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handful0fteeth · 7 months

Text

sexy when you scream

kinktober day 2: roleplaying

summary: you told eddie you wanted him to stalk you. he obliges, and makes your wildest fantasy come true.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: slight 90s!au, smut, minors DNI, explicit language, lots of dirty talk, A LOT of cnc, stalking kink, kidnapping kink, bondage, fearplay, (slight) knifeplay, rough sex

words: 9.7k

Oh, you are so fucked.

The cold, hard metal of your keys bite into your palm as you clench your hands together, pressing them against your chest as you slowly take inventory of your porch.

You wouldn't believe it if you weren’t standing here and seeing this with your own eyes. But here it is, in all its terrifying, thrilling glory. You worry your bottom lip with your teeth and take a step back.

Hundreds of daisies have been sprinkled on your front stoop; some rest in clumps atop the seats of your wicker chairs and a dusty metal table, while others are threaded through the thin whorls of metal within your iron porch columns. A path of daises led you to this discovery in the first place, smatterings of pink, white, and red petals and long green stems guiding you to your home from the driveway. In front of your door, pink clusters have been arranged to form the first initial of your name inside of a crude heart.

A cold wind blusters a few flowers across the tops of your tennis shoes, and you retreat down the concrete steps leading up the porch a little further. This egregious display was most certainly not here when you left for the gym an hour ago. You adjust your duffel bag on your shoulder and swallow hard despite your suddenly bone-dry mouth.

You know who did this. You spin on your heel, scanning the sparse forest encasing your home for anything - or anyone - who shouldn’t be there.

“Hello?” Your voice is small, scared, fluttering away on the autumnal breeze with all the conviction of a mewling kitten. The forest remains defiantly silent.

You see it when you’ve stepped onto your driveway, back turned to the floral explosion blocking your door. Nestled about one hundred yards away from your house, mostly camouflaged beneath a tapestry of oak leaves that have gone red and orange with the October chill, is the white-brown front bumper of a car.

No, not a car - a van.

Your stomach flips as you ascend your porch steps. The trees are blocking the windshield, so you can’t see if anyone occupies the van’s interior, but it feels like eyes are on you. Trying to find your house key proves difficult as your hands shake, and you keep glancing over your shoulder to ensure the van doesn’t move. Losing sight of it somehow feels scarier than knowing it’s there.

You finally slip the correct key into the lock, but when you turn it, there’s resistance. You try again - no luck. You hold the knob and lift, shimmying the key inside the door to dislodge whatever lay inside, but nothing gives. Sweat beads at your hairline and pools in your palms, and just as you’re about to throw the keys down in defeat, you notice your silhouette is pasted against the door. The world is suddenly much brighter than it was moments ago, and when you chance a look behind you, you realize why.

The van’s headlights have flared on. You blink against their harsh yellow light as your stomach drops into your shoes.

Shit. You bend, trying to peer inside your lock's narrow channel to figure out what’s jamming it. The dying evening light doesn’t give you much clarity, and you curse yourself for forgetting to switch on the porch light before you left.

A loud rumble pierces the air, disturbing a few nesting birds nearby into flight; he’s revving the engine.

Yep, definitely fucked.

You scrape the tip of your key along the rim of the lock, hoping you can dislodge whatever’s inside to unlock your door. White and pink petals crumble out, and it dawns on you as the glow of the headlights abruptly shuts off, and the engine cuts out.

He’s stuffed daisies in the door.

“Motherfucker!” you growl, slapping your hand uselessly against the doorjamb.

The sound of a car door slamming shut makes you whip around. The oak trees still obstruct your view, so all you can make out of the figure now slowly stalking toward you are a pair of dingy white sneakers crunching over the carpet of rotting leaves.

You don’t think - you just act. You swing your duffel back off your shoulder, offloading the unnecessary weight, and hear it crash into one of your wicker chairs as you dash down your porch steps. You fly around the side of the house, mud squelching and slipping beneath your tennis shoes, and just before you reach your backdoor, you trip.

All the air in your lungs whooshes out as you collide with the cold, wet ground, and mud squishes up between your fingers as you skid forward on your stomach. Pain zaps through the knee you landed on like lightning, and you gasp, but you don’t have time to sit here. He’s gaining on you. You can feel his presence at your back, if you can just get inside before he reaches you…

You scrabble forward, clawing at the mud and flinging clumps behind you as you struggle back up to your feet. Footsteps squish behind you, measured, slow.

