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jjunieworld · 7 months ago

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LATHER ˒˒ 최수빈

to help raise money for charity you and your friends make your way over to the rich neighborhood to handwash cars in your best skimpy bathing suits and clothing.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ choi soobin x fem!reader 𓄷 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 soyeon from gidle, chaewon from le sserafim, and karina from aespa

genre﹙📄﹚⸝⸝⸝ smut, rich playboy!soobin (like very rich), a lot of sexual innuendos, blonde!soobin

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ unprotected sex + pull-out method (be safe!!), kinda bratty!reader, mean dom!soobin, degradation kink, name calling (slut, whore, good girl), dacryphilia, blowjob, face fucking, cum swallowing, slight overstimulation (f. rec)

kipo’s note ‎⸝⸝⸝ remember everyone, every body is a bikini body can i get an amen?!!?! :D think of this as the start of my hot girl summer writing era lmaoo（ゝ。∂）this was really pushing my wc of drabbles… lol sorry, what can i say! i hope you enjoy!! all feedback and reblogs are welcome! ♡

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you huffed loudly as you tried to pull down the smallest shorts you’ve ever worn. when they didn’t budge, you slumped into the chair at the stand you and your friends were currently setting up. at least you weren’t that hot with your bikini top and jean shorts that barely covered your ass in the summer sun. for charity, you thought, it’s all for charity.

“alright, i think everything is good,” soyeon said, as her eyes scanned the stand. you, soyeon, chaewon, and karina were on the sidewalk in some rich neighborhood to handwash cars for this charity program you’re all volunteering for.

karina got up from the grass where she was filling water balloons and placing them in a bucket, “water balloons are done! are we ready to get started?” there was a piece of paper on the bucket that read ‘$20 TO GET THESE GIRLS SOAKED!’ on it. before soyeon could reply, chaewon walked up to you three.

“i already got a couple offers—they’re paying big money to see us drenched and washing their cars,” chaewon said as she sat on the plastic chair next to you. soyeon scoffed a little and rolled her eyes as she looked around to the various large and elaborate houses. there were already some men waiting on their porches or flat out in their yards with a chair and a beer.

one man in particular had his eyes on you this whole time. he was one of the ones sitting in his yard—sunglasses low on his nose bridge as he sipped from whatever beer he had. his blonde hair and white button up shirt made him stand out in contrast to the green grass behind him. you gave him a small and sweet smile while trying to make it seem like you didn’t notice his persistent staring. a smirk grew on his face and you knew you had him right where you wanted him. men are so easy, you thought.

the whole idea to even do this car washing service came from soyeon, surprisingly. in her own words, “let’s take advantage of shitty rich men for charity money!” it wasn’t a bad idea—you even suggested that you continue the car washing service in other neighborhoods too.

soyeon grabbed the megaphone from the table and said into it, “all right, gentlemen! who’s ready to get wet?! starting prices are on the sign above me and remember, it costs extra if you want something special! let’s raise some money for charity!” the rest of you all started whooping and cheering as all the men came up to you four like moths to a flame.

you were in the process of taking a lot of twenty dollar bills and passing out water balloons whenever the man from the yard who had been eying you finally started to approach. you had to tear your eyes away from him when a water balloon hit your chest, soaking your bikini top in the process. turning to the culprit with a shocked screech, chaewon smiled at you.

chaewon was completely drenched and sudsy from the car her and soyeon just washed. she held an open water bottle in her hand and you knew exactly what she was about to do with it. “chaewon!” you laughed as you looked at the water dripping off of you. you peeled some of the green balloon off that stuck to you.

“the guy who’s been eyefucking you is coming over, be ready,” she said lowly as she poured the water over your shoulders. karina smirked at you as she took over handling the water balloons. chaewon walked back to the table and you turned to greet the man.

his eyes trailed up and down your—now soaked—body, especially the red bikini top that covered your boobs. he took a water balloon from karina, pressing the twenty dollars into her open hand, and made his way to you. “need any more help getting wet?” he asked you with a sly grin.

now that he was up close, he was really attractive. he also didn’t look that much older than you, which surprised you slightly. you gave him an innocent smile, he was probably some billionaire’s son. “for charity? of course i am, if you’re offering!” you exclaimed as you held out your arms and prepped yourself to be hit with the water balloon.

instead of throwing the balloon he latched his finger underneath the strap of your bikini top. “what if i want a special offer?” he leaned into you and said lowly near the shell of your ear. your faces were inches away from each other as he looked you in your eyes and awaited your answer. the strap of your bikini top snapped back down onto your shoulder as he let go of it.

you could feel heat spread across your body, especially towards the pit of your belly. now, you weren’t really one for a casual—or not so casual—hookup with a stranger, but you were willing to make an exception for a good cause. besides, he was just so alluring. if you weren’t already so wet, you’d bet your panties would be soaked right now.

you looked at him through hooded lids and said lowly, “you’re gonna have to make a generous donation to charity if you want to fuck me, stranger.” his smirk turned into a slick smile.

“name your price and i’ll double it,” he replied, “and it’s soobin.” you licked your lips in thought and his eyes followed the motion. how much could you squeeze from him before he retracted his offer? just how badly did he want to fuck you? you debated for a moment on the price.

“one million dollars!” you settled on, raising a brow at soobin as you lifted your chin. soobin broke out into a playful laugh and you watched his reaction. he began nodding, like it meant nothing to him.

“two million it is!” he replied and the two of you made your way over to the table where the credit card reader was. soyeon’s eyes nearly fell out as she looked at the amount soobin transferred, and yours almost did too when you leaned over to look at the screen. instead of transferring over two million dollars, he transferred over four million.

soobin turned to you and smiled, “for the pretty girl in front of me.” you thanked him with wide eyes. you turned to soyeon and she mirrored your expression as she mouthed, “four million?!”

you turned back to soobin, “i hope you don’t mind waiting for a few moments. i have to wash this car quickly.” soobin shook his head and crossed his arms. “take all the time you need,” he replied.

smiling, you told him you’d be right back. as you were walking away, you heard soyeon cheekily say, “you can set up a chair and watch her if you so desire.” you helped karina grab the soap and brushes and the two of you made your way over to one of the cars waiting to be washed. when the two of you finished, you were completely drenched from head to toe and lathered in soap.

soobin had taken up soyeon’s offer and watched you the entire time. he came up to you with a towel in his hand that he outstretched towards you. you thanked him and dried yourself off as best as you could and tried to get most of the soap off. soobin trailed the tips of his fingers along your jaw, “ready?”

his fingers lifted up your chin so that you looked at him. suddenly flustered as the reality of what you were about to do hit you, all you could manage to do was nod in reply. soobin smiled and took your hand as he led you back to his house. you looked over your shoulder at karina, who was now standing with chaewon as the two of them made kissy faces at you and laughed at how your cheeks heated further from it.

the inside of his house was just as nice as the outside, but you barely got to look around before lips were pressing kisses to your neck. soobin wasted no time with you as he backed you up towards the living room and pushed you down onto the couch. his eyes were dark and full of lust and it made him look like a completely different person than the one you knew just a few seconds ago.

“take your clothes off,” he demanded as he unbuttoned his shorts. he pulled them down, revealing his bulging erection, as you crossed your legs and leaned forward slightly. “why don’t you take them off for me?” you challenged.

the corner of soobin’s mouth lifted as he took a step towards you. his tall figure hovered over yours as he hooked his fingers under your bikini straps and pulled them down. goosebumps raised along your skin where he touched and a shiver ran up your spin when he started to untie your bikini top at your back. once it was untied, he tossed it to the side onto the couch.

you shivered slightly as a cool chill swept over your now exposed breasts, making your nipples perk up. soobin rubbed his thumbs over them as he grabbed your breasts. “so beautiful…” he muttered to himself. his fingers trailed down your stomach and stopped just above the hem of your jean shorts. he looked up at you briefly, darkly, and you hooked your thumbs onto the fabric and pulled it down along with your panties until you were now completely naked under him.

soobin’s eyes raised to connect with yours, “now, are you gonna suck my cock or do i have pay more money, you fucking whore?” you reached for the band of his boxers but he slapped your hands away.

soobin swiped his thumb across your lips, “open.” you did as you were told, mouth open wide with your tongue hanging out as you waited.

“good girl,” soobin smiled. he pulled down his boxers, hard cock slapping against his stomach. you faltered, closing your mouth as you saw just how big he was. soobin pumped himself a couple times before looking at you with a raised brow.

you shook your head a little, ready to speak about how you definitely weren’t fitting him in your mouth before soobin roughly grabbed your chin. “didn’t i say open?” he asked you before pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. you whimpered into the brief kiss before he pulled away and brought your lips to the tip of his cock.

your mouth opened wider willingly for soobin as you began to swallow him inch by inch. tears pricked in your eyes and you looked up at him when you were about halfway down his cock. soobin’s head was thrown back as small whines left his lips. his hands were entangled in your wet hair, aiding you.

when you stopped, already feeling him at the back of your throat, he looked down at you and moved your head down further. “you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” soobin asked you and you nodded weakly, tears streaming down your cheeks. “so fucking take it,” he added.

soobin began thrusting into your throat, grunting in pleasure as you moved up and down him. soon, his mouth hung open as warm cum spilled down your throat with his release. soobin pulled you off him, thumb catching his cum that spilled out and pushing it back into your mouth. “swallow,” he demanded, “all of it.” your brows furrowed at the salty taste and you swallowed thickly, whimpering at the pain of your bruised throat.

“such a slut…” he trailed when you opened your mouth to show how you swallowed all of his cum. your hips rolled against the couch, needing any bit of friction you can get. “soobin, please…” you whined hoarsely. you needed to feel him inside you. you need to feel how much he stretched out your aching pussy.

“turn around. bend over the top of the couch,” soobin told you. you turned and got up onto the couch, spreading your legs and bending so your ass was in the air for him. his hand smoothed over the curves of your body as he spread you apart.

“already so wet and i haven’t even touched you… you want me to stick my cock inside you, huh, you slut? fill you up?” soobin asked you as he mockingly rubbed his tip against your wet entrance. you bit your bottom lip and nodded, hips pushing back onto him as you stared at him desperately.

“please,” you whined again, “want you to fill me up…” soobin roughly pushed into you and you let out a loud gasp from the suddenness. he pounded into you rigorously, big hands gripping onto your hips as he pulled you towards him to match his pace.

you cried out as your thighs began to tremble. “s-soobin… gonna cum!” you whimpered, biting down hard to try and silence your moans but to no avail.

“yeah? you like that?” soobin hissed between moans as he fucked into you harder, “you like me fucking you like this, whore? you wanna cum around my cock like a good girl?” you nodded desperately and buried your face into your arms as you cried out again from his tip hitting your cervix. the rope in you snapped and your warm cum leaked down soobin’s cock as he continued fucking you, leaving a creamy white ring around his base.

wet sounds filled his living room as you gripped onto the cushion of his couch, “t-too much!” tears wet your cheeks as you looked back at him with furrowed brows.

soobin laughed humorlessly, but it was staggered. he breathed heavily as he pulled you up from the couch, “take it like the slut that you are.” you felt him twitch and he quickly pulled out of you. whining at the sudden loss, soobin flipped you around and cursed lowly before he began pumping his cum covered cock rapidly over your boobs.

his cum shot out onto them, painting them a pretty white as soobin whimpered. he took your chin again and brought his lips to yours roughly as he slipped his tongue in your mouth. you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him closer as the kiss deepened.

once both of your lungs were on fire, soobin pulled away a little and you could feel the smile on his lips. he pressed another quick kiss to your lips, “i bet your charity will be very pleased with my donation.”

soobin pulled away fully and you shied away from his stare with heated cheeks. the two of you got cleaned up and made your way back out to your charity event. it was dusk now and it seemed like the girls were just about to start wrapping everything up. “the prodigal daughter returns!” soyeon exclaimed, causing the others to laugh.

you hid your face in your hands as you helped them clean up. the four of you ended up raising almost seven million dollars for your charity that day, and your friends made sure to thank “mr. four million.”

hehe wanna read more? click -> here

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junkissed · 5 months ago

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ocean view

member — junhui x f reader genre — romance, smut, strangers to lovers, soulmate au word count — 8.8k synopsis — an all expenses paid trip to greece for your friend's wedding seems too good to be true, but it gets even better when you meet a handsome stranger on the beach. with the help of a mysterious old lady, her magic deck of tarot cards, and one too many coincidences, you're starting to believe things really do happen for a reason. warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, unprotected sex, fingering, marking, an oddly romantic one night stand, mentions of past hookups, reader wears dresses, way too much yearning, happy ending ! notes — my part for the @svthub world tour collab; check out the masterlist here! thanks to @multi-kpop-fanfics for answering all my questions and the biggest thanks ever to @onlymingyus for proofreading & helping me brainstorm throughout !! inspired mostly by the spell mv but also a little bit from nana tour and in the soop bc of the vacation vibes. disclaimer i know nothing about tarot but i did a ton of research so i hope that part makes sense anyway :) this fic was a huge challenge to write so please please reblog if you enjoyed reading, the feedback is super appreciated and it helps me keep writing!! read bonus material here!

they say time flies when you’re having fun.

it felt like just days ago when your best friend had announced she was flying everyone to athens for her destination wedding. between helping prepare for the wedding and getting yourself packed for the trip of a lifetime, a weekend on the beach sounded like exactly what you needed to unwind.

but now that you’re here, you’ve quickly realized that your dreams of lazy spa days, massages, and lounging on chairs in the sand with cocktails aren’t on your friend’s itinerary.

what is on her itinerary, however? clubs. lots of clubs, and bars, and raves.

the night before the wedding, you’d showed up at the place you had all planned to meet at for her bachelorette party, a popular bar right on the beach in the center of everything. you hadn’t been sure what to expect, so you’d worn your swimsuit underneath your sundress just in case. between wedding plans and jet lag, you hadn’t yet had the chance to explore the beaches, and you weren’t about to let your favorite white strappy one-piece go to waste without wearing it the whole trip; especially not when you’re surrounded by gorgeous clear waters you don’t get to see while you’re at home.

you tug at your dress a little awkwardly, a simple off-white piece with buttons all down the front. cute and casual, the perfect thing for an evening on the beach. except an evening on the beach is not what you’re getting.

“next round is on me!”

all the girls let out a cheer, clapping and whooping as they raise their glasses. you’re still not even halfway through your first drink; the night is young, but your friends are more enthusiastic partygoers than you are.

you lean away to check the time on your phone, trying not to feel defeated when you see how early it still is. you’ve been trying to hype yourself up for tonight all weekend, but it doesn’t help that your friends are bigger partiers than you. that isn’t to say that you dislike parties, or that you never go out; but parties like this, huge events with hundreds of people packed into a small space with loud music and flashing lights, aren’t really your ideal way to spend a saturday night. even for such a special, rare occasion like a bachelorette party in another country, you can’t bring yourself to get lost in the scene. you should’ve known how this would go, and yet here you are, standing at a cocktail table by yourself surrounded by drunk women.

you turn back around and suddenly the bar is a sea of unfamiliar faces, everyone around you lost in their own worlds jumping and dancing to the music that booms from the speakers. you stand up on your tiptoes to see above the crowd, trying to push your way through in search of someone you recognize, but it seems like they’ve all vanished.

the pounding of the music is starting to give you a headache, so you down the last of your drink and head away from the bar, pushing past people until the crowd eventually starts to thin and you break out into the open air.

it’s still light outside, but the contrast from the darkened bar makes it feel like stepping into another world. the noise gets quieter the farther away you move, and you find your feet carrying themselves down the beach. you walk backwards, turning to look over your shoulder one more time to see if you can spot your friends, but all you see is a crowd full of strangers.

it’s easier to breathe out here, feeling the freshness of the ocean breeze and the salty air in your lungs as you get further and further from the people and the businesses. you turn around again and almost run straight into a man walking from the opposite direction, and you stumble into his arms before you realize what’s happening. you let out a little squeak in surprise and jump backwards, almost tripping over your own feet but his hand instinctively shoots around your waist to help keep you upright.

your cheeks burn with embarrassment, an apology already ready on your lips, but he beats you to it. “sorry,” he says with a shy laugh, slowly letting go of you and offering his hand for balance as you slip your sandal back on that had come off. he steps back and gives you a polite smile, trying to move out of your way. “you look like you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“the opposite, actually. escaping my friend's bachelorette party," you explain.

"we're in the same boat, then," he chuckles, tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. "trying to ditch the bachelor party. it’s a popular place for weddings, huh?”

“seems like it.” you hum, turning to look out over the water. the setting sun glints off the surface, a clear and bright sparkling blue, and you lift your hand to keep the glare out of your eyes. “i just didn’t think it’d be so…”

“…hectic?” he asks, and you laugh a little.

"yeah, you could say that.” a warm breeze ruffles through your sundress, and you cross your arms over your chest. “i guess all weddings are like that, though.”

he nods, following your gaze off into the horizon. you go quiet, listening to the music still loud in the distance and the sound of seagulls cawing above your heads. "i was hoping to get a chance to explore more of the beaches while i'm here. i don’t get to see it often."

"wanna go for a walk?” you ask suddenly, uncrossing your arms. maybe it’s the fresh air of a new place, maybe it’s the comfort of finding another person wanting to get away from it all, but some part of you wants to stay here and find out. you’d wanted to see more of the landscape anyway, and now seems like as good a time as any, especially now that you’ve got company.

he looks over at you, judging your expression before his face softens. “that sounds perfect.”

it’s still early enough that the beach is still mostly full of tourists, adults lounging on towels while reading books and kids splashing water at each other and playing in the sand. you walk further down the beach, passing in front of a grey haired old woman sitting cross-legged on a towel, shuffling a deck of cards in her wrinkled hands.

"always lovely to see couples enjoying the islands,” she calls out to you. there’s an almost rhythmic lilt to her voice, and it’s so sudden that it makes both of you pause and turn around, having paid her no mind as you walked past before. she gestures down at the deck and you finally notice that she’s holding a set of tarot cards, a deep matte black that seems to glitter and sparkle even while shadowed. “would you like a reading?”

your cheeks start to warm, and you push down the butterflies that flutter to life when she assumes you’re together. "oh, no, we're not—”

"sure," jun says over you, and you sneak a glance up at him when you think he's not looking. "how much?"

she clucks her teeth and shakes her head, staring directly at you although she’s answering his question. "no, no, no, my dear. just offering a bit of friendly advice. won’t cost you a thing."

jun nods, but she seems like she’s waiting for your answer so you quickly nod, too. “okay. what… do we have to do?”

she places her palms over the deck and closes her eyes, falling silent. you stand in front of her, feeling a little awkward to be hovering over her like this, but she it’s like she doesn’t even notice. you share a look with jun, but after a beat he grabs your hand and grins as if to say, just go along with it.

her eyes suddenly fly open and she seems pleased with whatever she was doing. “i knew i could feel it,” she says cryptically as she begins shuffling the cards. “but let’s just see what fate has to say about it.”

she stops and pulls the top two cards from the deck, placing them face down on the towel as she motions at them with her hand. at her signal, jun bends forward and turns over one of the cards, reading it aloud. “ace of cups.”

“ace of cups,” she repeats. “an invitation. the open, uninhibited flow of emotions, creativity, and love; the awakening of your spirit. this is a new beginning for you, the start of a new season. trust yourself and your feelings, and embrace the opportunity to grow with your emotions.”

jun nods seriously like he’s taking in her words, but you can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his lips that he’s trying to suppress.

she looks at you expectantly, and you hesitate before realizing she’s waiting for you to flip over the second card. you cheeks heat as you read it, but you try not to let it show. “the… lovers?”

she smiles, and although her face looks kind you have a sense that there’s something she’s not telling. “the lovers,” she says, almost solemnly. “many people think this card is strictly about romance. and in some ways it is, but what it really represents is a choice. two diverging paths, two responsibilities. will you choose with your head, or with your heart?”

she stares at you for another moment, then looks back at jun. you both stay quiet and still, subconsciously hanging on her every word as she pauses, clearly having more to say. “having these two cards come up together… now, that’s fascinating for you two, isn’t it?”

you find yourself nodding silently, although you have no idea why. you feel jun’s hand in yours, warm and soft and grounding, and the smallest shiver runs down your spine.

“the lovers and the ace of cups are the potential for new beginnings and the fulfillment that comes with following your heart,” she says, her eyes locked with yours. “this is a very powerful and meaningful connection, but only if you make the choice that is most heartfelt. you must be willing to be your most authentic self and hold nothing back. keep your eyes open, and you will be rewarded with profound joy and happiness.”

immediately you turn to look at jun to see his reaction. he looks just as confused—but is that a hint of excitement in his eyes?—as you do. the woman’s words are… cryptic, to say the least, but it stirs up a feeling of excitement in the back of your mind that you’re trying to ignore. it probably doesn’t mean what you think it does, right?

"hey, wait, so what does—”

you turn back to look at the woman for another explanation, but there's no one there. the beach is empty except for you and jun and the slowly setting sun, a few boats tied up at the dock. you’ve walked so far down the beach that even the distant music has faded into obscurity and you’re left standing alone together, surrounded by nothing but the sounds of the waves. even the wind has died down, and it feels eerily quiet but in an almost comforting sort of way, to be alone together in a place like this.

"you believe in that kind of stuff?" you ask curiously as jun starts to walk away.

"mm… not really. but she seemed like a lonely old lady. i thought it'd make her day." he looks down at your entwined hands and squeezes lightly, almost teasing as you look up and see the grin on his face. "why, do you?"

you can't help the butterflies that instantly flutter to life in your stomach when you feel his warm hand in yours, but you shrug. "why not?"

jun doesn't reply, just nodding thoughtfully as you continue to walk hand in hand.

with the way the atmosphere has suddenly changed, it feels like time has stopped as you meander your way along the edge of the water. you chat off and on with jun, but there’s a hefty amount of silence that neither one of you feels obligated to fill. talking to jun feels like talking to an old friend, and maybe it’s the beautiful scenery or maybe it’s the way both of you had found yourselves here looking for company.

after a while you come to a stop just below the rocks where you’d started. your footprints from where you’d run into each other are still visible, little indents in the damp sand, and it reminds you of what you were running away from in the first place. maybe you don’t want to run anymore.

"well…” jun says, inhaling slowly. "we should get you back to your friends. i'm sure they're looking for you."

"would it be so bad if i said i didn't want to find them?"

he pauses to gauge your reaction, and you don’t miss the flicker in his eyes as he looks at you. after a moment nods and points up the shallow cliffs, towards a little stone staircase worn down from years of being travelled on. "my hotel is just up there. if… if you wanted to stay a little longer? with me?"

you pull your lip between your teeth, looking up at him and the way the fading sunlight shines through his soft brown waves, and it only takes a second to make your decision. “i’d really like that.”

it turns out that missing out on your friend’s party for a few more hours is an easy price to pay for more time with jun.

the door of his hotel room barely has time to shut before your hands are on each other. you tug him closer by shirt with an eagerness you rarely allow yourself and he immediately reciprocates, pulling you by the waist until you’re pressed chest to chest.

his hand skims over your collarbone towards your neck, and you shiver at the warmth of his fingers caressing the side of your jaw. he angles your chin upwards and leans in as you meet him halfway and your lips finally touch, a low sound escaping from your throat as his nose brushes your cheek.

he makes a soft noise as he inhales, deepening the kiss until you feel your knees go weak. his hand cups your jaw harder, trying to draw you further into him, unwilling to break apart. he kisses you so softly yet you can still feel the intensity behind every movement of his lips, exploring your mouth with a gentleness that feels more natural than anyone you’ve ever kissed before.

jun curls his arm around you tighter, and you’re sure he can hear how fast your heart is beating as he kisses you again and again until you’re breathless. you slide your hands away from his chest and start to undo the buttons at the front of your dress, but he stops you. you look up and meet his gaze as his hand on your cheek moves to wrap around your waist, carefully walking you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed and you let yourself fall back onto it.

he lets out a quiet groan as you pull him down with you, landing on top of you and catching himself on his forearms beside your head. his face is inches away from yours, staring into your eyes for a beat before he presses down to capture your lips again.

his kisses feel like magic, and you almost forget exactly what you’re here to do. you’d be content to spend hours with his lips on yours and nothing else, but you’re quickly pulled away from it when he sits back and starts to slide his hands down your body, his nimble fingers skillfully undoing the buttons of your dress one by one.

he pulls the fabric away and lets it fall to the floor before leaning to kiss you again, and a grateful sigh slips from your lips at his touch. your fingers tug at his shirt and he breaks away once more to quickly pull it off over his head, tossing it behind him without a second thought.

your hands slide earnestly across his body, your fingertips trailing down his torso and the deep lines of his abs. his fingers brush over your swimsuit in tandem, tracing the cutouts of the fabric where your skin is visible and making you prickle with goosebumps at his touch.

he seems equally as content to just continue doing this, but eventually his hands make their way upwards and gently slip the straps off your shoulders. he doesn't move any further than that, waiting for you to move instead, his fingers resting at the base of your neck just beneath your chin.

you follow his actions and shimmy the suit down, letting it bunch up at your hips. only then does he finally break apart from you, moving his mouth down to your exposed breast and letting his tongue glide over your peaked nipple. your skin tastes like salt and sweat, like sunny days and warm breezy nights, and he can't get enough of you.

the first moan you let out is like music to his ears, and immediately he craves more of them. he wraps his mouth around your other nipple while keeping his hands attached to your body like magnets, desperate to be the one to draw more of those pretty noises from your lips.

you lift your hips just a little and he quickly gets the hint, wordlessly pushing his fingers between your skin and the fabric of your swimsuit before tugging it all the way off. he pulls it down your legs and you help him kick it away, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

your hands slide across his shoulders and up the back of his neck, tangling in his hair with another moan that sends a shiver down his spine. you can’t help but roll your hips upwards against his body, squirming for more friction as your nails scratch at his scalp.

his face stays buried in your chest for a long time, moving between your breasts and planting wet kisses all along your skin. your head is spinning at the sight of this gorgeous man working his magic on your body, his hands wandering up and down with a tender purpose. you don't even know his name but you already know you're gonna be thinking about this night for months, probably even years. you're shocked at how good he is at this; there's a melancholy feeling looming in the back of your mind, knowing that this is probably the first and only night you’ll get to spend with him, but you don't have time to focus on that when you have the tingly feeling in your stomach to focus on instead.

despite not saying anything aloud you can tell exactly what he wants from you, and something about how easy this is sends a feeling of relief through you. all of the mistakes of your past hookups feel like a distant memory. there’s none of the empty conversations meant to do nothing more than fill the silence and the awkward, tentative movements that you’ve become accustomed to from strangers who aren’t familiar with your body.

but something about the way jun touches you does feel familiar, like you’ve been waiting all your life for it, for him. his silence, something that most of your partners in the past had fought so hard to avoid, now only leaves more room for you to enjoy the sounds that often go overlooked: the wet hum as his lips connect with your skin, the distant crash of waves outside the window, the quiet whir of the ceiling fan.

jun leans down and kisses you again, shifting on top of you as his hand wanders down your hips. you pull him closer and let your hand travel a similar path, and you bite your lip in excitement when your fingers skim over the bulge straining against his shorts.

he lets out a strangled noise almost like a whimper at the contact but the sound only encourages you to add more pressure, soaking in his reactions. he whines again, pushing his hips into your hand and exhaling a shaky breath as you continue to palm him, feeling the hard outline of his cock as he struggles to keep his composure.

his knee is against your thigh and he repositions himself to press it higher between your legs, returning the favor and giving you something to grind on. instinctively your legs widen a little to give him easier access, and he rewards you with another hot, messy kiss.

you groan at the feeling, pushing your hips down towards him and rubbing yourself on him. it’s a little rough at first, but you’re already so wet that it doesn’t take long before his knee is coated in your arousal and you slide along him easily.

after a minute he pulls back just an inch, giving you room to breathe, but one hand is still on your hip and the other curled behind you to support your neck. “good?” he asks breathlessly, and even though it’s clear as day that you’re enjoying this as much as he is, you still nod and give him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a smile of his own. “just let me know,” he says, and the sultry yet sweet tone of his voice makes your heart skip a beat.

at your approval his hand begins to wander again, trailing over the top of your thigh. his finger slowly make their way down and you shiver, your hand stilled against his abdomen as you anticipate his next move.

you take this moment to get a good look at him; you’d been too shy to stare earlier on the beach, unsure how things were going to go. but now that he’s on top of you, shirtless and obviously just as eager as you are, you let your gaze roam unabashedly across his body. your eyes glide over his torso, the hollow slope of his collarbones and his hardened nipples, the deep-set grooves of his abs and the faint lines of his ribs beneath his skin. you want to reach out to touch him and run your hands over every inch of him, but you’re trying to be patient. and although you know your time here is limited, it seems like jun is only just getting started.

his fingers finally make it to your inner thighs, tracing the area around your pussy, but it’s still not close enough for your liking. you wiggle a little to try and encourage him, whining softly and letting out a little plea. his lips quirk up and he nods, his grip on the back of your neck tensing and tangling in your hair.

his fingers finally brush against your entrance and you gasp, writhing at how gentle his touch is. he dips his middle finger into your heat before pulling it back out, trailing upwards to your clit to circle it for a moment before heading back down and repeating the process. it’s barely enough, yet it leaves you breathless almost instantly.

he’s staring down between your legs with an intense focus, spreading your arousal around before sinking back into you for more. and just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pushes his finger in deeper, holding it still for a second even though you’ve already adjusted to it. he waits until you start moving, arching your back and trying to get him to go further, before he adds his ring finger and begins slowly thrusting both fingers in and out together.

you whimper and curse under your breath, trying to roll your hips to match his rhythm. he starts to curl his knuckles and you swear you see stars, despite the fact that he’s barely moving at all.

after a moment when you’ve regained the ability to breathe normally again you start to move your hand back against his bulge, shaky fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. you wrap your hand around him and your eyes widen at the thickness, the heavy weight of him in your hand and how you’re sure he must be aching by now. you feel the way his cock jerks when you squeeze ever so slightly, his fingers inside you freezing for a split second as his brain tries to process before he plunges them in even deeper, curling into you with even more fervor than before.

you hold him tighter and run your thumb over his tip, swollen and leaking with precum. he gets a little noisier with every move you make, unable to contain the pleasure he gets even from this. even the smallest touches from each other have both of you on edge in a way you’ve never felt before, drawn to each other like no one you’ve ever had before.

his clothes in the way are starting to frustrate you, so after another second you release his cock and move your hand up to the waistband of his shorts instead, trying to tug them down but it’s difficult from the position you’re both laying in.

“please,” you pant out desperately after having little success, and he obliges, pushing his shorts away as fast as possible before resuming his motions. he’s still almost completely ignoring himself as he continues to focus on you and only you, and his complete devotion gives you another boost of confidence.

now freed, his hard cock slaps against your thigh and you moan happily at finally being able to see all of him. it looks even better than it felt, thick veins bulging out across his length and his tip flushed a deep red. you wrap your hand around him once more, flicking your wrist as you start to jerk up and down.

his fingers curl upwards to massage the spot that makes your eyes roll back, and if you had any functioning thoughts left you would’ve marvelled at the fact that he was able to find it so easily, but you’re too busy arching your back against his pillow to think about that.

he can feel you starting to clench harder around him, making his fingers stutter inside you, so he pushes his other hand down on your hip to stop you from moving so much. he pulls his fingers out and your eyes dart back up to his face for an explanation, unable to stop the whimper that escapes from you at the loss, but the look in his eyes instantly puts you at ease. you can already tell he knows what he’s doing, and somehow he seems to know exactly what you need, so for once you don’t mind sitting back and letting someone else call the shots.

“can i fuck you now?” he murmurs, and it takes you a second to even hear what he said because you’re shocked at how low and rough his tone is since the last time you heard him speak. he wipes his fingers against the inside of your thigh as he waits for your reply, and you shiver at the cool wetness on your skin.

the best you can manage is a stuttered “yes”, and without a word of acknowledgement he pulls you off the bed, guiding you off your back and onto your hands and knees.

you let out a squeak at the sudden change but you let it happen, and a second later you hear his voice beside you, his breath warm against your ear. “still okay?” he asks, and despite the gruffness in his voice you can still hear the soft edge to his words.

“yeah,” you repeat, suddenly losing the ability to say anything else to express your pleasure, but somehow you know he understands. your stomach flutters at the low tone of his voice, steady and calm but so full of warmth and lust.

you feel the heat from his face move away from your skin, and you know he’s sitting up on his knees behind you. his hands slide down your sides, reaching under you to cup your boobs with both hands as he groans at the feeling. you let out a matching whine, pushing your hips back against him to feel his hard length against the soft flesh of your ass.

his hands still holding your breasts, he leans down over you to keep you flush to his body, your back pressed against his chest. he presses a kiss in between your shoulder blades, letting his tongue trace lightly over the ridges of your spine.

you grind backwards against him harder, your body on fire from his kisses as he starts to suck gently at the back of your shoulder. you’re not sure if it’s hard enough to leave marks, but you kind of hope they do, because then you’d be sure this encounter wasn’t a dream. what other explanation is there for the fact that you’ve not only met the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, but that you’re currently on your hands and knees in his bed as he runs his lips over every single inch of you, waiting for him to fuck you? it’s too good to be true.

but it is true, and you know it when he pulls away to brush your hair to the side and expose more of your back for him. his fingers are still so gentle against your skin, his touch heavy but soft, and it makes you even more desperate for him.

after a while he lets go of you and leans back, taking his cock in his hand and gently tapping it against your ass. you groan and fall forward, pressing your face into the pillows and arching your hips up into the air. his hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist with a low groan as he leans forward to kiss the side of your neck again.

he finally pushes all the way into you, and it feels so good it takes your breath away for a second. you can feel your walls throbbing around him, struggling to adjust to the feeling of being so full in the best way, a way you haven’t felt this strongly in so long. it’s a feeling like no other, and it makes you wonder why you ever settled for anything else before this.

his hands are all over you like he can’t decide what to do first, but after a while they settle at your hips and give them an encouraging squeeze, waiting patiently for you to set the pace. finally you bring yourself to move, tipping forward to let him slide out of you just a bit before you lean back into him.

he adapts quickly to your rhythm, thrusting in and out and matching your pace, using his grip on your waist for leverage to push himself deep inside with every stroke.

