prior to this you even made sure he got a haircut and trimmed his mutton chops.

“I have to admit, I’ll miss these curls” you say while running a hand through his sandy brown hair, and once again he feels heat creep up his cheeks neck and ears “But Marisa knows what she’s doing”

And he couldn’t agree more, whilst looking at himself in the mirror, hair much shorter now and slicked back, with facial hair trimmed and showing off the sharpness of his features.

When he walks out to show you the outfit, he hears a small gasp escape your lips while your eyes trail down his body.

Once again he can feel heat creeping up on him but he also feels a surge of confidence- a sense of power for having affected you in this way.

You finally manage to pull your eyes away from him, awkwardly clearing your throat as you go to speak “you look good John, really good” you say the second part quieter.

He manages to respond with a smooth thank you, tone sounding like the one he only ever used to charm his late wife, even biting back a smirk while saying that.

On the night of the event the two of you almost seem to be glued to each other. You don’t do anything to overstep boundaries but he can see the way your gaze is trained on him, the way you keep almost a possessive hand on his hip and the compliments that just keep rolling off your tongue while chatting with him.

When the night nears to an end and you’re walking him to his door he can’t help but get lost in his thoughts, in the feeling of you arm slung over his shoulder the smell of your cologne and the compliments that never seem to stop rolling off your tongue.

It all ends with him uttering the words “would you like to come in?” you freeze in your step and fall silent for a moment before finding your words again “Are you sure we don’t have to-

“I want to” he croaks out, throat suddenly feeling dry “I really really want to”

#there will be more parts Mwah #I didn’t want to jam it all into one #you have found my weekness anonie bc I love this trope #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john price x male reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #top male reader #dom male reader #sub male character #bottom male character #adding this tag bc eventually it’ll get there

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xxl4vend3rxx · 6 months ago

Text

Keen observation: Giyū is a hypocrite:

Let me explain:

I have a headcannon // Oneshot for this that I will link HERE when it is finished x.

Alright, to prove this point I am going to focus on two specific points (With Anime episodes and Manga chapters listed)

Okay: the first point to be made is with when Tanjiro is trying to convince Giyú to come and train the other demon slayers, and Giyú is doing all he can to avoid and // or ignore poor sweet Tanjiro.

Exhibits A // B // C:

"Giyú sannnnn!!" // "Mr. Giyuuu!!"

Throughout Season five, Episode two "Water Hashira Giyú Tomioka's Pain" (Covering from chapter 130 of the Manga), we get to see Tanjiro's sheer determination to convince the stoic hashira to join in training the younger // lower ranking corps members - to which Giyú consistently either flat out refuses him, or ignores him - leading to a rather hilarious sequence of events that last over a few days.

And at one point we get to see things from Giyú's perspective - and what he says made me get thinking: HMM THIS SEEMS AWFULLY FAMILIAR - OH YEAH THAT'S BECUASE IT IS.

(Thoughts) Is he going to… keep this up for the rest of my life?

(Thoughts) If I talk to him, will he stop stalking me?

AND THAT LEADS ME INTO POINT B. Throughout Season five Episode 7, "Stone Hashira Gyomei Himejima" - We find Giyú and Sanemi in the midst of a heated spar - only for Tanjiro to intervene because he thinks that they are actually fighting each other.

He then proceeds to talk about Sanemi's enjoyment of Ohagi (For reference Ohagi is a Japanese sweet that is made of glutenous rice flour and red bean paste // it is also sometimes called red bean mochi and is like an inside out Daifuku) - And Giyú displays interest in this, notable by the remark he passes to the other Hashira

"You like Ohagi?"

(Also how refreshing was it to see Giyú actually trying to make friends?? Like AHHHH he's trying so hard and WHO DOES THAT SOUND LIKE?? - TANJIRO.)

Giyú then goes on to tell Tanjiro his silly little plan; the next time he sees Sanemi - he's going to hide some Ohagi up his sleeve to give to him. Now see, that sounds really cute and all, but imagine this from Sanemi's perspective.

He's clearly embarrassed by Tanjiro talking about his liking of Ohagi - based off his reaction to Tanjiro bringing it up. He shouted, and then stormed off.

Now picture the person who he hates on a level nearly par with demons (Someone who is always painfully quiet and uninterested in him) suddenly acting all smiley and enthusiastic, brandishing Ohagi from... up his sleeve? I don't know about you, but that would seem quite odd to me, condescending even.

Personally, I headcannon that Giyú went full Tanjiro in his pursuit to give Sanemi some Ohagi and become friends with him, but a more so silent approach. Like he'd still be overbearing, but with that little smile of his accompanied by an empty stare and total silence.

It'd creep the hell out of Sanemi and probably make him feel a little insecure, almost embarrassed of himself if Giyuu was going to this length in (what he thinks is) teasing him.

Another instance of miscommunication for them. Sanemi would probably start thinking like Giyú had-

"Is he going to keep this up forever!?"

"Goddammit, if I entertain this will he leave me alone?!"

(Just look at his silly face // he is both pure of heart and dumb of ass)

but I think Sanemi's face was bound to look less like that ^^^ and more like this: vvv

AND THERE IS MY LITTLE ESSAY ON WHY GIYU IS A HYPOCRITE - WHETHER HE KNOWS IT OR NOT.

And an abridged one below:

( I think he would have eventually taken a piece of Ohagi from him, and that it would have made Giyú insanely happy - but Sanemi takes that as him being sarcastic - causing more friction on his side, whereas Giyú thinks they are making progress, making him do it again.