The screen door crashes against the wall as you fling it open, but you hardly hear it over the blood rushing through your ears. Luckily, or stupidly, you never lock your back door, and though you have a hard time grasping the knob with your mud-slick palms, it gives way quickly as you barrel your entire body through it. When you slam it shut, your whole house rattles. A silence settles over you, thick like smoke and just as suffocating. Over the roar of blood in your ears, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

Then, you laugh.

You bend over, hands gripping your knees, lungs still burning, heart still pounding, and you start laughing. Mud is drying on your skin and clothes, and as your body quakes from the force of your laughter, flakes drift to the floor in front of you. Adrenaline throbs through your body, and something stirs in your stomach, intermingling with the fear that’s still got your teeth on edge and your hands shaking. Before you can name it, the doorknob in front of you jiggles.

He’s trying to open it.

You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle the giggles still pouring out. You wonder if he can hear you, if your girlish sounds of mirth are amusing or irritating to him. The knob wiggles harder, more insistently, forcing the door to tremble on its hinges, and just when you think it’s going to shake itself loose - it stops. The quiet creeps back in as you lower your hands, giggles under control for now. Seconds bleed into minutes, and you’re just standing by the door, watching it expectantly, like at any moment, the lock will magically fail and allow your unexpected guest inside.

Bangbangbang!

You can’t help the scream that bursts from your lips. The sound of a demanding fist pounding on your door rings out like a shot, and you aren’t even aware that your feet are whisking you away and into your kitchen until you’ve almost run straight into the counter. When you whip back around, ready to threaten the presence at the door and bluff your ass off, the banging stops as suddenly as it started.

Oh, he’s good.

You scurry to the living room and snap the curtains closed on all the windows, but not before peering outside. You eye the spot where the van is supposed to be parked and are met with nothing but empty forest.

Where did he go? He couldn’t have driven off that quickly, could he? Surely you would’ve heard the tires squeal over the forest floor, and surely he couldn’t have disappeared in a matter of seconds? You nibble your bottom lip again and back away from the windows.

You rub your bare arms, trying to soothe the gooseflesh that’s apparated over your entire body and take a deep, shuddering breath. Your heart still thunders against your ribcage, so much so that you’re sure it’d be audible from across the room.

You only notice the envelope taped to your fridge when you turn to face the kitchen.

You almost scream again. The writing on the outside is a familiar scrawl, addressed in black ink to a “Sweetheart.” Your legs are like lead as they shuffle over to the fridge, and when you bring the letter to your face with trembling fingers, a blend of cigarettes, weed, and something earthy-sweet wafts into your nose. Your resolve melts a little when you peel open the envelope and read the note within:

Hope you liked the flowers. I picked ‘em special for you. I’ll be seeing you soon, sweetheart, even if you don’t see me. Behave yourself.

A shiver ripples down your spine. You run your fingers over the letter, feeling where he’s pressed the pen into paper so hard it’s left indentations. God, you’re so tempted to run outside and call for him now, to end this little game before it’s even truly begun - the heat in your cheeks and the throbbing between your legs demands it. But where’s the fun in that?

You hug the note to your chest, chewing your lip, and slide down to the floor like a smitten schoolgirl instead of someone who should be terrified that their house was broken into and that whoever broke in left you a note promising constant observation. And on some level, you are scared. But the fear is the best part of all of this.

When Eddie asked you weeks ago if you ever had any fantasies you’d be interested in roleplaying, you’re sure he was expecting you to say you’d love to be the naughty student to his seductive professor or even something in a fantastical, magical vein that he could really sink his teeth into, but you didn’t. You hadn’t wanted to answer him at first, truthfully, because for all the dark, wicked things you’d already confessed made you embarrassingly wet, you didn’t think Eddie would be very on board with the idea of acting like some psycho stalker while you pretended to fear for your life.

Oh, how wonderfully wrong you were.

You hardly had to elaborate on the finer details of your fantasy before he emphatically agreed to participate, and he didn’t allow you to leave anything out, either. When you tried, when you curled in on yourself or tucked your head out of shyness, Eddie was there, grabbing your chin and crowding into your space, encouraging you with his velvet-soft tenor to keep going. The words tumbled out of you so freely it was like you weren’t even thinking about them - you confessed to wanting to be desired so fiercely that nothing would stop Eddie in his pursuit, not even you running from him. You wanted him to obsess over you, to make it clear that he was always there, always watching and waiting for another opportunity to express his devotion, whether you liked it or not.