“fuck,” he moans under his breath, finally breaking the silence, and with just that one sound you feel yourself starting to let go.

the words tumble out of your mouth and you ball your fists into his sheets, clinging to the bed to keep you grounded while your head is spinning. “please, please, yes—”

everything finally hits you all at once, like a tidal wave pouring over you as you fall forward and bury your face into the pillow with a broken whimper.

“don’t stop, please,” you whine breathlessly. your words are muffled by the pillow, but you can tell he’s heard them because his grip on your hips tightens even more, slamming into you with just as much force as before and carrying you through your orgasm.

jun has to bite his lip not to sail right over the edge with you, focusing all his energy on holding himself back until he feels your body go limp all at once, the waves finally subsiding and you let out a deep, pleasured exhale. he’s so close he can practically taste it, his skin flushed and damp with sweat and his abs burning with exertion. only once he’s absolutely sure that you’ve finished cumming does he let himself break, pulling out as fast as he can and wrapping his fist around his length with all the energy he has left.

he moans weakly at the loss of your tight, warm walls hugging him so perfectly, but the view as he jerks himself over you all but makes up for it. the sight of your ass pressed flush against his thighs, your lower back arched and on display like a gorgeous blank canvas, and it gives him such a rush until he can’t hold on anymore.

the warm, sticky liquid hits your back and you whimper into the pillow, instinctively lifting your hips even more towards him. his cum spurts out in thick ropes, painting your skin and pooling in the little divot at the base of your spine, running down your ass until it feels like you’re soaked in it.

he finally pulls back and lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in, groaning as he sees you sitting still on the bed with your hips in the air. you feel the bed shift with his weight as he gets up, but you don’t pay any attention to it as you focus on trying to steady your breathing instead. something in your gut tells you to stay put, and sure enough, a minute later you hear the sink running and then feel the cool fabric of a damp washcloth brushing over your back.

he lays his hand on your ass and gently gives it a little squeeze to signal that he’s finished, and you finally fall over onto your side. you’re coasting on cloud nine, and everything feels both dulled and hypersensitive at the same time. the whir of the overhead fan is a little more prominent now, and the quiet drone echoes around in your brain.

“do you need water? or do you want a snack, or something?” jun asks, and while his voice still has a touch of shakiness as he’s recovering himself, you can tell his tone is back to the gentle and polite sound you’ve become used to hearing from him.

you shake your head, and he hums softly in acknowledgement as he points to the nightstand on the side of the bed closest to you. “there’s an extra water bottle there, if you need it. i haven’t opened it.”

you nod against the sheets, suddenly too tired to even think about forming words. jun climbs back onto the bed next to you, stretching out his long limbs and leaning against the headboard with a satisfied sigh.

you surprise yourself when your body automatically reaches out for him, curling into his body and laying your hand across his forearm like a weight keeping him close. but what surprises you even more is when he mirrors the action, scooting closer to you and letting your head rest against his stomach. your first thought is that he makes a very comfortable pillow, and you let your eyes fall shut for a moment as your breathing returns to normal, wanting to savor this moment as you collect yourself and prepare to leave.

you open your eyes what feels like minutes later, but when you reach over to check your phone you realize you’ve been asleep for more than an hour. you inhale slowly and swallow, blinking a few times as the sore feeling in your hips reminds you of where you are.

instinctively, you start to panic a little. your friends are probably looking for you. you disappeared without telling anyone, and now you have to get back to your hotel and make sure you have enough time to sleep properly and get ready for the wedding in the morning. never mind that it was probably the best night you’ve ever spent with another person, and never mind that your friends are probably still out partying and haven’t even noticed you missing yet.

you slide off of the bed as quietly as you can, stumbling a little when your feet hit the floor. you crouch down to pick up your swimsuit off the floor and put it on, hopping on one foot as you slip each leg through the holes. it's darker outside now, but the street lamps and the moonlight shining through the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony of his hotel room are bright enough that it still feels like day. you're so focused on getting dressed and mentally running over your to-do list that you completely forget there's another person in the room until you hear his voice cutting through the silence.

“you don’t have to do that, y’know.”

you freeze and look up, your half-buttoned dress hanging loosely from your shoulders, your cheeks burning at the realization you’ve been caught.

jun swings his legs off the bed, crossing the room in a couple of strides before he’s standing in front of you. he’s wearing nothing except for the boxer shorts he threw on right before you fell asleep, and your cheeks flush even harder at the sight, despite the fact that you’ve already seen much more of him than this.

it takes every ounce of restraint you have to keep your eyes from straying, locked on his face before your gaze falls quickly to the floor where your sandals are left in a heap.

you didn’t mean to sneak off. but what else were you supposed to do? you hadn’t meant to fall asleep and stay as long as you did, either, and now you were stuck with the awkward conversation that always comes afterwards. the inevitable hurried goodbyes and uncomfortable tension as you try to put yourself back together and leave as fast as possible.

jun takes a small step closer to you, and despite all the confidence you know he has, it feels almost… tentative. as if you’re meeting for the first time and he isn’t sure whether or not he’s allowed to touch you yet.

there's a lingering feeling that you can't quite put your finger on yet. it's conflicting, because you know you can't stay but everything in you is screaming not to leave. maybe there's something you can do, anything you can do. is it all worth it? to turn your life around in a complete 180 for someone you barely even know— and yet, the last few hours that you’ve spent with him have been incomparably the best of your life.

after a moment he reaches out and starts to finish buttoning your dress for you, his fingers working them back through the loops with just as much care as he did when he was taking them off earlier.

“sorry,” you manage quietly, though you’re not even really sure what you’re apologizing for. a lot of things: sorry for running away, sorry for having feelings you probably shouldn’t be feeling, sorry for knowing this won’t work out despite the way you really, really wish it could.

but he just shakes his head as he finishes buttoning the last button. “i took it off. i can help you put it back on, too.” you can tell he knows what you had actually meant, but he’s ignoring it either for your sake or his. something about his words feels so easy, like all the problems in your head don’t mean anything anymore. here you are, an anxious and awkward and confused mess, and there he is, smoothing out the wrinkles in your dress like it’s something he’s been doing all his life.

he adjusts the strap on your shoulder with a gentle pat, but his hands linger for a few seconds longer than they should, and you lift your eyes to meet his. “can i kiss you again?” he asks quietly, and for some reason his choice of words sticks with you. not one final kiss, not a goodbye kiss, just again. like he’s refusing to admit this will probably be the last time you’ll ever see each other.

and you nod, and his hands slide up to cup your cheeks and pull you back into his lips, just as warm and just as soft and just as familiar as the first time. there’s something so innocent about kissing him, even in the midst of a complicated and confusing mess of emotions that makes you second guess everything. somewhere in the back of your mind you vaguely register that this is the last time you’ll ever kiss him, but as long as his lips are on yours it doesn’t matter. you’ll figure out how to deal with all that later; for now, the only thing you’re concerned about is the way he grips your chin and pulls you even closer.

it feels like hours later when you finally pull away, letting out a slow exhale as you try to blink yourself back to reality, and you know what has to happen now. “can you find your hotel on your own? do you want me to walk back with you?” jun asks, and you can feel the hesitancy in his voice.

“it’s not far,” you sigh quietly, turning away to slip your feet into your sandals that wait by the bed where you’d taken them off earlier. you should’ve said yes. “but… thank you.” your words hold a sincere weight to them, and it’s silent for a few seconds as you cross the room quicker than you want to.

“you could stay,” he says finally, but his hand is already on the doorknob and you both already know the answer. you hate that you have to be the one to tell him no, even though it’s been clear from the start what the outcome would be. you give him a small shake of your head, and he pulls on the knob.

he stands and stares for a minute, watching you walk down the hallway and praying you’ll turn around. and then you do, glancing back at him over your shoulder, and he almost allows himself to have a little bit of hope that you might come back, even though you both know you can’t. when you find him still standing in the doorway your eyes light up just the slightest bit, and finally you disappear with a tiny little wave.

the door clicks shut again, and the silence that follows is louder than anything he’s heard all day.

“and you didn’t even get this guy’s number?!”

you wince at the tone in jeonghan’s voice, rubbing the back of your shoulder guiltily. “his name, either.”

“even after the magic old lady said all that shit about soulmates?”

“she didn’t say that!” you huff. your tone rises almost defensively, although it probably has no reason to. she didn’t say anything about being soulmates… right? “she said something like, ‘keep your eyes open for stuff around you’. but he said he didn’t even believe in it, anyway.”

a waiter carrying a tray of champagne glasses walks past, and he snags a couple of them, holding one out to you. “well, it doesn’t sound like you’re keeping your eyes open. it sounds more like your eyes are closed, actually. are you blind?”

you scowl and take the glass from him. “my flight home is tonight, hannie. i’m not gonna see him again.” you take a sip, letting it sit in your mouth for a second before you swallow. “and besides, he said he was here for a wedding, too. he could be from anywhere in the world. it would be impossible to find him.”

“doesn’t hurt to at least try.” you both stop in front of a circular table covered in flowers, with a little placard next to one of the plates with jeonghan’s name on it. “i guess this is my table. you want me to help you look for yours?”

you shake your head, pointing to a table a little ways away. “i saw mine on the way in, it’s over there.”

“whatever,” he hums at you, but you know he’s just teasing. “i still wouldn’t blame you if you ditched and ran off to try and find him.”

“not happening!” you call over your shoulder as you walk away, matching his playful tone. but you can’t help but feel like maybe he’s right.

jun taps his fingers against the table, staring mindlessly at the bubbles floating in his glass of champagne. he’s stuck in his head— no, that’s not right. that’s not the problem. you’re stuck in his head. it’s nearly a full day later and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about you, the taste of your lips, the feel of your breasts in his hands, the scent of the shampoo in your hair. if that wasn’t the most perfect hookup in the history of hookups, then he doesn’t wanna know what is.

he still feels bad for not even paying attention during the ceremony, because he was too busy imagining you and him up there on the altar kissing instead. god, what he wouldn’t give for another kiss like that. but just like you, he knows it never would’ve worked out, and despite the what-ifs that are chewing him up inside and the fact that he definitely, absolutely, totally would’ve tried to make it work however large the distance was, he knows it’s probably for the better. even if it means he’s gonna spend the rest of his life pining after a girl he met on vacation for less than a single day, and he’ll never even know your name.

he takes a swig of his champagne and tries to put on a cheery face. this is a wedding, after all, and he can’t afford to spend all his time pouting when he’s in a beautiful city by the seaside enjoying delicious food and near perfect weather.

and then he sees you.

not really, of course, because it’s probably the champagne going to his head after chugging the majority of his glass like a frat boy at a college party. but then he blinks, and it really is you, wandering around for a second before you sit down at a table on the other side of the venue, wearing a soft blue dress that’s even prettier than the one he saw you in yesterday.

he blinks again, not fully believing that it’s you and not just the combined effect of the alcohol and his daydreams, but you’re still there when he opens his eyes again. and he knows it’s you, because he can see the faint hickies on your back and shoulders that you clearly tried to hide with makeup but couldn’t fully reach.

the chances that he’d see you again—not even that, but the chances that you’d be attending the very same wedding he was—must be one in a billion. maybe even more. yet there you are, picking at your nail and staring wistfully at your empty plate as you wait for the reception to start.

he stares for another minute, just to make sure you’re actually real, before he stands up and makes his way to the terrace at the back of the venue where the groom is standing next to a tower of cupcakes.

“gyu,” he greets him, “hey. are we allowed to switch tables?”

“i… don’t think so?” mingyu hums, a little off guard by the sudden question. “i made sure we put you next to hao, but—”

“if i give you twenty bucks, can you put me at table 8 instead?” jun’s eyes flicker with desperation, and he has to force himself not to look back over at you.

mingyu whines apologetically and hesitates, glancing at his bride a little ways away as she talks to a table full of guests. “she did all this planning, jun, i can’t just change everything now…”

“it’s not changing everything.” jun pulls his wallet out of his pants pocket, already rifling through the bills. “i’ll make it a hundred. mingyu, please, just switch me,” he says.

the whine in jun’s voice makes him pause, and he bites his lip as he considers it. on one hand, he could have his brand new wife a little bit mad at him for a while (who’ll probably forgive him the second she gets in bed with him tonight), plus get to help his friend and get an easy hundred dollars out of it. or, on the other hand… he could not help him, and his wife would never know, and jun would probably hate him for some unknown reason even though he doesn’t think jun has a single bone in his body capable of hating anybody. the decision is easy.

mingyu takes the bills from jun’s hand and stuffs them in his pocket before anyone can notice. “go ahead,” he says, tossing his head in the direction of the table. “i don’t know what it is you want, but don’t let anybody see you.”

“thanks! i owe you!” jun grins and hugs him, letting out a noise almost like a squeal before he turns and dashes away.

you’re barely paying attention to the reception anymore as you sit with your chin in your hands, again mentally running over all the things you need to pack and how on earth you’re going to be able to board your flight tonight and leave everything behind. the beaches, the city… and him. how are you supposed to just get on a plane and get on with your life, knowing that he’s out there somewhere in the world, and you’re never going to see him again.

you’re trying not to sulk, but you can’t help the way your mood has been sour all morning, already filled with regrets and you haven’t even left yet. maybe you should’ve skipped the wedding altogether and spent another day in his bed, wrapped up between his sheets and lying in his arms. but then the rational part of your brain reminds you that he was also in town for a wedding, so even if he’d wanted to or even been okay with doing that, he probably had other plans anyway.

you’re still trying to figure out what to do about your hopeless situation when you hear a sound close behind you. it startles you into putting a smile on your face, preparing yourself to socialize although you really aren’t in the mood to.

“is this seat taken?” jun asks as he pulls out the chair to your left and sits down.

your brows furrow in confusion, trying to place the familiar voice, until you turn around and your jaw drops when you see who it belongs to.

you stare at him in shock, your eyes darting back and forth between his trying to figure out what to say. “you’re not joshua,” is the best you can come up with as your mouth hangs open and you whip your head around to check the list of names assigned to this table. you recognize them all, yet here he is: the nameless stranger you’ve fallen so helplessly in love with in so short an amount of time.

he smiles at your reaction, and it’s such a genuine smile that you know he’s feeling exactly the way you do right now. “i guess you’re right. i’m not.” he brushes the name card in front of him to the side and sets his own down in its place instead before he holds out his hand to shake. “it’s nice to meet you. i’m jun.”

you pause for a minute, staring at his hand. you can’t believe this is real, you can’t believe he’s real; you’d almost been able to convince yourself that the whole encounter last night was a fever dream, if you hadn’t woken up in the morning with a soreness between your legs that screamed that it definitely was not a dream.

finally you reach out and take his hand, and even in that little touch you can tell it really is him, from the way your heart picks up when you feel the familiar softness of his skin and the gentle squeeze that sends goosebumps down your arm.

“it’s nice to meet you, too.”

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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n0thingbutlov3 · 5 months ago

Text

need you now | 2 |

in which readers true feelings are revealed.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings/tags: angst again (whoops) miscommunication (it’s short dw) fluff, reader is hungover lol, spencer is handsomely disheveled (moans) mentions of blueberry muffins being readers favourite type of muffin (sorry for not being vague but also if you don’t like blueberry muffins??? why) some tears, some swearing, some kissing, suggestiveness at the end of you squint (WHOOPS *evil smirk*) no use of y/n!! wc: 2.1k a/n: call me slim shady because i am back!!! i procrastinated writing this because i was scared everyone was secretly judging my writing and actually hated it and a second part would be a stupid idea but THEN i realised that was a little bit silly so im here B) part one got over 1000 notes (INSANE) all the support has been so so lovely—every note, reblog, and comment means the world to me, thank you!! i hope this part is okayy, feedback is always appreciated :) i hope you enjoy it you choose to read!!! <3 p.s kissing scenes are so difficult to write, i think i done absolutely awful!!!so let’s ignore that…. if you haven’t already and you’d like to, you can read part one here!

Your eyelids twitched as the early morning sun filtered through your bedroom. What was usually a calming wake-up call now felt like being blinded.

You burrowed your face into your pillow, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to dull the throbbing in your head. This is why you didn’t drink often.

Asides from the obvious headache and nausea, you always seemed to wake up with a sense of dread; ‘hangxiety’—a friend had called it once. It was creeping up on you now, and even though you weren’t sure exactly what you had done, you knew it was bad. You flipped onto your back, fixing your gaze to the ceiling as if it could tell you what irreparable mistakes you had made last night.

It couldn’t, of course. The only thing you had realised is that you should probably coat it in a new layer of paint soon.

“How’re you feeling?”

You shot up, eyes widening at the sight of a man in your doorway. A man whose sleepy voice and disheveled hair threatened to make you melt, but a man who should not be in your doorway, nonetheless; Spencer.

Your brain was quick to supply you with information then, your memory coming back in hazy remnants. You were upset so you…called Spencer for the first time in months. Yikes. He didn’t answer so you turned to a bottle of high end whiskey instead—yikes, again—and passed out on your couch, only to wake up to your ex-boyfriend in your apartment. Cue more sobbing, a pathetic attempt at asking—no, more like begging—him to get back together with you, and that was it. Well, mostly. There was also the promise of discussing your breakdown in the morning. The morning, which was now.

What the fuck.

“Like I’ve been napalmed.” You weren’t sure you were just referring to your raging hangover.

That prompted a raspy kind of chuckle from him and Jesus Christ—you really shouldn’t have called, because it was going to be infinitely harder to watch him leave when he inevitably told you you were sad loser who needed to get a grip and move on—except, he’d be a lot nicer than that, wouldn’t he? Because even if things were over between you, he was still the sweetest person you had ever met and he’d never say anything to intentionally hurt you. Maybe things would be easier if he did. If he wasn’t so sickeningly perfect—if he just insulted you in the way you were certain you deserved, then maybe you’d get over him quicker.

“So, I-ah-uber’d breakfast—“

Your inner turmoil came to a screeching halt at those words.

“You uber’d? You?”

He scoffed, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

“The team’s been very into it lately and I always finish my paperwork first so it only makes sense that I—stop laughing! I can uber!”

“Sorry! I just can’t imagine the great Doctor Reid stooping to the levels of a fast food delivery app. Do you ever order to the wrong place?”

“No.” he said, unconvincingly. “Well, only once—“

You were laughing again.

He whined, turning on his heel.

“Just take your aspirin and hurry up!” He grumbled petulantly as he left the room, but you could hear the smile in his voice.

After a quick freshen up and taking the pills placed on your bedside table—as per his request—you padded through to the living room, joining Spencer on the couch.

You gasped delightedly as he pulled out muffins from a brown paper bag. To be more specific, blueberry muffins; your favourite.

“Did you know that blueberries are good for fighting hangovers? They’re rich in vitamin C, which helps break down and metabolise blood alcohol. Muffins too, they—what? Do I have something on my face—“

“No! No, sorry,” You had been caught staring—ogling, more like. “I just missed…that.”

“What? My incessant rambling?” He was joking, but you could hear the insecure twinge in his voice—the one that told him he was too much. Over the course of your relationship, you had showed him that he didn’t have to think like that around you—that he was never too much; he was perfect in your eyes. You hated that he doubted that now.

“Yes, actually.” You tried to keep your tone light, unserious. But there was nothing unserious about just how badly you had missed the man sitting beside you. How you could hear his voice in your mind when you drove late at night, giving you statistics on accidents. Or how on other late nights, you swore you could feel his hands ghosting over your skin—only to find out it was your imagination.

If he could see how truthful you were being, he didn’t acknowledge it, turning his attention back to the coffee table.

“I’ll, um, save you the facts on how beneficial coffee is for hangovers, anyway.” He smiled awkwardly, shuffling a paper coffee cup to where your muffin sat.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, “for the coffee, not the withholding of information—i’m a real fiend for coffee facts…especially when they’re related to curing hangovers!” You said a little too cheerily, trying to alleviate the awkward tension. Although, that only seemed to make it worse.

Spencer just huffed out a little laugh in response, taking the wrapper off of his muffin.

The rest of breakfast went by in silence. Not the comfortable silence you always seemed to have with Spencer—when you were together, you reminded yourself—but a strained one. The kind of silence that occurs when there’s something left unsaid, and you’re just waiting for someone to spit it out.

Spencer broke first.

“So we should probably talk…about last night.”

You finished the remainder of your coffee, setting the empty cup down before turning your whole body to Spencer, tucking your legs up underneath you.

“Right, yeah…”

A beat passed, Spencer’s eyes darting around your face—assessing you.

For someone who had imagined this conversation in your mind countless times, you certainly weren’t saying much.

“I—uh…was very drunk.”

Something in him shifted, like he was putting up imaginary walls.

��So you didn’t mean…any of it?” His brow furrowed, his nose twitching slightly.

“Well no, but I—“ You what? Meant every word you said and more? You couldn’t just say that. You had just got a small part of Spencer back and you didn’t want to ruin it by coming on too strong.

He waited for you to add something, anything, to show him that maybe, maybe there was a tiny part of you that still wanted him as badly as he wanted you. But you didn’t. You just sat there, playing with the fabric of your—his—t-shirt.

He couldn’t do it.

He was so tired of loving people only for them to leave like he had meant nothing to them. Was that all he was to you? Someone you could call when your inhibitions were lowered, looking for comfort? He would do anything to be back in your life again, but he couldn’t be a person of convenience; someone you only wanted when you were lonely.

He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing down the tightness in his throat.

“You were drunk and you got carried away, I get it. I think I better go though—“

“What? No, I—“ You bobbed your mouth like a fish, trying to find the words necessary to keep him here. There were too many of them and yet none at all. None except for three. Three words that you wished you had the courage to say months ago, or weeks ago, or last night. But you never claimed to be a courageous person, and you weren’t about to spill your heart out again only for it to end up in rejection.

Spencer stood, making his way to your bedroom to grab his shoes and coat. He didn’t care about his other clothes, he could buy more—he just needed out before he broke.

You sat dumbfounded on the couch, willing yourself to do something, say something. It was like you were frozen. And you stayed frozen. As Spencer shuffled around your bedroom, as he returned to the living room—completely avoiding your gaze—even as he searched for his keys. You hadn’t realised he had driven over here. He didn’t usually drive unless he had to get somewhere urgently. Were you someone worth seeing urgently to him?

He picked up his keys, heading for your door and only then did you realise how dire the situation was. If he left now you weren’t sure he would ever come back.

“No—wait, Spencer!” You stammered, lunging off the couch to try and stop him. He unlocked the door, moving to leave when you grabbed onto his jacket sleeve.

“Please don’t—I love you!”

“What?”

He turned to face you and you noticed just how wrecked he looked—not at all dissimilar from how you had for the last few months. Had he looked like that the whole time?

You must’ve been staring because when you came back to your senses he was calling your name exasperatedly.

“Do you mean it?”

You were fed up living like this; harbouring so much love for someone and not being able to express it. Even if he didn’t love you back, even if he was over you, you couldn’t go another moment without at least telling him how you felt.

“Yes,” you heaved, “I love you—I never stopped loving you, I was just…” You knitted your brows together, unsure how to phrase what you were feeling.

“I’ve never loved someone the way I love you and that’s…terrifying. I thought the way I felt was wrong, like—when you were on cases, I missed you so much, more than I thought humanely possible and—well, I never wanted to be the kind of girl to base her happiness on another person because that’s how you get hurt. So, I thought the only way to combat that was by…distancing myself. I thought if you weren’t in my life anymore then I’d be able to get a grip and become more independent—“ you huffed, trying to stop the wobble of your voice. “but it didn’t work, because then I was just missing you twice as much, except I couldn’t see you at all—“

“You could’ve answered my messages, we could’ve—“

“So you could return your key? Then things would actually be over. Why do you think I ignored your messages?”

“Why do you think I kept messaging? Angel, I was never going to return that key—at least not willingly—I just wanted to see you, to see if you were doing just as horribly without me as I was without you. You know, I couldn’t even focus on cases—Hotch even suggested I take some time off.”

You frowned, your voice impossibly small. “I’m sorry.”

He took a step toward you, cupping your cheeks in his hands.

“Don’t apologise, you were dealing with your emotions in the best way you knew how. I just wish…” he swallowed, his adam’s apple bobbing. “I wish I hadn’t let you go so easily.”

His eyes were shining and—God, you wished you could take it all back. All the pain you had caused him, caused yourself, just because you were too scared to talk about your feelings.

“I wish I hadn’t left.” You blinked away the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y’know, I read a book on astrophysics because it reminded me of you. I didn’t understand any of it but I couldn’t put it down. I still—“ you let out a watery chuckle. “still have it in my bedroom somewhere.”

Spencer smiled, swiping under your eye at a tear that must’ve escaped.

“Yeah? Maybe I can read it to you—help you understand it.”

“I’d like that.”

You didn't know much about celestial bodies or the ultimate fate of the universe, but you could've sworn you'd seen the stars pictured in that book in Spencer’s eyes when he looked at you.

“Say it again.” He mumbled, tilting his head down so that your faces were just inches apart.

“I love you.”

And then his lips were on yours, impossibly soft and everything you had been missing since you had broken up. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed and all you could do was sigh into him because you knew the feeling.

He leaned back all too soon, resting his forehead against yours.

“Well, I should probably go—“ He smirked, but you cut him off before he could continue his teasing.

“You’re not funny.”

He narrowed his eyes, sucking his teeth.

“I don’t know, I—“

You pressed a firm hand on his chest, bunching the cotton of his t-shirt into a fist.

“Stop. Stay—we can have a pyjama day and maybe for dinner, you can show me just how tech savvy you’ve become and uber us some food—“

He rolled his eyes, kicking the door shut before pressing his lips to yours with more force this time.

“Stop talking.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds

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sanguineterrain · 2 years ago

Text

i'll put us back together at heart - s.h.

Summary: It's 1987. You haven't spoken to Steve Harrington in nearly five years. Then Dustin Henderson tells you about a sweet deal he has at Family Video, where he can rent any movie he wants.

Pairing: ex-best friend!Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings/tags: friends to strangers to lovers. the reader is twenty in 1987 and i technically made steve twenty-one/about to turn twenty-one. s4 happened but eddie's alive and vecna's dead. no earthquakes or anything like that; reader has no idea about what really happened. lots of angst, mentions of billy hargrove (yuck) and steve's s1 asshole friends.

A/N: oh my lord. i don't know where this eighteen-wheeler of a fic came from but here it is. there is a happy ending, not to worry. i'd never do that to y'all <3 feedback and reblogs are always always appreciated!

divider by firefly-graphics

August 1981

"I wish we could stay eighth graders forever."

You lift your head from your orange pool floaty. Steve drifts on the surface of the water. His hair is longer, way longer than you've seen it in the three years you've been friends. He says it's better for styling that way; he's even bought a gel and cream for his hair. You don't understand why he wants to change something that doesn't need changing.

"Why?" you ask. "I thought you were excited for high school."

He hums. The sound echoes in his backyard.

"It's bigger than middle school. More kids, more teachers, more work. I like eighth grade."

"I'll help you with your work," you say.

Steve turns his head and smiles at you. Part of his face is in the water, the image distorted.

"You'll do great," he replies. "You're so smart."

Steve doesn't say those things to get you to help him like other kids do. Steve means it.

"You'll do great too," you say. "You're funny and nice and my best friend. People will like you."

"You think?"

You nod. Steve turns his head and closes his eyes again.

"We'll stay friends, right?" he asks.

The floaty squeaks as you move to sit up. You paddle to Steve so you can look at his face.

"Why wouldn't we?"

"I dunno." His eyes are still closed. "You might make super smart friends. And I'll just be a dumbass holding you back."

You shove Steve's shoulder lightly.

"You are not dumb, Steve."

One muggy June night had had Steve admit he wasn't thirteen, like you and all the kids in your class, but fourteen. He had been held back in third grade after his parents moved from Illinois. It's why my brain's mush, he'd said. I was born dumb.

He had made you swear not to tell anyone.

"You're not dumb," you say again. "Say it, Steve. Say you're not dumb."

His frown deepens, but he still won't look at you.

"Tommy says I am."

"Tommy Hagan is a shithead," you shoot back with so much venom, Steve's eyes fly open. "It's not true, whatever he tells you."

You hate that they've been hanging out more this summer. You can't tell Steve that, because it's not like you own him. He can be friends with whoever he wants. But you can't help that your skin crawls when Tommy and his stupid girlfriend, Carol, drops by and pulls Steve away from you.

“Promise?” he asks.

“Yes, Steve. I promise.”

“‘Kay.” Steve smiles a little. “Thanks.”

You nod and lay back on the floaty.

“Wanna get ice cream after this?” he asks.

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

Now. (January, 1987)

You slam the phone back onto the receiver. A girl playing Pac-Man carefully glances at you.

Whoops. Right. You're still at work.

You smile and give a thumbs-up. She turns around. You return to your wallowing.

You’ve called three different video rentals. Jewel Films, which is about to go out of business; More Movies, whose attendant hung up on you before you could say Molly Ringwald; and finally, Blockbuster, which is thirty minutes outside of Hawkins. None of them have a copy of Pretty in Pink.

And okay. You could just watch another movie. You don't need that specific one. But this year has been shit. You'd thought after starting college, you'd finally break out of the Hawkins forcefield that had limited your social life. You'd thought you'd make friends and not be so terribly lonely. Life is supposed to get better after high school, isn’t it?

Obviously, whoever said that is a big, fat liar.

“Dude!” you hear a familiar voice exclaim. “Stop hogging the game!”

Tawny curls peek from under a green and yellow hat. The hat hovers over an older boy who’s glued to the Tempest booth. You go to them. Dustin Henderson lights up when he sees you. You can read his hat now; it says Camp Know Where ‘85.

“Hey, Y/N!” he greets brightly. “This guy has been here for a half hour. I left to get nachos and when I came back, he was still here.”

“I’m this close to beating my score!” the kid insists.

“Come on, guy," you say, one arm on the machine. "You gotta give other people a turn."

The kid, evidently demon incarnate, sneers at you.

“Who’s gonna make me? You?”

You lean against the side of the game, considering.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he says.

You snort.

“Sixteen? And you’re still on Tempest?”

He glances at you.

“So?”

“Everybody your age is playing Rampage, that’s all.”

You wink at Dustin. He beams.

“And, uh, I saw a couple girls hanging around Rampage,” you add.

The kid turns to you. You tilt your head innocently.

“Seriously?” he asks.

“Seriously. People always flock to the new games.”

Which is true. The girls part is not, but he doesn’t need to know that. With that attitude, he won't be getting many phone numbers anyway.

You drum your fingers on the game like you have all the time in the world. And sure enough, the kid takes his quarters and heads towards Rampage. Dustin jumps in delight.

“You’re awesome, Y/N!"

You grin. “I try. Where are the others?”

Dustin sours.

“They ditched me. To hang out with their girlfriends! Can you believe that shit?”

“No way!"

He shakes his head.

“I know, right? My friend told me that that’s what happens in high school. People change, y’know? And he’d know, I guess. He’s old like you.”

You scoff. “You make me sound like some kind of ancient. I’m not that old, Henderson.”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” He pats your arm. “In many cultures, the elderly are wise. Now in my experience, this hasn’t been the case. But I think you’re wise.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Dustin smiles like the little shit he is and puts his change in the slot.

“Well, contrary to what this other friend says, I’m sure it’ll pass,” you say. “You guys will hang out again."

You swallow your acidic truth. Dustin's a good kid, and so are his friends. You don't want him to turn cynical like you have. He's too young.

Dustin shrugs, starting the game.

“I guess so. I got a copy of The Lost Boys for us to watch on Friday. They said they’ll be there.”

“Whoa, seriously? That one just came out, how’d you get a copy?”

“My friend,” he says. “The one I mentioned. He works at Family Video and reserves stuff for me.”

“Huh. I thought Family Video was closed."

You'd applied to work there last year and never got a call back. You'd gone by once and it had looked abandoned. Hence why you now work at the arcade across town.

"It almost did, but Keith took over so now it's barely scraping by."

"Ah. Sweet deal on the movies."

“Yeah,” Dustin agrees, eyes crinkling. “My friend's pretty cool. You'd like him."

"Would I now?"

"Absolutely," he gushes. "He's a total badass too. He won his first fight last year. He used to be a jock but he's recovered."

"Wow. Impressive."

"Mmhm. I could ask him to hold stuff for you too, if you wanted.”

“You would?”

The game makes a sad game over noise. Dustin sighs and takes a gulp of his slushie.

“Yeah, totally,” he says through a mouthful of blue raspberry ice. “Which one do you want?”

“Pretty in Pink? I missed it in theaters."

“Sure. I’ll tell him to hold it tonight and tomorrow you can pick it up.”

“Cool. Thanks, Dustin.”

Dustin gives you an apple-cheeked grin.

“Gotta stay in good graces with the arcade attendant who lets me play Tempest as long as I want.”

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, walking away. "Don't get slushie on the game."

"'Kay!"

Dustin only gets a little bit of slushie on the game, but he cleans it up with about a million of the cheap snack bar napkins. When he leaves, he tells you to mention his name at Family.

"Who do I ask for?"

"You can talk to either of them," Dustin says. "Doesn't matter. Except Keith. You know Keith, right?"

"Unfortunately.” Keith used to terrorize the arcade before he blessedly moved on. “He works there?"

"Barely." Dustin scoffs. "He's almost never there, so don't worry. And feel free to ask for more movies. They owe me one."

Your sole interactions are with professors and a gaggle of high school freshmen. But now you get to watch any movie you want. Maybe this year won't totally suck.

The bell rings pleasantly as you step inside. There's a few people on line, so you take your time walking in. There's a movie display with about thirty copies of RoboCop. A cardboard cutout of RoboCop stares back behind his red helmet.

"Can I help who's next?"

You go to the counter. A girl about your age with a choppy haircut smiles at you but it's sort of strained. She has a pin on her green work vest that says Ask me!

"Please don't ask for Adventures in Babysitting," she says.

"Oh. No, I'm, uh, Dustin's friend?"

You can't believe you're name-dropping a high schooler.

She nods in realization.

"Oh, yeah. God, I keep telling that dweeb not to promise holds."

You wince.

"Sorry. If it's going to get you in trouble…"

Her brows raise. She smiles a bit.

"No, it's okay. Usually my coworker deals with it but, well. He's taking an extra long break today. So, what movie was it?"

"Pretty in Pink," you say.

"Classic," she replies. "John Hughes fan?"

"Somewhat. I didn't get to see it in theaters. I like Molly Ringwald."

She grins.

"Me too. She's pretty."

"Super pretty," you agree.

The girl considers you, then sticks out her hand.

"I'm Robin," she says. "Nice to meet you."