I think this kerfuffle would have only been cleared up after the final battle, to which Sanemi feels a little worse for being so cold to Giyú - but is immediately forgiven and gifted with a bunch of Ohagi, as Giyú grew quite skilled at making it after so many practice runs. )

THEY'RE SO SILLY I LOVE THEM

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wadewnstonwilson · 3 months ago

Text

older boyfriend wade wilson headcanons || suggestion by anonymous

pairing: wade wilson (deadpool) x genderneutral!reader

author note: let me know if you guys want me to make this into an actual fic!! also would love to make more headcanons in the future featuring logan or wade so please feel free to drop me an ask!

wade’s protective streak is amplified by the age gap. he knows you’re young and still figuring life out, so he’s hyper-aware of anything or anyone that might cause you stress. whether it’s a professor being unfair or a creep at a party, wade’s ready to swoop in. “do you want me to talk to them? or, y’know, scare the crap out of them? either works.”

wade’s surprisingly good at helping you study—mostly because he makes it fun. he’ll quiz you with ridiculous impressions, draw crude diagrams that somehow make sense, or turn your flashcards into a card game. if you’re struggling with a tough class, he’s your biggest cheerleader, reminding you of how smart you are even when you doubt yourself.

wade can’t stand seeing you stressed about money, especially when you’re juggling work and school. he’ll casually slip extra cash into your wallet or “accidentally” order way too much takeout so you have leftovers for days. if you protest, he brushes it off. “relax, baby, i’m just investing in my future sugar parent.”

wade constantly jokes about the age gap, calling himself a “cradle robber” or making exaggerated comments about how “back in his day,” things were different. it’s all in good fun, though, and he loves how your younger energy keeps him on his toes. “you’re like my very own personal time machine, babe. you make me feel young again. except for my knees—those still hate me.”

despite his humor, wade sometimes wrestles with insecurity about the age difference. he worries he’s too damaged or experienced for you and questions whether he’s holding you back. he doesn’t voice it often, but it’s clear in the way he sometimes pulls away or gets quiet when he sees you thriving in your college world.

wade is your rock during stressful times. when finals season rolls around, he’s there to remind you to take breaks, eat, and sleep. he might even bribe you with snacks or cuddles to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. “you can’t ace that exam if you’re running on fumes, babe. now eat this chimichanga before i cry.”

wade loves whisking you away from the monotony of college life for spontaneous dates. whether it’s midnight runs to a 24-hour diner or an impromptu road trip, he makes sure you’re not missing out on fun just because you’re busy with school.

while wade doesn’t want to overstep, he occasionally drops bits of wisdom from his own life experiences. if you’re struggling with a decision or feeling lost, he’s there to listen and gently nudge you in the right direction. “look , i’ve made enough dumb choices for the both of us. let me save you some trouble, okay?”

wade tries not to let it show, but he sometimes feels a little insecure about your college friends, especially if they’re closer to your age. he won’t stop you from hanging out with them, but he might throw in a sarcastic comment or two. “sure, go hang with your study group. but if any of them so much as *looks* at you funny, i’m calling in reinforcements. and by reinforcements, i mean me.”

wade tries to keep you at arm’s length sometimes, convinced that you deserve someone less complicated, someone who hasn’t been through what he has. but the more he tries to push you away, the more he finds himself drawn back to you. you have a way of breaking down his walls, and it terrifies him—because he wants you, but he also wants to protect you from him.

wade makes an effort to understand your college life, even if it’s wildly different from his world. he’ll attend your events, help with projects, and even try to keep up with your academic lingo (though it usually ends in a joke). “So, gpa stands for ‘great partner award,’ right? because you definitely deserve that.”

wade is constantly hyping you up, especially when you feel overwhelmed or unsure of yourself. “you’re the smartest, most badass person i know, and i know me. you’ve got this, kiddo.”

when you graduate, wade is your loudest, proudest supporter. he makes a huge deal out of it, throwing an over-the-top celebration just for you. “you did it, smarty-pants! now, can we frame your degree and put it in the bathroom? best reading material ever.”

despite his doubts and insecurities, wade’s love for you is clear in everything he does. from the way he kisses your forehead when you’re stressed to the ridiculous lengths he’ll go to make you smile, he’s all in—even if he sometimes worries he doesn’t deserve to be.

#wade wilson x reader #wade wilson fanfic #wade wilson #wade winston wilson #deadpool x reader #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool #deadpool & wolverine #my work #my writing #my fanfiction

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ashwhowrites · 1 year ago

Note

I just saw you wrote a Dad's best friend! Hopper, and I was wondering if you could write a Dad's best friend! Eddie Munson x Harrington! Reader, like what would happen if Steve's daughter falls for Eddie, who's her dad's friend, and maybe Steve finds out about it, Idk, I just thought abt that

.....I kinda love this? I wrote this kinda turned on so it's very sexual

I'm not going to try to figure out the correct math for the age difference so the reader is of age and that's what we are going with

⚠️smutty, age difference

Dad's best friend

Steve and Eddie went back to high school, but the friendship died out after the events of the upside down. Eddie moved out of Hawkins and went for the rockstar life. Steve stayed back and had a family of his own.

Steve hadn't seen Eddie in almost twenty years, but they kept in touch. Eddie wasn't married or had any kids, just touring the world. Steve had a daughter, Y/N. And she reminded Steve of Eddie a lot. She liked the darker colors, listening to her music on the highest volume, and pushing Steve's buttons.