You admitted, with Eddie’s deft fingers rubbing tantalizing circles around your clit, that you wanted him to make you scared. True, bone-chilling fear isn’t what you were after; you just wanted that thrill, that dump of adrenaline that kicked your body into overdrive, like when you’d watch a scary movie. In the face of mundanity, the dreary day-to-day that was living in Hawkins, that jolt of fear let you know, doubtlessly, that you were alive.

The shrill chime of the phone tears you from your thoughts, and you yelp. You back into the fridge reflexively, eyeing the phone on the adjacent wall like it’s a wild animal rearing to bite if you make a move toward it. Your heart batters so hard against your chest that you’re sure it’ll burst free at any moment and plop on the floor in a bloody, steaming heap. Gross.

You don’t move, and the phone rings out. The house isn’t silent for a full second before a second call jars the receiver, and you swallow thickly. You wonder how many calls you’d have to ignore before Eddie came banging around the house again, and for a moment, you consider doing just that. But that’s not part of the game. You’re supposed to be a poor, helpless victim who does just the wrong thing at just the wrong time. So you stand, your thighs quaking with the effort of keeping you upright, and pick up the phone.

“H-Hello?”

“Why’d you run from me, sweet thing?” Eddie croons. His voice is dark and smooth, and even through the receiver, it rumbles right down into your core. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Who is this?” you ask, and though the tremble in your voice is real, it isn’t from fear. You’re so fucking excited. You have to chew on your thumbnail just to suppress the giggles building in your throat, and you’re glad, for once, that Eddie can’t see the smile on your face.

“Aw, what, you don’t recognize me?” Eddie pouts, and you can practically hear him jutting out his bottom lip. “That hurts, sweetheart. Really stings.”

“Who…who the fuck are you?”

Eddie sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth. “Ouch, such foul language from such a pretty girl. I should wash your mouth out for that.”

The thought is, confusingly, very arousing. You decide you’ll table that and bring it up to Eddie at a later date.

“Anyway. D’you get my note?” he asks, as cool and casual as ever.

“I…How the fuck did you get into my house?”

He laughs. “Let’s not pretend you live in Fort Knox here, sweetheart. All I needed was a few tools and five minutes, and boom - it opened up like it was waiting for me. Just like you will.”

Fuck. You choke on your tongue as you press your back to the wall, knees buckling and threatening to drop you to the floor. You wonder where he’s calling from, if he drove away from your house, or if he just retreated further into the woods. If he’s out there now, watching, waiting.

“I’m not doing shit for you, you fucking weirdo,” you snarl, and Eddie laughs again.

“I am definitely gonna have to teach you some manners, aren’t I? Rude little thing, you are. I wonder if you’d be so keen on mouthing off if I was standing right in front of you.”

“I’m not scared of you.” A lie; you’re most definitely scared, but you’re also so fucking horny you’re having a hard time thinking straight. By sheer force of will, you don’t beg down the phone for Eddie to just come and take you now. You want to wait and play this whole thing out just as you two had planned, but God, it is so hard to have patience when he condescends to you.

“You should be,” Eddie purrs. “‘Cause you know what I like to do to mouthy little brats like you?” You hear him shift wherever he is, and the sigh that billows past his lips sends a shiver down your spine. You know that sound intimately, and how his breath hitches as he speaks confirms precisely what you’re thinking.

“I like to make them scream. Break ‘em ‘til they beg for mercy. And it’d be so easy to do, tiny little thing like you can’t even run two feet without tripping over herself.”

Your mind goes blank. An embarrassed flush rises high on your cheeks, but you hardly notice; Eddie’s low, almost imperceptible groan is bouncing around the inside of your skull, and you know for a fact you heard the jingle of his belt coming undone. He’s touching himself, maybe pulling his cock out of his jeans as you speak, so aroused at what he has planned for when he gets his hands on you that he can’t help himself. You clench your thighs tightly, pretending your panties aren’t getting wetter by the second.

“I-I’m gonna call the cops,” you threaten weakly. “I’m gonna c-call them right now, and when they get here they’ll-”

“They’ll what, sweetheart? Hm? C’mon, don’t be silly, you know they won’t believe you. Not like they’d be faster than me anyway. By the time they busted in, I’d already have my cock down your throat.”