You take her hand. "Y/N.”

"Did you go to Hawkins High?"

"I did. Graduated last year."

"Oh, cool. Are you in college?"

You nod.

"Hawkins State. Twenty minutes from here."

"Sweet! I'm taking a gap year, but afterwards, I’m gonna apply there. It's cheap. College is college, right?"

"College is college," you agree. "But I wish I'd gone away for school."

You don't know why you're telling her this. You've known Robin for all of two minutes. But she seems friendly. And her sense of style is cool. She wears a blue blazer and tie underneath her vest.

"How come?" she asks.

"Everybody from Hawkins is there," you say. "And I… I just want a new start."

Robin smiles sympathetically.

"They're jerks," she says.

You huff. "Yeah."

You'd turned yourself into a social recluse a million years ago. It's your own damn fault you can't befriend anybody in this town. At least, not anymore.

Robin types into the computer, then smacks the monitor. She groans.

"Ugh. Gimme a second," she says. "Stupid technology."

"No problem," you say, smiling. You like her. Maybe you can integrate Family Video into your regular routine, become friends. You can see Robin becoming a good friend. One you wouldn't grow apart from.

She disappears into the back room. You browse the old releases and stop at Die Hard. This one you saw in theaters. John McClane is a badass.

You think of Dustin, and his supposedly badass new friend. It's too bad you didn't meet today. Dustin has a good sense about people. If he says so, it's possible you and this friend really would get on.

The bell rings again. You're slow to look up. The entrance is empty when you do. You keep reading about John McClane's adventures.

"Have you been waiting long?"

You turn at the new voice. The video slips out of your hand and clatters onto the counter.

Steve’s hair has grown since you last saw it. He looks different too, though he has yet to break out of his signature church boy polos. There's a smattering of stubble on his jaw. His arms are lean with muscle. He wears a matching work vest like Robin's, name tag printed Steve in blocky font.

He looks at where you've dropped Die Hard and smiles.

"This is a good one," he says. "John McClane is a total badass."

You blink.

"Did you want to rent that one?" he continues, meeting your eye.

"No," you manage.

"Okay, no problem. Just browsing?"

He doesn't remember you.

You stare and stare. Steve leans in, concerned. He's changed, but he hasn't. He's still handsome with his swoopy hair and big, dark eyes, but the Steve you knew wouldn't have been caught dead working at a video store.

And he doesn't remember you.

"Are you okay?" he asks, sounding genuine.

You take a step back from the counter. The blood roars in your ears. Robin comes back in, Pretty in Pink in hand. She looks at you, then at Steve.

"Got it!" she tells you. "Computer should work now."

"I have to go," you say.

You don't look at Steve again, instead focusing on Robin.

Her brows rise.

"Oh. Is everything—"

"I forgot my wallet," you blurt. "I can't pay for the movie. Sorry."

"That's okay, we can just—"

You run. The bell chimes over her words. You keep running until you get to the bus stop, three blocks away.

Only there do you stop to catch your breath.

And then you cry.

February 1982

"What do you think about Marie?"

You look up from your textbook. Steve is doodling in the margins of his notes. You gently prod his arm. He returns to reading but his leg starts to bounce under the table.

"Marie Iverson?" you ask.

"Yeah."

Steve glances at you. He pushes his hair back. It had taken him freshman year to get his bearings with all the gels and creams, but now, his hair is a point of pride, always perfectly coiffed. Seniors call him "The Hair" and high-five him in the hallway. You hate it.

"I don't know. I don't know her that well."

"She's cute."

"I guess so," you say.

It's harder to get Steve to focus on homework these days. Last year, he happily made flashcards with you and even bought fancy gel pens to share for your notes. Now, he prefers to talk about girls or—

"I was thinking of asking her out."

The tip of your pencil breaks. You really ought to start using pens, but you don't like being unable to erase.

"Shit, here. Take mine."

Steve offers his still perfectly sharpened pencil. You stare at it.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You take the pencil. "Thanks."

"Sure. So what do you think?"

"I don't know, Steve. I thought you talked about this stuff with Tommy."

"I would, it's just…" Steve shifts uncomfortably. "He can be rude about it sometimes. He doesn't even get why we're friends, y'know? Doesn't understand why I don't just date you."

Tommy is a moron, but you've said that since last year, and Steve's never listened before.

"Some people don't get it," you say mildly, because you have an upcoming French test and there's no use in getting upset over Tommy Hagan right now.

"But you do. And you know about this stuff better than me. Girls and all."

"Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I know what girls are best for you to date, Steve. It's weird to talk about."

Steve deflates.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so. Sorry."

You sigh and rub your temple.

"I thought you knew all about that," you say, extending an olive branch. "Asking girls out and stuff."

"Well, I mean, I've kissed girls but I've never… you're, like, the only girl I really know."

Something like pride swells in your chest. Selfishly, you want to keep Steve. You don't want to help him if it means losing him. Oh, you're so greedy, aren't you? You watch Steve run off with Tommy and Carol and nameless seniors and seethe, because Steve was yours first. Steve is yours.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah." You give him back his pencil and fish for another one in your bag. "Did you ever think about writing how you feel?"

"Writing?"

"Yeah, like a poem or a letter."

"I'm terrible at writing," Steve laments. "The letters get all jumbled and I never spell a damn thing right."

He'd told his mom once how letters melt into each other, how b's become d's. She'd taken him to get his eyes checked, and when the doctor said Steve was fine, Deborah Harrington had told her son to stop begging for attention.

"Someone who really likes you won't care about spelling mistakes, Steve," you tell him. "As long as you write from the heart. Don't do that cheesy shit and quote Romeo and Juliet. They're young, impulsive, and they die at the end, and that's not romantic."

Steve laughs, nose scrunched.

"What!" you demand. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, 's just—of course you'd have something to say about quoting Shakespeare."

"It's overdone," you say, crinkling your nose. "And girls would much rather read your own words."

"So you think I should write Marie a letter?"

"If you really like her," you say. "Only write letters for girls you really like. Otherwise they lose their meaning."

Steve frowns. "I don't know if I should write her a letter, then."

Don't, you want to say. Don't write any of them letters.

You shuffle your papers into a stack.

"Can we study now?" you ask.

"Oh, sure, yes. Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing, Steve."

He shifts closer to you. His leg has stopped bouncing.

"Lemme take you out," he says.

You nearly swallow your tongue.

"Wh–what?"

"For ice cream," Steve clarifies. "Like we used to. Dairy Queen."

"Oh. Okay, sure. But after we study."

Steve beams. "I'll drive you."

Steve's dad had bought him the BMW as a birthday present this year—not that Richard Harrington actually knows when his own son's birthday is, considering the gift was three months early. Still, it's another point of pride for Steve and about all anybody talks about whenever his name comes up. Steve is the only person in your grade with a car. Junior girls hit him up for rides. You make yourself scarce when they do.

You don't care. You liked Steve before the car. And the clothes. And the hair.

Your throat feels tight. You want your best friend back.

"Just us?" you check.

You can't tell these days. Steve seems to hang out with everybody but you. You're shocked he'd even asked to study together.

"Oh, sure," Steve says. "I just have to drop off Tommy and Carol first, okay?"

You check your watch and close your book.

"I have class," you lie. "I'll see you later."

Steve catches your wrist. He looks at you and you're struck by how sweet his face is. It's not like you didn't understand why girls want him but it's Steve. Your Steve, who still sleeps with a nightlight and who framed a picture of a sports car he cut out from a magazine because he'd thought it would make him cooler (it didn't. You still tease him about it.)

"Please," he says. "For helping me."

Your eyes slit. "I didn't help you to get stuff, Steve. I helped you because you're my friend."

Steve blinks like he's forgotten what it's like to be friends with someone just for the sake of being friends.

"You're right," he agrees. "You're not like that. I'll tell Tommy and Carol to find another ride. It'll be just us. I promise."

You perk up at that. "Really?"

"Really. You can sit in the front with me and we'll play Bruce Springsteen, like we used to. Please?"

"Okay, Steve." You ache. You’ve never been very good at telling him no. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

And maybe… maybe your best friend is still in there after all.

Now

You ask your shift manager if you can work at the snack bar today. It's in the back and you won't have to deal with any game hogs.

"You didn't put enough syrup in my slushie."

You might have overshot the perks, though.

Slushie Girl's hair is bleach blonde and hairsprayed to God. You want to tell her that all that hairspray doesn't keep friends. Or brain synapses.

"I don't make the slushie," you say for the third time. "That's how it comes out of the machine."

She shoots you a mean look.

"I'm complaining to the manager."

You paste on a smile.

"You do that. Have a nice day."

She finally walks away, probably on the hunt for your manager, who's definitely smoking a joint outside to avoid this exact situation.

Dustin comes around the corner and this time, he's with the rest of his party. You smile.

"Hey, Y/N!" Dustin greets.

Lucas waves at you. Max and Mike are arguing and therefore are in their own world. And there's their newest addition, El, whose story you're still not clear on, as well as Will, quiet as always.

You lean your elbows on the countertop.

"What'll it be, gang?"

"Six nachos and six slushies, please. One blue raspberry, three cherry, and two Coke."

You fill up the slushies first. Dustin dances on his toes.

"So did you pick up the movie?" he asks.

"Oh." You try to smile. "I went there but I couldn't. I forgot my money. Pretty dumb of me."

Dustin accepts this with no argument.

"Well, you can go back. They'll hold it for a few days."

You're never setting foot in there again, but you don't tell Dustin that.

He takes his slushie and immediately starts drinking.

"Slow down, dude. You'll get a brain freeze," you say.

"You sound like Steve," Dustin informs you. "Doesn't Y/N sound like Steve?"

Lucas nods.

"Yup. They're both parents."

You feel queasy. You focus on making the nachos, the cheese pouring out thick and gooey.

"Did you meet Steve?" Dustin asks. "You probably know him from high school, but he's different now."

"Yes," you say quietly. "I knew him."

"I promise he's different. Even Mike likes him, and Mike hated his guts. Right, Mike?"

Mike pauses in his animated discussion with Max and looks at you.

"What?"

"I'm telling Y/N about how Steve is cool now," Dustin explains.

"Oh." Mike shrugs. "He's fine. Much better now that he's not dating my sister."

"He's not?" you ask. "But they were in love. I–I mean, that's what I heard, at least."

"She dumped his ass," El says, and it sounds a little ridiculous in her soft monotone.

Max scoffs, taking her Coke slushie.

"Did you live under a rock? It was a huge thing."

"Now Steve is lame," Mike says with a snort.

"Getting dumped doesn't make somebody lame," you say with an old ferocity you'd thought had disappeared.

"Okay, jeez." Mike holds up his hands. "Steve's alright. He's different, that's for sure."

"He's our paladin," Lucas says. "A protector."

Dustin nods eagerly.

You blink. "He protects you guys?"

Max elbows Lucas. You have no idea what that's about. El steps forward and smiles softly.

"Yes," she says. "He's our babysitter."

"Aren't you guys freshmen? I thought you were too old for babysitters."

"Oh no, Steve doesn't get paid for it or anything," says Mike. "He just does it 'cause he has nothing else to do."

"That's not true!" Dustin argues. Then he shrugs. "Well, it's a little true. But he does like us. He's a good guy. He cares about his friends."

You bite your tongue, not wanting to reply to that.

"That's great, guys. The girl, Robin? She seems pretty cool too."

"That's Steve's best friend," says Dustin. "She's great."

"Oh." You wince. "Best friend?"

Dustin huffs. “Yeah. They don’t date. He won’t say why."

"Platonic with a capital P," Max confirms. “It’s obviously because he’s in love with somebody else.”

“Not Nancy!” Lucas protests.

“There are other girls besides Nancy, Sinclair.”

You busy yourself with serving the last set of nachos. The kids pull out crumpled bills and coins in return. You count the money and stack it directly into the register; you know there won't be any change.

When you turn, they're still there. Dustin has his signature grin on, eyes squinty.

"Yeees," you drag out. "Can I help you?"

"We need a favor," Lucas says. "Please."

"Hmm." You lean over the counter. "What's up?"

"They're showing Prince of Darkness on Friday," Dustin explains. "But it's rated R."

"So just sneak in. Isn't that what you guys did at Starcourt?" you ask.

"We had an inside man then. They're a lot stricter at the new one," Lucas frowns. "They ask for IDs 'cause some mom complained after her kid snuck in to watch Risky Business."

"And why can't your babysitter take you?"

You sneer at the thought. Steve spending his Friday nights herding a bunch of adolescent teens into a movie theater. There's a reason you consider Dustin affectionately delusional.

"He has a stupid date," Dustin groans. "He's a serial dater, Y/N. It's terrible. He gets lucky once and totally ditches us."

Now that sounds like the Steve you knew.

"I see. I don't really like horror stuff."

"You don't have to stay!" Dustin insists. "You can watch whatever you want after we’re in. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

“This would be so much easier if Steve still worked at Scoops,” Mike grumbles.

You blank for a moment, the image of Steve in a sailor’s hat and those ridiculous shorts whiting your brain.

“Um,” you begin. “You know I don’t have a fancy BMW to cart you guys around in, right?”

“It’s cool. We’ll get there,” Max says.

“So?” Dustin bounces on his toes. “Sooo?”

You sigh. It’d been nice of Dustin to get you the movie, even though you’d chickened out and ran. And it’s not like you have anything better to do.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll get you guys in.”

Dustin pumps his fist. “Thanks, Y/N! You’re my favorite old person.”

You roll your eyes. “Funny. Any funnier, and I might rescind my help, Henderson.”

“Byeeee!”

They all disperse to the arcade. You wonder how on earth Steve got involved with them.

March 1983

“Okay, but if you had to choose.”

“Pass. I would literally rather swallow pennies than kiss Principal Coleman’s bald-ass head, Steve.”

Steve takes a triumphant swig of beer. “So you’re saying you’ve got the hots for Benny the janitor.”

“No!” you insist through giggles. “I don’t. God, you’re gross. Can’t believe I’m being treated like this on your birthday.”

“Exactly! My birthday.”

He rolls onto his side in his deck chair and nearly faceplants on the cement. You reach out, reaction time delayed.

“Steve!” you yell. “Careful.”

“I am, I am,” he mumbles, and rights himself on the chair. “Jus’ wanna see you better.”

“I keep telling you you need glasses.”

“I do not,” he whines. “My vision’s ten outta ten. Could a guy who needs glasses do this?”

He crumples up a Twinkies wrapper and throws it towards the garbage. The wind picks up and sends the wrapped into the pool.

“Shit,” he says.

You belly laugh in delight.

“Wait, wait, redo. Go fish it outta there.”

“Oh, as if. I’m not going in there. I told you you need glasses. Even Mother Nature agrees.”

"She does not. Mother Nature thinks I'm a doll."

You hum and close your eyes. Alcohol always makes you sleepy.

The chair scrapes against the concrete. You hear a crinkle of a chip bag. Those are your only warning before you’re crushed by two hundred pounds of drunk boy.

“Steve!” You wheeze, squirming as his hair tickles your face. “Get off!”

"’M sleepy,” he mumbles.

“Well, don't sleep on me, weirdo.”

“‘S cold.”

“You run, like, a hundred degrees, don’t lie.”

He lifts his head. “So you’re saying I’m hot?”

“I’m saying all that booze cooked your brain,” you reply sweetly.

“I’ve been wounded,” he moans and plops onto your shoulder.

“Ugh.” You resign to your fate and lean back. Steve’s not actually that heavy; even drunk, he has a lot of control over his weight and he’s situated himself so he isn’t crushing anything important. No, you squirm underneath him for a very different reason.

“Steeeeve,” you whine. “You’re gonna squish me into a pancake.”

“Can’t believe no one else came.”

You still. Steve’s face remains buried in your shoulder. His body is beside yours, and he has an arm slung over your belly.

“I didn’t—didn’t want a party,” he continues. “I always throw parties. I thought I’d do somethin’ different. An’ none of them even wished me a happy birthday. ‘Cept you.”

You rest your hand on the back of his hair. It’s wind-blown and messy from the drinks, free of his heady hair gel. You’ve never loved it more.

“Did you tell them your birthday is today?” you ask gently, even though you know he did.

“Yeah,” he says. “Told all of ‘em. Guess they weren’t listening.”

“I listen.”

Steve looks up at you. His eyes are glassy.

“God, I miss you,” he says.

You feel the wall you’ve built this year crumble, just a little.

“I’m right here, Steve.”

“I know but—been a jerk lately. I know I have. You’re my best friend, okay? Nothing’ll change that. I–I love you so much.”

Your breath hitches. Steve barrels on, not noticing.

“And I’ll be better. We’ll hang out more. Not–not here, drunk. But for real. We’ll go to the movies. Y’wanna see a movie?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I wanna see a movie.”

“‘Kay, what movie? Anything you want. We’ll get popcorn and Raisinets.”

“You hate Raisinets,” you choke through a watery laugh.

“I’d eat Raisinets anytime with you.”

You lay there, in the dark, the only sound being the pool filter.

“Let’s watch the new James Bond.”

“Hmm, okay. But you’ll have to say the name eventually.”

Your nose crinkles. “I am not calling it by its name.”

His laugh is warm in your neck.

You don’t tell Steve to get up again. He snuggles into you, leg over yours. You fall asleep like that, curled underneath him.

Now

“Wait.” Max stops. “Shouldn’t we have, like, a game plan?”

“Game plan?” El asks quietly.

“Yeah. Some of us aren’t so great at playing it cool.”

She stares at Lucas.

“I play it cool!” he squawks. “I am so cool!”

“Right.”

“Just let Y/N do the talking,” Will says. “She’s technically the adult so she should act like this is a conscious choice.”

You shrug. “Makes sense to me.”

Dustin beams. “This is gonna be great!”

“Or a total disaster,” Max says.

You go to the counter, the kids trailing behind like ducklings.

“Six tickets for Prince of Darkness, please,” you say. “And uh, one for Dirty Dancing.”

The attendant looks at you, then at the kids.

“Don’t you mean seven tickets for Prince of Darkness?” she asks. “It’s rated R.”

Shit. “Right, yes. Sorry. Seven tickets. And one for Dirty Dancing. We have another friend who’s late.”

“Uh-huh.”

The attendant, whose bored expression you’ve recognized on your own face after long days in the arcade, hands you your tickets without any questioning.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Lucas whispers when you enter the concession area.

You wait for them to buy their snacks. Max persuades Lucas to let her mix M&Ms into their bucket of popcorn. He agrees and shuffles closer so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder while they share.

“Okay, last stretch,” Mike says, shoveling a frighteningly large handful of sour worms into his mouth. “We just have to get past the ticket guy.”

Said ticket guy is a kid who can’t be much older than you. You think you might’ve gone to school together, but you’ve made it a point to eviscerate everything about high school from your mind.

“Hey,” you say, trying to act cool. Maybe you’re the one Max should’ve been worried about, instead of Lucas. “Uh, here are our tickets.”

He takes the tickets, then looks behind you.

“Prince of Darkness is only for people seventeen and older,” he says.

“I’m an adult, so I’m with them,” you explain. “I’m, like, their guardian?”

“Yeah, uh—” He hands you your tickets. “No can do. There needs to be an adult for each person under seventeen.”

“Come on,” you cajole. “They’re high schoolers. It’s not like they’re gonna be scarred for life watching some zombies, or whatever.”

He shrugs. “Rules are rules.”

“She’s an adult!” Dustin argues.

“Look, if you’re gonna hold up the line, I’m gonna have to—”

“Yo, Gillespie! That you?”

Dustin turns and lights up. The seven of you part for Steve Harrington and his date, a pretty strawberry blonde you think you had biology with.

“Harrington, man, what’s up!”

Ticket Prick gets up to slam Steve into a bear hug. You barely resist an eye roll.

“Shit, I haven’t seen you in a year! Where’ve you been all this time? Hey, did you hear about that shit with Munson?”

Steve flinches. It’s a tiny movement, indiscernible to the trained eye. But it’s there all the same.

“Gillespie, c’mon. Don’t bring the party down with that,” Steve says, all sweet charm.

“Sorry, sorry. Daisy,” he greets the girl attached to Steve’s arm.

“Gil,” she replies with a giggle. “You smell like popcorn butter.”

America’s future taxpayers. Terrifying.

“Are you gonna let us in or not?” Max interrupts, arms folded.

You feel a burst of pride.

Gil shoots her a dirty glare and puffs up, ready to fight a fourteen year old. Steve cuts in smoothly.

“Gillespie, listen. I know her.” He points to you. You bristle. “I can personally vouch that she’s just trying to do right by these kids. They wanted to see Prince of Darkness, y’know? Get away from the parents.”

“It’s a sick film,” Gil agrees. “You seen it?”

No, of course Steve hadn’t seen it. He hates horror.

“Planning on it,” Steve says, the ultimate image of playing it cool. “Look, you remember sneaking into the movies. Fast Times? Ring any bells?”

Max rolls her eyes. You’re inclined to do the same.

Gil laughs dopily, and nudges Steve. “Hell yeah, I do. That was a crazy night, Harrington.”

Steve smiles thinly. “Sure was. So whaddya say? For old times’ sake?”

Gil considers your little troupe. Then he shrugs.

“Why not. Manager’s not here anyway.”

He takes the tickets and tears them to stubs, then gives them back.

“Theater six. On your left. Enjoy.”

The kids stampede into the left theater wing. You hang back with your own ticket.

“Appreciate it, man,” Steve says, all smiles. “Take care, alright?”

“Hey, you too, Harrington! We gotta catch up!”

Steve and Daisy go in. You expect them to walk right past you, and Daisy does, predictably. But Steve stops.

“I’ll catch up, okay?” he tells her. “Find us some good seats?”

She paws at him a little, then goes, sodas in hand. You stiffen as Steve walks and stops three feet away from you.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about that. Gil’s an asshole.”

“I know. He yawned during my poetry reading sophomore year. And then you guys went to the movies together.”

Steve shrinks. “Your poems were great.”

You’re suddenly exhausted.

“What do you want, Steve?”

“I just… I wanted to see you. Say hi.”

“Okay.” You cross your arms. “Hi.”

“You forgot your movie,” he says. “The other day.”

“I didn’t want it that much.”

“Dustin said you looked everywhere for it.”

“Well, in the end, it didn’t really matter,” you say. “Not enough to stay.”

“Y/N—”

“I think your date’s waiting for you,” you interrupt. “Better get back to her. Wouldn’t want to taint your reputation.”

Steve makes a noise like he’s been wounded. You turn on your heel before you can think better of it.

“Wait.” He catches your wrist. Steve’s grip is light, like you’re something precious to hold. You wrench your arm away. “Y/N, I want to apologize. I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask. “For forgetting me? I didn’t expect you to remember, Steve.”

“I didn’t forget you,” he insists. “I could never forget you. I wasn’t—please, can I just explain?”

“I don’t need your explanations,” you snap. The hurt corrodes your tongue like acid. “I know what happened. We were both there. You left.”

Steve’s eyes are huge and dark. He looks like you just stabbed him in the heart, and that makes you feel worse. You’d thought telling him how much it hurts would put you back together, but all it did was break you more.

So you run. Again.

You slam through a back exit and rip your ticket into a million pieces. The wind is cold and unforgiving. Your eyes sting.

You call out sick for two days in a row. You kind of expect to get fired, but then again, people have been leaving Hawkins and if you’re not here to serve the masses their slushies, who will be?

So, after lying in bed not thinking about movies and strawberry blonde girls and how sick you are of this town, you get up and put on your arcade vest.

Now it is two in the afternoon. You’d heard it was supposed to snow today.

Robin eyes the snack counter like it holds the next plague outbreak. You don't blame her; you make it a point to wash up to your elbows after work.

"Slushie?"

She looks at you like she’d forgotten you were there. "What?"

You point a thumb at the machine. "Are you here for a slushie?"

"Oh. No, sorry. Red dye makes me insane in the brain. Steve actually—"

Robin stops, grimaces. So he's told her. Probably everything, if the kids had been telling the truth.

You're honestly surprised she's here. Unless it’s to, like, swirlie you in the vat of artificial cheese.

"Are you here to drown me in nacho cheese?" you ask.

Robin's eyes go wide as dinner plates. "What? No!"

"Just checking." You lean against the counter. "What can I do for you, Robin?"

Robin suddenly looks like she's never interacted with a human being before. You like her a lot. Steve probably does too.

"I came to drop off your movie." She holds the tape over the counter like it's a pool of lava.

"But I didn't pay for it." You shove your hand in your jean pocket; you only have a couple dollars on you. "I guess I can get you the money tom—"

"It's on the house. For a fellow Molly fan."

Robin wiggles the tape with two fingers. You take it and wait for a catch. There is none.

"Thank you," you say. "You didn't have to do that."

"Actually, it wasn't me," she confesses. "I'm just the mailman."

You prepare to hand it back but Robin shakes her head.

"He's not going to pop out of the slushie machine, okay? He's just trying to make it up to you."

"He doesn't need to make it up to me," you bite, except those aren’t the words you mean. "Why does he even care? We're not in high school anymore."

Robin smiles a sad smile.

"I know," she says. "We’re not. I know he should've known to fix things earlier. He's received a lot of blows to the head, though, so he's still catching up."

The thought turns your stomach. More? More you weren’t there to protect him from?

"He doesn't owe me anything," you say and wave the tape again. "You can take it back and leave it for somebody else."

"Y/N, I know we don't know each other, like, at all. But it's important to me you know that Steve cares about you, because you’re important to him. And you knew him way before I did, and you probably know a lot of stuff I don't, and that's good because he has a friend like me, but he should also have a friend like you too, Y/N."

"I don't want to be his friend," you mumble.

"Yeah," Robin says. "I figured. But I don't think that's a confession he should hear secondhand."

You look at her, stunned. She's such a clever girl. You hope she treats Steve well.

"If you two are—"

"We're not," she says, like this is a regular explanation she goes through. "Steve and I are friends. Steve has crashed and burned with every single date since his fall from regency. Steve is the best person I've ever met."

"Yeah, I’ve heard. You and Dustin are his biggest fans."

Robin snorts. "Trust me, I'm not proud of it."

You shake your head. Your eyes feel hot.

"This town is so shit," you say.

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "It really fucking is. But I'm not asking you to give this town a second chance. Just him."

"Why are you trying so much?" you ask. "You don't even know me."

Robin shrugs. "No, but you're the one person Steve used to be friends with who's not an asshole, and I think us non-assholes need to band together."

"I can sometimes be an asshole."

"Me too. So are those little dweebs. How about calling ourselves the Semi-Assholes Club?"

You laugh. "We'll get jackets."

"With partially drawn butts on the backs," Robin says with a giggle.

You look at the tape in your hand.

"Does Steve like John Hughes?"

"He does. He's a total sap for those. He thinks he's in his own coming-of-age movie because he's delusional."

He sounds perfect. He sounds like the friend you loved.

"I did want to watch this one," you say.

"It won't hurt you to," Robin promises.

You suppose not.

December 1984

You don't believe the whispers. All week, the rumor mill spins tales of Billy Hargrove finally pushing the King off his throne. There's no way he'll show his face, a girl at the adjacent lunch table astutes. I sure as fuck wouldn't.

Steve Harrington is a loser. Steve Harrington got dumped for Jonathan Byers. Steve Harrington may as well be dead, and on and on.

Every line gets you angrier. A boy who sits behind you in chemistry taps his pencil like he always does. Tap, tap, tap.

Halfway through class, you snap at him to quit it. He does, but not without a tinge of embarrassment. You’re so angry this year. Angry at your loneliness, angry at the unfairness of said loneliness. You might’ve done this to yourself, and that fact only gets you angrier.

You see Nancy Wheeler in the hallways with Jonathan Byers, and the confirmation of that rumor should make you happy. It doesn't.

A week later, most of the excitement has died down. Everybody’s moved onto the next big thing, which is to deduce who fucked in Vice Principal White's office. One look at V.P. White, and it had been decided that it can't have been White himself.

You can't care less. Once upon a time you might’ve laughed about it with a friend, but you don't have any more of those, and high school is bullshit with or without them. So.

Steve walks in twenty five minutes into the period. Mrs. Kaplan gives him a downright beastly glare and demands to know where he had been.

"I'm sorry," is all he says. "If you give me detention, I understand."

There are a few snickers that rub at an old hurt, one that had flared up whenever somebody dared to make fun of your best friend. It doesn't bother me, he'd said, and you'd known it was a lie.

It bothers me, you’d replied, and Steve had hugged you tight.

Mrs. Kaplan seems more stunned Steve hadn't swaggered past her like a peacock escaped from the zoo and lets him go sit down without a fight. He takes the only empty desk, two rows across from you. You stare. You can't not.

Half of his face looks like it was mashed in a garbage disposal. It's purple and a sickly yellow. His eye and lip are still swollen. You stare and stare. You feel queasy.

Billy had done that. You're so angry. You think you might never get past this grief, this loss of a once permanent fixture in your life.

No one wished Steve a happy birthday this year, you realize out of nowhere.

You stare and stare and stare until Steve looks right back. You're blindsided by thick guilt, like blinking through a milkshake. And then the familiar curl of anger returns because why the fuck should you feel guilty? You aren't the one who fucked everything up, who mascerated this good thing. Steve did this to himself. Steve deserves to walk the halls alone. It's Steve's fault.

But when you look at him, at his raw wounds, at his bruised knuckles, you know that he already believes he deserves every punch Billy Hargrove gave him.

You hate Steve Harrington. But you really wish you'd been there to drive him to the hospital.

Now (And Forever)

The tape sits buried in your drawer for three days. You don’t know what Family Video’s return policy is, but you hope you’re not racking up late fees. You doubt name dropping Dustin will work again.

It’s Saturday when you decide to watch Pretty in Pink. You remove the video from its sleeve. An envelope falls out.

The front has your name printed in squished, loopy script. You remember January at Steve’s house, a stack of thank-you cards courtesy of his mother awaiting the Harringtons’ sign-off. Steve’s hand would cramp and you’d take over while he made grilled cheese for the both of you. Love, The Harringtons, and there was no love in that house, but you think maybe Steve loved enough to make up for it.

Hi, the letter begins. I hope you’re good. Robin told me you’re going to Hawkins State.

That’s fucking amazing. I’m so proud of you. Are you still writing poetry? I liked that one you wrote about the birds who shared a branch and kept each other warm. I still have it in my notebook in my room.

I’m sorry for the other night. I’m sorry for every night since freshman year, honestly. I’m kind of a dumbass, but you know that, so it doesn’t really excuse anything. I think I’ve actually lost brain cells since we drifted apart.

You crumple the corner, suddenly hot with anger. Who keeps telling him he’s dumb? You want names.

I didn’t forget you, you know. I got scared and I thought maybe I could ease into it, but then you recognized me and… well. I don’t blame you for running.

Anyway. I’m talking too much about myself, when there’s nothing to say. I’m really sorry about what I did, or, actually, what I didn’t do. Somebody told me I was living on autopilot, and that it wasn’t really living at all. I think it was you.

I’m not living on autopilot anymore. I woke up. And I realized that you’re the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me. I love Robin and the kids and this little family that has apparently invayd invaded your life too. Sorry about that. They never leave and they eat all your food. Good luck.

But I miss you. I always have.

Shit happened these last few years that I’ll tell you about one day, if you want. I’d rather not, though, because you’ve always been the paranoiac (like that one? Robin said it’s an SAT word) of the two of us and I feel like this would just make you even more of one. But I will tell you, if you want to hear it. I want to tell you everything. I want you to tell me everything too. Like we used to.

I want you to tell me how college is going. Who the annoying jerks in your classes are so I can go beat them up (kidding). I want you to stop by to rent movies so I can lend them for free and you’ll yell at me about taking advantage of fre friendships.

Fuck, I miss you. It’s always been there, bubbling below the surface. I never stopped missing you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry I didn’t write this sooner. I know you said writing is how we express things we can’t say. You were right. You always are. Can’t believe I forgot that.

It’s okay if you don’t want to be friends. I mean, it hurts, but I respect it. I understand. Most days, I can’t believe people can bear to be around me. But then I hear your voice in my head, telling me that most people are shitheads and that I’m golden and. Well, I don’t know if I believe that, but you were right that most of the people I surrounded myself with were shitheads. Except you, of course. And then I went ahead and fucked that up.

I’ve been working on finding the non-shitheads of the world. I think I’m doing pretty well. And I wrote this because I realized that while I will probably end up buried in this fucking town, you’re going to do something incredible. And nothing incredible ever happens in Hawkins, so I figure you’ll be far away when you do it.

I didn’t want to miss this chance to write things I never said. So here they are. And you can do whatever you want with them. You’ve always been the best of the two of us. I trust you.

You should watch Dirty Dancing. You’ll like it. I did. I’ll see it again if you want. I’ll watch anything with you.

Did you know there’s another Bond movie coming out in the summer? We could watch that one together too. If you wanted more time to decide.

Sincer

Your friend,

Steve

You don’t bother ejecting the tape. You run all the way to the bus stop, Steve’s letter in hand.

You have to see him. No other thoughts register except that one. You have to know if Steve wrote these words because he can’t say them or because you won’t listen.

It isn’t too late when you get to Loch Nora. The neighborhood is dead, which is weird. Steve’s house looks frozen in time: his parents’ car isn’t in the driveway. You wonder if they’ve ever come back since you’ve been gone. You wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no.

There’s a tarp over the pool. The gate is locked with a chain. You can’t sneak in through the fence like you used to. Not that you would. You don’t think strangers can sneak through pool gates.

You knock on the door three times. And wait.

Steve’s car is in the driveway, a duller burgundy than when he first got it. There are a few scratches in the paint. No longer a prized possession. Maybe well-loved instead.

The door swings open.

Steve says your name like a prayer. You swallow and steel your spine.

“I got your letter,” you say.

“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. His hair is damp like he’s just showered. It curls around his ears. Waves of want hit you.

“I don’t want to be friends,” you continue before he can speak. “I don’t—I can’t do that again.”

Steve’s mouth draws into the saddest frown you’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No, that’s not—I don’t mean it like that.”

His brows knit. “What?”

“I…” You pull out the letter and wave it. “Did you mean it? Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Steve whispers. It’s like a shout in the quiet street. “I meant it.”

“Like a friend?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Will you love me like a friend forever?” you ask.

“Always.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you as something more,” you blurt, watery. “I have for a long time.”