But when Eddie called asking for a place to crash for a while, Steve didn't waste a second to take him in.

~~~

Steve sat next to Eddie at the kitchen counter as Eddie told him stories about life on the road. Eddie was in the middle of a story when a younger girl walked into the kitchen, coming in from the front door. A tiny skirt with lacey tights that disappeared into black boots. A tight tank top showing off her chest perfectly. Eddie had a feeling he shouldn't be looking, Was this Steve's girlfriend or something? Eddie tried to look away, but his eyes ran down the girl's body, his jeans tightening when he saw a tattoo lingering up her thigh.

"Um Y/N, would you mind changing? I have a guest here." Steve groaned, not surprised by his daughter's choice of clothes.

"Seems to me that he isn't bothered." She smirked, a wink in Eddie's direction. But listened to her dad's orders and headed upstairs to change. Eddie felt his face turn red as he was caught. A hand in his lap as he readjusted himself.

"Sorry about her, she likes to push boundaries." Steve joked, standing up as he grabbed himself another beer.

"No worries. Is she your girlfriend?" Eddie asked the question that was stuck in his head. Steve always got the hot ones. And this girl was by far the hottest girl Eddie had seen. And he's slept with countless women and men on his tour. And none matched her.

Steve had an uncomfortable look on his face as he said, "No...she's my daughter." Eddie nearly spit out the beer he was sipping on. His eyes bulging out of his head.

"She's what? She doesn't look...what?" Eddie was lost. She didn't resemble Steve at all.

"She looks just like her mom, but we got a divorce and I got full custody when Y/N was ten. I don't think she enjoys living with her dad all the time." Steve joked.

Eddie's head continued spinning all night. He stayed in the guest bedroom, the door cracked. He could see her door through the small opening. Band posters covered her door and pictures of her friends. Eddie hated the way he felt his cock growing hard as he thought of her behind the door.

It was wrong. She was Steve's daughter and too young. But the small skirt and tattoo flashed through Eddie's mind as he slipped his hand into his boxers. He closed his eyes as he pictured her. The way she'd look riding him in that tiny skirt, having to stay quiet so Steve didn't hear them. Eddie bit his lip so his moans didn't leave his mouth. Working himself closer to an orgasm, lost in the feeling. Cumming in his hand as he breathed through his orgasm. He opened his eyes and sat up. He planned to go to the bathroom to clean up but he froze when he saw her standing at his door, a smirk creeping through the tiny crack of the door. He was frozen as she walked back to her room and closed the door.

~~~

The next morning Eddie walked into the kitchen, Steve was making breakfast. Eddie greeted him as he sat at the table. A hot cup of coffee was placed in front of him, pink nails caught his eye. He looked up and there she was. That same smirk on her face as she sat across from him. She didn't say anything and neither did he. But his eyes devoured the way she looked in her long T-shirt and tiny shorts.

"How was the first night? Is the bed comfy enough?" Steve asked, placing down the eggs as he took a seat at the end of the table.

Eddie blushed at the question, nodding his head as he sipped his coffee. "Yeah, it was fine."

"Y/N didn't keep you up, did she? She likes to stay up late and make noise." Steve joked, punching his daughter's arm lightly.

"I didn't keep him up..on purpose." She smiled.

~~~

Within a month, she was driving Eddie insane. Her small outfits, walking around in towels and making comments. Eddie felt like he was being tortured but he loved it. But there were moments where it felt like they were connecting. Conversations on the front step as they shared a cigarette. Movie nights where Steve passed out a minute in, so they talked through the rest of it. She played her games, but she also opened up to him and he saw all the layers that were made of her.

"I'll be back on Monday, please be nice to Eddie and help him out," Steve said as he grabbed his suitcase.

"I will!" Y/N promised as she hugged her dad goodbye. Once he walked out the door, she raced to her bedroom. Eddie was out at the moment, and it gave her the perfect amount of time.

~~~

Eddie pulled into the driveway, a little confused to see Steve's car was gone. He walked in and yelled out for anyone, but no one replied. He shrugged his shoulders as he walked up to his room. He opened his door but froze on the spot.

Y/N sat on her knees on his bed. A red lacey bra on her chest and red underwear to match. Red bows on her thighs as it connected to her garter. Fishnets covered her legs. She leaned over so her breasts practically spilled out of the bra.

"Cat got your tongue?" She asked, a pout on her face as she sat up.

Eddie was trying his best to look somewhere else, but he wanted to soak her in. Her skin looked soft and warm. Her skin glowed and looked perfect, he wanted to destroy it with bite marks.

"What are you doing?" Eddie finally got out. She laughed as she stood up. Now walking towards him.

"Trying to fuck you, isn't it obvious?" She joked, her hands running up and down his chest. She teased him with her fingernails as she turned her head to stare at him.

"Your dad.." he started but Y/N cut him off. "He's gone for the weekend. Don't worry about him. I know you want this and I know you think of me when you jerk off."

Eddie hated that he was caught. "I think of you when I touch myself too." She whispered as she reached her hands into his hair. Tugging slightly, falling into the sound of his grunt. Eddie's mind was going blank, just the images of how she looked fucking herself to him. Just a few feet away from his room.

"You're his daughter, this can't happen." He finally got out, removing her hands from him. Forcing himself to step back and collect his thoughts. He was older and he needed to act like it.