You have to bite down on the back of your hand so hard it hurts to stop the moan that wants to spill out. This side of Eddie, this arrogant, cold, mean side of him, is unexpected but dizzyingly sexy. You can’t help the image that trickles into your brain: you on your knees, your hair fisted in Eddie’s hand as he thrust himself so deep in your throat that you’d have no choice but to gag on him, blinking tears from your eyes as your supposed “rescuers” came face-to-face with the very man you called to report in the first place.

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N,” Eddie promises, his voice gruff with arousal. “But I’ll make sure you don’t see me ‘til I want you to. Think you can be a good girl for me ‘til then?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, and he laughs.

“I thought so.” There’s a pause, and when Eddie speaks again, it’s softer, quieter, like he’s afraid someone is eavesdropping. “Are you okay, by the way? Like, really. That fall looked like it hurt.”

You smile, twisting the phone cord around your fingers. “I’m okay, baby. Just muddy. I don’t even think I scraped anything.”

“Good. Do you remember your safeword, angel?”

“Mmhm. Mercy.”

“And what happens if you call mercy?”

“Everything stops, right there and then,” you say, repeating what you’d gone over probably dozens of times before tonight. As excited as Eddie was, he refused to participate in anything risky like this without a safeguard, for both of your sakes. As he’d put it, “If the whole point is you sayin’ ‘no,’ how am I supposed to know when that really means ‘no?’”

Eddie chuckles. “That��s my good girl. Alright, go get cleaned up. I’ll be watchin’ you.”

The line goes dead without another word.

You stare at the receiver for what feels like a long, long time. You’re half expecting him to call you back, maybe to taunt you some more, but he doesn’t.