You hear the door shut. This is it: your heart on the line, all for nothing—

“Then I’ll love you as something more back,” Steve says. “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

And he holds you the way you’d held him so many times. You inhale and wrap your arms around his neck. You’ve got an iron grip around the letter. Tears slip down your cheeks.

“I missed you,” you confess.

Steve nods against your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, and it sounds a little wet. “I missed you too.”

“You were wrong,” you say into his neck.

“Hmm?”

You pull back to look at Steve.

“Incredible things do happen in Hawkins.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve smiles, cheeks blotchy. “Like what?”

“We found each other again.”

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x yn #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #friends to lovers #strangers to lovers #friends to strangers to lovers

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spookysteddie · 11 months ago

Text

That Friday Night

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

read part one here

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: alcohol, drugs (weed and cocaine), clubbing, slight Dom!Eddie if you squint, possessive!Eddie, swearing, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), light choking, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, edging, creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 4.3k (I'm so sorry)

a/n: First of all, I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged or made comments about part one. I was shitting myself posting it because (like I said) this is not an original thought. I'd read a few and it gave me this wave of inspiration. I am very proud of this part. It's also a little long (sorry sorry sorry I couldn't stop) . Also I don't think I'll be doing a tag list? When I used to do that no one on the list would like the fic and it was a lot of work. I hope that is okay? Let me know if you want more! I love and appreciate all of you!

...

You weren’t the type of person who got shy. Your entire job is being in front of a camera, telling people what you like, what you wear, the type of music you listen to. You did brand deals and went on lots of trips with people you didn’t know. Public interaction was easy for you and you definitely enjoyed it.

But being personally invited to your favorite band's concert (even if you had tickets already) as their frontman's personal guest? It makes you weak in the knees.

Telling your team about the phone call went about as good as one would expect. Anna and Case frown at you while continuing to say ‘you could’ve let it go to voicemail and we could’ve handled it directly with his people. AND why did you have him send the information directly to you?’

They weren't necessarily wrong in being upset. There were plenty of ways a conversation like that could be twisted and fucked with, especially if, for whatever reason, someone was recording the phone call. It was very easy for them to manipulate and edit that kind of shit, and drama was the last thing you wanted.

However, the rest of the week went by without an issue. The gossip magazines had moved on to something else (though there were a few who continued to speculate about your non-relationship with Eddie. You did your deals, and kept yourself busy. And by the time Friday rolled around you were hardly nervous.

Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Bell bottom star pants. Absolutely,” Hana says from her place on your bathroom counter, practically in the sink. “With that black leather top you love AND the red leather jacket. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the red boots!”

You put the outfit on, looking in the mirror, “you don’t think it’s too… stereotypical?”

Hana looks at you through the mirror, “no such thing. You look great.”

Hana was one of the few people in your life who’d tell you like it is. You could trust her to tell you if her gut feelings were off, or on. She was your best friend and one of the few people who weren’t just here for the exposure. She’s here to be your cheerleader and you were hers.

“Alright, let's get this going before I change my mind which I am two seconds away from doing.”

…

You should’ve changed your mind.

You can hardly keep from throwing up as you're led by security to a private entrance. To get there you have to pass by their tour buses. All you can hear is loud music and whooping from inside. It’s clear they’re running around in there as the bus is rocking and all you can do is pray they don’t see you.

You’re far too sober for the interaction you’ll be having at this current time.

Unfortunately for you, the universe hates you. Just when you think you’re home free, the door opens, almost smacking you in the face.

“Don’t think you can get away that easy, Asher,” Eddie says as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown wide, clearly from whatever drug he’s consumed. More than likely cocaine and weed. His words aren’t slurred so he isn’t drunk, though he does have a beer bottle in his large hands.

God his hands, there have been many times where you’d imagine them wrapped around your throat, cutting off air as he fucks you like he hates you. You bet he could reach you even as he’s eating you out, he’s so tall and long.

You wish you could say the grin you shoot at him is fake, however with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour and smother you, it's not. You feel like a fucking school girl who has a crush. Your heart pounds so fast in your chest and you swear everyone around you can hear it.

“We weren’t running away,” you say, voice a little breathier than you’d like. “Um this is my best friend-”

“Hana, nice to meet you,” he cuts you off. It’s then that you see his eyes get wide and you know he’s been stalking your profile. Not that you can say anything because you’ve done it… a lot. “I, uh, saw the instagram story you put up earlier.”

Hana smirks, “sure you did, big boy.” She pats his chest and is clearly much braver than you. That’s another thing about you and her, if one of you is feeling not confident, the other makes up for it. Like, on your own, asking for ketchup feels like cutting off a limb, but if she can't do it then it's up to you and vice versa.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, his black t-shirt stretching over his wide shoulder, “want to join us? We have alcohol!”

“We would love that. Wouldn’t we?” Hana looks down at you with her brows raised, still taller than you in heels.

You nod, “yes. Yeah absolutely! Are we allowed to photograph in here?”

You know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but you also don’t want to take a photo of you and Hana and then not be able to post it. And what if you get photos with the rest of the band? Everyone already knows you’re going to be here. Just not… in this tour bus.

Eddie nods, holding out his hand, “you are allowed to do whatever you want, pretty girl. And if anyone has an issue, send them my way, yeah?” He kisses the hand you’ve placed in his before leading you up the stairs of his bus.

It's chaos in there, pure and utter chaos. You turn to look at Hana, silently telling her how insane this is. She nods slightly, but you see the grin on her face. Hana loves this stuff; the parties, the madness, all of it.

Eddie introduces you to the band, pulling you in closer by the waist. “You all need to be on your best behavior. No one touches her. Do you all understand me?” Your heart flutters at how serious he is and it instantly forces his bandmates eyes to fall to your feet. It’s impressive, actually.

Suddenly, a bottle of beer is in your hands, passed to you by Eddie. “Oh… thank you.” You can hardly look at him as a small smile forms on your lips. His attention makes you feel all kinds of funny inside, your stomach doing flips. You know you have to look at him eventually, but he’s just so pretty that it actually hurts.

“Um, so are you excited for your show?” This time you manage to actually drag your eyes to his. He smiles at you, his teeth so beautiful and perfect. It’s when he sits down that you realize that was a stupid question. Of course he’s excited. This is his actual job.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes, you could kiss him. But you don’t for obvious reasons. Reasons you can't really think of at the moment. Not when he’s looking at you like that. The beer bottle hangs in his right hand between his legs.

“Very. Not much comes close to the feeling I get when we’re on that stage.” He shakes his head, curly hair moving with him, “plus, being able to hear people sing my songs back to me is fucking incredible.”

His hand finds yours, pulling you a little closer. Eddie is testing the waters, you know this. Unfortunately for you, your brain can’t see through the cloud of lust. So, you let him pull you closer, sit you on his lap, and wrap an arm around you.

Your brain does catch up, quicker than expected. “It seems like it’d be incredible. I applaud you cause I could never do that. I have stage fright.”

He blinks up at you, “stage fright? Haven’t you done red carpet interviews and stuff?”

You shift a little, shrugging, “well yes. But that’s different.” You can't stop the awkward laugh that comes out of you. It was true, it was different. You weren’t exactly sure why but it was.

Eddie's thumb moves along your side slightly and it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m being honest, the lights are so bright that I can’t see everyone in the crowds. Mainly just the front rows. Makes it easier.”

Eddie puts his beer bottle on the ground by his feet before sitting up and grabbing a joint. He’s quiet as he lights it, puffing out smoke to get it going. “Want some?”

He holds the joint towards you, waiting for your answer. You’ve done this before at the frat houses at college. You’ve done it here and there in high school as well. This is second nature, but this time you’re nervous. What if you forget how to inhale? What if you throw up? Any number of things can happen.

Something happens inside you and your brain finally catches up to itself. A small stroke of confidence happens and without taking your eyes off of him, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the joint and inhaling. His eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue wetting his lips. You pull back, slowly blowing out the smoke.

“Fuckin’ hell.” It comes out in a whisper and you know he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes falling from your eyes, to your lips and back again.

God you want to kiss him. His pillowy lips would feel amazing against yours, you just know it. You start to lean into him, desperate to know if you’re right.

A bang on the door scares the fuck out of the both of you and Eddies boot knocks over his bottle. It’s a good thing he drank most of it, the contents not spilling on the plush carpet.

“Let’s get going guys. Put your dicks back in your pants, we have a show to do.” You know that voice, that’s their manager. He’s the one who called your people to make sure you had all the rules for this evening.

Photos are fine.

Everyone must be tagged.

Nothing negative.

Absolutely no photos of any white substances. Even if it’s sugar.

That last one would be hard considering it was on every flat surface in neat, clean lines.

You go to stand up, but Eddie stops you, his hand tightening on your hip. “Promise I’ll see ya after?”

You nod, “y-yeah of course.”

Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, sweet and you don’t want it to end. In fact, you totally forget about all the other people in the room. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as his tongue begs for permission. And once you grant it, it’s game over.

He tastes like beer and weed and cigarettes and you love it. You want more. You want to get closer.

But it’s not long before the door to his trailer opens up, his manager stepping into the bus. “I said get your dicks and tongues together. We cannot be late.”

…

By the time the show is over you barely have a voice, and you’re sure you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It might seem silly to say, but Eddie's kiss lingered the entire show and all you want is more.

Back stage the band is still running on adrenaline, drinking water for once to try and refuel for the rest of the night. The rest of the night being a club that they frequent. A club you don’t go to because of that exact reason.

“Ohhhhh! There's the prettiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on!” Eddie's voice booms as security goes to double check you and Hana. “Hey! Leave them alone. They’re with me.”

Security stands back, hands raise like he knows it’ll cause more issues if he doesn’t. You almost feel bad for the poor guy, he was just trying to do his job. Like what if you had a bomb or something?

“C’mon we gotta get outta here.” He laces his fingers with yours before he pulls you along with him. You look over your shoulder, catching Hana's eyes.

Go! She mouths, hanging off Gareth's arm. I’ll meet you there!

And so, you go. Are you nervous? Yes absolutely. Are you going to pretend you aren’t and have some confidence? Yes. Fake it till you make it right?

Eddie opens the door to the car, extending a hand, “ladies first.”

You grin at him as you elegantly slide into the car, “wow. I didn’t know you were such a gentle man.” This time when you giggle, it's cute and self assured.

“Yes, I have been told my entire life that I look,” he slides in sucking in a soft, thinking breath, “mean and scary.”

“You look like a doberman but they’re precious babies.” You mean it too. He looks a little mean and scary, especially in the red lights of the stage. Not to mention the “devil music” (says the media) which can get a little dark. But that’s what makes it great, in your opinion. Plus, he does look like doberman. Like he could probably kill you but would actually not?

“‘Precious babies?’”

You nod, “mhm! I grew up with them. Very sweet and love kisses. Oh! And they each had their own comfort toys.”

“Then maybe I am one because I do love kisses.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning over your face. He still smells like beer and cigarettes mixed in with the smell of his cologne.

It’s your turn to close the gap and planting your lips on his. The kiss is hotter, more intense. One could argue it’s because of the alcohol swimming in your system that makes you so bold. You’re buzzed, but not drunk. It isn’t long before his hands are in your hair, tugging. It makes you moan in his mouth, opening up to him.

He sits back, his hands in your hair pulling you with him, making you sit in his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his hips, your cunt nestled right against the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. You test the waters by rocking your hips, the friction being so sweet that you’re the one who lets out a moan.

“God, that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “Should record it and use it in our next song.”

You hum and grin, “I wouldn’t mind that. Always wanted to be in a song. Can’t sing though.”

He nips at your ear, “that’s my job baby.”

Eddie's large hand grips your hips, stopping your movements. You want to whine, you want to protest. You were so fucking close.

“We’ll save that for when we're back at my place.”

You grin and kiss along his jaw, “who says I’m going back to your place?”

“The way you were just grindin’ against my cock, angel.” He grins, “also with how you’re lookin’ at me.”

“And how am I looking at you? Hmm?”

“Like you want me to fuck you while your brain leaks out your cunt.”

You shudder at the crudeness of his words. No one has ever spoken to you like that and looked like him. The car stopping in front of the club saves you from trying to come up with an answer. One you know will either be embarrassing or non-existent.

He looks over at the paparazzi that is waiting and sighs, “are we going in together or…”

The decision you make is quick. If you’re going to do this, even for one night, you’re going to do it together and let them talk. You give him a quick kiss, “together. Give ‘em something to talk about, yeah?”

So, you do.

The second you’re out of the car, cameras flash and photographers call out a mix of your name and his and you can hardly understand what they’re saying. You don’t stop to pose, letting them only photograph you and him walking hand and hand. Give them crumbs as your manager says. Once you’re in the club, not even needing to show an ID or give a name.

From there the night happens in a blur. The band has the VIP section where bottles of expensive liquor are brought over by women dressed in a bikini. You know how much all of this costs (more than you can afford that’s for sure) but you also know that all of this is on Eddie and the bands tab. He’s told you six times.

So you drink. And you smoke. And you watch pretty white lines disappear, most of which disappear up Eddie's nose. Of course you take videos, vlogging your night and making sure to follow all the rules that were set prior to this meeting. Taking photos to remember the night. Hana is having a blast, taking shots like it’s her job and making out with Gareth in between. Of course she takes photos with you, sitting in your lap and giggling so much the photos come out blurry. But those are your favorite kinds of photos.

“Dance with me?” Eddie says in your ear over the music.

You take the shot that is in your hands, “lead the way.”

The second you’re surrounded by sweaty bodies you feel invisible. You’re sure someone has cameras on you and him but at the moment you don’t care.

Your hips move to the music, back against Eddie's chest while his hands explore your body. His lips move against your neck, sucking a dark mark into it that you know you’ll struggle to cover later. Again, you don’t care. What you do care about is the hardness that you feel against your back.

You spin around, grinning up at him. God he’s so fucking tall you have to tilt your head up a good bit to look at him.

“We should get out of here,” you say as he pulls you into him.

He smirks, “thought you weren’t coming back to my place sweetheart.”

“Seems I told a fib. Now, I need you to take me home and fuck me like you hate me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of the club. The car is there and he quickly pulls you into the back seat. Once those doors are closed, the window tint so dark you couldn’t see inside if you tried, his mouth his on yours. Your stomach flips and the neediness you feel coming off of him. He pulls you till you’re straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. Not really the safest but at this point, all you need is his lips on you.

The ride to Eddie’s consists of lots of kissing, so much so that you know your lips are swollen. You don’t get to see much of Eddie’s house, too focused on getting inside the house and into his bedroom. He drags you up the stairs, your hand is his. And once you’re in his room, he has you pressed up against his bedroom door.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Eddie pushes your jacket off your shoulders while he speaks, his words going straight to your clit. Your mind can barely comprehend that Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since they were considered an ‘underground band,’ is currently taking off your clothes.

You do the same to him, pushing his leather jacket to the ground before tugging at the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Me? You are so beautiful.”

He hums, popping the button on your jeans, “should we take a poll on who's prettier? Winner takes the loser on a date?”

That makes you laugh, “sounds like a deal. But first, you need to fuck me.”

His eyes nearly go black at that and before you can think, he’s throwing you on this bed. You land with a small oomph. You decide to take a little initiative, pulling off your boots, scooting off your pants and pulling off your top.

Eddie watches, rapt and almost possessed, his eyes scanning your partially naked body. It’s not anything more than someone would see if you posted in a bathing suit, but you can’t help but feel nervous that he isn’t going to like you.

He quickly puts those fears (fears he knows nothing about) to rest as he settles between your legs. His eyes don’t leave yours as he kisses up your thighs. You know there is a wet patch on your underwear and you know he can see it. You do feel embarrassed about it, but at the same time, Eddie is slightly rutting against the bed so he must like it. Right?

You can feel your body heat as he gets closer and closer to your center.

“Eddie, please don’t tease me.” Never have you begged a man. Typically whoever you were in bed with did the begging, much to your dislike. You were desperate for someone to take charge. Now you know why they didn’t. One bruise and they get shit from all your followers. Even if you tell them to leave these men alone.

But Eddie? He wasn’t afraid.

“But it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.”

You huff, squirming exactly like he said as he sits up to pull your underwear down your legs before setting back between them. “Need you to touch me.”

He licks a stripe up your slit, sucking on your clit as he gets to the top. The sound that falls from your lips is beautiful, sweeter than the sound you made in the car. Now Eddie really wants to put you in a song, but the jealous, primal side of him never wants someone else to be able to hear your moans.

In fact, he doesn’t want to think about any of the other men who’ve heard you make these sounds. Murder wasn't really on his list of things he enjoyed. Bar fights? Yes. Murder? No.

“You make the prettiest sounds, sweetheart. S’very hot.” He slides two fingers inside you with little resistance, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you. The stretch feels good, your hips moving on their own, riding Eddie's fingers.

You're close, the build up of this moment really getting closer than you originally thought. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby. Are you close?”

You nod, afraid if you speak you’ll say something ridiculous.

But that isn’t good enough for Eddie. “Words.”

“V-very.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because he pulls his fingers from inside you, the emptiness making you gasp, “no! No, no, no I was so close!”

He laughs as he pushes his pants and boxers off his body. “Exactly. Want you to cum with my cock inside you.”

You look down between your bodies and your eyes widen. He was big and you accidentally voice what you’re thinking, “fuck… not gonna fit.”

His laugh drags your eyes back to him, his cock moving through your slick and bumping your clit. “Baby you are so wet that I have no doubt it’ll fit.”

You don’t have time to be embarrassed about it because Eddie is pushing inside you. The size of him stretching you makes you feel like he’s going to split you in half. But you don’t care, the burn just turns you on more and more and before you know it he’s seated inside you fully.

“Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie is panting, trying to keep still so he doesn’t cum before he wants to. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. A man could become obsessed with this pussy.”

He moves right as you begin to speak, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. He feels like he’s everywhere. “W-witchcraft”

He fucks you harder, his cock hitting your cervix. You’re definitely going to have a bruise there but it's so worth it.

“Didn’t know you were into dark shit. S’my schtick.”

You wrap your legs around him, orgasm building again, “more alike than you originally thought huh?”

He wraps a tattooed hand around your throat, squeezing gently and making your head spin, “oh, angel, I knew how alike we were the second you told everyone how bad you wanted to fuck me.”

“C-can you blame me? Knew you’d fuck me just h-how I like.”

You clench around him making him hiss, “yeah you need someone who will take control huh?”

The hand around your neck slides down your body till he finds your clit, circling it.

“Oh god! Please.”

“I can get used to you prayin’ to me.” His thrusts are losing rhythm (something he’s usually very good at keeping) and you know he’s close. “Cum baby. I need it.”

And it’s all you need to fall over the cliff and into bliss. He follows you, coming inside you while you squeeze around him. You both moan each other's names and you sigh as you come down.

Eddie breaks the silence first, “that was… amazing.”

You hum in agreement as he slides out of you and curls up beside you. You take a moment before getting up and cleaning up in the bathroom. When you come back Eddie has left out an old Corroded Coffin t-shirt and some boxers. And once they’re on, you slide back into his bed, laying your head on his chest.

“We should put that poll up, huh? I’m itching to win this bet.” Eddie laughs as he says it and before you know it, you two are finding a photo the both of you like and posting it on your story with the caption, ‘which one is prettier? Honesty is the best policy.’

“And now… we wait.”

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #modern!rockerstar!eddie munson x influencer!fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

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starstruckunknown-princess · 8 months ago

Text

Peony - Steven Grant x Reader

Peony (Paeonia) - Shame, bashfulness

Summary: A slight comedy of errors forces reader and Steven to admit and act on some spicy feelings.

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Word Count: 1790

Warnings: Reader is AFAB/Female presenting/has breasts, Steven being adorably embarrassed and awkward, use of "tits", male masturbation (non-explicitly described), excessive euphemisms for masturbation, discussions of masturbation, lots of kissing, making out

Day 10 coming in with some more spice! I love the Moon Boys and thought I'd give Steven a chance to ramble his way into our hearts.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are always appreciated! ❤️

You were scrambling to clean your flat as you waited for Steven — he was coming over to watch ‘The Mummy’ which, surprisingly, he had never seen. After your shift, you’d come home with the full intention of cleaning but had fallen asleep on your couch instead, only having woken up five minutes ago when he called to ask what you liked on your pizza. Your heart fluttered at his thoughtfulness as you gathered all the dirty clothes on your bedroom floor and chucked them into the closet. You’d gotten rid of the lingering trash on your coffee table, taken care of the dishes in the sink, and spot-cleaned your bathroom.

Nothing like the panic-induced cleaning of a woman whose work-friend-turned-crush is on his way over.

Looking down at your outfit, you realized you were still in your work attire — pencil skirt and fancy-ish blouse, both now wrinkled from your nap. You stripped off your blouse and bra and were halfway off with your skirt when you heard something ‘slap’ against the floor behind you.

Without thinking, you spun around and saw Steven in the doorway, mouth agape and a pizza box at his feet. It happened so fast — you seeing him, his eyes glancing at your bare tits, back to your face, and his hasty retreat with a steady stream of ‘I’m sorrys” falling out of his mouth.

“Wait, Steven!” you shouted after him, grabbing your discarded blouse and trying to chase after him, but he was already gone. You sighed heavily against the door to your flat, tapping your forehead against it.

Part of you was horrified — Steven had just seen you half-naked and not in the sexy way — while the other part of you was excited. Steven had seen you half-naked! Perhaps now he would make a move or, barring that, let you know he liked you as much as you liked him.

But that’s not what happened. The next day you saw him at work, you waved but he grabbed the phone, fumbling it and pretending to be in the middle of a call.

When you were on your break, you headed toward the gift shop but just as you got there, you caught sight of Steven dashing around the corner with a box full of stuffed Basts.

By the time your shift was over, you’d had enough. You strode up to the gift shop counter, trapping him behind it. He had the temerity to look scared of you, so you softened your approach and spoke quietly so none of the people milling about would hear you.

“Look, Steven, you saw my tits, big whoop,” you said, “I’m not mad at you or anything, there’s no need to avoid me. We’re still friends, yeah?”

He ran a hand through his thick curls and sighed. “‘M sorry, course we’re still friends. I just…I wasn’t expecting…those when I walked in.” He gestured to your chest and you laughed.

You playfully punched him in the shoulder, “Well, I hope you learned a lesson about knocking next time. And, hey, thanks for the pizza.”

He laughed and the tension between you evaporated. It had always been like that with Steven - easy going, honest, like nothing was too complicated that you couldn’t laugh your way out of.

“You still haven’t seen The Mummy and we need to remedy that as soon as possible,” you said semi-seriously.

“Tell ya what,” he said, “Why don’t you come to mine tonight and we’ll watch it. You bring the pizza this time.”

“It’s a da- plan.” You stopped yourself before you could say ‘date.’

_____

In your excitement for the evening’s activities, you ended up being about ten minutes early to Steven’s flat. He’d texted you his front door code and said he’d leave his door open since you’d be coming with your hands full. Half-jokingly, you knocked softly on the door before letting yourself in.

Steven’s flat was unlike yours in that it was one big room divided by his overstuffed bookshelves and piles of even more books. The only room with a door was the bathroom, and that was little more than a curtain. You were surprised you didn’t immediately see him, but you heard a grunt coming from the bedroom area.

You put the pizza on the kitchen table then made your way toward the noise.

When you got closer, you saw Steven was facing away from you on the far side of his bed. He looked to be stroking something in his lap—oh.

Oh.

You didn’t manage to silence your gasp when you realized what he was doing, and he jumped up in shock, yanking his gray sweatpants up so you didn’t see anything.

“Shit!”

“Oh, God, sorry!” you said, covering your eyes. In your haste to turn away, you managed to smack your elbow into the corner of one of his bookshelves. Pain shot down your forearm because of course you’d managed to hit your funny bone. You gripped it, hissing at the pain with your eyes closed and tripping over one of the book piles and ending up splayed out on the floor.

Steven cried your name and dashed over, helping you sit up and checking you for injuries. He helped you stand up, making sure you were steady before taking a step back.

“I didn’t see anything,” you insisted, crouching down to help him pick up the books you knocked over.

“You don’t have to-”

“I knocked, I swear!”

“Please, don’t worry-”

“I’m so sorry, Steven,” you said, looking up from the small stack of books you’d balanced on your knees. His brow was furrowed, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“No, love, I’m sorry. I knew you were on your way but I couldn’t help myself. Not like it’s an ongoing issue, like compulsive or anything, but I couldn’t help but remember yesterday and, well,” he paused, gesturing toward your chest again, “and I didn’t want to greet you at the door with a raging hard-on so I thought I’d just, y’know, take care of it real quick but then you walked in and now I’m…rambling. Here, I’ll take those.”

He reached for the books you were holding and you handed them off. He set them on a different stack a few steps away and rubbed the back of his head, facing away from you again.

“Wait,” you said, brain finally catching up with what he was saying, “You…you were thinking about me? While you were…shining your statue?”

Steven let out a bark of nervous laughter, “Shining my statue?”

“Yeah, you know, shining the statue, flogging the dolphin, spanking the monkey, playing with the one-eyed snake, having a me-some.”

You both burst out laughing at that. When you calmed down, he was shaking his head in disbelief while he fiddled with the too-long sleeves of his jumper.

“So um, I brought pizza,” you said, motioning to the kitchen table, “if you still want to watch the movie. But if you’d rather I go, I totally get it.”

“No!” he blurted, one hand reaching out to catch you even though you hadn’t moved an inch. “Let’s watch the movie, yeah?”

The two of you moved in sync, gathering plates and the pizza before settling on his bed, his laptop between you as he queued up the movie. You ate in companionable silence until Evie was bargaining for Rick’s life in the prison when Steven hit the spacebar and paused it.

You turned to him to find him already looking at you. The look in his eyes was sheepish, as if he didn’t want to say something but knew he had to. Your nerves kicked in — was all of this a bigger deal than you thought? Had he been stewing on it? Your instinct was to diffuse tension with humor but, as you’d been told by more than one ex, sometimes it felt like you didn’t take things seriously as you should.

“What’s up?” you asked.

“I, uh, I didn’t answer your question.”

You tilted your head, confused. “What question?”

“About thinking about you while I, uh, wank.”

“Oh,”

“Cuz I do. Think about you. Not that I see you as just a sexual object, I think you’re absolutely brilliant but you’re also dead sexy and after what happened at yours it’s like I, I can’t get you out of my head so I thought avoiding you would make it go away but that just made my massive crush on you way worse-”

He wasn’t just rambling, he was rambling about how much he liked you — how he stroked himself to the thought of you and thought you were brilliant and hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. But the most important part was that he had a crush on you, too.

You cut him off with a kiss, having heard more than enough.

Gentle at first, allowing him plenty of room to pull away if he wanted, but he pressed his lips against yours instead. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your neck, the other sliding around your waist.

You brushed your tongue against his lower lip and he opened for you, licking into your mouth in a way that made you clench around nothing. Fuck — you had caught him fucking his fist to the thought of you half-naked. That thought plus his hand wandering under the hem of your t-shirt had you incredibly wet, almost dripping.

Eventually, you came up for air. Steven looked gorgeous, lips slightly swollen from kissing and his blissed-out expression. You wondered what he looked like as he came, a smile forming on your face as you realized you would find out if you kept going.

“Whatcha smilin’ about?” he asked, running a hand over your hair and letting it rest on your cheek. You turned your head and kissed his palm as an answer, then moved to the sensitive skin of his wrist.

“You,” you replied simply.

“C’mere,” he said, his hand on your hips pulling you over so you were straddling his lap. He sat up and kissed you again, hungrier this time, his hands roaming freely along your back, over your breasts, along your arms. His lips left yours and he kissed along your jaw, down your neck. Heat spread from every point of contact, leaving you wanting more but not without a little teasing first.

“Steven,” you whined, “what about the movie?”

“Sod the fucking movie,” he growled against your neck, one hand reaching over to slam his laptop shut and coming back to rest on your ass, pulling you against him.

“Gonna show you what I’ve wanted to do to ya since we met,” he promised, and you bit your lip to keep from beaming at him.

#writing challenge #fanfiction #moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant #steven grant smut #mcu fanfic #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight system

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writefightandflightclub · 10 months ago

Text

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter One (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running?

Genres: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings here. Please note this series is NSFW / 18+ and minors or ageless blocks interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written. Posting schedule is here.

Author’s note: (If you read the original one-shot this slightly amended chapter will already be familiar to you, so I'm sorry for the initial lack of surprises. I promise though - there are many surprises from here!) Some of you may remember that this all started as an angsty smutty one shot, way back in 2020. Let’s just say, some of you really liked that story (thank you!) and a “part 2” was requested so that I could “fix” things for these two idiots (affectionate). Well, I guess part 2 took a while, because now it’s four years later, and I have written 87,000 words (ish). Oops. So, as you might infer through the accidental novel length spew, this series means rather a lot to me. It’s the longest piece of writing I have ever seen through to completion, and so, whilst it’s definitely not perfect, I am pretty proud of it! I hope with all of my little orange heart that you enjoy it, and if you do, any RBs, comments - or anything at all really - would mean the world. These two have lived in my head for four years and I will miss them, but I'm so excited to finally share them with you all! Honestly, I could say lots more, but for now I'll leave you with one more thought, which sums up this whole experience quite frankly: the characters made me do it.

Finally, I have to thank you all, lovely pocket friends, for being so supportive and encouraging the whole way. It means so much to me! Especially, I GOTTA thank the fabulous @astroboots, who has hyped this project from literally before the beginning and been so encouraging, and @foxilayde, who is an incredible cheerleader for all my hare-brained endeavours. ILY!

Word count: 9.7k for this part (it’s broken down into 3 sections, if you prefer to read in stints!).

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to the taglist if you are 18+ (or removed!). Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

You love your squad. You really do. However, if you are being honest, it can be tough being treated as “one of the boys”. You know it’s a good thing that they don’t treat you any differently - but sometimes, you have to admit you want to be seen as a woman first and a soldier second. Especially on evenings like this when testosterone and drinks are flowing freely. Evenings when you have an ache in between your thighs that, in your case, calls out for a man. Okay - calls out for Santiago “Pope” Garcia, to be specific.

“I hope you can handle something stiff going down your throat,” you announce crudely to the group, arriving to whoops of appreciation as you slide the tray of hard liquor and beers on to the lofty bar table.

The squad is celebrating a successful bust, and the relief and revelry in the air after the months-long operation is palpable.

“Cheers to that!” Frankie winks with a dumbass grin, rubbing his palms together with glee. “You’re a saviour – Pope’s taking far too long.”

Will helpfully conveys the shots and beers around the table, glasses and bottles clinking and jovial smiles rippling through the group as a direct result. Ready for a cold one, you bring the rim of your beer to your lips for an immediate swig, condensation pooling on your fingers and making you realise how close the air is in this buzzing but dingy place.

“Bottoms-up, boys,” Tom directs as he passes you a shot, earning a good-natured side-eye from you. “And bottoms-eth up-eth, Mi’ Lady,” he adds, along with a regal hand wave to match his faux Olde English tone.

“To busts!” you ‘cheers’, clinking your glasses in the centre of the table. The innuendo earns a throaty, gruff chuckle from Frankie who bumps shoulders with you, inviting you to share in the camaraderie. You give-in with a broad smile, unable -as ever- to resist Frankie’s tittering.

“Oh, hang on,” Frankie says, flitting quickly to a now unoccupied bar stool at an adjacent table (seats are in short supply tonight) and dragging it over to you.

“This for me, Catfish? How gallant.”

He grins. He knows you hate gallant. “It’s actually for Pope and his creaky knees… but you may as well make use of it while he’s pre-occupied,” Frankie chortles. You sit gratefully, your decision to wear heels after months in your beloved combat boots feeling like a definite mistake.

Speaking of mistakes...

“You fucking seeing this?” Tom asks, nodding his head over towards your squad mate, apparently simultaneously in awe of and amused by his current interaction at the bar; the very reason the drinks had been failing to materialise.

Twisting on your perch, you follow his gaze towards Santiago, eyes boring into the back of his head and his wash of grizzled curls. Involuntarily, your eyes trail over his form, the midnight blue button-down taut over his muscled shoulders as he casually props himself against the bar, jeans snug over that impossibly shapely rump. He has the barmaid rapt, eating out of his hand, all batting eyelashes and tongue slack in her mouth. Abandoned, a tray of shots sits unnoticed in front of Santiago as he lingers in conversation with her. All you can do is watch as, next, she leans over the bar brazenly, letting her thick, dark mane cascade across her ample, showcased cleavage. You can’t see Santiago’s expression as he -respectfully, you’re sure- admires her, but you can imagine it.

Occasionally, you are on the receiving end of those expressions too.

Unfortunately, Santiago has a raw talent for making… connections. Besides off-shore bank managers and corrupt lawyers, that also inevitably extends to hook-ups. He is never short of distractions. Or, apparently, you never can hold his attention for long. When you do, though? When he does notice you, he makes you feel like you are the only woman in the world, his focus so intent and unrelenting you feel like he is viewing you through a sniper scope. Like the attention might end you.

You bristle thinking about his selective interest, the dull ache between your legs intensifying.

“Never mind that deserter. Let’s celebrate without him,” you encourage to a ripple of agreement. You toss your shot back in-time with the boys and screw-up your face, shuddering in response as the spirit burns down your throat. You stick your tongue out with a “bleuch” as the aftertaste lingers.

However, your distraction doesn’t work for long, as your comrades seem determined to continue gossiping about the object of your desire.

“How does he do it?” Tom asks in disbelief, with more than a side of jealousy. He’d always given off the vibe of envying Santiago, you’d thought. “We’re all good-looking guys, man. But that little shit’s rolling in it.”

“I don’t know what it is. He’s not even tall,” Will snickers, knowing that Santiago hates being teased about his height.

Frankie interjects. “MaybeFrankie interjects. “Maybe it’s the big dick energy.”

No comment.

You’ve certainly never had any complaints about his stature. He is large enough to feel sturdy and surrounding, and small enough that you can take control of him when the mood strikes you. Oh, and you’ve certainly never had any qualms about his big dick energy… or his big dick for that matter.

Frankie chuckles again at the good-natured teasing and bumps you with his elbow. You are grateful for his easy, infectious laughter, acting like an umbrella against the moody, Santiago-shaped storm cloud which threatens above your head.