"Forget about him! I like you and you like me, don't you?" She asked. Eddie knew he did, it went way past sexual. She was smart and creative. He loved spending time with her, the nights she was sweet and they just got to talk. He learned so much about her and he felt himself falling for her. But he couldn't do that to Steve.

The silence was eating her alive. Did she read him wrong? She could have sworn he was interested in her. The way he stared at her when she talked, the way he always gave her more of the blanket during movie nights. She had a crush on him and she made it obvious. He never seemed uncomfortable or wanted to turn her away. Until now, at least.

"You don't, do you?" She whispered. Embarrassment fled through her body like a flood. She felt like an idiot. Standing there in lingerie she purposely bought for her dad's fucking best friend. How could she be so dumb?

She felt the need to cry, but she forced it back as she quickly pushed past him and raced into her bedroom. She slammed the door and raced to change into normal clothes. She felt the tears falling as she yanked the lingerie off of herself. She felt like the material was burning her.

She froze when she heard knocks on her door.

"Y/N, can we talk?" Usually his voice made her melt, but it made her feel cold.

"No" she spat as she shoved the lingerie into the trash.

"Please? I'm sorry! We just can't happen. I'm your dad's friend and he took me in. I can't fuck that up and I can't ruin your relationship with him. You deserve someone who is put together and someone your age." He tried to explain, but all she heard was the rejection. He didn't like her. He didn't want her. All those nights where she thought he felt something wasn't real.

Eddie sighed as he heard silence on the other side of the door. He was an idiot. He knew he was making the right choice for her. She was young and didn't know what she was getting into with him.

~~~

Eddie didn't see her at all the next morning, she never left her room. Not for food, the bathroom, or anything. He knocked every hour but nothing. He was really worried about her, but he knew it wasn't his place to worry about her.

It was Saturday night and Eddie ordered a pizza, he got one for her as well, if she made her way downstairs. As he set it on the counter, the house phone rang. He picked it up once he saw Steve's name.

"Hey! Is Y/N there? She won't pick up her phone." Steve said, Eddie quickly talked to him and walked up the stairs.

Knocking on her door, "Your dad is on the phone!" He yelled through the door. And to his surprise, she opened the door.

A dead look on her face as she grabbed the phone and slammed the door. But Eddie was confused about her outfit. She was dressed up. She was in a tiny black dress, tights and those boots again. Her makeup is done with red lips and winged eyeliner. Her hair rested on her shoulders.

He waited outside the door, hearing her hang up as she opened the door. Knocking right into Eddie, not expecting him to still be there.

"eavesdropping much?" She spat as she walked past him and headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" He asked, following her down the stairs. Hating that his cock was growing hard under his sweatpants as the dress rolled up her thighs.

"A party." She kept it short as she grabbed her keys.

"Do you plan to drink? I can pick you up." Eddie offered, but the same dead look was on her face.

"I can take care of myself, and I don't need a babysitter." She spat as she went out the door.

~~~

Eddie tried to wait up in case she called. But it was nearly two in the morning and he was exhausted. He cleaned up the kitchen and living room. And headed to his room.

He fell asleep fast, waking up when he heard the front door slam and giggles echoing through the empty house. He sighed as he rolled out of bed, throwing on a shirt. He opened his door and caught the shadows of two people bumping around as they worked their way into her room.

He had a sick feeling in his stomach and a feeling of absolute rage filling his bones. He flicked on the hallway light, his eyes glaring as he took in the boy who was groping her with no care in the world. Her dress flipped up, and Eddie could see the familiar laced underwear from the other night. It was almost like a punch in his gut. He didn't like knowing she dressed up for someone else, the same way she tried for him.

"Privacy please." She snickered, shoving the boy into her room as she slammed the door behind her.

Eddie wanted to break down the door and grab that asshole by his throat. And beat the shit out of him, but he couldn't. He needed to get his jealousy in check.