You’re still so fucked. And you’re thrilled.

~~~

Days pass without much incident.

When you wake up the next morning, the daisies have all mysteriously disappeared from your porch, as if they were never there. Your duffel bag has been propped up in one of your wicker chairs, but when you unzip it, it’s empty, save for a single pink daisy at the bottom. You don’t know if Eddie’s around or watching, so you stealthily pluck the flower out of your bag and tuck it close to your chest. You suppose it sort of ruins the illusion if you keep your “stalker’s” creepy calling card, but beneath that, who are you to throw away the flowers your boyfriend gifts you?

You try to go about your life normally but catch yourself constantly looking over your shoulder, flinching at every twig that breaks in the woods, running to the window to fling the curtains open if you think you hear a voice on the breeze outside. There’s never anything there, but you always check. Nighttime is when Eddie’s decided he’s going to mess with you the most. He doesn’t need to break in, as you gave him a key ages ago, but you’d discussed that feeling more authentic for the fantasy, so he does it.

He comes in at around three o’clock every night - you awake to footsteps creaking along your floorboards, shadows rippling over your wall, and dissipating in the blink of an eye, but when you gather the courage to storm down the hallway, he’s nowhere to be seen. You only know he was there because his scent lingers behind him, earth-sweet and smokey with cigarettes. The anticipation makes it harder to fall asleep every night, like a kid waiting to catch Santa Claus in the act.

After a week, he amps it up. You awake to daisies in front of your bedroom door, and when you return home from work that night, a white one is on your pillow. He’s edging closer and closer to you, circling like a vulture readying its descent toward its meal. You start waking up to calls in the middle of the night, but when you pick up, Eddie doesn’t speak. He only breathes, deep and slow, into your ear until you scream at him and hang up. You toothlessly attempt to brat at him, perhaps bait him into just doing whatever the fuck he’s planning already, but he remains cool-headed. When you swear at him, he merely chuckles, a knowing, expectant sound, and any insults you can conjure during your calls go unheeded.

That’s possibly the scariest part about this - Eddie does not, and has never, taken your bratting lightly. He enjoys nothing more than putting you squarely back in your place should you decide to put even one toe out of line, so the fact that he’s permitting abject disrespect and taunting from you means he is biding his time. You know he’s running a mental tally in his head, and you will soon reap the consequences.

That thought runs rampant in your head when you doze off one night, too exhausted to keep your eyes open. The book you’re reading lays askew on your lap, and the rain pattering against your window lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep. You don’t know what time you drift off at, nor how long it is before you’re jostled awake, but when you regain consciousness, you’re immediately cognizant of three things.

First, you are upside down. Blood pools in your skull, making it very hard to concentrate on anything but the dull, persistent throb in your head.

Second, you can’t move. You thrash uselessly, but your arms burn in the position they’re forced into behind your back, and your legs have been bound at the ankles.

Lastly, your mouth is full. You try to scream, but the sound comes out garbled behind a thick, round hunk of something that’s been shoved so far into your jaw that it aches. You can feel thin straps on either side of your face, digging into the tender flesh of your cheeks, and when you poke at the strange object with your tongue, all you feel is smooth, rubbery roundness.

The fog of sleep stubbornly refuses to clear quickly enough for you to orient yourself, so all you can gather for a moment is that you’re cold. When you shiver, a dark, gleeful sound slithers up your spine, one you’d recognize any day.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous,” Eddie hums, and when he shifts, you glean a better understanding of what’s going on. He’s thrown you over his shoulder as if you weigh less than nothing and brought you outside somewhere. You can’t tell if you’re just outside your house or if this is a different part of the woods - all you can see are the dark, spindly shadows of dying trees against the velvet black of the night. You thrash futilely, screaming obscenities at him as best you can as buzzing heat cracks through your veins like lightning.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Didn’t order a wake-up call, huh?”

His voice sounds oddly muffed, though you can’t discern if that’s due to the blood roaring in your ears. Something clatters open ahead of him, and before you can blink, you’re being tossed through the air. You shriek and land on something warm and soft; when you flex your fingers against it, you realize it’s a pile of thick, fuzzy blankets laid atop what appears to be a mattress. You don’t need to look further to realize where Eddie’s dumped you - you’re inside his van.

He’d modified the back of it ages ago, when you first started dating, partially because having sex on the floor was murder on your back and hips, but mostly so you two could have somewhere private to sleep and hang out. Eddie didn’t have anything against going to your place, but he always seemed…stiffer, somehow, inside the four walls of your home. Like he was acutely aware that he didn’t belong there, or at least didn’t feel like he belonged. Your house's tidy, eclectic decor was so different than the cluttered, shabby interior of his trailer, and that had never bothered you, but it so clearly bothered him.

When your eyes fall on Eddie’s face, you realize why he’d sounded so strange. He’s wearing a mask, one he no doubt procured from a Halloween store - the long, white face appears perpetually frozen in a mournful scream, and its black eyes are narrowed at you in apparent anguish. A black shawl hides Eddie’s long hair, blending in with his all-black outfit tonight. He tilts his head at you slowly, crossing his arms and leaning against the van’s open door.

“Whatsa matter, pretty girl? You look so scared. You scared of me?” His voice is cloyingly sweet, deliciously patronizing. You whip your head from side to side, viciously denying it, even though your entire body is shaking and your heart is hammering against your chest. You’re coming to regret your choice of pajamas tonight, as the thin, silky nightgown you’d chosen before slipping into bed does nothing to protect you from the frigid air trickling into the van.

You’d also forgone panties entirely, something you aren’t sure Eddie’s noticed yet.

How long had it taken him to tie you up? You wiggle your arms within their bonds and glance down at your legs, noting the white, plastic sliver encompassing your ankles. Zip ties? Where the fuck did Eddie get zip ties? And how did he manage to use them without you waking up? Surely, no one was that careful.

Drool oozes from the corners of your mouth, dribbling embarrassingly down your neck, heedless of your attempts to rub it away with your shoulder.

“If you behave, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Eddie coos. He bends toward you, and a single, black-gloved finger crooks beneath your chin. He angles your face toward him, expression entirely indiscernible beneath his mask. His thumb brushes over your cheek so gently, mopping up some of your saliva, and you have to remind yourself of the part you’re playing so you don’t lean into his touch.

Then, Eddie’s hand is gone from your face, only resuming occupancy on your body when it closes around your throat. You squeak, a wet, pathetic sound from beneath your gag, and your eyes go wide as saucers.

“Although, you seem fucking incapable of behaving yourself lately,” he snarls, jostling you back and forth. “What’d you think was gonna happen, hm? Acting all fucking high and mighty, talking to me like I’m some scumbag? You need to learn some fucking respect, girl, some goddamn humility.”

You whimper, Eddie’s threats tingling pleasantly down to your pussy. Tears well up in your eyes, and you desperately try to communicate an apology, but it all comes out as broken nonsense. You knew this was coming; you knew he wouldn’t let you off scot-free for anything you’d said over the past week, but something about the white-hot indignation in his voice makes the fear smoldering beneath your arousal burn that much brighter. You try wrenching out of his grip, but all that earns you is a fist knotted in the hair at the back of your head.

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Eddie mocks, pitching his voice higher. “Yeah, I bet you think you are. But you’re gonna learn what sorry looks like soon, what it really feels like. I told you, breaking little brats like you and making them scream for mercy is one of my favorite pastimes.”

Eddie shoves you onto your back, and the faint light from the yellowish bulb inside the van vanishes as he crawls on top of you. The chalk-white features of his mask hover just above your face, shiny and thick and reeking of powder. You wail in protest, hurling muddled insults at him while trying in vain to tug yourself free of the zip ties. The struggle feels good, cathartic, in a way. It helps to alleviate all the jittery, excited energy pent up inside your body, and it thrills you to know that Eddie won’t stop fighting you right back unless you call mercy. He’ll take what he wants from you as roughly as he pleases, and in turn, you’ll give him everything you have. You trust him implicitly, so when he grabs your throat again and squeezes until you’re gasping around your gag, you lay there with raw, feral arousal roiling in your belly instead of fear.

“How’s my angel?” Eddie whispers into your ear, and you relax further into his hand. His fingers slacken just enough to allow you a small, shallow breath, and you nod vigorously. You hope your eyes can communicate what your mouth can’t right now.

“Good girl, you’re doing great. If you need to tap out, I want you to kick your feet down three times, okay?” He raps his knuckles by your head to demonstrate his point. You nod again.

When he lifts his body off yours, cold air sweeps you up in its grasp, and you shudder. Wordlessly, Eddie hops out of the van and slams the door shut, leaving you alone in the back. He jumps in the front and revs the engine just as you’ve begun to scream and flail around again.

“Scream all you want, sweet thing,” he encourages. “No one’s gonna be able to hear you anyway. Nobody’s comin’ to save you from me.” The metallic squeal of a guitar suddenly bursts into your eardrums; Eddie’s turned on the radio and cranked it almost full blast, effectively drowning out all your cries for help. If anyone were outside the van, they wouldn’t even know you were there.

Eddie hits the gas, and the van thunders to life before speeding off into the night.