“For real though,” Tom interjects, leaning forward over the table as if he’s sharing classified intel. “Has he been getting frisky with the informant again?” His eyes travel around the table, meeting each squad member’s gaze in turn. “I feel like he’s definitely got something going on there too. Tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Luci?” Will asks, then whistles in surprise at Tom’s accusation, his brows converging. You’re not sure if he’s surprised by Santiago’s potentially compromising choices, or impressed by his unparalleled ability to pull. “That sly dog.” Perhaps it’s a little of both.

You tense. Santiago getting involved with an informant. A beautiful informant. Sounds entirely plausible, although Santiago has neglected to tell you if it is true. Besides building connections, another skillset of Santiago’s is his uncanny aptitude for mixing business with pleasure. Realistically, he can do whatever the hell he wants with whomever he wants - it is no business of yours - but, in truth, you are tired. Tired of being the one he only picks up when he has no-one else. Tired of going unnoticed the rest of the time.

“Actually,” Frankie leans forward to drop this juicy titbit of gossip into the conversation. “Luci broke it off. Requested a new contact.” He taps the side of his nose as if to indicate that he has his sources too, trying to drum up some air of mystery. “Coincidence? I think not,” he adds, tipping his head towards the continued scene at the bar.

You stiffen then in cold realisation. That’s why. That’s why he was noticing you earlier tonight. It wasn’t that he finally saw you. It wasn’t you in this dress. It wasn’t you. Yet again, he’d simply run out of distractions.

“Huh,” Tom says, looking a little too pleased with Santiago’s misfortune, swilling the dregs of his beer around absent-mindedly. “Well. He doesn’t seem devastated. It took him all of two minutes to get back on the horse.”

“Come on. You know Santi famously doesn’t get attached,” you snipe, partially serving the sentiment up as a reminder to yourself.

Santiago does have a... reputation. Honestly, you have no problem with that. There is no shame in having casual sex, after all. So long as it is safe and consensual, what does it matter? You’ve even acted as Santi’s “wing-woman” on a number of occasions. It had never been a problem; that is… it hadn’t been a problem until he started having casual sex with you.

Santiago is loyal almost to a fault in many other areas of his life. He is abundantly loyal to you, and there is no doubt in your mind that Santiago sees you as a friend first. As a soldier second. You know he respects you deeply for your sharp-mind, your humour, your straight-talking, and your lethality in equal measure. And, you also know that Santiago desires you. Or, at least, he does when it suits him. When he is paying attention. These various roles never seem to converge, though. As a friend? You and Santiago go way back. As a soldier? You’ve been on his squad longer than anyone has, since decades before you all went freelance. As a lover, though? Well, that is new. And he can’t seem to reconcile this new role with the rest of the ways he knows you.

Yes. Sure. Sometimes, Santiago desires the soft parts of you. Sees you as something other than a friend or a soldier. But you wish he would notice all of you, all at once. He sees you in fragments, like shrapnel. You wish he would piece things together. You wish he would notice you consistently. Not only when you’ve been out in the field too long, spending days bunched into hot and confined spaces, too close for comfort. Not only when hails of bullets send him reeling, searching for any kind of foothold on feeling alive. Still, over and over, you let him. You let him dip you back, with urgency - on to a mattress or a roll-mat or simply down on to the jungle floor - to thrust himself into you.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia is the man you crave. He gives it to you good. He makes you feel like a woman. Of course, there is no one particular way to be or to feel like a woman. There are infinite ways. For you though, very specifically, it is simple. It feels like Santiago desiring the soft parts of you which lay secreted under your tactical gear and your tough façade. It feels like him kissing you, soft lips and abrasive stubble. Strong hands and that muscled body writhing in a mess of breath and flesh. In those moments, you are a soldier least of all. Free of any mission, you become unadulterated; reckless abandon. You cease to be clipped and tactical, precise and lethal, and instead you become a soft, fluid thing beneath him.

Every time you arrive back in the city though, distractions abound. Santiago apparently ceases to desire you. Notice you. You had wrongly believed that tonight felt different. Something about the cool but heady night air. The way he was looking at you in this dress during your walk to the bar to meet the rest of the group. The way his hand lingered on your back as he guided you over to the table. But it mustn’t have been so. It must have been wishful thinking, that’s all.

You’ve done an increasing amount of wishful thinking, lately, it seems.

Too much.

You sigh deeply. You don’t even realise you have zoned out from the group’s banter until Santiago arrives back with the tray of drinks -and no doubt one more phone number in his contacts- by which point, you are riled up enough to grab the shot of tequila right off the tray and down it without thinking, salt and lime be damned.

“Woah, cariño. Feeling spirited tonight? Not wanna wait for the rest of us?” His smile is broad and easy and annoying as hell and suddenly you are adrift.

“Nah, I’m done waiting, Santi,” you bite. He doesn’t catch the double-meaning in your words, because of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

Your skin flushes with instant heat as a result of his presence- definitely a recently acquired response. And so, you hastily dismiss your leather jacket, revealing a strappy, red, form-fitting dress beneath. Your appearance even earns a low whistle and murmur of approval from your buddies.

“Someone’s gonna get lucky in that cute little number,” Frankie says pointedly, even as he’s staring curiously at Santiago staring at you. Maybe he’s on to you two.

You smile, happy -as ever- to take a little flattery. Plus, you do find it hilarious to watch these guys squirm when they remember that you do, in fact, have a body concealed underneath all your tactical gear.

“Well I won’t get lucky if you chumps keep staring down every man who looks at me,” you complain, already having clocked the defensive perimeter which has formed around you, simply from the way they have positioned themselves.

The squad are protective of you, unnecessarily, and you simultaneously chide and love them for it.

“Big men protec’, chiquita,” Frankie teases, puffing out his biceps and chest like a gorilla. He says it knowing fine well you could take out any one of them if you wanted.

You hear the warm rumble of Santiago’s laugh next to you too, chiming in time with yours, his body closer than you’d realised as he dishes the remaining shots out. “Please!” he scoffs, casually slinging his arm around the back of your bar stool, the shot primed in his other hand. “You know damn well she doesn’t need protection!”

“She’s gonna need protection when she gets laid,” Will quips, causing Tom to almost snort beer out of his nose in amusement and Frankie to high-five him from across the table. You would scold him but you’re laughing too, even as you roll your eyes good-naturedly at their ‘bro’ humour.

You drop your head towards Santiago as the others continue snickering like a pack of hyenas, the alcohol clearly having gone to their heads already. That’s what they get for drinking on empty stomachs. You and Santiago’d had the foresight to hit up a first rate food truck on the route across town, like sensible people.

“Dance with me, Pope?” you ask, giving him a subtle yet seductive bat of your eyes.

“For the love of God, Pope. Leave some women for the rest of us,” Tom pleads -partially in jest, you’re sure- as Santiago curtly nods, not knowing quite what you’re up to but taking your hand anyway.

“Ok. I hear you. Let’s ditch these losers,” Santiago joshes, smiling as he gets a predictable rise out of his squad.

It isn’t so unusual for you two to dance together when you visit bars, so it doesn’t earn too much suspicion from the group (plus, you’re military - you two have been pretty damn good at hiding your hook-ups, covering your tracks). Dancing with you might undo the careful ground-work Santiago had laid with the barmaid just a moment ago, however. Even so, Santiago opts to follow you into the sweaty throng of people on the floor all the same, your fingers loosely twined with his as you lead him. You find a relatively private spot, away from the prying eyes of the squad, and come to a standstill.

You turn into Santiago at the last available moment, meaning he ends up disconcertingly close. Almost chest-to-chest with you.

“Put your hands on me,” you command, a little more throaty than intended. You sling your arms around his shoulders, fingertips brushing at the buzzed hair at the nape of his neck. Santiago hesitates, but following a search of your eyes he plants his hands firmly onto the small of your back. You instantly feel the broadness and the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your dress. Those lethal hands. The hands that have pulled triggers and grenade clips. Choked the life out of assailants. Those lethal hands that have traced gently down your back as you laid bare beside him, killing you softly.

You let his hands rove over your body, wherever he wants to put them. Apparently, he wants to put them everywhere he can, like it’s a compulsion to touch you. He trails his hands up and down your back, ghosts them over the globes of your ass, snakes them down to the lip of your dress where his fingertips brush against your bare thighs, tacky with heat. And, after wandering, his hands come to rest low-slung on your hips, exactly where he likes to grab you when he thrusts into you. He gives you a subtle squeeze there, and the feel of him floods back to you. You are reminded of the way, when you’re with him, your own lethal hands are finally occupied by something other than battle. Of the times when you relinquish any preoccupation with victory, in favour of reaching perfect surrender. The times when your heart throbbing in your throat feels like safety instead of danger.

His hands on you feel... natural. You move together symbiotically. Your bodies are always, easily in sync. On the battlefield, on the dance floor, in the bedroom. Always moving as a team. After so long side-by-side, it would be hard to exist in a manner to the contrary. It would be hard to exist without him at all.

Will be hard.

You let Santiago press against you as you sway together on the darkened dancefloor, gyrating and slinking your hips in time with the music. You feel him half-harden against you and his grip on your hips tightens, a feeble but gruff sound involuntarily escaping his lips and causing a coil to tighten in the pit of you.

You think Santiago looks into your eyes meaningfully then. With something deep and unspeakable. Though that must simply be the wishful thinking you’ve become so practised at, and so, you immediately dismiss the thought, even as you nestle your mouth closer to his ear in order to speak. As your breath fans over the corded column of his neck you could swear he engorges further. And, the ache between your legs becomes almost unbearable at the spike of his cologne in your nostrils, his familiar scent curling within you.

Santiago doesn’t smell like spice or musk or woodsmoke. Not to you. To you he smells like memories and possibilities - a heady paradox. Like your past and future. His scent inspires a quickening within you. Something under your skin is spurred into motion, tending toward collision. Yet at the same time, his scent curls in you and feels like… a stilling too. Like someone entirely arrived at a place so familiar that they forget ever having arrived at all and can’t imagine leaving.

You dismiss it. You try. You fracture the moment. You must, before you collide.

“I hear you’ve had some informant woes? I hope to God we got the intel.” You feel him tense instantly against you.

“Uh-huh. I got it.” Santiago‘s not really listening. Instead, he’s dropping his eyes to your body pressed up against his own, the heels of his hands now kneading into your hips. “You look good.” His voice is a husk in the shell of your ear as he leans into you, ensuring he can be heard over the music.

“Good for Luci, breaking it off though.” You dismiss his compliment, barely able to obscure the animosity in your tone despite all attempts to sound casual.

He snaps back from you an inch or so, enough to look you directly in the eyes. You think that maybe, he looks almost disappointed. “Jealous?” he probes, ticking-up one eyebrow.

He knows you far too well. Yet, despite his on-the-mark observation, the question makes you feel called-out and so, your next tack becomes unnecessarily cruel. Vengeful almost. “He’s getting there.”

“What?” Santiago asks in evident confusion, his hands slipping back-up to the neutral area of your back as the mood slips away too.

“The tall drink of water at 9 ‘o’ clock. Guy who’s been eyeing me all night. Doesn’t he look like he wants his hands on me instead of yours?” You know that you sound cruel, and petty, and the words feel bitter, like salt and lime in your mouth. You’ve said them all the same though. It’s already done.

Santiago’s jaw clenches, eyes flicking subtly over as he rotates you to get a better look at your target.

“He does,” he states, with a thin attempt at neutrality, his neck roped with tension as his eyes skim over the other man.

“Great. Then thanks for the dance, Wingman. You’re relieved.”

Santiago puffs out air, his jaw clenching and eyes darkening.

You tick an eyebrow up at him. “What’s wrong? You jealous, Santiago?”

Then, you saunter towards the bar, where the other man is stood. He very blatantly gives you the once over, evidently liking what he sees. You lean in with a flirty smile, letting the image of an aggrieved Santiago dissolve into the throng of people as you allow yourself to be entirely distracted.

You are done waiting.

You want to be noticed, and this handsome man in front of you is certainly providing you with his undivided attention.

***

Later, Santiago watches you prepare to leave with the other man, disgruntled and forlorn. He’s watched you all night via snatched glances through the crowd. Watched the man laugh at your jokes, watched him work up the courage to brush your arm. He watched you eventually move in for the kiss, your eyes turning hungry as you pulled away, teeth biting down on that delicious, pillowy lip of yours.

The bar having quietened down a little by now, Santiago sits in a booth opposite Tom and Frankie, Will having found his own company for the remainder of the night as well. Santiago’s head is propped on his elbow, a half-empty beer nestled in his other hand. His buddies’ eyes needle him as you toss a casual salute over to the table, your hook-up leading you out by the hand and your eyes shining gleefully.

“What?” Santiago hisses defensively, as Frankie continues to stare knowingly at him from the opposite side of the table.

Frankie’s head simply shakes in amusement. “Nothing. Only… when in the hell are you gonna figure out it’s her you really want, huh?”

“She’s just a friend,” Santiago bristles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, hunching in on himself.

“And a fuck-buddy,” Tom ventures.

Santiago looks down, taking a masking swig of his beer. “You know about that?”

“Didn’t until just now. But thanks a bunch for confirming,” Tom replies in a self-satisfied tone, earning a chuckle and a bump on the shoulder from Frankie.

“Well… fuck.” Santiago sighs, his face becoming pinched.

“I already knew,” Frankie states. “Christ. You’re loud enough, man. Hard to keep the secret that you’re nailing one of the squad when we’re camped out in, like, 3ft of jungle.”

Santiago absent-mindedly picks at the label on his bottle with his thumb. “Don’t talk about it like that, man. It’s not… Fuck.”

Frankie just looks across at him in sympathy, Santiago’s reaction revealing more than he probably cared to about the true extent of his predicament.

You’d risen through the ranks together. You’d been through a lot. Everyone on the squad knew Santiago was your ride or die and you his. You had each other’s backs. Had tended each other’s bullet wounds for Christ’s sake. Your friendship and the trust between you both -on the battlefield and off it- was deep and unshakeable.

“And you don’t want more than that?” Tom probes.

Despite being indoors, Santiago picks up his baseball cap from the seat and pulls it down over his eyes then, in an attempt to shield himself from this line of questioning.

“What ‘else’ is there? There’s not much time for romance in between a hail of bullets.”

“Maybe.” Tom tips his head, contemplatively. “But you’re not getting any younger, Pope. How many years do your Goddamn knees have left in them?” He lets that one simmer for a moment, before nodding pointedly towards the door through which you had retreated. “You could do a lot worse, you know.”

“She could do a lot better,” Frankie interjects, earning a snigger from Tom and causing Santiago to huff, expression turning surly. Frankie holds his hands up defensively then. “Look, you do you, man. I’m just saying... I’m sure you’re having a great time getting your dick wet all over the continent… but if you don’t step up soon? You might regret it.”

Santiago whips his eyes towards his buddy, gaze interrogative and piercing. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frankie shrugs, searching Santiago’s eyes with equal vigour. Santiago drops his gaze first, feeling exposed.

Frankie kicks his buddy gently under the table. “Come on, hermano. Use your words. Share your feelings.”

Frankie’s words may sound mildly taunting, as ever, but Santiago recognises the invitation to open up is genuine. He purses his lips, brows knitting together as he resists it, picking through his choice of words carefully before he allows them out of his mouth. He massages his palm over his roughened jaw and it rasps like sandpaper. “I don’t even know if she wants more.”

“Are you kidding me, man?” Tom responds in amusement. “The guy who can get information out of a freakin’ stone, make any informant sing, ‘doesn’t know’ if she wants more? That’s what’s stopping you? A fucking intel issue?”

Frankie titters again, narrowing his eyes at Santiago and trying to figure him out. “He’s scared,” the man accuses, before his tone softens involuntarily. “That it?”

Santiago takes an idle swig of his beer, polishing off the dregs before shrugging his jacket on, jaw twitching in irritation.

“Oh shit, he’s moping! He’s moping now. Can’t handle the truth,” Tom mocks.

“Come on, Santiago,” Frankie reasons. “We just want things to work out for you. You two are a good match- any chump can see that. Heh. Except maybe you.”

Santiago doesn’t respond. Instead, he simply continues his silent preparations to leave, stuffing his wallet and keys into his jean pockets.

“Plus- there are a bunch of reasons we’d like you off the market,” Tom teases. “More women for the rest of us. Golden opportunity to tease you for being so whipped.” Tom flashes a shit-eating grin up at his friend.

Nodding gently, lips twisted in a pout and refusing to rise to it, Santiago tips his head towards his squad members. “Gentlemen,” he offers by way of farewell, before starting towards the door.

“Want me to walk you home safe, chiquito?” Frankie calls.

“I’m not going home.” Santiago turns and gives the two men an affectionate middle finger before beelining toward the exit.

“You’re not going over to her right now, are you? Pope? Santiago? That’s not what we... She’s gonna be pissed, man. Think this through!” Tom shouts after him, but it’s futile. Santiago has already swept out into the night, leaving Tom and Frankie to exchange helpless glances.

There is a beat.

Then: “I bet the bastard gets laid as well,” Frankie snorts.

“Right?” Tom hums softly in agreement. “If anyone can turn up to a girl’s apartment while she’s banging another guy and still end up getting down? It’s that little shit, no word of a lie.”

There is a moment of silence as the pair sip their drinks and contemplate what Santiago has, precisely, which causes women to become so enamoured with him.

“Maybe it’s his ass?” Tom offers, finally.

Frankie clicks his fingers. “Ah. You’re probably right. That ass won’t quit.”

Meanwhile, Santiago steps out into the fresh air, the slight bite of it taking the edge off his alcohol buzz.

His thoughts are overwhelmed with you. Have been overwhelmed with you. In truth, Santiago is finding it harder and harder to keep this up. Especially whenever it is just the two of you, he finds it harder and harder to resist you.

It is typically easier in the city, where there are plenty of distractions. He is grateful for it - other people he can tangle with to take his mind off of you. In the city, it is easier to push that side of you out of his mind and to fall back into the clear-cut ways. The way it used to be before the lines had become blurred. Easier to compartmentalise his feelings for you. A friend first. A soldier second. A lover, only intermittently.

Santiago was determined not to let everything bleed into one, because once those barriers, those delineations fell, he was convinced he would never be able to rebuild them.

Most of all, he was convinced he wouldn’t want to.

The thing is... the “distractions”? They never really worked for long. You are the only woman for him, in truth. And for all it might be crazy, he is headed towards your apartment right now to find out if you feel the same way. To find out if you want more. To find out if you see him as more than a friend and a soldier and a lover, or if you see him completely, and all at once.

To find out if he is everything to you, like you are to him.

***

There is a loud rap on your door and it tears you, regretfully, from the tangle of limbs you are in. When the knock becomes more insistent, you apologise to the man blissed out beneath you and extricate yourself from his embrace, hastily cloaking yourself in a sheet and traipsing through your temporary apartment – home for the time being. Adrenalin piqued, you peer through the spyhole, relief flooding you when you see who it is.

“Santi? What the fuck?” you ask, opening the door to him and pressing the sheet to you with your remaining hand.

“Hi,” he says casually, the brim of his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

“I’m in the middle of something,” you bite, emphatically. “What in the hell do you want?” you hiss at him, keeping your volume low.

“You,” he says plainly.

Santiago looks you over; your flushed face, plumped lips and blatant post-orgasm glow. His jaw visibly clenches.

“What?!” you exclaim in confusion.

“I want you.”

You tear his blasted hat off to examine his eyes for sincerity, pushing it into his chest all bunched-up. He hastily stuffs it in his jacket pocket. Eyes narrowed, you appraise him a moment longer, clicking your tongue in disbelief at the nerve this man has before abruptly closing the door on him.

“Bye, Santi.”

“Wait!” he pleads, jamming his foot in the door and muscling through.

“What in the hell are you doing?!” you hiss again, backing-up and almost tripping over your sheet, which Santiago now has his mucky boots all over.

By this time, your hook-up for the night has heard the commotion and blustered through the dark apartment -in the nude- to ward off your supposed intruder. Your companion is bigger, sure, but he certainly shouldn’t mess with Santiago. He wouldn’t fare well at all.

You raise your hand to diffuse the situation. “It’s ok, he’s a friend. Sometimes,” you add with a tilt of your head.

Your companion’s face flashes with recognition as Santiago emerges from out of the shadows. “Oh. It’s you, from the bar. Here I was thinking we’d gotten rid of you already.”

Santiago simply glowers with bubbling aggravation at the man, who has the cheek to just stand there with his fucking schlong out, entirely undeterred. Santiago puffs his chest out, making himself larger.

“Please.” Santiago addresses you, tearing his eyes away from the man. “Can we talk?”

You sigh, unable to believe that you’re being stupid enough to agree to his demands. You turn back to the man you were enjoying being on top of until a moment ago. “Can you give us five minutes? I’m so sorry. I’ll be back.”

“Well - she might not be back,” Santiago suggests, and you glare at him, irritated.

The man looks between you and Santiago in disbelief before addressing you only. “Sure,” he says with a languid, sultry smile, ignoring Santiago entirely. “I’m willing to wait if we get to continue the fun we were having.”

“Oh he’s a cheeky fuck,” Santiago grates, his whole body tense, and you quickly grab his elbow to bundle him into the kitchen before he can do any further damage.

“You’re the cheeky fuck, Santiago.” Apparently that’s your type. You vaguely wonder why you keep subjecting yourself to this, but you certainly don’t wish to pull on that thread too hard. Not right now.

As you release his elbow, Santiago comes to face you in the narrow slip of a kitchen.

“Well? What in the hell are you doing here?” you rage whisper at him, folding your arms across yourself and tapping your foot impatiently on the tiled floor.

Santiago simply squares up to you, his expression formidable, unphased. His dark eyes trail over you again, snagging on the places where the sheet drapes over the contours of you. You are suddenly uncomfortably aware of how naked you are beneath it. “Told you. I want you.”

Normally, those words were enough. But not any longer. You scoff. “I know all about how you want me, Pope. Half-heartedly. You want me when it suits you. When you can’t have me. When there’s no-one else around for you to want.”

It is his turn to scoff now. “Casual is what you wanted. You gonna throw that back in my face now?”

You sigh, tiredly, refusing to get embroiled in this. This is all meaningless. He can twist things and make excuses all he likes, but Santiago is a man of action. If he wanted you? Really wanted you? He wouldn’t let a Goddamn technicality stand in the way.

You don’t have the energy for excuses. For this conversation. You’ve waited too long for Santiago to even realise there is anything worth talking about. So, instead of fighting back, you let it go.

“I’m done, Santi. I’m out.”

Your words feel like a relief to you, after bottling this up since you came to the decision. The relief extends through your body as you sag backward to lean up against the cold fridge door, that too relieving on your hot, sheening skin.

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Santi dismisses your assertion instantly. He tended towards tunnel vision about some things. Just because he didn’t want out, he tended to assume that was true for everyone else. He was a connector, an enabler, and these factors combined meant the squad had stayed together a long time; far longer than it ever should have, like this time. He’d pulled his “retired” buddies back in, yet again.

“I’m for real, Santi,” you say in a small voice. “It’s already done.”

A veil of shock then betrayal passes over his face as the truth of your words sinks in. He takes a step back from you, as if he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His brows knit together and he looks down at the floor. “When?”

“Three weeks.” You figure you may as well rip the band-aid off in one go.

He turns his mouth down at the corners and slowly nods his head, doing an admirable job of containing whatever it is he is feeling, for the moment, while he gathers his intelligence. Mission above emotion, as ever. Santiago looks at the world through a scope sometimes, and he often forgets about the big picture. It always surprises you how a man so perceptive and attentive to detail -when he chooses to apply it- could fail to notice something right under his nose.

“Where?”

“Home. Desk-job, by the ocean. Private firm and a nice salary too. What’s not to love?” You add the extra information in an effort to detract from the thing you least wanted to face. Home is far. Far from him.

“Fuck,” Santiago breathes, finally looking up at you. “Because of me?”

You bristle again. “You arrogant piece of....” you sigh heavily, biting your lip and reminding yourself it isn’t worth it to grow aggravated. Plus, there’s a kernel of truth in his question, after all. You gather yourself before speaking again. “I stayed so long because of you, Santi. But I’m leaving for me. I’m tired of waiting.” Maybe he’ll notice you when you’re gone, you think. Maybe he’ll want you then.

“You can’t go. Someone with your skillset will be impossible to replace at short notice. How the hell am I supposed to keep the operation afloat without you?”

You shake your head softly, smiling in disbelief, his response confirming so many of your reasons behind going. Always focussed on the mission.

“Frankie’s looking into someone, actually. He knows a guy. He’s not as good as me, of course, but-”

“-You told Frankie?!” You can hear in his voice that the revelation hurts him. He has always been your confidant. But hey, things change, even if Santiago never does.

“Yeah, well,” you say thinly, through your teeth. “There’s plenty you don’t tell me, Santi.” You look at him pointedly. “Besides, I think you’ll manage. You always seem to find someone to meet your… needs. Don’t you?”

Santiago brings one arm up beside your head, leaning against the fridge with his palm, his dark eyes turbulent and boring into yours. “You’re the one who’s got some guy in there. What do you want from me, huh?”

He crowds you, but you can’t bring yourself to push him back. Instead, you languish more readily up against the fridge door, your grip on your sheet becoming less and less sure.

“Oh! That’s your fucking grand gesture? You came here to ask me what the hell I want from you?” Your passions rise, heart thrumming in your chest. You try and tell yourself it’s entirely from anger and nothing at all to do with his proximity. That it’s certainly not because of that look he’s giving you.

Speaking of proximity, Santiago’s now close enough to smell the other man’s scent on you. He’s leaning into you, breath ragged and desire clouding his eyes, even as you still bear the signs of being ravaged by another between your legs. Or perhaps… because of it.

Even as you stand here, like this, signs of another lover temporarily strewn over your person, it’s ludicrous to think another could claim you. You belong to Santiago. It’s Santiago who is indelibly written onto your body, the map of scars telling the story and you and him. The scar on your shoulder from a bullet wound, the scar on your calf from an off-road collision, the marks all over you serve as a reminder of the times Santiago has been there for you. Pressed his lethal hands to you to keep your lifeforce from ebbing away. He is your ride or die, and your body knows it.

Equally, as he stands there fully clothed, you know that his body similarly hosts a constellation of scars from all your shared moments; in the field, on missions, over continents. One of you could not hope to be read -to be understood- without the other. Your bodies would forever move through the world as a team, as a pair, even if you left his side.

You were each the key to cartographing each other’s lives. To imagine that the hickey on your neck or the slick between your legs could begin to compare to the way Santiago had marked you as his was almost comical.

“You really need a grand gesture to know I care about you?” You know what he’s asking. Is running into a hail of bullets for you not enough? Hasn’t he proven himself to you time and time again?

“Santi. I don’t doubt you care about me. I could never. I just… I don’t feel like you know yet what you want from me. And I can’t wait anymore for you to make up your mind.” You shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel like… like sometimes you don’t even see me because I’ve always been right in front of you.”

Santiago looks at you, pained, expression weighted, as if he can’t find the words to tell the story of you. But your bodies are not stories. They are maps, and maps are to be understood through being travelled. That’s why, when his hand slips to you shoulder to slowly trace the scar there, it makes sense. It is understood without words as his fingers journey over your skin, a varied terrain of memories flashing through Santiago’s eyes. His touch retracing years in only moments.

“I see you,” he insists, his voice a husk, his calloused fingertips trailing over your smooth, delicate skin. Making you feel weak. Making you want to become a soft, fluid thing beneath him. Oh, he’s looking at you now. There’s that attention that feels like it might end you. You commune wordlessly, breath quickening, that pulse of desire tending toward collision, the stillness of having arrived home as he touches you.

“I see you,” he purrs, his hand moving to your sheet, gently tugging it away from your grasp and giving you ample opportunity to protest. But you don’t. You don’t protest. You are symbiotic with him. You move as a team, and you can’t help but want to merge. Maybe that’s why you let him tug the sheet from your grasp, fabric pooling at your feet. Maybe it’s the ache between your legs. Maybe it’s because you know he gives it to you good.

Santiago exposes you completely to him, eyes then hands hungrily trailing down over your contours. His fingers grip your hips firmly as his mouth sinks into your neck, his hot breath fanning over you as he speaks.

“I see you, baby.”

Your arms are still pinned to your sides as you pretend that somehow you can resist your urges, despite being naked and needy and oh so ready in front of him.

“Fuck you, Santiago,” you breathe, voice trembling, and you know exactly what he’s doing as his lips and his teeth snag angrily over your skin. Reclaiming you. Marking you as his. And instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer to you. Instead of recoiling you arch your body against him, breasts pushing up against him, the cold metal of his chain harsh against your skin. The sturdy mass and heat of him beneath his clothes only highlighting how exposed and vulnerable you feel, your desire entirely on display like a flare in the dark.

His mouth has already ravaged your neck, your collarbone, his stubble abrasive against you, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. His cologne is the only scent enveloping you now. Then, his hands rove over you, everywhere, like he’d wished they could in the bar, your skin still cloying, tacky with sweat. He paws at every bit of you as if to reinstate his claim on you. Your breasts, your ass, your hips, your thighs. He isn’t gentle. His hands showing their strength in a way they haven’t with you before now. He tongues your salty skin and the way his mouth punishes you is bitter like lime, foreshadowing his words.

“Did he make you come?” he asks into your neck, his hand slipping between your legs and finding you wet and welcoming. “Did he?”

“Yes,” you breathe, his voice commanding enough that you want to answer. Your face contorting as if in pain as Santiago continues to grind two girthy fingers over your folds. Your companion had made you wet, but nothing like this. All he’s doing is feeling you, coating himself, and Santiago has you drenched already; you can feel it slick against your inner thighs as you tremble under the weight of yourself, suddenly so heavy with lust that you can barely stand.

Your arms wind around his neck to steady yourself and he pins you between him and the fridge, your fingers inching up through the buzzed hair at his neck, nails trailing over his scalp and up into his grizzled curls as you finally become molten against him. Your hands fist in his hair and you tug his head up towards your lips, earning a grunt from him as pain needles across his scalp. The sound is growled into your mouth as his snarled kiss crashes against yours.

He’s frustrated, and he’s jealous, and he wants to show you that you’re his. What’s more, you want him to show you. Oh, how you want him to.

You shudder against the sudden blunt pressure of two of Santiago’s fingers at your entrance, your need urgent and a tightness building so immediately in your core. He pushes himself more firmly up against you, pinning you between his taut body and the fridge. His tongue ravages your mouth and your pleas for him to touch you become incoherent sounds that you work into him in return. His kiss is rough, his teeth scathing you, lips on yours in a crush, stubble grating at your chin and cheeks as he opens himself up as if to devour you. Then, he sucks your bottom lip in between his own and clamps his teeth down until you howl against the sting of it, bucking your body against the pain as you cry into his mouth.

With the bucking of your hips, you grind yourself against his hand, and Santiago barely needs to move as you willingly spear yourself on his fingers. He leaves you wanting though, allowing you just an inch of him when he has so much more to give. Already, the ridges of him against you are providing divine friction, his fingers curling and scissoring inside you, but he leaves you begging for more. Begging him to plunge himself all the way in.

“Did you think about me when you took him? Did you use him and wish it was me between your legs?” Santiago’s voice is like gravel in the shell of your ear, and his words curl into the depths of you. With them, he thrusts his fingers angrily into your heat, driving himself in all the way to the knuckle. Your eyes practically roll back into your head as he thrusts harshly and asks you again, even more insistent. “Did you?”

“Yes,” you admit, in a broken voice, tugging him closer to you, crushing your lips onto the column of his neck, tugging the collar of his shirt aside until you can bite down into the meat of his shoulder, stifling your moans there as his pace intensifies. His fingers are curling relentlessly towards your sweet spot and your walls are already fluttering against him. The heel of his hand is rocking against your excruciatingly sensitive clit, applying steady rolls of pressure as his fingers delve into you. His watch strap digs into your pubic bone but for some reason it only adds to the heightened sensations coursing through you.

“Do I make you feel good? Do I make you feel better with my fingers than he could with his whole body, huh?”

His words practically make you sob into him. It’s dirtier than you’ve ever heard him talk. It’s more intimate and further from friendship than anything you’ve done with him so far. Yes, you’ve fucked but this… this is something else. This is you admitting you are entirely his. This feels simultaneously more like battle and more like surrender than it ever has. And you wholly surrender.

You moan. You moan out loud despite the fact you shouldn’t. Despite the fact there’s still another man in the apartment who you had underneath you only moments ago.

“Are you gonna come on my fingers – show me who you belong to?”

You agree. You agree wholeheartedly.

Santiago pulls back just to watch you. To see the pleasure play over your face, both the overabundance of it and dearth of it as every touch satisfies yet has you craving more. You see a prideful glow in his eyes that he has you this wrecked, mewling and writhing on him as he adds a third finger into your wetness and pumps himself hard in and out of you.

“Fuck,” he intones, his voice hollowed-out. “You’re fucking drenched. Wettest I’ve ever felt.” God. You can hear how wet you are.

In dire need of some relief himself, Santiago presses his clothed, hardened length against your hip as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. Even through the substantial fabric of his jeans you can feel the thick, hard promise of him as he begins to grind himself against you, low and guttural moans escaping his sweet lips. The fact that he’s so fucking desperate for you, that you have made him hot enough to get off from only this has a knot tightening in the pit of you as you watch him start to unravel alongside you.

“Fuck, Santi,” you moan into the air, not even caring that there’s someone else in the apartment. Past caring about anything at all except your need for him to keep touching you, his fingers filling you up so well.

“That’s it, baby. Say my name, say you’re mine.”

Santiago is still grinding his clothed length against you, even as his fingers overflow with your essence. He dips his head into the crook of your neck and the growl he emits fans over your skin. Makes it sound as if he’s about to lose it too, simply from this. His spare hand dips down to collect one of your breasts and he lifts your nipple into his mouth, sucking and tonguing and biting the peak of you, squeezing you -not gently- as you topple towards your end.

He continues to grind against you, and the thought of him exploding in his pants for you tips you over the edge, his name tumbling from your lips over and over as you flutter and clench around his fingers. The feeling spreading outward through your body like an explosion, leaving you levelled, a resounding buzz reaching all the way to your extremities and whiting out your vision like a flashbang. Your fingers tangle in Santiago’s curls as you spasm against him, his fingers eking every last drop of pleasure from you - as though he knows his way around you better than anyone could.

At the feel and sound and sight of you coming undone, his hardened length grinds on you with renewed vigour, a wracked and disbelieving moan stuttering through him as he loses it without you having laid a finger on him. His body becomes stiff against you as he pulses his seed out beneath his clothes. Something about him being so lost in desire for you that he’d make a mess of himself like that has you clenching with deep, generous aftershocks, adrift with the thought of his hardened length pearling with his warm release.