He shut his door and got back in bed. Within seconds he could hear her moaning down the hallway. She was as angelic as he thought she would be. She sounded memorizing, he almost forgot that he wasn't pulling the sounds from her. But the reminder traveled to his ears when he heard her moaning a name that wasn't his. He couldn't tell if she was purposely torturing him or if she was truly having the best sex of her life. He prayed it was the first one. He prayed that she wasn't enjoying a second of it. That she was picturing Eddie instead. Her eyes were closed and she drowned in the fantasy of Eddie touching her in the ways they both wanted more than anything.

~~~

The next morning, Eddie was worried about seeing her. But Steve came home tomorrow and he'd instantly pick up on the weird energy between them.

So he told himself to be an adult and leave his room. He heard sounds in the kitchen, he slowly walked towards the sounds. Breathing a sigh of relief to see her alone she mixed her coffee. Eddie felt a lump in his throat as he saw the marks all over her skin. The skin Eddie wanted to mark as his. Now it was covered in some asshole from a party that probably didn't treasure her body the way it deserved.

She didn't say a word, and neither did he. He slid next to her to make his coffee but stopped when she placed the mug in front of him. Already filled and made the way he liked. He smiled at the action and went to say thank you but she already walked out.

He quickly followed her, stopping her bedroom door before it shut.

"Can we talk?" He asked again

She sighed and walked to her bed. She sat on it as she sipped her coffee. He followed behind her. His stomach was in knots as he saw her dress and lingerie scattered all around the floor.

"I didn't mean to hurt you." He admitted, keeping his eyes on her as she looked down at her cup. She shrugged her shoulders, "I kinda hurt myself, Eddie. It's okay." She said

"Why do you think that?" He asked, he wasn't sure what she meant by hurting herself.

"I mean that I had this whole idea that you liked me and you were attracted to me. I thought maybe you wanted me in the same way I wanted you. But I figured you didn't want to make any moves since you didn't want to be disrespectful to my dad. So I thought if I made the move for us...I don't know." She scoffed. Hearing herself out loud reminded her how dumb she was acting.

"But, you turned me away," she said sadly, finally looking at him. His eyes stared into hers, seeing the slight water that was filling. "I bought the sexiest lingerie I could find for you, and made an absolute fool of myself by throwing myself at you like a desperate whore. " she laughed at herself, her eyes now back on the cup. "I hurt myself by thinking you fell for me too."

"Y/N..." he tried but she cut him off. "But you were right. I mean my dad would never agree to this. He would hate me even more than he does now. And I'd make him hate you, and you are the only friend he has now. I need to stop ruining his life." She cried, wiping her tears as she cuddled into herself.

"He doesn't hate you at all. He adores you." Eddie tried but she shook her head. "He does! And he just wants to protect you."

"Thanks." She smiled. "He's back tomorrow so I guess I should clean up." She said, Eddie took the hint and got up. He walked to the door but slowly turned to her. The sight of her bruised skin and clothes on the floor reminded him of what happened last night. A reminder that she'd always be someone else's.

"Y/N?" She looked up, a small smile on her face as she encouraged him to talk. She watched as he set down his cup, walked to her, and placed hers on the desk beside her.

"What are you doing?" She asked, but he didn't say a word. Just looking into her eyes as he pushed her back on the bed, she sat still. Praying if she didn't move a muscle, he wouldn't stop what he was going to do.

Her whole body fired up like electricity as he crawled on top of her and smashed his lips on hers. He hungrily tasted her and gripped her hips as he grinded against her. Eddie never felt this way for anyone, ever. It's been years of being lonely on the road, wishing for someone to be there with him through everything. If that was her, he wasn't going to let Steve stop him.

She was melting into her sheets. Everything she was dying to have was happening. The feeling of his lips attacking hers, his cock rubbing against her thigh. His smell filled her nose. Her hands traveled to his hair, yanking it as she shoved her tongue in his mouth. His hard body was against hers as his tongue moved inside her mouth.

He pulled away, breathing heavily as his forehead rested against hers. She stared at him in awe as she breathed against him.

"Sure this is what you want?" He whispered, his eyes soaking in her face. His right hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin softly. She was beautiful.

"Yes." She said instantly, her hands moving under his shirt, feeling his forbidden skin under her nails.

He pulled back and removed his shirt, she followed his movement and yanked off hers. Leaving her in her underwear as she watched him remove the rest of his clothes.

She felt her insides burn and cunt twitch as she looked at his hard cock. She could feel her mouth-watering, his hands yanking off her underwear and shoving her thighs apart. She watched as he got on his knees, dragging her closer to his mouth. She was panting before his lips even touched her. He spit on her clit and rubbed his spit around. She was clawing at her sheets, he didn't waste a second before his tongue was moving against her. He ate her out like he'd been starving for months. She was a panting mess underneath him, her teasing act out the window as she felt her body disappearing.

"Jesus Eddie." She moaned she's never felt such pleasure before and he's been eating her out for a solid two minutes at most.

Hearing his name fall from her lips had his cock twitching. He almost felt like he could cum from eating her out. She tasted amazing. He didn't give a fuck about letting guys her age have her. They wouldn't know how to please her. He knew he could make her cum better than anyone. He was lost in how wet she was, wanting to suck her dry.

"Gonna!" She squirmed, her thighs clamping around his head as she came. Eddie didn't pull away, continuing his attack on her cunt as she tried to pull him off. But the longer he went, the weaker she became. Lying dead against the bed as she twitched and squirmed from his tongue. Almost like she's done when he decides.

After what felt like hours, he pulled away. His chin soaked as he smiled up at her. She couldn't tell if she was smiling back at him or not, she couldn't feel a thing.

She felt him moving her body further up the bed, her head against the pillows as he was on top of her again. His forehead was against hers as he slowly pushed himself inside of her. She felt her eyes rolling in the back of her head as her cunt stretched to take him in. He kissed her nose softly as he pushed himself in. Giving her a second to adjust. She breathed through her nose as she gripped his bicep.

"Look at you, taking me so well." He praised, kissing her lips. He waited a few more seconds before he started moving in and out of her. Clenching his jaw as he felt her cunt sucking him back in.

"Faster, please." She whined. He smashed his lips against hers again as he thrust inside of her. He was going fast and hard, but she loved it. She clawed at his back, moaning as he hit every spot inside of her effortlessly. He filled her perfectly, it made his head spin.

He pulled away to move his attention to her neck. Jealousy in his bones when he spotted the marks. She gasped as he lifted her leg and put it over his shoulder. Somehow pounding into her harder. She couldn't speak, or form any thoughts. He was fucking her straight dead in the head. He latched his mouth right on top of the hickey, forming his own on top of it. He knew it was sore by the hissing that left her lips. But he didn't care. He would cover every mark she had with his own.

She felt a small smirk forming on her face, realizing he was putting his mark over the ones from before. She found his jealousy incredibly attractive. And she loved that it made him fuck her harder.

His mouth stayed on her neck, as his hand moved down to her clit. Rubbing her clit fast as he felt himself growing close. Her mouth dropped open as she felt herself clenching around him. His fingers on her clit was practically dragging the orgasm out of her.

She couldn't even form the words, just digging her nails into his skin as she soaked his cock in her cum. Panting against him her thighs shook.

Eddie immediately came right after, feeling her cum soak him completely, and sent him over. He trusted slowly inside of her as he came. Emptying himself inside of her, he pecked her lips as he slid out.

"Oh fuck." He moaned, leaning back on his legs as he watched his cum leak out of her. He pushed it back inside with his fingers, loving the way she shook and tried to swat his hand away. He leaned into her, "Shh, pretty girls deserve to keep all my cum." She nodded as she allowed him to finger the cum back inside of her. She felt used and abused and loved it.

The sun was bright through her curtains, framing Eddie in a perfect way that she couldn't take her eyes off.

"You're so pretty." She sighed, her hands tracing his face. He laughed as he grabbed her hands from his face and kissed her knuckles.

"You're pretty too." He said.

He rested next to her, bringing her in his arms. Her back to his chest as she closed her eyes.

"I fell for you too." He whispered.