Santiago’s head settles into the crook of your neck as you both come down together, even as his fingers continue to lazily pulse in and out of you - just to feel you. Your arms lovingly cradle his head, fingers tangling in his curls, your lips finding their way to his hairline to plant gentle kisses there. Your Santiago. In your arms.

You stay there a moment until your jagged breathing and thrumming heart settle, enjoying him languorously touching you. With a shiver of contentment, he withdraws from your heat, wrapping his unsullied hand around your waist to pull you closer.

For a moment, everything is in soft focus, like the break of day before an alarm. You close your eyes against his touch and breathe him in as he whispers lovingly into your neck, planting light kisses where a moment ago his puckered lips left angry bruises.

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. I adore you. I need you.”

When you don’t respond though, Santiago stills against you, lifting his head to look you dead in the eyes. He finds them tearing in the corners.

Your voice begins weakly. “You love me, Santi. But do you want a life with me? A life outside of the mission, outside of all of this?”

He brushes his thumb softly over your jawline. “I know I haven’t been all in. But I swear it to you, baby... you’re my end game. It’s just, we’re not there yet. We’re too deep in this shit. If we can get one more of Lorea’s deputies then maybe-”

“-Sure,” you say sadly, the word heavy and the intimacy of the moments prior dissipating quickly. You know fine well what “one more” means. You dip to collect your sheet from the floor and tighten it around yourself, using the motion in a vague attempt to distract both Santiago and yourself from the tears threatening more violently in your eyes now.

The footsteps you hear approaching the kitchen are a further welcome distraction, and you surreptitiously clean off Santiago’s hand on the already soiled sheet before your first companion of the evening (now fully clothed) pops his head around the doorframe.

“I’m just gonna leave,” he interjects awkwardly, and your cheeks flush in humiliation. You’re sure one day, far into the future, this may be a funny story you tell, but, right now? It feels more than a little mortifying.

“I’m so sorry. I…” You reach for a more robust apology but come up with nothing, far too aware that Santiago’s eyes continue to needle you. What are you going to do? Tell him it was fun? And so, since you opt to leave it hanging, your companion simply pumps his eyebrows once before striding smoothly out of your apartment. You jump slightly as you hear the door slamming shut behind him, evidently feeling a little on edge despite being wrung out so recently by bliss.

Your eyes linger on the doorframe a little too long, staring at nothing except the now vacated space. You’re not ready to turn your attention back to Santiago quite yet, and you’re much less ready to deal with what will follow.

It turns out, you don’t even have to look back at him, because your cowardice says it all for you. Instead, a small voice escapes him.

“You’re still gonna go, aren’t you?”

You look at him then, and you see a sadness blooming in his eyes which is so heart-breaking that you're half-glad when tears gather in your own, blurring-out the sight of him. His pain always was too much for you to look at.

Your gladness is short-lived however, as your own tears begin to spill out of you. You wipe the deluge away with the heel of your hand, but the tears are coming quicker than you can mop them up. Your chest shakes as you speak your next words.

“I love you, Santi. Believe me. I love you. But it’s always ‘just one more’.” One more woman. One more mission. One more way to break your heart. “You’re living like... like you can get to the end of the line and wish for one more fucking chance.”

“Don’t go. Please,” he pleads, moving close to you and wrapping his arms around you. His broad, warm hands at your back. “Please. I’m putting it on the line here. I want you. I love you.”

You smile thinly at him. You know he’s trying and God, you love him too. But this? For you, it’s too little, too late. For him, you guess you’re asking for too much, too soon. He’s not ready to leave this life. He’s not even ready to imagine leaving it. But, oh boy, you are. You are.

You sniffle and take a deep, steadying breath, giving it everything you have to stay firm, despite every fibre in you telling you to surrender. To just stay with him. It would be too easy to do.

“It’s a hard out, Santi.”

He senses the finality of your words and nods slowly, his eyes shining with tears, his whole face becoming taut with emotion. His silence is prolonged as he draws in ragged breaths. His hands slip away from your back and the moment slips away with them. You miss the warmth of them instantly.

“Okay,” he says in a small, curt voice. “Okay.”

He about turns, precise and efficient, swivelling towards the door and tracking along the hallway leading out of your apartment.

“Santi, wait!” you call, traipsing along after him, slowed by the material bundling at your feet. “Santiago Garcia, don’t you dare leave it like this,” you plead. “Not after everything.”

He turns his head back towards you as he swings open your front door. His eyes are cold, face set as he looks at you, his voice monotone. “I’m not the one leaving.”

An anger and a sadness erupt in you at the coldness, the cruelness of his words, and, apparently, not even the sight of the fresh batch of tears spilling down your cheeks can slow his retreat from your apartment.

Santiago “Pope” Garcia turns and swiftly walks out without looking back, leaving the door swinging violently on its hinges. The fucking nerve of this man.

You start after him; but he’s already making his way down the stairwell and you’re in no position to chase him. Your pain boiling over you yell, voice creaking under the weight of your emotion.

“I hope your fucking knees give out on the way down, you asshole.”

Your cruel, cheap words carry down the stairwell, yet an echo is all the response you get. Santiago is gone. He didn’t stop for a second.

He doesn’t know how to stop.

He’s mission over emotion. Near-death over living. He’s seemingly in this until it kills him, but you can’t be in it anymore. You have always been his ride or die, but now is the time for you to live, even if that means you can no longer be side-by-side with him.

He is the other half of you and no matter where you are to go, your bodies will move through the world as a team, one unable to be read without the other. Santiago is written all over you, and nothing can change that.

Besides, you know if he really wants to, he can always come find you. He has a map for loving you, if he would ever follow the route it was trying to take him. But he’s not there yet.

He just has one more mission to go.

And then the next.

And the next.

#santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier #oscar isaac

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shark0zu · 7 months ago

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Guitarist! Fushiguro Megumi x GN! reader

context: Megumi is part of a band named “Joint Jinx Keystone” (JJK) alongside Satoru, Suguru and Yuji. Suguru is 22, Satoru is 21, and both Megumi and Yuji are 19. It took you a while to get inside the heart of this boy, but you managed.

content: Semi-Emo and Shy Gumi (best Gumi). CUDDLES!

warning: none. an: This Band! AU is made by sketchyysummer on Instagram! (link to their Tumblr). I made Satoru, Suguru and Yuji’s already (link to it below). It's Megumi’s turn now, and after this one, I’ll work on my Sukuna one… maybe… I don't know yet though (probably not whoops). Sorry in advance if this one lacks or is TOO slow burny..

Idol! Gojo Satoru HC Drummer! Geto Suguru HC Bassist! Itadori Yuji HC w/c: 1.4k

art: Summer's Band! AU Character Design

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

Guitarist! Megumi, who wanted nothing to do with anything that related to love, relationships or trust for that matter. He didn’t see a reason to be in a relationship (outside of his band)- even more since he had the band to worry about.

Guitarist! Megumi, who meets you and immediately places you in the “friendzone” spot in his head. Not caring enough to put you anywhere else (for now). Kept to himself and didn’t bother with learning tiny details or anything under surface level about you. Guitarist! Megumi, who definitely was not expecting to see you everyday. You would visit him while he was practicing with his guitar. You would wait for him at cafes and even get to be friends with his friends (specially Yuji). Guitarist! Megumi, who now finds himself confused about his own feelings. He's never felt that way. Does he like someone? Do you like someone? Was that someone him? Is this just him trying to not feel lonely? He was confused, truly.

Guitarist! Megumi, who started to ask you to hang out with him instead of you appearing out of nowhere to see him. He definitely tries to play it off… “I need you to help me with some song ideas.” he tells you while looking away.

Guitarist! Megumi, who now is so obvious but no one says anything or brings it up. His friends wanting to know how far he can take his obliviousness. Mostly Satoru (and Yuji) bothering him about it in subtle ways.

Guitarist! Megumi, who definitely asks for advice on how to ask you out. He asked Satoru for help first and surprisingly, helps him. He does look up to Satoru a lot, so he took his advice. Satoru actually decided to help him, not making fun of him or bothering him while giving him advice (like a good father figure).

Guitarist! Megumi, who is grateful for Satoru, he always will be. He did help Megumi get better and find a good life playing in the band alongside him and the others. He does not show it but he is very grateful for the white-hair man’s help since they met.

Guitarist! Megumi, who gathers the courage to ask you out… it went… alright. It went great but he didn’t think so. He asked you to meet him in front of his apartment. You went- of course. He was pretty nervous, almost embarrassed. He saw you and smiled. He smiled. You almost stopped in your tracks from the shock of seeing his smile. Guitarist! Megumi, who finally speaks, “Hey, so…I’ve been confused with my feelings-” he was struggling to say the least. He sighs, “Alright. Do you want to go on a date with me?” Finally, he said it. This time, you smiled ear to ear. You were waiting so long for him to ask you out. He finally did it. You never asked him because you were not sure if he liked you back.

Guitarist! Megumi, who for you guys' first date, takes you to a restaurant close to the beach. Light breeze makes you shiver under the moonlight. After a few seconds you feel a leather jacket on your shoulders. You look back and see Megumi looking at you and his hands over your shoulders. The view was beautiful. You sit down to have dinner, chat and overall enjoy the time you were passing with him.

Guitarist! Megumi, who paid for dinner, refused to let you pay even half. He took you by the hand and left the restaurant. You both walked by the beach aimlessly until you found a little table with two chairs that was ‘conveniently’ just… there? He definitely planned this. You didn't bring it up, not wanting to embarrass him. Guitarist! Megumi, who was definitely smiling like a little boy when he saw you sitting on the chair staring at the horizon. He felt lost in your view. His mind went blank. When you felt his gaze on you, you turned your head and smiled at him. Safe to say he melted right there and then. Guitarist! Megumi, who couldn't be more happy to be there with you at that moment. After almost an hour of talking about various topics. He asks, “Do you… want to be my partner?” With that you were lost in his blue eyes. Trying to find the words took you a while but you were able to speak. “Of course, I would love to be your partner Gumi!” Uh-oh… nicknames already? Red. This man is so happy it hurts his face from smiling way more than he ever has. Guitarist! Megumi, who the next day saw his bandmates, was smiling like a little kid. Yuji was… scared. He has never seen Megumi so happy in his entire life. Nonetheless he asked Megumi what made him all happy. “I asked someone out yesterday…” he pauses to create some type of suspense. “And????” Yuji asks, almost desperate. “...and they said yes.” he said happily.

Guitarist! Megumi, who saw Yuji’s face turn from suspense to utter astonishment. By the looks of it, Satoru and Suguru also overheard the conversation and the three men congratulated Megumi for his new relationship. They decided to commemorate this moment with dinner, which (of course) you were invited to. Guitarist! Megumi, who introduces you proudly as ‘his partner’. You smile and wave a ‘hello’ to his band mates. All three, Yuji, Suguru and Satoru were shocked Megumi was not lying (my poor boy, they never thought he would bag someone lol). They waved ‘hello’ back and welcomed you. Yuji hugged you, you hugged him back of course. Megumi didn't look so pleased but it was Yuji so he let it be.

Guitarist! Megumi, who after the dinner took you home, making sure you were safe. “Can I stay with you tonight…?” he softly asked. “Yeah, come in!” you said letting him in. You both took off your shoes at the door, hanging jackets on the hooks. “You wanna do something specific or…?” you asked, getting his attention. “You wanna watch a movie?” he said the first thing that came to mind. “Alright, what genre?” you said sitting on the couch in front of the TV and signaling him to sit beside you.

Guitarist! Megumi, who was definitely paying attention to the movie (he was, just not 100% of his attention). He sheepishly placed his arm over the headrest of the couch. You sat closer to him and placed your head on his chest while watching the movie. The movie was still going but you could feel his gaze on you, “Gumi?”, you catch him off guard. “Huh? Oh- sorry… was I staring too much?” he asks awkwardly. “No… just wanted to know if you were tired, cus I am.” a yawn escapes your mouth as soon as you finish that sentence.

Guitarist! Megumi, who nods and gets up from the couch, waiting for you to lead him to your room. You both arrive and you lend him some clothes that did not fit you anymore but thankfully fit him well. He changed in the bathroom, coming out when he was done to you already in bed under the covers. He slips under the covers, he does not know what to do. Still body, sleeping like a plank. You sigh and giggle, bringing him to your chest. Hugging him and snuggling closer.

Guitarist! Megumi, who freezes at the sudden contact but does not pull away, instead he wraps his arms around you and closes the distance even more. His head resting on your neck, light breathes tickling your soft skin. You can feel him smiling against you, which makes you smile in return. He starts some random conversation, so he could hear your voice. He ultimately ended up falling asleep to it.

Guitarist! Megumi, who after a whole year of being your partner, he still treats you the same (nothing was going to change). He takes you out on strolls, calls you to help him with his guitar, you guys go on dates- he loves you so much and you love him as much back. He wants to spend as much time as possible with you, and takes you everywhere. He does not show you off to people though, he likes his private life well- private.

Guitarist! Megumi, who definitely misses you when he goes out on tour. He will show he misses you by sending you voice messages, he is not really the type to call, he prefers to see your face in real life, not on a screen. Which you appreciate, even though you ask him to at least facetime once every blue moon.

Masterlist

#jujutsu kaisen #5sos #hc #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #anime #itadori x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #fushiguro

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cinematicgf · 2 years ago

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After Hours- 18+ dbf!joel

Summary: coming home from college and staying with your dad means that you get to see his attractive best friend, Joel, all the time, from nights in to neighborhood parties. but as the two of you start to see each other regularly when you’re home for college breaks, feelings start to get involved, all leading to one night in a hotel room.

Pairing: (pre-outbreak) dbf!joel miller x afab!reader

Warnings and notes: 18+, smutty smut, minors DNI, dad’s best friend Joel, age gap, fingering, pet names, phone sex, dirty talk, teasing, swearing, reader in uni, drinking, no use of y/n, a little hint of fluff and lots of smut

~ 3.9k

A/N: hey again<3 this was suppose to be a drabble but i got carried away whoops. I hope you guys enjoy this work of dbf!joel smut and as always, your feedback is always welcome so please like, comment and reblog!

ps. I wrote this over a bottle of wine before going to friends place to drink another bottle of wine so apologies if there’s any mistakes. enjoy<3

Oh, baby, where are you now when I need you most?

I'd give it all just to hold you close

The morning sunlight seeps through a crack in the curtain, illuminating the hotel room in a soft glow. Your eyes crack open at the breech of your slumber, as you take in the unfamiliar setting. Usually, in a situation of waking up to unknown territory your heart would skip to your throat and panic would set in, if it weren’t for the warm body and heavy breathing encased close behind you. One large, muscular arm keeping you in place draped over your waist and an all too familiar hint of yesterdays cologne and musk relaxes you into a blissed-out morning attitude. Behind you, of course, is Joel. Joel of contractor and fourth of July barbecue fame in your neighborhood. The man who you had been crushing on since you were a teenager, and now, with your transition into university and spending time apart from your hometown and the residents, coming back meant that you have changed.

You left a naive teenager with a passion for history and came back as a young adult, ready and willing for what life through at you. And no one had noticed this change more than Joel. Taking extra-long glances at you as your back was turned whilst you were studying in the living room, taking peaks at your ass as you bent over to grab yourself a beer from the fridge, oh so kindly provided by your father, and oh god almighty, who could forget the pet names, anything from ‘honey’ to ‘pretty girl’ which, admittedly, use to just be a friendly affirmation of care from the older man, but now sent an electric shock of arousal straight to your core.

There was one slight problem to both of your developing feelings was the Joel was your father’s best friend. Although you and your father were somewhat close, after your mother had decided to bail and your new slutty stepmother had been brought into the mix of your home life, your not-so-subtle feelings of despise toward the woman were apparent. Of course, you wanted your dad to be happy but CMON... did it have to be with Slutty Steph who flirted with quite literally every man who came within a 3-mile radius of the woman?

In your trips back from university to home over the past six months, your “friendship” with Joel had grown into the two of you flirting back and forth with hearty banter which always led to a filthy comment from either of you- (“What would my father think if I told him, you were just checking out my tits, old man” you shot at him with a smirk. “I would simply tell him his darling little girl was wearing these low-cut shirts only when she knew his best friend was coming over”, he retorted, his breath hot in you ear as he brought his hand up to grip your bare waist under your crop top.). Eventually the flirting turned to a sloppy make out sesh one night when your father had gone to bed early and left the two of you with a bottle and a half left of wine. After that night, every time you would come home from university, the two of you would secretly meet up, either to make out and explore each other’s bodies in the back of his truck, or to dip out of a neighborhood get together so he could have your up against a door, blocking anyone’s unwelcomed entry, as he held you with one huge hand under your thighs and another laced your waist, as he whispered the most filthy string of words known to mankind in your ear as you moaned softly as his cock twitched inside you and he fucked up into you at a brutal pace . Eventually, the hand on your waist would have to be brought up to your mouth to cover your moaning as he pushed deeper and deeper into you, the top of his large cock hitting your g-spot at just the right angle, this, accompanied by the leud sounds of slapping thighs and wet noises throwing you over the edge, with his hand still pressed to your mouth as you came, hard, party makeup and mascara running down your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut and shook in his arms as he fucked you through your high. It wouldn’t take long for his thrusting to get sloppy after you clench around him tight and he would cum deep inside you, holding you still as he stayed in your pussy, muttering praises of, “that’s my sweet girl, god almighty you did so well baby, squeezing me tight like that. Such a good girl for me, always”. This within itself almost made you come again, but soon enough, after he had gone limp and after a few more slow thrusts, the two of your would have to clean yourselves up and go back out to the familiar faces of your neighbors, pretending a man twice your ages and twice your size in height and muscle hadn’t just fucked you so hard against a bedroom door that your knees were now jello and the shirt you had changed into had a higher neckline to avoid suspicious glares at the many bitemarks and hickeys decorating your neck.

Joel, being the most eligible bachelor in the town, or so your high school friends commented one night when you were out smoking in her car on a university break, always had looks from women, mostly his own age, who were so eager to settle down with the respectable, stable (and ever so filthy) man. Sometimes you thought these little neighborhood parties your dad (and Joel too) would insist you come to were just ways that he could find someone and settle down finally. I guess everyone hoped so, or they hoped that they would be the one he would choose. I mean, with his structured face and messy brown curls, his patchy yet groomed beard, muscular arms, giant hands and not to mention the ever-present bulge in his jeans, all the grown woman in the neighborhood would swoon when he entered. He entertained their boring conversations about work and sometimes ever their husbands, but hell, you would never admit to the jealousy it made you feel. Sometimes, after one too many and a boiling of envy in your veins, you would retreat into the house of whichever neighbor had the honors of hosting and lay on the couch so as not to see the women drooling over the guy you were fucking on a regular basis. The one who was so handsome when he got down on his knees between your legs after racing to your fathers house, knowing he was at work. He would kiss and thrust his fingers into your tight hole until you came around them, back arching and moaning so loud you were surprised you didn’t get a noise complaint. The one who, afterwards, would tangle his hands in your hair as he pulled you onto his lap, feeling his achingly hard cock swell against you as your lips collided, sloppy and lovingly, tasting yourself on his tongue. The one who would whisper how sweet you tasted and who always praised you with a “good girl” after taking his cock so deep it would leave you aching for days.

When you were in the house, having the much needed lie down after your subtle (or so you thought) jealous outbreak, it wasn’t long before guess who wanders through the sliding door into the living room, which you’ve occupied. “Sweetheart…”, he drawls in a knowing tone, “Let’s get you to bed”. His voice is low as he leans against the door, one hand placed on his hip while the other rests on his thigh right next to where his jeans look awfully tight. Your jealousy is quickly forgotten in your drunken state, as you feel yourself get slightly wet from his muscular stance and understanding smirk. He noticed your absence and came looking; that’s gotta be something... right? “Why don’t you join me”, you coo, narrowing your eyes and moving your arm slightly to lean on your side, thus emphasizing your breasts in your lowcut shirt. He grins to himself, rubbing his bead as he adjusts his jeans around his crotch. “C’mon, then, bedtime for you”. He steps over. “Weeeeeeeee”, you exclaim as he picks you up bridal style, giggling the whole time. “Are you taking me for round two?”, you giggle, throwing your arms around his neck and looking at him doe eyed. “You”, he gives you a kiss on the forehead once you are both halfway up the stair, “need to sleep it over, sugar”. He puts you down in a room and gently kisses your forehead again, “G’night pretty girl”, he whispers. You smile up at him, drunk and looking with such fascination at the attractive older man. “You’re the pretty one”, you whisper, before he chokes back a laugh and kisses you softly on the lips. “Get some sleep, sweetheart, I’ll check on you tomorrow”.

At first it had just seemed like simple fun. Two grown adults fucking around with each other when you came home from university every few weeks for a break. Despite being your dad’s best friend, Joel spent an ungodly amount of time with you, either when you were staying, and you two fucked in private, or when you were back at university, and you would receive those oh so delicious late night calls of him stroking himself, telling you he had been thinking about you and asking when you were coming home so he could taste how sweet you were again. You were glad your roommate had left earlier in the year, leaving the dorm to yourself, because your moans mixed with Joel’s filthy words of pleasure and praise as you rubbed your clit and eased two fingers inside of you while his hand gripped his cock had you both climaxing at the thought of each other and, to be frank, neither of you were very quiet about it. God, your fingers did nothing compared to having his cock inside you; hell, even his fingers.

“I miss you, doll, when are you back.”

“Joel… I was there last week”, you giggled, breathlessly after you came down from your hig.

“I know, I just miss you is all”, he smiled, rubbing his beard, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot actually, I just wanna make sure that uni is taking care of my sweet girl”.

After a few hours and a knowing of morning sleep deprivation because of the call carrying into the early hour of the dawn, you both hung up. You felt different, you couldn’t stop smiling at the thought of them. That is when you knew that, maybe, you had fucked up a little. It wasn’t just a casual meet and fuck when you were in town anymore. You were both thinking about each other when you were alone and when together, the sparks would fly. But… you couldn’t be in love with your father’s best friend. It was out of the question. Shit… what if he found out? What the hell would he do? You started to overthink and the more you did, you were drawn back to his words, “I miss you” “MY sweet girl”. You decided that you needed to talk to him, fuck it. He would know what to do, and there were only really two options of what could happen. You could tell him your feelings and he could laugh at you and shut it down, maybe even coming to the realization that you were indeed his best friend’s daughter and perhaps this was a bad idea; (despite how fucking incredible you looked when you were straddling him, leaned back a little to take him deeper as you bounced on his cock, riding him so good. He would often come back to that image late at night when he gripped himself and jerked at a rapid pace, pretending he was inside your tight hole). The other option was too exciting to even think about, but you knew it wasn’t exactly ideal… or that he would feel the same. “Sure, he misses you. He misses fucking you, is all”, you speculate to yourself. He is a grown ass man, he has been fucking women since before you were born, what makes you think he is going to want you? A third-year uni student who, may I reiterate, has been his father’s best friend for the better part of roughly seven years. You sigh to yourself as you sit in bed, your textbooks discarded to the side as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry at the inevitable fate of your quick fling with Joel. You decided, fuck it, and sent Joel a text that you needed to talk to him.

And this all had led you here, lying in a hotel room in your university town with your dad’s best friend wedged behind you, naked and fast asleep. Despite your groggy state you think back to yesterday’s events. You had texted him in the morning, throwing your phone aside because of nerves but after the familiar ding a few minutes later, you took a peak and, low and behold, a message from Joel saying he would be there soon. Your nervy state only jumped at this, your uni town was two hours from home, and he was wiling to come today to talk. “Calm down” you told yourself, “It’s not going to go like that”. You laid back down, trying to ease your anxiety, before hopping in the shower to wash off all the unwanted nervousness and brace yourself for tonight. Late notice aside, he had been out front of your dorm by midafternoon, leaning against his truck, sunglasses and a t shirt stretching over the expanse of his chest, tight jeans (thank god for your sunglasses because lord forgive, your eyes immediate go there) and his arms folded. He grins upon seeing you, “There she is”, he chuckled pushing himself up from his truck and untucking his arms to greet you with a strong, warm hug. His cologne fills your senses, making you feel at home again, in his arms. He places a kiss to your forehead, opening the truck door for you as you both speed off away from the uni and through town.

Despite the nerves still kicking in your system, you start to make conversation.

“So, why come all the way down here”, you start, looking at his side profile from the passenger seat and god, if he doesn’t look beautiful. His strong nose and trimmed beard making up the artwork that is his face.

“Because you wanted to see me, sugar”, he replies, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Yeah, about that, how long are you staying, because this may take a little bit”. You stare down at your hands, fidgeting slightly in your seat.

“I got a hotel room in town, we can talk all night, doll” he chuckles, glancing at you quickly with a grin before returning his gaze to the road.

God, you wish you didn’t have this weight on your shoulder, you wish you could just get this over with and be tucked up in bed to cry yourself to sleep once his definite answer, that being, of course, that you two should end it, is said and finalized.

Once the two of you arrive at this hotel room it is early evening. The sun is caressing the outskirts of the horizon, flaming the coast, as your heart is rapidly thrumming in your chest. Joel kicks off his shoes and drops heavily on the couch provided by the room and you sit rigid on the arm, not daring to meet his gaze and not being able to utter a word as the nerves, not most insistent, claw at your throat. Joel notices and pushing himself into a sitting position, his thighs push apart of his hand falling between his legs as he watches you, waiting, his brow slightly furrowed as if he knows what is about to happen. Only then do you decide to meet his gaze. Fuck it, lets just get it over with.

“I want to, um, I wanted to talk about us”, you start, meeting his gaze briefly before your eyes return to your palm as your other hand rubs it. “And about what you said on the phone the other night”.

Joel is still looking at you, his brow has furrowed out of slight confusion, or what was that concern… maybe?

“I have found”, you begin again, slowly, not daring to look at him, focusing on a spot on the floor where the carpet meets the linoleum of the kitchen. Perhaps if you just get it all off your chest first without waiting for a response, you’ll feel better. “That I enjoy your company. I mean. Besides the sneaking away and fucking and video calls”, you say slowly. “I enjoy spending time with you at the parties and I find myself getting excited when I get a response from you over text, it’s just… maybe I’m delusional Joel but, I think I’m starting to have feelings. And trust me, I know that wasn’t the deal going into all this, and I know that I’m just a fuck to you and it’s thrilling, having that danger to a relationship, such as sleeping with your best friend’s daughter, but I can’t help it”, you voice is wavering and slightly speeding up to get this all over with quicker. You can feel the sting of tears behind your eyes, but you continue, nevertheless. “So please, just tell me that you don’t want anything now and it can be over with. We can go to those shitty neighborhood parties and talk to each other as if nothing happened but please, Joel, if you don’t want this, tell me now.” A hint of a tear drips down your cheek as you finish your dramatic speech. Your heart is trying to break out of your chest and your hands shake slightly at his awaited response. You still don’t meet his gaze. He is still sitting in the same position, frowning slightly as he takes in your words, before he lets out a heavy sigh. A small tense silence engulfs the room.

“I feel the same”, he says, just barely a whisper. Your head whips around to finally meet his gaze. You look down at him from where you are perched on the side of the couch. “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t realize sooner”, he continues, “especially after the call, and what I said to you. When you are gone, I really do miss you, doll, not just the sex, but… you”. He meets you gaze with a tired smile, and you can’t believe your ears. Your towns hottest, most eligible bachelor; the only guy who has made your heart jump like this and, for the record, the only guy who has actually made you come, has reciprocated feelings for you.

You smile lightly at him, “Really?” you choke out through unwanted tears which started at nerve crying turned into happy sobs. He chuckles, reaching his long arm to intertwine your finger with his, “C’mere babygirl”. You push yourself off the arm of the couch and slide into his lap. One hand laces around your waist while the other is on your thigh, holding you steady. His lips meet yours in a closed-mouth kiss. His hand on your waist travels up to tangle in your hair as he inhales a moan from you, using the opportunity to weave his tongue into your mouth, intertwining yours and his in a heated kiss as you grind down on his hardening cock. He pulls away to gaze at your blissed out face, lips swollen and plump, you smile at him through your daze of joy and love for the man in front of you. “My pretty girl”, he says, caressing the back of your hair, bring his hand around to cup your face and running his thumb over your kiss-drunk lips. You kiss the pad of his thumb. “You’re mine, sweetheart, my gorgeous girl”. He uses his thumb to ease open your mouth before reconnecting your lips in a tongue and teeth clashing kiss. “I don’t care if your father finds out”, he says between hot kisses and your uncontrollable light moans, “you’re my girl and that is all that matters to me”. You feel the arousal warming your panties at his words, as he slips his hand from your thigh up your skirt. Feeling how wet you are makes him grin against your lips, “all for me?”, he whispers more so to himself. “All for you”, you confirm, gasping as he slips a finger through your wet folds. Collecting your arousal, he coats his fingers and slips them inside you. Gasping, you grab onto his shoulders for support, as he reconnects your lips with his. You bring your hand up to caress his face, as he pulls your body closer with the hand that’s not inside you. He swallows your moans as you ride his fingers. “Good girl, you’re doing so well for me baby. You’re taking my fingers so well”, he praises, pressing his forehead to yours as you both watch his fingers moving in and out. You feel the coil in your stomach tighten quickly, and you squeeze his fingers. Joel speeds up slightly, your mouth falling open as a string of moans and gasps escape you. “Joel, I’m—I’m gonna “. “That’s its baby, come for me”, Joel whispers, sending you over the edge as your head falls to his shoulders; your teeth meeting the skin there. Your pussy clamps down on his fingers as he continues to move his fingers in and out slowly, riding out your high. When the stimulation gets too much, you bring your hand down to his, moving it out from inside you. You kiss him, ardently, as he brings both muscular arms to engulf you. When you both pull away for air, you notice your bitemark on his should. “Oh shit”, you run your hand over it, “I’m so sorry baby, heat of the moment I guess”, you breathe. He follows your gaze and chuckles, “Sweetheart, I didn’t even feel it”, he assures you, a cheeky, horny look decorating his features, “Besides, I’m sure that’s not going to be the first time tonight”, he chuckles. You roll your eyes, playfully slapping his shoulder as he hoists you up, your legs wrapping around his waist, as he carries you to the hotel bed, lips nudging that sweet spot behind your ear.

The day, which had started out as unwanted nerves and hopelessness, as you mourned the inevitable death of your relationship with your dad’s best friend Joel, had ended so much better than you had expected. And as you feel asleep with your head on his chest, listening to his shallow breathing as one large hand was tucked around your waist, rubbing circles on your bare skin, you couldn’t help but smile. He was yours. Now and always.

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fic #ellie williams #joel miller fic #joel miller x afab!reader #∘* ✧･ﾟ ➳ audie writes

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charincharge · 8 months ago

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I Don't Want To Wait, sixty-seven

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

AN: WHOOPS, I disappeared for two years. (Legit the last chapter was posted in May 2022!). But I’m back and have written… a lot of the rest of this fic, so we’re just going to post weekly (or even twice weekly!) until we’re finished. And I hope you’re still out there, anyone, to enjoy it. Quick recap for a previously on IDWTW. Aelin and Rowan had sex! It was great. Then they walked in on Rhoe and her dance teacher Petrah having sex, which was NOT great. Aelin never wants to go back to dance again. We returned to school. Senior second semester is going great. Busy for Aelin, who is still trying to work her butt off re: APs and grades. Less busy for Rowan, who is already recruited to college for lacrosse. Aelin and Lys had a huge falling out, but have slowly rekindled their friendship now that Lys is sober and working on her shit. Elide and Manon came out! They’re running as homecoming queens! Dorian and Chaol haven’t DTRed and are taking a break. Last we left off, Aelin texted someone to help retrieve her lacrosse hoodie from the dance studio after hours. But who? Keep reading to find out. Also, I have been gone for so long that I have NO idea who is still in the fandom or reading Rowaelin fic. Please reblog to spread the word! Taglist doesn't seem to possible anymore, so please share! Love you all and missed you all. Comment, message, meme, gif, whatever. Let’s go, team.

Aelin watched with wide eyes as Lys lowered into a crouch and removed a bobby pin from her hair. When she’d texted her friend to help with her mission, she hadn’t realized that Lysandra was a bona-fide expert at breaking and entering.

“It got boring in rehab,” Lys said with a small shrug, as if that explained her masterful lock-picking.

“Good to know,” Aelin said, chewing her thumb nervous and glancing over her shoulder at Rowan, who waited patiently in the jeep — aka, their getaway car. She didn’t think they’d actually need one, but this whole thing was such a thing, she figured it was probably safest to have a getaway car. What if the cops were called about the break-in, and they had to run?

Aelin almost chuckled at the thought of Orynth’s elderly Police Chief trying to run after them, but it hadn’t stopped her from telling Lys to dress all in black and meet them at the dance studio at eight. Luckily, Rhoe was at the station overnight, so he couldn’t see their ridiculous antics. But, after all, this mission was serious. She tried to refocus on Lys, who was finagling with a pin in the lock, taking her sweet time. A rush of panic ran through Aelin. What if they got caught? What if this got put on her permanent record? What if they got arrested?

BZZZZ. Aelin’s phone vibrated in her hand, making her jump with surprise.

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, causing Lys to chuckle under her breath.

“Tell your buzzard not to worry, we’re almost there,” she said, twisting the pin again in a different direction. Aelin sighed at the reassurance. She knew that Rowan had to be feeling her nerves as well. Although maybe not quite as much. She wasn’t usually concerned about being a rule follower, but every step of the way had made her feel more and more stressed out. Which might have to do more with her overbearing boyfriend watching their every move than anything else. Couldn’t he just sit there and look cute and not worry? She looked at his text and shook her head. She should have known it’d be impossible. He was the biggest worry wart of them all.

Are you sure no one’s in the studio? It looks like the lights are on upstairs. Rowan texted from the front seat, his view of the studio probably better than theirs. But Aelin had spent too many years of her life at this studio. Despite her churning stomach, she knew they were fine.

Last class ended an hour ago. They always leave the lights on for the cleaning staff, but they get Fridays off, so they’re on until Saturday morning. It was part of my class schedule to turn the lights off. We’re good.

She looked over her shoulder after sending the text, and watched as Rowan threw a thumbs up in her direction. She couldn’t help but laugh at how silly he looked in his oversized black hoodie with the hood up. Despite completely disapproving of her decision, he showed up ready for the assignment at hand.