~~~

"Eddie! He's coming home any minute!" She laughed, trying to remove Eddie's arms from her. But he was stronger than she was. His arms wrapped around her waist as he kissed her neck.

"Fine fine!" He pouted, allowing her to put space between them as she finished making dinner. Eddie moved to the table and sat down. Watching her make their plates for dinner. Her marks were covered in makeup, not wanting to give her dad a heart attack, but Eddie missed seeing them.

"I'm home!" Steve entered, a smile on his face as Y/N hugged him.

"Perfect timing! I just finished dinner for us!" She said, placing the plates down on the table.

"I'll bring these to your room, you sit and eat." Y/N offered. Steve looked at her weirdly but accepted the offer.

He sat down at the table and dug into his plate. Eddie got up to grab a beer, stretching to get it off the top shelf.

Steve's eyes landed on Eddie's back, the bottom of his shirt rising, and red scratches were all down his back.

"I hope you didn't fuck someone with my daughter in the house." Steve scolded, his eyes hard as Eddie froze.

"Excuse me?" Eddie chuckled, turning around to see a displeased Steve.

"Your back? It's covered in marks. I'm fine with you having people over, but please don't have sex with my daughter across the hall." Steve said.

"Right....don't have sex with your daughter...when she's across the hall," Eddie repeated.

What Steve didn't know couldn't kill him, right?

Tags!

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fafnir19 · 15 days ago

Text

His Style

The bustling city streets buzzed with an energy that Zayne usually detested. Fashion Week had descended upon the metropolis, bringing with it a flurry of glamorous events, extravagant parties, and a never-ending parade of models and fashionistas. Zayne, a young businessman in his mid-twenties, found himself caught in the midst of this chaotic spectacle, his annoyance growing with each passing moment. He had always prided himself on his conservative corporate style, and the flamboyant displays of fashion were a stark contrast to his taste. With an important business meeting looming, Zayne knew he needed to look his best.

His usual barber, a reliable and traditional man, was fully booked due to the influx of fashion-conscious clients. Finally, he spotted a high-end barbershop, the kind that radiated exclusivity. A glimmer of hope ignited in his chest. He stepped inside, the bell chiming above him, and was immediately assaulted by the smell of aftershave and hair products.

A man with a calm demeanor approached him, an vest wrapped around his waist. “Welcome! I’m Jason. How can I assist you today?”

“I need a cut,” Zayne replied curtly. “Something classic. Slicked back. I have an important meeting.” He crossed his arms, trying to project authority despite the nagging doubts in his mind. Jason raised an eyebrow, assessing him. “You know, with your features, you could easily pull off a more modern look. Shorter on the sides, a bit messy on top. It’s all the rage right now.” “Pass,” Zayne shot back, his annoyance creeping back. “I want it slicked back. Classic. Like a businessman, not a fashion model.” He had always been particular about his appearance, especially since he was on the skinnier side and often felt he needed to compensate for his boyish looks. A tall, muscular build and a commanding presence were what he strived for, but no matter how hard he worked out, he couldn't seem to achieve the bulky, alpha-male physique he desired. The barber chuckled softly. “I work a lot in the model industry. You’ve got a handsome face, you know. Ever thought about modeling?” Zayne scoffed, shaking his head. “Not a chance. I’m a businessman, not some runway clown.” “Suit yourself,” Jason said, shrugging slightly, his tone light. “But you really should consider it. You’ve got a lot of potential.” Zayne rolled his eyes, sinking into the barber chair. “Yeah, right,” Zayne scoffed, running a hand through his dark brown slicked-back hair, a recent dye job to cover his natural blond. “I’m here to look alpha, not prance around like some runway peacock.” He had always wanted to appear older and more mature, believing it would make him more attractive to potential partners. The idea of being a sugar daddy to a beautiful younger woman had a certain allure, and he had gone to great lengths to transform his image.

The barber shrugged, moving to wash Zayne’s hair. The warm water cascaded down his scalp, and Zayne felt the tension in his shoulders begin to melt away. He closed his eyes, letting the soothing sensation wash over him, the sound of water lulling him deeper into relaxation.

“Just try to stay awake, alright?” Jason murmured, his voice a low hum in the background. Zayne felt himself drifting, the world around him fading into shadows. He barely noticed when the barber began to speak again, his words a gentle whisper. “Don’t you want to try something new? I could make you look great. Just trust me,” Jason said, his tone persuasive. “Yeah, maybe,” Zayne mumbled, his mind hazy as the rhythmic motions of the wash lulled him further. “Give me free rein,” Jason continued, “and I promise you’ll look fantastic.” “Yeah, just do what you see fit,” Zayne replied, almost dreamily. With that, the barber set to work, cutting Zayne’s hair shorter on the sides and creating a messy top. He felt the scissors snipping away, but it all felt so distant, like he was watching from afar. The buzz and chatter of the shop faded into white noise as Jason guided him through the transformation. “Now, let’s freshen up that face of yours,” Jason said, pulling out a can of shaving foam. “You’ll look so much better without that stubble.” “I don’t know…” Zayne hesitated, the words escaping his lips with little resistance. “Trust me!” Jason replied, his voice firm yet coaxing. He began lathering Zayne’s face with the foam, the scent intoxicating. Zayne’s thoughts swirled as the razor glided smoothly over his skin. Each stroke felt like a gentle caress, pulling him deeper into a trance.

As Jason worked, something unexpected happened. The dark color of Zayne’s hair began to fade, revealing his natural golden locks. Zayne didn’t realize it was happening, too caught up in the sensation of the shave, the foam, and Jason’s voice. “Your strong pecs would look better shaved too,” Jason remarked with a casual confidence. Zayne nodded, still in that pliable state. The barber’s hands moved skillfully, and soon, Zayne’s tie was discarded, and his crisp white shirt was unbuttoned. Another barber joined in, helping to shave Zayne’s upper body and pit hairs, leaving him smooth as a newborn. Every stroke of the razor felt liberating, as if layers of his former self were being peeled away. “Look at you, a true work of art,” Jason said with satisfaction, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Zayne felt a thrill at the compliment, still lost in the haze of relaxation. Finally, they dressed him in a baby blue silk shirt that hung loosely, undone to reveal Zayne’s newly smooth upper body. Jason handed him an espresso, the bitter jolt of caffeine bringing him back to a semi-conscious state. Zayne's eyes fluttered open, and he stared at his reflection in the mirror, his jaw dropping in shock. He looked so different, his boyish features accentuated by the new haircut and shave. His golden blond hair and smooth skin gave him a youthful glow, and the silk shirt draped perfectly over his toned body. Gone was the commanding businessman he had envisioned. Instead, he stared at a boyish model staring back, all soft edges and youthful charm.

“What the hell?” he gasped. “I look like a kid!” “Perfect for the runway!” Jason chimed, a proud smile on his face. “Runway? No, no way.” Zayne’s heart raced as he tried to process the transformation. “I can’t go to my meeting like this!” Before he could continue his tirade, the door swung open with a flourish and a stylish woman entered, her confidence radiating. She was in her fifties but tried hard to maintain a youthful appearance, with perfectly sculpted hair and designer clothes that clung to her form.

“Donata, right in time! I’m just finishing up with the new replacement model!” Jason beamed, gesturing dramatically toward Zayne. “Ah, Jason, you’ve done it again! This one is perfect for the show!” Donata’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she approached Zayne, watching him like a piece of art. Zayne’s protests fell on deaf ears as she circled him, inspecting every inch. "You, my dear," she said, leaning closer, "are going to be the talk of the town. With that face and body, you’ll walk the runway like a dream. And I’ll pay you handsomely for it." Zayne clenched his fists at his sides. "I don’t care about your money..." he began, but Donata cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Ten thousand dollars for one show!" A silence enveloped the room as Zayne's mind raced. Ten thousand? His anger began to dissipate, replaced by the allure of the hefty sum. "How much? Ten thousand?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. Donata beamed, her enthusiasm infectious. "Exactly! Just imagine what you could do with that kind of money. Think of the opportunities!" Zayne shifted on his feet, torn between his desire for respect in the business world and the magnetic pull of easy cash. "Fine," he finally muttered, resignation creeping into his tone. "I’ll do it. But only this once." Jason clapped his hands together, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "This is going to be fun. You’ll be the star of the show!"

The runway lights illuminated the catwalk, casting a radiant glow upon the models strutting their stuff. Among them, Zayne, with his freshly cut and styled hair, exuded an air of confidence that belied his initial reluctance. He stood backstage, heart racing as he adjusted the baby blue silk shirt that hung open, revealing the smooth contours of his newly shaved torso. As he stepped out into the spotlight, a wave of applause rolled over him, and Zayne forced a smile, his heart racing. His eyes, a deep ocean blue, sparkled under the stage lights, capturing the audience's attention.

The crowd's murmurs turned into whispers of admiration as he sauntered down the runway, his gait graceful and powerful. He owned the stage, his presence commanding yet effortlessly cool. Donata watched from the sidelines, her eyes fixed on Zayne with an intensity that bordered on obsession. She had an eye for talent, and in Zayne, she saw raw potential—a blank canvas she couldn't wait to paint with her creative vision. She knew she had to secure Zayne as her muse, the embodiment of her creative spirit.

As the show ended, she approached Zayne backstage, her steps purposeful. "You were magnificent out there," she purred, her voice smooth as silk. "A true revelation." Zayne forced a smile, still grappling with the transformation that had transpired. “I’m just here for the money, Donata. This isn’t my scene.” “Oh, but it could be!” she chimed, brushing his arm lightly. “You have that rare quality—something so captivating. I must have you as my muse!” He shook his head, frustration bubbling up. “I’m not interested in being a model. I don’t want to be a trophy boy.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Just think about it! You, on the cover of magazines, walking runways all over the world! Imagine the doors this could open for you. The connections, the money!” “It’s tempting, but I love my business,” he insisted, though it lacked conviction. “Just one more show, the grand finale,” Donata pressed, her eyes narrowing, as if she could see through his façade. “You’ll earn even more, and I promise you’ll enjoy it. Just one last walk, Zayne.” With a resigned sigh, he replied, “Fine. Just this once.” “Excellent! You won’t regret it,” she beamed, her enthusiasm infectious.