“Tadaaa,” Lys sang out quietly as the lock clicked open, the door popping ajar.

“Honestly, when I asked you to help me break into the dance studio, I figured we’d be throwing a rock into a window or something,” Aelin whispered, even though there was absolutely no reason to whisper at all. Aelin had timed it purposefully, so she wouldn’t have to run into … anyone. Okay, she really didn’t want to have to talk to Petrah. She’d avoided the studio (and Petrah) for so many weeks following the revelation that she’d been involved with her dad, and she had no intention of breaking that now. So, they’d had no choice but to break into the studio under the cover of darkness.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Lys said. “The door upstairs has a lock, too, right?”

Aelin nodded. Annoyingly, there were three doors they had to break open — the building door, the door to the second floor, and then the dance studio entrance. Thank god Aelin had her locker key, so that wasn’t a worry.

“So, why are we doing this again?” Lys asked as they trudged up the long stairwell to the second floor. She tried not to flinch as the rubber-covered stairs squeaked beneath her shoes. “Not that I’m not happy to help,” she continued. “I just thought that you started dancing again and loved it?”

“Ugh,” Aelin groaned. “I did.” Aelin paused for a beat too long, causing Lys to flip her dark curls over her shoulder to get a better look at Aelin.

“But?”

“It’s…complicated,” Aelin sighed as Lys crouched down in front of the second floor door.

“Well, this is going to take a minute,” Lys laughed. “Tell me.” Aelin was going to refute again when Lys’s voice changed, softer. “Unless you don’t want to…”

Aelin nearly smacked herself. She’d thought this would be a ridiculous, fun (and pretty low-stakes) way to hang out with Lys again, and here she was totally ruining it by keeping things to herself again.

“No, it’s not like that,” Aelin reassured her as she continued to work on the lock. “It’s just… horrifying.”

“Well now you can’t not tell me,” Lys snickered, but Aelin recognized the slight trepidation in her friend’s green eyes. Still nervous to push things. Aelin bit the bullet and let it out in a whoosh.

“Oh my GOD.” Lys’s nose crinkled, and she fell to her knees completely as her shoulders shook with laughter as Aelin told her story. “I mean, we all knew Rhoe fucked,” Lys cackled, causing Aelin to smack her friend’s knee.

“EW! That is my dad,” she said, fake heaving.

“He’s a hot, hot firefighter daddy, though,” Lys said, her eyebrows wiggling.

“I swear to god I will vomit straight on you.”

Aelin tried to be serious, but Lysandra’s smile pushed them both over the edge into a fit of giggles. They laughed and laughed, releasing the tension that had been hovering around them like a thick blanket all night, officially removing all traces of formality. Unable to help herself, Aelin reached out for her friend’s hand, squeezing her fingers gently and was relieved as Lys squeezed back. They weren’t healed, per se, but they were healing, and that was the most that Aelin could really ask for right now.

Taking a breath and wiping the remnant tracks of tears from her cheeks, Lys pushed herself back up to her knees. “Second lock?”

“Speaking of my family…” Aelin started nervously, but forged on, curious. “How’s Aedion doing?”

To her credit, Lys didn’t even lose pace as she unlocked the next door with ease.

“I know you want me to reply with something equally scandalous, but there’s nothing going on between me and Aedion,” Lys replied succinctly. “We’re friends.”

“Okay,” Aelin said, not completely convinced, but chose to respect her boundaries and believe her words.

The pair fell into an awkward silence as they headed down the hall toward the studio door. Just one last lock to get through — and then she’d never have to return to this place. A part of her heart panged at that thought, that she’d be leaving Orynth and this studio behind and not really getting to say goodbye to it. But running into Petrah was NOT an option.

“Hey, isn’t this the studio?” Lys asked of a propped open door, a gentle music wafting from inside. Aelin’s stomach sank. Had someone stayed late tonight practicing? It was a plus that they wouldn’t have to break into yet another door, but she really didn’t want to risk running into anyone. “I thought you said it was closed.”

At the same time, the pair noticed the schedule on the door, showing the company’s new rehearsal schedule. Their rehearsals now went until nine on Friday night, meaning that Aelin had shown up in the middle of a packed studio, instead of an empty one. And one where Petrah would surely be. She contemplated turning right around, but Lys had already opened the door too far, leading them into the studio lobby where the company was on break, milling around and refilling their water bottles.

And at the front desk, Petrah’s eyes widened with surprise upon seeing her. “Aelin!”

She should have guessed breaking in had been too easy. Had the doors even been locked? She knew Lysandra had gotten through them too quickly! Grumbling, she stepped out of the shadow and into the lobby toward Petrah. She couldn’t run away anymore, so she had no choice but to say hello to the woman who she’d been studiously avoiding for weeks. And by the look on Petrah’s face, she knew it, too.

“I’ll go grab your jersey,” Lys whispered, leaving her to fend for herself. “See you downstairs!”

“Traitor,” Aelin mumbled under her breath as Lysandra all but ran into the locker room, excusing herself from the awkward conversation that surely lay ahead. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck, watching Petrah approach nervously.

“Aelin,” she said again, taking a deep breath. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you….” But Aelin cut her off.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” she said, ready to slap her hands over her ears, lest Petrah talk about her dad in any less than completely formal way.

Petrah’s deep pink lips curled up on one side in amusement, but Aelin watched as she took another deep breath and shook off whatever she’d been about to say. Instead, she watched as her smile fell into a wistful expression. “We’ve missed seeing you around here,” Petrah said.

Aelin’s eyes shot to the open doorway of the studio where the company practiced, all jetes and pirouettes and well-supported port de bras. She had missed dancing. She really had just gotten back into it when she let it fall away. Petrah must have seen her expression because she smiled faintly and let her delicate hand fall to Aelin’s shoulder.

“You could join the class. Dance it out,” Petrah suggested.

Aelin couldn’t tear her eyes away from the dancers. She watched the emotion pour from them. That is what she needed. But as Lysandra held up her jersey and trailed down the stairs in the periphery of her vision, Aelin shook her head.

“I can’t tonight.”

“I understand that it might be strange to spend time with me after what you overheard…” Petrah trailed off as blood pooled in her cheeks, filling her usual pale complexion with a deep blush. “It was completely casual. It’s only happened a handful of times, and we both know it’s not serious. I’m not trying to replace your mother, or anything like that, it’s just… an occasional stress release, and oh my god, I am sorry I didn’t mean to say any of that.” Aelin cringed at the words. She wanted to stop Petrah, but the woman couldn’t be stopped even if she wanted to. “Please don’t give up dance because of this,” Petrah pleaded. “You have such a gift, Aelin, and I would be filled with regret for the rest of my life if I knew I was the cause of you walking away from it.”

Aelin took a breath, the comforting scent of chalk and worn leather infiltrating her senses and calming her down as she figured out what to reply to Petrah. Of course she wanted to dance still. It was undeniable, the way her body pulled her toward the studio, the way a sense of calm settled through her despite her initial discomfort upon seeing Petrah. She thought about her lack of free time and her constantly building stress as the semester went on and how badly she wished she could just dance it out. That release of emotion centered her, and she knew that she was feeling off kilter without it. Making time for dance had improved her life drastically — it'd kept her sane as the rest of her semester spiraled out of control — and she wanted it back. So, so badly.

She was on the verge of agreeing to join the practice when there was a crash and loud shriek from the studio. When the shriek morphed into a choked sob, a churning nausea overwhelmed Aelin. She watched as Petrah’s face morphed into one of horror as she sprinted into the studio. Sure enough, one of the dancers was on the floor, cradling her ankle, cheeks red and involuntary tears dripping down her skin, while another dancer attempted to help her stand. The girl hissed, crying out in pain and sat down again.

“Call an ambulance,” someone ordered, and suddenly there was a frenzy, a rush of dancers looking on in terror at the injury in front of them. Aelin stood with her back against the wall, not wanting to be in the way, slinking out of sight while so much was going on. It felt like a sign from the universe that Aelin shouldn’t even think about wasting her time with dancing. Like the gods warned her that she had way too much going on to even consider it.

With Petrah distracted, Aelin slipped out, trying to gain control of her waging feelings. She slid into the backseat next to Lys, her mind reeling and unable to get the image of the crying dancer out of her head. So caught up in her own thoughts, she didn’t even hear Rowan call out to her, until red and blue flashed behind them. He swung his head over her shoulder, his mouth agape in horror as he stared at his unusually quiet girlfriend.

“Ace, what did you do? Are those the cops?!”

Aelin shook her head, the horrible feeling of nausea persisting in her gut as Rowan drove away from the studio.

. . .

It had been days since Aelin had received a text from an unknown number, and she still hadn’t decided what she was going to do.

I thought you should know we’re holding an emergency dance company audition this Tuesday at 5pm. Please come, Aelin.

Aelin chewed her sandwich thoughtfully as she pulled up the text again. The audition was merely hours away, but she was still on the fence.

“You still haven’t made up your mind?” Lysandra asked, glancing at Aelin’s phone screen. Her former — maybe current — friend had started joining them at the lunch table in the last few days since their late night break in, continuing to heal and thaw what had broken between them.

“I keep telling her to pro con list,” Rowan said, letting his fingers trail across the back of her neck and kneading the tight muscles there with his strong grasp.

“Mmmm,” Aelin mumbled, leaning further into his touch. “Con. Time spent without you.”

“Pro, something to do while I’m at lacrosse practice,” he countered as his fingers massaged a particularly tender part of her neck. She angled her head so he could have better access, but he took it as an invitation to let his head drop to her bare skin and press his lips against it, causing her body to light up. As she leaned toward him with another light moan, Dorian slammed his tray down on the table with a loud thwack.

“Get a room or get outta here,” he complained, tossing a fry at the still-intertwined pair.

“Someone’s got their panties in a bunch,” Aelin laughed as she tossed the fry back at the offender.

“My panties are perfectly smooth, thank you very much,” Dorian quipped. “Some of us would just prefer not to bear witness to your foreplay.”

“Pro,” Rowan whispered into Aelin’s ear, his lips ghosting against the tickling skin there. “I really love watching you dance.”

“Pro,” Aelin whispered back. “Increased stamina, muscle strength, and flexibility.”

Aelin glanced up at Rowan, who was already staring back at her with a fiery intensity. Her eyes glanced down at his mouth, which was curled into a satisfied smirk. His throat bobbed with a slow swallow, surely thinking of all the way those fitness benefits could be put to good use. She leaned in slightly, her lips a hairs breadth away from his when another fry hit her cheek. Aelin whipped her head around, rubbing at the salty spot where the food had made contact with her face.

Dorian was the picture of innocence, eyes wide as he chewed his own fry.

“Con,” Lys interjected. “Increased horniness.”

“Literally didn’t think that was possible,” Dorian said with a snort. “So, what are we pro-conning?” he asked, popping another fry into his mouth.

“Orynth Dance Company is having an emergency audition after an injury, and Aelin was personally invited to try out,” Lysandra explained.

“But I don’t really have the time,” Aelin started. “It would require actual rehearsal time. Like, a lot of nights. Not just an hour long class. Plus, I’d have to see Petrah every day. And I have to knock this last semester’s grades out of the park if I want to even think about getting a scholarship anywhere, plus I have a million AP exams to study for coming up, and that’s not even considering keeping up with hospital volunteering and going to your games and having any kind of semblance of a social life and…” she trailed off, her stomach finally settling as she came to the conclusion she knew she was going to come to all along. “I can’t join the dance company.”

Rowan frowned and reached for her hand. “Are you sure, Ace?” His hand wrapped around hers in a comforting squeeze, and she knew he was asking seriously. “We could make it work. I could help you study, we could bring out your color-coded schedule again to make sure we could fit everything in.”

“I know,” Aelin sighed, squeezing back. “But, I’m sure.”

But as the afternoon ticked by, Aelin couldn’t ignore the swirling feeling of guilt trying to pull her under. She was so distracted by the approaching time that she completely zoned out through all of AP Lit, startling when the period ended and Dorian poked her side.

And as five PM approached closer and closer, she found herself growing more agitated and even snapping at Rowan at one point. It wasn’t his fault; he had to head off to lacrosse practice, but Aelin had found herself so worked up that she had thought maybe he’d want to help release some tension.

“I’ll come right over after practice,” Rowan promised as he twined his hands around her waist.

“But you’ll be all sweaty and gross,” Aelin replied with a frown.

“I thought you liked when I get sweaty,” he laughed, nuzzling his nose into her hair. Aelin sighed, knowing she was being petulant, but she couldn’t get out of her own head.

“Only when I’m the one doing it!”

She tried to push him away, but Rowan’s grasp on her was iron-clad, too tight for her to even think about prying him off her. “Ace,” he lowered his voice. “I would love nothing more than to skip practice and be with you, but you know this is the only thing I need to do this semester to keep my place at Wendlyn.”

“Because Wendlyn’s more important than me?”

“I think you need a snack,” Rowan laughed, but Aelin didn’t find that funny at all.

“Sorry my blood sugar problems are amusing to you,” she said, stiffening within his grasp. She felt Rowan sigh deeply and watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his brows up the way she loved so much.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “You know that’s not—”

“I know,” Aelin replied quickly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

Rowan raised a single brow as if to tell her he knew exactly what had gotten into her, and so did she.

“It’s not even four yet,” Rowan said. “You could still go.”

But Aelin was nothing if not resolute. She’d made up her mind, and it was completely logical. And she was sticking to it. No, she’d head home and, yes, get a snack, and dig into her lit homework. Maybe Dorian would be willing to give her his notes from the class, seeing as she couldn’t remember a single thing that was discussed earlier.

She forced a smile and shrugged her shoulders back. “Nope, you were right. I need a snack. I’ll head to Maeve’s and see what she’s got for me.”

Rowan grimaced. “She closed for the afternoon, actually, while they put in a new stove, but she should be reopened by the time I’m out of practice.” Aelin shivered as Rowan let his fingers trail in small circles up and down her back. “Why don’t I stop there on my way to your place after practice? Cheeseburger and brownies?”

“And then orgasms?” Aelin asked, causing a loud snort to erupt from Rowan.

“You want to have sex after cheeseburger and brownies? That feels dangerous.”

“Well, we could have sex first, but reheated cheeseburgers are pretty garbage,” Aelin replied, loving the soft smile that appeared on Rowan’s face. It was the one solely reserved for her. When she was being particularly ridiculous or annoying, it was like he couldn’t help but love her more, and the small curve of his lips let her know that.

“You’re right. Cheeseburgers first,” he paused. “Then sex, then brownies?”

“Deal,” Aelin said as she reached her hand out to shake his. But he instead grasped it in his and brought it to his mouth, kissing her knuckles lightly.

“I love you,” he said.

And though Aelin wanted to roll her eyes, she took a moment to relish the fact that her best friend in the whole world loved her. And would do anything to make her smile. In fact, he’d succeeded in getting her too distracted to think about the auditions and…

As soon as she thought about them, her smile faded again.

“Just go,” he whispered, but Aelin shook her head.

“Have a good practice. See you in a few hours.”

She kissed him and sent him off, hoping to pour herself into her studies. But even with her book open, Aelin digested none of what she was reading. She kept looking at the clock, distracted. Even as it passed five pm, knowing that she was missing the auditions, she still couldn’t focus. And her mood started to plummet.

It plummeted even further as she received a text from Rowan saying that their coach needed him to stay behind for a bit after practice and that he’d be later than anticipated.

She tried to read more, and when that didn’t work, she attempted to do some math equations, but she couldn’t get her brain to work. She knew what she needed. And it was to dance it out. Despite everything, that was still her best coping mechanism. When a second text from Rowan came in, apologizing for being even later, Aelin had had enough. She couldn’t just sit here and wallow. Instead, she wrote a note for whoever would get home first – her dad, Lorcan, or Rowan — and began walking.

She didn’t even know where she was walking until she ended up at the dance studio. It was unlocked, but empty. She couldn’t remember if there had been an end time to the auditions, but it seemed completely deserted. No one was sitting at the front desk, and the lights were eerily dim. This is what she’d expected to walk into last week when she’d stolen back her lacrosse hoodie, and she was even more annoyed about it somehow.

Instead of focusing on that, though, she went straight for the first open studio and turned the lights on. The fluorescent bulbs overhead flickered on, illuminating the wooden floors beneath with a warm yellow glow. She toed her sneakers off and padded barefoot to the corner of the studio where the massive (and ancient) stereo system was stored. She pulled her phone out and connected it, pulling up one of the old playlists Rowan had made for her and closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. Her feet took off, working in sync with the rhythm reverberating through the bare floor. Next, her arms spread, stretching out and shaking off the stress of the last few weeks.

For the first time, she really let herself feel it. The worrying and wondering what the future would hold. She knew Rowan was destined for Wendlyn, but she had no idea what she would do if she didn’t get in, too. He’d assured her that they’d stay together and figure it out, but who really stays with their high school boyfriend? She knew they weren’t like everyone else – they were special – but it didn’t stop her from thinking about it and wondering. When it came down to it, that’s why she really couldn’t bring herself to audition today. She couldn’t risk spending less time with Rowan, not if this was the last few weeks of their relationship.

Whoa. Where did that thought come from?

She ignored the small tear that pooled in the corner of her eye, letting it drip down her cheek as she spun in time with the music. How could she doubt her and Rowan’s relationship after all this time? She knew in her soul that they were destined to be together. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t wake up and see him every day. But there had been a small slice of fear since they first kissed, and it had ebbed and flowed with each passing day until it was now a gaping chasm in the pit of her stomach. The idea that she could end up elsewhere without Rowan was a real, actual problem. And the timeframe was closing in on them. What if this was the end of them? How would she ever recover?

Her hands reached overhead and then she let her body collapse to the floor in a graceful fall, letting go over the overwhelming sensations of fear that had been swirling and threatening to paralyze her. She arched her back and her neck released, the tension that Rowan had tried to knead attempting to relax and letting gravity pull her down, down, down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Rowan. She did. More than anything. She just didn’t trust this world. She didn’t trust that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. I mean, just look at her dad. He’d thought he’d found the love of his life, and she walked away like it was nothing. Walked away from Aelin.

She didn’t want to cling to Rowan, to be the girl who changed her whole life just to be with a guy. She wasn’t that person. No. She was Aelin fucking Galathynius, and she could live life fully on her own. But she wanted to be with Rowan. Wanted the whole package. Saw their life together. And wanted more than anything for it to become a reality. But what if that future disappeared? What if it was cut short? What if they drifted apart. What if they tried to do long distance? Last summer while he was at camp was only two months and it was pure torture. It caused a rift so big between them that she wasn’t sure they’d overcome it. And yes, of course they did. But… to do it again? And for four years?

Her emotions threatened to choke her as she continued to dance out her frustrations, stomping and spinning and leaping, hoping against all hopes that the answers to her anxieties would appear if she could only dance long enough. She left every feeling, every worry, every gnawing anxiety on the dance floor, letting it tumble out through her moving limbs.

She didn’t know how long she’d been dancing when she opened her eyes again and refocused at herself in the mirror. She didn’t recognize the girl she saw there. She may not have come up with any answers, but she felt better. Raw, red eyed, red cheeked, and breathing hard, Aelin felt totally exposed. Which is why she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice cut through the silence, over her harsh exhale.

“Practice starts next week.”

The director of the company stood in the darkened doorway of the studio, arms crossed and lips pursed in thoughtful approval.

“Oh, I wasn’t—”

“I know you weren’t,” she said with a formal smile. “But we’d still love to have you. If you want.”

It wasn’t necessarily the answer she had hoped to reach, but something about this moment felt like the universe trying to reassure her. That things do work out the way they’re supposed to.

“Yeah?” she asked, feeling somewhat hopeful.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” she said.

A wide smile crossed the director’s face. “Welcome to the Orynth Dance Company,” she congratulated her.

Aelin didn’t know what had overcome her, but she couldn’t help but run over to her and throw her sweaty arms around her neck in a giant hug.

“Thank you.”

Right on cue, Aelin’s phone buzzed with another incoming text.

Cheeseburgers en route. See you soon. Xx

. . .

As anticipated, the cheeseburgers were exactly what Aelin needed to rejuvenate herself, but Rowan was totally right that there was no way to be sexy after housing a half pound of meat and cheese.

“I’m so stuffed,” she said, patting her extremely full stomach.

Rowan snorted. “Why don’t we take a post-dinner break and watch something?”

“Only if it’s Housewives!” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen where he was cooking dinner for him and Rhoe, who were properly affronted that Rowan hadn’t brought them cheeseburgers, as well.

Aelin sighed and chuckled softly as she let herself slump over onto Rowan, who was already pulling up Housewives onto the television.

“You are such an enabler,” Aelin laughed.

“It’s easier than dealing with him being pouty,” Rowan smartly replied.

Aelin was about to agree when they were interrupted by an unusual ring tone.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan said, sitting up suddenly. “Is that your… home phone?”

Aelin genuinely couldn’t remember the last time that had rung. Usually she and her dad were both contacted on their cells. They really just had a home line because it was part of their internet package. She couldn’t even remember who had that number.

“Uh, phone’s for you Aelin?” Lorcan shouted from the kitchen.

Even weirder?

“Who the hell would be calling this late on a Tuesday?” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s brow lifted.

“Why don’t you go see?”

Curious, Aelin pried herself off the couch and headed to the kitchen where Lorcan was standing with a spatula in one hand and the phone in the other.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

Lorcan shrugged, simply shoving the phone forward. Helpful.

Aelin cradled the phone against her ear and took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Hello!” A deep voice rang out over the phone. “Is this Miss Aelin Galathynius?”

“Um,” she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Excellent!” the voice boomed, causing her to pull the phone away from her ear slightly. “My name is Xavier Forul, and I’m a local alum of Wendlyn University. I’d love to have you in for an interview some time in the near future. Whenever you’re available! I know you’re a busy senior with a lot on her plate.”

Aelin’s heart took off, beating faster as his words unfolded.

“Interview?”

“Yes,” he continued. “It’s my favorite part of the process. As a former Wendlyn man myself, I get to sit down and speak with young promising applicants to see what their goals and ambitions might be and how they might become part of the Wendlyn world.”

Aelin glanced at the silver-headed mop peeking out above the couch and exhaled slowly. This was it. The universe reassuring her. She felt it with every fiber of her being. She could dance, she could nail her classes this semester, and she’d get into Wendlyn and be with Rowan.

“Wow, thank you so much for reaching out,” Aelin began, her autopilot pilot voice taking over. “I’d love to meet with you.”

As Xavier explained the details of the interview, Aelin’s hope buoyed. She’d been waiting for a sign from the universe, something to tell her that she and Rowan were going to work out and be fine. If a personalized phone call on a landline that hadn’t rung in more months than she could count, inviting her into the home of a University alum wasn’t a sign, she didn’t know what was. And Aelin began to hope for the first time that everything was going to actually work out.

~*~

#idwtw #idwtw au #rowaelin #rowaelin fan fic #rowaelin fic #tog fanfic #throne of glass #rowan x aelin #she's backkkk #i stg i'm finishing this fic #no fic left unfinished

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slutouttanowhere · 7 months ago

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Pairing: Jeff Hardy x Leona French™️

Warnings: Randy being a dickhead, use of the insult “freak”

Word count: 5k

A/N: this will be the first installment of my nostalgia WWE fics, for me that would be early 2000s Ruthless Aggression Era. I’ve always been a fan of Jeff Hardy, and growing up I never knew how bad his “demons” were until recently. Don’t worry though these fics will have none of that, I think the man has experienced enough angst in real life I don’t plan on including any of it here. This fic references Beyoncé’s Freakum Dress, any and all lyrics used belongs to said artist. Leona French is my black!oc, her character bio is linked to my pinned post. Hope you all enjoy this silly goofy one shot, leave a like and reblog, follow me ✨

Monday Night Raw 2004

It wasn’t until we were walking through the arena doors that I had second thoughts about tonight. It’s not uncommon for my cousin to talk me into things. Probably why our parents didn’t want us hanging out a lot. “Lita, are you sure about this? I mean I’m not a wrestler, what if they throw food at me?” I turned to her, we walked side by side with our arms linked, but it was more so me holding onto her so I wouldn’t tremble out of my skin.

“Yes, trust me. All the WWE wants right now, are hot girls that can dance and put on a little show in between segments. And if someone throws something at you, it better be flowers or I’m gonna whoop their ass.” She reassured me for what felt like the fifth time in a row, the hallways were lined with WWE talent, some of them waving to Lita as we went. A few of the women’s eyes lingered on me, scrutiny settled deep in their gazes. I’m used to the heat of female competition, but this was something else.

My first Monday Night Raw as an “employee,” I usually only showed up as a fan in the crowd when Lita could get me tickets. I’m supposed to be practicing for my audition with the ballet company, yet here I am half naked about to show my ass for the world. I can only pray my parents aren’t watching. Soon we come to a stop near the end of a deserted hall, two guys who I recognize as Lita’s boyfriend Matt, and his older brother Jeff.

They were dressed similarly as usual, though Jeff’s clothes were more cut up than his younger brothers. His fishnet top was cut so the bottom of the shirt stopped just below his belly button, leaving his lower stomach, and v-line exposed. His arm sleeves coordinated with their all black theme, and were cut up as well. I always admired their edgy style, especially Lita. I knew she got a lot of heat for dressing the way she dressed, in combination with being a hardcore female wrestler.

“Matt, Jeff, you’ve met my cousin Leona before haven’t you?” Lita reintroduced me to her friends, for a moment I felt stupid, because why would they care to remember who I was just because Lita and I were related. I chewed my bottom lip nervously, catching Jeff’s attention.

He laughed sheepishly, “might have been concussed that night if I’m being honest.” He smiled playfully, he was a lot sweeter than what one might think, despite all his tattoos, and multi colored hair, from what I’ve observed. He’s diffident, and mostly to himself, not the misfit you’d think he was. The pictures in the magazines didn’t do him justice either, his eyes were greener in person, and has a much taller build.

“Me too.” I joked, Lita, and I all chuckled, though Jeff and Matt seemed confused by this. Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed.

I stumbled over my words at first. “I used to be a cheerleader all through high school, you’re not the only high flier around her bucko.” My lips curled into a tiny grin, Lita bumped my shoulder scoffing. Matt hummed in response, he folded his arms across his chest, and a tiny smile on his lips as he listened.

“Captain of the cheer squad, four time national champion.” Lita gloated, she looked at me proudly, hands in her hips, and chest puffed out.

“That right? So I guess that means I’ll be seeing you hit a Swanton Bomb tonight?” Matt suggested half heartedly, a humorous expression etched across his face.

“Four time national champion, we’ll be expecting you to jump off the titantron.” Jeff said quietly, one hand over his chin, his index finger pressed to his bottom lip, he grinned watching the look of horror on my face. I could never be half the daredevil he was, and there’s nothing in the world that would make me want to try.

He held my gaze, and I’ll admit I felt a little shy around him, it’s not like his poster isn’t on my dorm wall or anything. I for damn sure never expected to be talking to him this long. “Hell no, I’ll leave that to the stuntmen, besides this was just a one off.” I shrugged, I tried my best to be humble despite my talent. I loved being a performer, but I didn’t like the attention, such is the life of an artist.

“That right, Leo here actually has a brain unlike the two of you. She’s only here because she owes me a favor, and what’s a spring break without a little fun?” Lita smiled mischievously, Matt rolled his eyes at his girlfriend.

“Um I think you forgot to count yourself sweetheart, you’re pretty and…well that’s about it.” He chuckled, the two of them seemingly forgetting all about us, Lita’s hand shot out to swat Matt across the chest, but he dogged her, then ran off. Without a second thought Lita pursued him.

“Are they always like that?” I pivoted back to Jeff, who was shaking his head watching his brother act childishly.

Slowly his eyes lifted to meet mine, his head tilted to the side, “is the sky blue?” That sweet southern twang hitting a little heavier towards the end, and I swore I could drop to my knees right then. A giggle pressed past my lips, and his next words took me by surprise as he suddenly complimented me.

“Aw man, that laugh is so adorable.” Jeff’s eyes slid over my face taking in all my features, there’s not a magazine article in the world that could have prepared me for Jeff Hardyz charisma. The way he looked directly in my eyes, into my soul, as if he looked away he’d miss something spectacular. My shoulder leaned against the cool white brick wall as I stood next to him, he was slouching a little, but our height difference was still evident.

The corners of my lips tugged into a grin, “are you flirting with me?” I asked, perhaps a bit coy, this sudden confidence went against everything I previously knew myself to be. I typically avoided the male species at all cost, but he had such a warm, welcoming presence. His undivided attention made me feel like I could tell him anything, and that freaked me out a little.

“You won’t be here long, mine as well make it count this time.” He shrugged, he stood with his hands in his pockets, more talent would pass us. He barely looked their way.

“So you do remember me!” I shouted, I pushed myself off the wall unaware of just how close we were, and lightly slapped him on the chest.

His head fell backwards, “of course, even if I landed on my skull that night I wouldn’t have forgotten this face.” He chortled causing his whole face to light up, the butterflies in the pit of my stomach swarmed violently. After I took too long responding he spoke up again. “So why exactly are you dressed like you’re going out to a nightclub?”

“Do I not look good in this dress though?” I asked, letting out an airy laugh, and pulling my fur coat open to playfully show off my outfit. Jeff shamelessly checked me out, getting an eyeful of my cleavage, all the way down my curves to my legs, and my chunky heels.

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, a hungry stare in his eyes, “I’m sure you look good in anything.”

He was saying all the right things, and looking at me in a way that was making my face heat up, my lips parted to speak, but I was cut off by Lita’s long arm hooking around the back of my neck. “They’re ready for you at guerilla, if you and Jeff are done eye fucking, I’ll walk you down.” My heart jumped at her accusation, the feeling of embarrassment settling onto my face.

“Oh that right, Lita is actually a rodeo clown between segments.” Jeff rolled his eyes, an unimpressed expression on his face, yet again taking the heat off me.

“Shut up Jeff.” she sneered at him, and took me by the hand dragging me away. I could still feel his eyes on me, peeking at him over my shoulder, and just as I thought he’s watching me be taken away. A tiny smile on his lips, he nods his head at me as a ‘see ya later,’ and I hoped it was a later.

Waiting at the curtain were my backup dancers, and Stephanie McMahon. I’ve met her a number of times, she’s always sweet, and comforting. Nothing like her tv persona. “Alright, it’s a packed house, and after that match with Rocky, and Austin they’re quite rowdy.” She explained, I tried to swallow my nerves, as someone who was typically a part of the crowds I knew first hand how nasty people could get.

“You’ve rehearsed a bunch of times, you’ve got this in the bag Leo, and then before you know it, it’ll all be over. Then you can go back to your prissy little dorm room.” Lita teased me, she pinched my cheek, but I cringed away from her.

“First of all, that prissy dorm houses your lousy ass more times than I can count. Secondly, don't ruin my makeup, okay?” I hated being talked to like I was a child, Lita and I were only two years apart. I know she’ll always see me as a baby because of the kind of life she lives constantly on the road.

“Yes! That is exactly the attitude you need tonight, now don’t waste it, save it for the audience.” Stephanie gripped my shoulder, and smiled at me encouragingly.

I turned to my other dancers, “y’all ready?” They seemed more excited than I was, so I tried to mirror their enthusiasm.

“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have something special for you.” Lilian Garcia addressed the crowd, they were buzzing, and when I turned to Lita, she gave me a thumbs up.

“A one night only attraction of. Leona French, performing her rendition of Freakum Dress!” The lights dimmed down, and as soon as the music started I was handed a mic right before I stepped out. “To be, or not to be.” I sang sultrily as I sauntered out, at first the crowd didn’t know what to make of seeing me. I could visibly see some men were quite annoyed, instead of focusing on the crowd I looked right into the camera in front of me. When we got closer to the ring I shed my fur coat, and suddenly the noise began to pick up. I couldn’t help the grin that slid onto my face, I twirled my hips, and popped my ass to the bass of the music. I’ve practiced the routine so many times I could do it in my sleep. “Oh put your freakum dress on, every woman got one.” My body moved fluidly through the steps, I let myself get lost in the music, and soon I felt like I was actually having fun.

Improvising a little, I climbed out of the ring, and danced over to the barricade where a young man around my age was gawking. I made my way back to the steel steps putting one foot up, and pooped my booty back. Considering they weren’t throwing food at me, I took that as a compliment, but by the end of the performance everyone was on their feet cheering, and wolf whistling. We bowed, blew a few kisses, but then made our way to the back.

Lita wasn’t there when I came back through the curtain, but I think she told me she might have had some segments tonight. I would probably run into her later, “that crowd was jumpin!” Maddison, one of the dancers laughed, she chugged some water.

“It sure was, you girls were great! Leona your energy was incomparable, and just so natural. Good job tonight.” Stephanie placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her kind words making me proud of myself.

“Thanks boss lady, we’re gonna go shower and change.” I thanked her, shaking her hand, and we all made our way through the arena. I was so busy blabbing to the girls that I didn’t even notice Undertaker when I ran into him. My eyes widened, I’ve only ever seen him from a distance, which he was big then, but up close he’s huge. The girls and I collectively quieted down upon seeing him, “I’m so sorry…Mr. Taker.” I said like a doofus, his eyes shined humorously, but that’s all he offered us.

“Just Taker is fine, you’re Lita's cousin aren’t you? That was a hell of a performance y’all had.” And this is where I realized I might have a thing for gothic southern men. Or maybe I was just a sucker for the accent. I recall a number of stories about Taker being the best person to ask advice, literally everyone would ask him his opinion.

“Wow, thanks, I’m a huge fan by the way, um any pointers?” Why not ask the most successful man in the entertainment business his thoughts on my performance. The girls looked at me like I had three heads, it’s what I expected none of them watched wrestling.

“We’re gonna go shower, we’ll catch up later.” Lisa patted me on the shoulder, I nodded, and let them excuse themselves. If anyone was ‘prissy’ as Lita put it, it’s definitely them. Never struggled a day in their lives, spoon fed country club for their entire lives. Only sports they knew were golf, and all American football. That was an excitable level of violence for them, however, I usually craved something a little more aggressive.

He pondered for a moment, “well…it looked like you were having fun, and that’s when you really started to connect with the crowd. That’s important, it’s not just you, and them. You’re in on it together.” He explained, his voice deep, but his tone ominous. A backstage official informed him that he was needed, Taker nodded his head, and turned back to me. “A lot of people are gonna try and groom you, make you out to be what they want. Especially because you’re a girl, and seemingly have a lot of talent that could make people a lot of money. Nothing is more important in show business than to do things by your own volition, and stand on it.” That may have been the wisest bit of information I’ve ever received, he held his hand out for me to shake. Without hesitation I took it, grateful for this moment, and to think I was gonna pass up the offer. He shook my hand surprisingly gently, then went on about his business. I watched him for as long as my eyes could see. I felt light, like I was no longer a part of this physical plane. I looked down at my hand in disbelief of what just happened, my whole body still buzzing.

I just performed for thousands of people, and then The Undertaker just dropped a wealth of knowledge on me. I’m just a girl, I’m just some kid, how did I get so lucky? “Are you gonna keep standing in the middle of the hall like an idiot?” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of an arrogant voice, slowly I turned to be met with the last person I wanted to run into tonight. Randy Orton, Bautista by his side, the only one of the two who had some etiquette.

Bautista lips form a tiny smile, he had a familiarity to him, as if we’ve been knowing each other for a while. “Hey, I remember you, you’re Lita’s big brain cousin, what college was it you went to?” I could feel my face heat up, it was sweet of him to remember something so small.

“I don’t know about big brains, but I’m attending Tisch School of Arts in New York.” I said shyly, I tried not to make my accomplishments a big deal; I guess it couldn’t be helped when Lita is blabbing about me to everyone she sees.

“So an art school.” Randy didn’t sound too impressed, far be it for him to care about anything other than himself. I might have actually found him attractive if he wasn’t such a dickhead.

“Hang on there Randy, Tisch is no run of the mill dance school, their acceptance rate is pretty low from what I understand. I had some family that tried to get in a few years ago, they had to audition 3 times.” Bautista explained coming to my defense, while simultaneously shutting down his partner's rudeness. He did it in such a calm manner, I bet he’s great with kids.

Randy eyed me, when he lingered too long on my chest I rolled my eyes, and side stepped him. He’s exactly like the pricks that frequented the country clubs back home, the only way to deal with them was to ignore them. “Anywho, it was nice meeting you, I’m a big fan, Bautista.” He held his hand to his heart, touched by me saying this.

“You’re a wrestling fan?” Randy questioned, he looked gobsmacked by this revelation, I grimaced turning to him.

“Yeah…” I said lifting my eyebrow daring him to challenge me, but he scoffed. Folding his arms over his chest, a smug expression on his face, I regret even running into him.

“I mean, of course you are, who wouldn’t wanna watch me on a weekly basis.” The haughtiness in his tone made me want to throw up, I couldn’t even disagree which was the worst part. He’s so good at what he does it upsets me, if only all that talent came with a muzzle.

“You literally have zero shame don’t you?” Jeff came up from behind me, his face paint dripping off him, no doubt from a match may have just had. An unimpressed look on his face, his arm slipped around the back of me, and held onto me almost protectively. I could feel my face heat up from his touch, I wasn’t going to deny him.

“Meanwhile you’re dressed like some freak.” Randy spat venomously, I was taken aback by his sudden mood change, Jeff’s expression darkened, but didn’t have a verbal response. He took a step forward, Randy mirroring his movements. There’s no love loss between the legacy kid, and mister daredevil. Jeff seemed to get the best of Randy in matches most of the time by out sitting him, and stealing the wins. Which is really more so Randy’s fault by letting his emotions get the best of him.

Bautista pressed his hand to Randy’s chest. A warning glare in his eyes. “Cool it man, you can’t afford to get into another fight this week.” He mumbled, but Randy wasn’t hearing it. The grip Jeff had on tightening, his nails digging into me as if to hold himself back.

“Trying to show off around your little poptart, wanna be, girlfriend aren’t you? Please do Jeff, I beg you.” Randy pressed his palms together, goading Jeff into a fight, I looked to Jeff who was clearly thinking about it. He’d do it even if only to make a point, but before I could get a chance to interject he reared back his fist. Popping Randy right in the nose. My mouth dropped, and my eyes widened.

“Fuck we gotta go.” I grasped him by the wrist, and tugged him in the opposite direction. We ran until we couldn't hear Randy shouting, and bitching anymore. We rounded the corner, finally coming to a stop. We caught our breath, “you’re gonna be in so much shit.” I sighed once my breathing calmed, I slapped him across the chest. He barely flinched.

“What, you just wanted me to let him talk about you like that?” He seemed offended by my disappointment, his hand ran through his blue-violet colored hair.

“Randy is an idiot, being called a poptart isn't the worst thing, I mean he said you were a freak.” My lips pressed together, I could feel myself getting upset all over again, there was never a reason to be so fucking mean.

Jeff shrugged his shoulders, “yea so? If I had a dime for everytime someone judged the way I dressed, how I talk, or the clothes I wore, well I’d be a fat rich man. But you don't talk about girls that way man, what did you do to deserve that attitude anyway?” Yet again we were standing close to each other, I chewed my bottom lip trying not to say anything stupid, my eyes lowered to the floor. I couldn't understand why he would get himself into drama over something so stupid.

“Did ya see the look on Randy’s face though, I think I broke his nose.” He grinned, I couldn't help but laugh when I replayed the scene in my head, even Bautista was shocked.

I shook my head, “by the time he gets done bitching at Stephanie about it, you’re gonna get into so much trouble.” I reached for the bandanna hanging out of his pocket, and began to clean off the face paint. The sweat dripping down his forehead made it easier to swipe away, with my other hand I held him by the chin, he took a step back putting his back to the wall causing me to step forward. I tried to avoid his eyes, acutely aware he was staring me right in mine.

“It’ll be worth it.” He hummed, his hand reached out to play with my hair, gently sweeping it over my shoulder. His fingers caressing my skin on the way down, then finally rested on my hips. Once I was satisfied with the majority of the paint being gone, I sighed, and wrapped my arms around his neck.

My eyes dropped to his lips, his tongue flicked out swiping his bottom lip, ‘this is a bad idea right?’ I thought to myself, ‘oh well, what’s spring break without a little fun?’ As if reading my mind, Jeff leaned in meeting me halfway in a deeply passionate kiss. His hands slid up my back holding me closer to his body, I couldn't help but let out a moan as his hands slid down to my ass, and gripped me. I don't know how long we stood there locking lips, but by the time either of us pulled away I was out of breath. My lips were swollen, my heart was hammering against my rib cage, and my head felt a bit light headed. “So what now?” I pressed my forehead to his, I knew it was getting late, and I was gonna be no good tomorrow if I was too exhausted.

“Got any time left to get something to eat? I know a diner that’s open late around here.” He offered. A hopeful look in his eyes. I peaked at him from underneath my lashes, my fingers playing with his choker necklace. Voices could be heard in the distance, it sounded like a few of the guys, but neither of us worried about it.

“Sure, I got some time to spare, as a super fan I'd be honored to have dinner with Jeff Hardy.” I teased, he wrapped an arm lazily around my shoulder, some female talent we passed gave me a nasty look. Trish Stratus specifically did not like what she was seeing, our eyes watched each other as we passed by. I knew that her and Jeff were “involved,” but the extent of that? I was unsure about, however if this was her man she would have said something right?

Jeff, oblivious to this as he was talking, he snorted, “you’re a fan huh? Does this make you my groupie?” He asked jokingly, we were finally approaching my dressing room, Lita was further down the hall talking to Edge, and Christian. They were all laughing obnoxiously about something, but I turned my attention back to Jeff.

“Oh definitely, I’m gonna write about it in my diary later.” I chortled, one hand on the doorknob, and the pinky of my other hand linked with his pinky. Neither of us wanted to let go, but we both needed a fresh change of clothes.

“Well, I’m flattered…” He trailed off for a second, then said, “I wish I could just wait for you here, but I need a fresh outfit so I’ll meet you back here?”

“You’ll definitely be done before me, so you might end up waiting anyway.” I smiled sheepishly, my face heating up in embarrassment, I felt bad for making him wait after the long night he’s had, so I decided just then that I’d cut down time on my makeup at the very least.

He made no fuss about it. “That’s fine, see ya in a little bit.” He let go of my pinky, then made his way back the opposite direction, and turned down a hall disappearing. It wasn't till I was behind the privacy of my dressing room door did I let out a long, heavy sigh, the other girls were nowhere to be found, so I revealed in the alone time.

I didn't fight the dopey smile that grew across my face, “I kissed Jeff Hardy?” After I picked myself up off the floor, I locked the door behind me, and stripped down before getting into a hot shower. Getting dressed tonight has been the easiest task of my life since I was smart enough to pack only one other outfit. Had I been back at home I would have ended up overwhelming myself trying to decide what to wear. I pulled on my coat, then grabbed my duffel bag, and purse, throwing it over my shoulder. When I opened the door, Jeff was waiting outside like he said he would, his eyes taking me in, from my heels making sure to slow up at my legs, and thighs. Then finally landing on my face.

“Hey…” He greeted me, his eyes sliding over my body, and slowing up at my chest before he got to my face. When our eyes met our smiles mirrored the others, he took me by the hand and walked us out of the arena to the parking lot. The night was mostly over, so there weren't many people left. My phone buzzed in my purse, I fished it out to see who texted me. I clicked on my messages to see I had been left a few, but Lita stood out to me.

Lita: I nu u were w Jeff the whole time. ;)

Lita: dont do anything I wdnt do

I rolled my eyes, I don't know if I should be thanking her, or annoyed that she set me up, I scoffed, “freakin Lita.”

“Everything okay?” Jeff asked, opening the passenger side door for me, the fall time air blowing my hair around, I peered up at him nodding my head. He watched me with a weary look in his eyes, I enveloped his face in my hands, and pressed my lips to his. He relaxed into me, “I think I’m gonna get in the car now.” He grinned like an idiot, and walked around the other side of the car. The drive wasn't long, but Jeff requested that I talked about myself, so I did. Not once did he interject, and by the time we made it to the restaurant, I felt like I had told him my whole life story.

“I watched that little show of your’s by the way, you’ve got a lot more talent than you let on.” I was taken aback by this sudden compliment. We sipped on our pop while we waited for our food, and as I sat across from him, he seemed like the most normal guy in the world. “I could have watched that on a loop.” He said softly, his longing gaze making me shift in my seat.

My eyes dropped down to his hands, I just now realized some of his dark painted nails had designs on them, “do you paint your own nails too?” I asked curiously, it’s something I’ve always wondered, but never had the chance to ask till now.

“Most of the time, other time’s it’s Lita when we have some time off.” He explained, the image of them sitting together like two siblings painting each other's nails made me smile a little. Yeah that seemed about right.

“Don't tell me they didn't include that information in Tiger Beat.” He deadpanned, obviously no love loss for the magazine company, I cringed at the name, I hated them too.

I shrugged, “I wouldn't know, I’m more of a Teen Vogue girl.” I joked, that’s how the rest of our night went, we talked about anything that came to mind: wrestling, food, fashion trends, travel. Anything to keep the conversation going, Eventually it turned 1 am, I needed to get some sort of sleep before catching up with Lita tomorrow. She wanted to drag me around the mall before they headed to the next town. We sat in front of the hotel, I turned to him, I knew I could have invited him up. The look in his eyes told me all I had to do was offer, but he wasn't going to force it. Knowing I had a whole week to be promiscuous, I decided to prioritize sleep this time, slowly I leaned in, and he met me halfway. A kiss that started off sweet turned into something heated, and needy. We moaned into each other simultaneously, I pulled away first, Jeff was frozen in place. His eyes still closed. “I’m getting out of the car now doofus.” I giggled, then opened the car door.

He suddenly came back to life, “oh, let me get your bag.” He reached in the back grabbing my duffle bag, and brought it around to my side of the car. I stood patiently waiting for him, my lips still tingling where he kissed me, I took the bag from him, and kissed him on the cheek.

“See ya later.”I walked backwards in the direction of the hotel, we held onto each other's hands till we couldn't anymore. That night after I got ready for bed, as soon as my head hit the pillows I passed out. That night I dreamed about having a tag match with Lita and Matt, versus Jeff and I, and it was a banger. That might be long into the future, but as far as tonight I had the best time of my life.

#jeff hardy #jeff hardy fanfiction #wwe one shot #black!oc #—tokio #divas era

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annathesillyfriend · 2 years ago

Text

Hello!! I didn't even notice when February ended 😅 But now that it's over, it means that I officialy finish uni in a month (hopefully not for long because I'm planning to apply for a doctoral school, keep your fingers crossed for me, please and thank you!). I wish it meant I would have more free time to catch up with all the fics in my likes waiting to be read. Unfortunately it only means that I need to start looking for another job 😅

It seems like my life gets more hectic everyday and I would like to thank you all beautiful people for helping me unwind and keep some bits of my sanity. I hate that I don't interact with your fics as much as I used to but I think about you a lot, wish you all the best and I'm just so thankful for you all. Keep being amazing 💓

To all the writers - I love you and I appreciate you so much!

To all the readers - please, share the fics you read and love. The reblog really makes the change! It’s the least we can do to show our gratitude.

Also, please, mind the writers’ warnings!

💓ROBERT 'BOB' FLOYD💓

a sky full of glow in the dark stars by @jupitercomet

↳ one shot, absolutely stunning 🥺🥺

whoops by @roosterbruiser

↳ one shot, admiral's daughter!reader dating bob in secret. bobby with tiny little kittens might be just a bit too much for my poor heart

sky and stars by @callsignsaturn

↳ one shot, admiral's daughet! reader once again, bob takes her for a joyride. or maybe not... 👀

delicate by @laracrofted

↳ one shot, i'm not sure what's to loveliest - the song, the man or the fic

full of surprises and electric bugaloo by @withahappyrefrain

↳ two-shot, 18+, this man couldn't be more perfect if he tried. and remember - bob fucks 😌😌

love me, love me by @bussyslayer333

↳ one shot, bartender!reader, idiots in love, the more i read about bob the more i think i am an idiot in love as well

a snowed in baby bird by @mothdruid

↳ one shot, 18+, childhood friends to lovers, this story lives in my mind rent free from now on

💓JAKE 'HANGMAN' SERESIN💓

whiskey and wine by @say-al0e

↳ one shot, 18+, date night with husband!jake which is the ultimate dream

this fic by @callsignsaturn

↳ one shot, jake meets bradley's old school friends at his wedding and the rest is history 😌

hey stupid, i love you by @callsignseagull

↳ one shot, 18+, another Laura's fic, another slay. we stan a consistent queen ��🙌

your carriage awaits, sweet by @lazypeachsoul

↳ one shot, jake may not be an expert on marine life but we still adore him

everything by @madsnowstorm

↳ one shot, i love when a character is like 'i don't want to get married, but i want to marry you', you don't understand how much i love this fic!!

you are in love by @loveforaugust

↳ one shot, we love a tay tay swift inspired fic here

so funny story (i'm fucking your daughter) by @fandomxpreferences

↳ one shot, mitchell!reader, i think the title sums it up pretty well 😅😅

signed away by @seresinhangmanjake

↳ series, some chapters are 18+, arranged marrige, enjoyed this so very much!

💓BRADLEY 'ROOSTER' BRADSHAW💓

all of you by @lt-spork

↳ one shot, i love bradley but i love clingy bradley even more

hello, i love you by @roosterforme

↳ one shot, bradley goes speed dating and it's just so fun, i love it!!

two to tango by @//roosterforme

↳ series, 18+, pilot!reader, loved this series an unhelathy amount

airplane mode by @//roosterforme

↳ two-shot, flight attendant!reader, Emily, if you're reading this, i'm a great fan of yours!!

not a coincidence by @sehnsuchts-trunken

↳ one shot, penny's niece!reader, bradshaw's a menace but good for us!!

proposal to come by @//sehnsuchts-trunken

↳ one shot, only the best maids of honor and best men get promoted to bride and groom he he

romeo, romeo by @welcome-to-my-multiverse

↳ one shot, drunk bradley is something else but i have nothing but love for this lovesick little puppy

short stack by @spacecaravan

↳ one shot, 18+, bradley bradshow deserves all the finest things in life period

forever valentine by @bradshawsbaby

↳ one shot, fiance!reader, bradley wasn't my valentine this year and i think it's a bit mean tbh

another day, another dollar by @sunflowersteves

↳ one shot, 18+, okay listen, i am a 21st century idependent woman but i would be lying if i said that this big scary bradley wasn't doing it for me 🤤

like i can by @sometimesanalice

↳ series, daggers have a bet on who's gonna set bradley's friend (and the love of his life) on the best date and roo's not very happy about it. loved this series from the first word to the very last!

mary's song by @risriswrites

↳ one shot, best friends to lovers, this made my heart grow 10x

my reward by @susanripper

↳ one shot, this turned me into a little giggling girl and i'm just SHSHSHSHHSHSHS

heart of gold, hands of a heeler by @fandomxpreferences

↳ one shot, he deserves all the love and all the attention in the world

💓STEVE HARRINGTON💓

keep it quiet for me by @my-my-only-angel

↳ one shot, 18+, caution!! hot contents!!

this fic by @harringtonswriting

↳ one shot, steve's making a big romantic gesture™

i think we're alone now by @new-romqntics

↳ one shot, cute little enemies to loves moment

starts with a pen by @moljh

↳ one shot, reader has a mouth on her and i stan

roses and dandelions by @caxde

↳ one shot, hopper!reader, they're both teachers, it's slowburn, it's friends to lovers, it's idiots in love, it's just everything

friday by @softharrington

↳ one shot, robin's plan for valentine's day turned out to be a hot mess but it also sorta worked??? we love to see that

fix it by @lovebugism

↳ one shot, man do i love a good angsty fic that gives me heartache

whip it! and i've been dying to get you dizzy by @schoopsahoy

↳ two shot, 18+, roller-rink!reader, steve meets a girl while being on a babysitting duty

to be alone together by @katsu28

↳ one shot, steve's valentine's day is not all that bad

dress by @munsonsreputation

↳ one shot, 18+, best friends to lovers, dress is one of my top favourite tswift songs and this fic is doing it justice!! 10/10 would read again

do you think i have forgotten? by @keeryshouse

↳ one shot, 18+, idiots in love who are also exes to lovers, beautiful work!!

be mine by @underoossss

↳ one shot, would you look at that, another idiots in love fic! i am so very predictable

💓EDDIE MUNSON💓

broken beds by @lovebugism

↳ one shot, 18+, eddie's not that good at excuses and wayne's not that stupid 😅

caught me slippin' by @uglypastels

↳ one shot, 18+, esscort!eddie, modern au, a wonderful fic based on an equally amazing book 'kiss quotient'. go read them both!!!

💓PETER PARKER💓

this blurb by @webslingingslasher

↳ one shot, nothing like a good pining idiots in love confessing their feeling for each other

a drunk headcannon by @blooming-violets

↳ blurb, tasm!peter is drunk, in love and horny but so is his girl and i love that for them 😌

i spy, no spy by @t-lostinworlds

↳ BIG-SHOT, one shot, avanger!reader, friends to lovers fake dating for a mission, it's so crazy that some people are so talented and hard working, my mind is blown once again. i have nothing but love and respect for one of my favourite authors of all time. slay 💅

💓RHETT ABBOTT💓

afternoon delight by @bradshawsbaby

↳ one shot, 18+, rhett is just such a helpful boyfriend, just a gem

#anna's fic recs #fic recs #february 2023 fic recs #top gun fic recs #robert floyd x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #jake seresin x reader #stranger things fic recs #steve harrington x reader

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ghuleh-recs · 1 year ago

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★ Ghost Fandom Fic Rec Tag ★

VERY annoyed about the anon hate I’m seeing in my favorite writers’ ask boxes lately. So! I thought I'd live up to my username. Let’s appreciate some amazing writers and rec some fucking fics.

Rules (re: loose guidelines)

Pick some fics from your AO3 bookmarks or your likes/reblobs here on tumblr, and post them with links and a blurb about it. Maybe a summary or just a reason you liked it. As many or as few as you feel like sharing. Then, as one does, tag your friends.

This is a ZERO pressure tagging situation—if you’re too busy or don’t feel like participating, no biggie at allll. Let’s just spread some love and positivity shall we?

I’ll go first (some slightly spoiler-y descriptions ahead):

[REC] and 1080P by @st-danger We've got some absolutely delicious vulnerable Dew x completely smitten Swiss right here. Long story short, they send a video of Dew in panties to Aether. These are scorchingly hot. Part of Saint’s Kinktober series—which you better subscribe to if you haven’t already.

This Swiss x Aeon stoned hand kink ficlet from @crimsonclergy actually set my brain on fire yesterday. So there’s that.

This fic from @riconas featuring insecure Dew knotting Aether. A little desperate, a little mean, a LOT sexy.

A Touch Too Much by @miasmaghoul Hey have you ever wondered what would happen if Dew went into heat during a ritual? And how he might react to Papa singing about daddies and caressing him during KTGG? Hmm? You ever wonder about that?

It would tear me apart, it would haunt me forever (so much you'd never get to know) by @littlemoon-beam oh boy this is some stunningly good Dew angst. This fic will hurt your feelings and then you’re gonna thank Moon for it. She really blasted into this fandom like the Kool-aid guy and we are honestly so hashtag blessed for it.

Now for some reader-insert if that’s more your style.

Misaimed Desire by @violet-lazer Whoops. You accidentally texted Secondo something saucy and he summons you to his office. Whatever will he do to you? Part of her excellent First Kisses: Papal Edition series. Terzo is next so y'all better subscribe.

Banchetto by @angellayercake This. This right here is the good shit. Terzo is wasting away, not handling life after the Ghost Project well at all. Primo and Secondo enlist your help seeing as you’ve got some serious cooking skills. This is gorgeously written with some god tier slow burn and eventual smut. It’s a WIP but the most recent chapter is super satisfying, don’t you worry.

The Cardinal's Bride by @ramblingoak If you’re not following along with this, you’re REALLY missing out. This is pure bodice-ripper GOLD. Some of the most satisfying slow burn I have EVER read. I reread the whole thing every time Oak drops a new chapter.

The Prince by @kissingghouls Vampire!Terzo x slayer!reader need I say more? I am loving the latest installment of Suck Club (you should really read them all). Terzo is pathetic and wears crop tops and it has me actually kicking my heels and giggling as I read.

One last thing:

Leave a comment on ao3, or reply/reblog (with tags) here on the hellsite anything you enjoyed that someone else recommended. I dare you. The author might even reply and you’ll feel oh so special.

I tag: @littlemoon-beam, @rightintheghoulies, @myghemicalghostmance, @angellayercake, @ramblingoak, @neekocalico, @kissingghouls, @stede-bonnets and anyone reading this that also enjoys fanfic. Yeah you. I’m so serious. Don't test me, boy.

(Feel free to tag me back because I have soooo many others but this already got way too long.)

#let's spread some light in our little satanic corner of tumblr #fellas is it gay to say:#i love and admire each and every one of you #the band ghost #the band ghost fic rec #the band ghost fanfiction #nameless ghouls fanfiction #fic rec!!

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sashaisready · 1 year ago

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Chapter 7a - Underestimate

Nick Fowler x Shy CIA Employee

Under the Radar Masterlist

Chapter 6 - File

Warnings: References to sex trafficking, violence and some gore descriptions, misogynistic references

(One final part to come! Thank you so much for reading/commenting/reblogging so far - it’s been so lovely seeing your reactions!)

Wordcount: 2300

“Joe….hey” you mumble, trying your best to mask your sheer terror. You figure you might as well try to feign innocence…it wasn’t likely to work…but it’s all you had.

“Can you believe it?” You surprise yourself when it comes out in a somewhat sunshiney tone that you desperately pulled from some hidden depths. “I was just going to bed and saw that report didn’t attach to my email to Walsh. So I just came in to send it…what a ditz huh?” You laugh hollowly.

He smiles. You never noticed how shark-like his smile looked until just now. How his eyes are just…empty…soulless.

It’s clear he’s not buying it, but you continue.

“H-how about you? Burning the midnight oil?” You plaster a smile over your face. The sides of your mouth ache with the strain.

“Sure am” he says quietly. “I get a lot of my best work done at night, actually”.

You nod. “Well…I don’t want to distract you any further. My bed is calling! I’ll see you tomorrow”.

You lurch forward towards the door but a strong arm shoots up and blocks your movement.

“Joe…” you whisper, your voice thick with fear. You’re suddenly very aware of his strength, his size. The way he looms over you. You had considered that attractive just a few hours before, but now it seems chilling.

“No. Stay”.

Your strained smile appears again. “I really shouldn’t…”

His eyes move to the folder in your hands then back to your face again. “Did I forget to file that away? Whoops. How careless of me” he smirks. “Looks like I need to brush up on my confidentiality training”.

You can’t speak. You just stare back at him, your throat drying up and your breath strangled.

He sighs dramatically. “A pity. You’ve messed up the timeline now…”

Your eyes widen as you stare back at him. “Joe…you’re…you’re part of Project Cotton?” You eke out. “How…how could you? What…”

He rolls his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics” he groans. “Now I have to accelerate things…” he picks up his phone from his pocket and begins to send a text. “Typical you, huh sweetheart? Too involved for your own good. Anyone else would’ve ignored the file…or not even come into the office at this time just to send a damn email…but of course you did. And now I gotta change the plan. Ugh…”

You’re still in shock. “Joe…how could you do this to me?” You whisper. “We’re friends…we nearly kissed-”

He laughs. “Are we friends? Or have I just thrown you a few lines to show what a good guy I am, and get you to trust me?”

You stammer, trying to respond but unable to find the words.

“It’s easy, really. I throw out a few choice words - tell you how proud I am of you, how smart you are…and you eat it up and I get you on side. I pretend I shun the guys’ nights, stick up for you so you can see how brave I am…simple. It’s always the same with girls like you” he shrugs.

“And then I act like I like you…but tell you we can’t be together yet cos it’s not appropriate…yada yada yada…and that means you trust me and think I have integrity because I didn’t immediately try to fuck you. But then…And sorry we’re skipping this part so you have to use your imagination…I have an epiphany! And I do want to be with you!! And when I take you out on our ‘date’ you follow me willingly wherever I tell you to because you trust me implicitly - no matter how late at night it is. And then I do the drop off, my buyer pays the full balance and poof!…I’m 50k richer”.

“You’re…you’re a monster” you shriek as you back away from him.

He shrugs. “Look…it’s nothing personal. It’s just business”.

“I have friends…family…and…and I work for the CIA!! They’ll notice I’m gone”.

He laughs cruelly. “Well, you don’t really do you? Yeah that Annie chick. But that’s kinda it. You’re perfect for this really, lonely and quiet…not many people who’d miss you. Hardly anyone even knows you exist at work…really you’re the perfect candidate”.

“No…no” you protest, your eyes streaming with tears. “Walsh…he’ll…he’ll…”

“Oh please. Walsh will do a sad email to the department or something but he’ll move on. We know how to cover our tracks, sweetheart. They won’t come looking for you”.

You bite your lip, desperately trying to think of a way out. Unable to grasp the ease with which your existence could just be forgotten about. All this time your shyness was making you the perfect victim.

“I’d been scoping you out for a while” says Joe. “And when Walsh put you on Cotton? Man! I couldn’t believe my luck” he laughed.

“So…so…you’ve been part of Cotton this whole time?”

He nods proudly. “Sure have. Why do you think we never get anywhere? Why do you think we never got any names? Why so many bad leads led us down the garden path? It’s easy to plant bad intel if you know how…”

You stare at him open mouthed as the pieces clicked into place. “That’s why you didn’t want me working on the surveillance footage…you weren’t trying to save me the work…you didn’t want me finding anything…”

He sneers. “Ugh. Yeah that was a small setback. Walsh can be so stubborn when he’s made up his mind…and yeah catching Uncle Ray on camera was a pain in my ass…but I tipped him off and he got out in time sooo…no harm done”.

You choke on your sob. “Colebrook is your…un-uncle?”

“You got it. He met my dad at Cosmos back in the 70s and they realised they had a common interest” he grinned. “I got in on the family business early, but they realised I was much better placed somewhere that could help them. So I joined the training academy, worked my way up and here I am. Quite the side hustle, huh?” He sniggered.

“What…trafficking women?” You hissed.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t use words like that…they’re so ugly. We’re just…making our members happy”.

“You piece of shit!!” You scream, lunging at him as your anger boiled to a crescendo. “How can you do this?? To innocent women?? You’re meant to be helping people!!”

He knocks you back with a single hand, then subtly pulls back his suit jacket to reveal his firearm stored in its holster. You breathe sharply.

“Let’s not do anything silly, sweetheart” he warns gravely, the threat clear.

“Honestly, for a second I thought you were gonna figure it out when you saw my dad’s file” he laughs.

Your blood runs cold as you remembered the familiar photograph in that file. How you could’ve sworn you’d seen him before. Now it seemed so obvious, the way Joe shut it suddenly and distracted you with lunch…the similarity of features between the two or them. The same shark-like grin…

You felt a fool. A fool for walking straight into his trap.

A fool for ignoring Nick’s warning.

Oh, Nick. Did he know? Probably not. But he knew Joe wasn’t to be trusted. He had better instincts than you. You wished you could tell him how sorry you were.

“Nick knew you were no good…” you breathed quietly.

Joe scoffed. “Oh, Fowler. Of course he did. He’s always been fond of you, you know he beat the shit out of Leigh for how he spoke about you?” He laughed.

“W-what?”

“Oh. You didn’t know? Ha! Yeah he pummelled Leigh after he insulted you that day in the office. Told him if he was ever rude about you again he’d tear him limb from limb. Why do you think Leigh creeps around you like a skittish puppy now? He’s terrified Nick will finish him off if he upsets you again. Honestly wish I’d thought of that…that would’ve won you over even quicker”.

You stared into space as you took this in, numb at this information. Nick had…defended your honour? Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he just tell Leigh to shut up at the time?

“Anyway. Enough chitchat…we gotta go” Joe sighed, as if you were some tedious chore.

“W-where?”

“Well obviously now you know the truth I gotta get you delivered. So chop chop…”

You swallowed. “No…”

“No?” He laughed. “Sweetheart, you don’t have much of a choice here”. He flashed the gun again. “Now…are you going to come quietly or do I need to be a bit meaner?”

“You…you can’t hurt me” you stammered, as bravely as you could. “You…you need me in good shape to complete the sale”.

He chuckled. “True. But I can always give him a slight discount if the product gets damaged in transit…”

You flinched, unable to comprehend how easily he described you as an object. You feel nauseated wondering how many girls he’s done this to. How many lives he and his horrible family had destroyed.

You suddenly felt blind rage. Hatred and anger curdled in your soul. The audacity to treat women like products. The sheer gall to run your criminal operation from a CIA office. Well, it was hiding in plain sight. Clever really, if not diabolical.

You began to walk backwards as he stalked toward you, his hand resting over his gun. “We’ve had our fun…c’mon. Let’s go”.

“Grant on the front desk knows I’m here” you hissed. “And there’s CCTV, a record of my key card swiping in…”

Joe yawned as if bored with your attempts at logic. “The security guards just switched shifts. I’ll take you out the back, put you in my car and I’ll go casually tell Ernie you rushed home feeling unwell. Then I’ll arrange a few fake sightings of you over the next few days so I wasn’t the last one to see you…oh, and I’ve tampered with the CCTV” he grinned. “The monitors will be showing a loop of the empty office. I always use it when I come here late. No trail that way”.

You gulped as you continued backing up, the cool wood of Joe’s desk hitting the back of your thighs as you realised where you were.

He had thought of everything.

…Almost.

Your whole life, people underestimated you. They thought quiet meant stupid. They thought shy meant you weren’t listening. That you weren’t paying attention. But you were. You always were.

Nick had underestimated you. So had Walsh to some extent. It was a pattern that had followed you for your whole life.

Joe had underestimated you too. He thought he had you all figured out because he’d used a few nice words and pretended to care about you. He thought you were passive and meek, that you wouldn’t fight.

If you’d learned anything from your time at the CIA, even from the periphery of the action, it was was that one of the biggest mistakes you could make was underestimating your opponent.

It seems Joe hadn’t learned that lesson yet.

But you would teach him.

He grinned sinisterly as he moved towards you. You knew you only had one shot. Your body seemed to move by itself as your hands moved behind you, quickly sliding along the desk until you found what you were looking for.

“Let’s go” he growled.

Joe clasped his hands around your shoulders and ripped you away from the desk just as your fingers wrapped around the sleek metal of the letter opener you’d dropped on his desk just minutes before he found you. Now or never.

You brought it up high and slammed it at full force into his neck with all the strength that you had. It made a sickening squishing sound as it broke the skin and tore through the muscle, the blood immediate and gushing.

He let out a low howl of pain like a struck animal as he stumbled and gasped in shock, his hands leaving you immediately and moving to the wound.

You staggered back, eyes wide - not quite believing what you’d done as you looked down at your blood soaked hand. You began to run then, your legs like jelly as you attempted to round the desk and make a beeline for the exit.

“Not so fast you little bitch” he wheezed as he lunged towards you, tearing you down to the ground as you screamed and he rolled you over on your front. You laid there dazed, desperately trying to think of another plan.

“Looks like I’ll lose a sale, but it’ll be worth it” he hissed through gritted teeth as he pulled out his gun and placed the barrel to your forehead, his limbs clumsy and heavy as he groaned in pain and the blood slowly darkened his suit. The letter opener was still in his neck, jutting out at a grotesque angle.

You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut as the metal dug hard into your forehead. You could hear his breathing deepen painfully and tried to take solace in the hope that he might bleed out after you were dispatched. At least it wouldn’t have all been in vain.

You felt a tear escape down your cheek as you waited for the end. You thought of Annie. You thought of your family. Even Nick. Oh, Nick. He had been so awful but you couldn’t deny how he made you feel. How much you missed him. If you had listened to him about Joe then you wouldn’t be here.

You heard the gunshot which surprised you. You thought the bullet would’ve gone into your skull before you registered the sound. But it was so loud. So loud. Your ears rung in the aftermath. You waited…but nothing happened. You heard shouting and heavy footsteps and your eyes flew open.

Joe was collapsed on the floor beside you, eyes closed but groaning. Still alive.

What…?

Then you felt the hands on your waist. Someone else. You peered up and found his bright blue irises staring back at you. He was speaking, his face twisted in fear, but you couldn’t hear the words. You just gazed up at him, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Nick…?” You whispered.

Chapter 7b - All of Them (Final Part)

#sebastian stan #nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #nick fowler x you #the 355 #under the radar fic

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