Some days later, as the final show approached, Zayne found himself back in Jason's barbershop chair, the familiar scent of razor foam filling the air. “Ready for your close-up, Zayne?” he teased, a playful glint in his eye. “Yeah, I guess so.” Zayne felt a strange mixture of anxiety and anticipation. “Just relax,” Jason instructed as he began to shave Zayne’s face, the razor gliding smoothly over his skin.

“You’re going to look incredible.” As the blade touched his skin, Zayne felt an odd sense of tranquility wash over him. The hum of the razor was oddly soothing, and he found himself drifting, his mind hazy. “You are a great model,” Jason murmured, the words wrapping around Zayne like a warm blanket. “Yeah…” Zayne replied, almost dreamlike. “So inspiring,” Jason whispered, his voice smooth and soothing. “Yeah,” Zayne murmured, feeling the world outside fade away. The hum of the salon, the distant chatter of stylists, all became a soft backdrop to Jason’s voice. “It would be a shame to waste your potential,” Jason continued, his hands skillfully gliding over Zayne’s face. The sensation of the razor was comforting, almost hypnotic. “Yeah,” Zayne nodded, his eyelids growing heavy. “You’re so inspiring for Donata. You make her feel young again!” Jason's tone was enticing, almost melodic. “But … I’m … not a boy toy,” Zayne protested weakly, the words slipping out as if they belonged to someone else. “You are Donata’s muse!” Jason pressed, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t you want to explore something new? Want to feel how it is to let yourself fall? Let Donata lead!” Zayne stammered, caught in a haze. “Yeah... muse.” “Perfect,” Jason purred, a satisfied smile spreading across his face as the final stroke of the razor revealed Zayne’s smooth skin. “You’re ready to take the runway by storm.” Zayne blinked, a flicker of awareness returning as he glanced at himself in the mirror once more. The boyish model grinned back at him, and a strange sense of anticipation surged within him. The crowd would soon roar, and under the spotlight, he would be reborn. “Let’s go show them what you’ve got,” Jason said, placing a hand on Zayne’s shoulder, guiding him forward.

As the grand finale approached, Zayne stepped out onto the runway, clad in a baby blue groom's suit with a flowing silk capelet. The audience erupted in applause as he struck a pose, his eyes exuding a newfound confidence.

He embodied the essence of Donata's designs, becoming the living, breathing embodiment of her vision. At the after-party, Zayne found himself at the center of attention, Donata by his side. She introduced him to industry elites, her hand resting proudly on his shoulder. Zayne felt a strange sense of ownership as he was paraded around, but he couldn't deny the thrill of being the center of attention.

As the night wore on, Zayne's inhibitions lowered with each glass of champagne. He felt a surge of desire as he watched Donata's graceful movements, her eyes sparkling with mischief. In a moment of boldness, he pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her waist. She took the opportunity and their lips met in a passionate kiss, the guests around them erupting in cheers and whistles. Zayne's mind became a blur as Donata kissed him, the taste of champagne and desire mingling on their tongues. He heard Jason's voice in his head, a distant echo—"model... smooth... muse... boyish... boy toy..."—and it sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. His cock hardened, pressing against the silk fabric of his suit. He was aware of the eyes on him, the whispers, but he didn't care. He was lost in the sensation, in the realization that he was desired, not for his intellect or business acumen, but for his looks, his body. The kiss deepened, and Zayne felt himself surrendering to the moment, to the role he had been given. He was a living mannequin, a canvas for Donata's creative vision. As their tongues danced, he accepted his new identity, the identity of a muse, a boyish model, and a possession of Donata's.

The next morning, Zayne awoke in Donata's mansion, the sun streaming through the windows. He felt different, lighter, as if a transformation had taken place while he slept. He rose, his movements fluid, and grabbed a pair of skimpy briefs and a silk bathrobe, the same shade of baby blue as the suit he had worn the night before. As he stepped out onto the patio, the morning sun caressed his skin, warming him. He stretched, his muscles flexing, and he knew he was exactly what Donata wanted—a living, breathing work of art. He would do as she asked, as long as it meant he could continue to look and feel this way.

Unbeknownst to Zayne, Jason had arrived at the mansion, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Zayne from a distance. He approached Donata, his voice low and conspiratorial. "When you're ready to move on, just give me a sign. I'll turn him gay, make him mine. A pretty boy like that, I can't resist." Donata smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "He's quite the catch, isn't he? But for now, he's mine. I'll let you know when I'm done playing with my new toy." Jason chuckled, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I'll be waiting. Just remember, he's a special one. I can make him even more... pliable."

As they spoke, Zayne, oblivious to their plans, basked in the sun, his mind clear and his body relaxed. He was content, for now, to be Donata's muse, her boy-toy, a role that brought him a luxury he had never known before. Little did he know, his fate was not entirely his own, and the whispers of 'model... smooth... muse...pretty boy' would continue to shape his path, leading him further into a world of fashion, desire, and hidden agendas.

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