~~~

You must be more tired than you’d initially thought because somewhere between your initial “kidnapping” and the van finally skidding to a stop, you doze off again.

It’s hard not to - Eddie blasts the heat, probably because he can see you shivering in his rearview mirror, and the blankets pressed beneath your nose smell just like him. How can you not bury your face in them? And you only intended to shut your eyes for a second, honestly.

A hand caressing your cheek pulls you from your sleepy haze, and you blink at Eddie’s still-masked face. Having briefly forgotten he was wearing it, he startles you, and you suck in a sharp breath as best you can through your gag. He chuckles.

“Just me, pretty girl. Look at you, drooling all over yourself already.”

You feel the slimy wetness of your saliva coating the side of your face as soon as he mentions it, and you self-consciously try to wipe some of it away by rubbing your face into the blanket. He lifts the corner and dabs it along your cheek and jaw.

“Do you need a minute, baby?” he asks. “You look so comfy.”

You shake your head. You can sleep back here whenever you want, but Eddie’s gone through all the trouble of dragging you out here (wherever here is) for a reason. You’re dying to see what it is.

Satisfied with your answer, Eddie wraps his fist in the front of your nightgown and pulls so hard he forces you into a sitting position. Your arms tingle and your head spins with the sudden decrease in blood as he tugs on the loops holding your gag secure. As they fall away, the rubber ball in your mouth plops into your lap, but your mouth isn’t empty for more than a moment before Eddie’s gloved fingers slide across your tongue and press into the back of your throat. You gag and gasp in surprise, trying to flinch away, but Eddie holds your head in place with his free hand.

“If you scream, the next thing going in your mouth is gonna be my boxers,” he warns, and you wrinkle your nose. That’s a soft limit, something you’re not entirely willing to try but are open to having your boundaries pushed about, especially for a punishment. Admittedly, a dark, perverse thrill slinks through your gut at the thought. Having Eddie on your tongue like that, inescapable and unavoidably pungent, is equally humiliating and intriguing. But you don’t have time to try and weigh that thought out, so you just whimper and rock your head from side to side as much as possible.

“That’s what I thought. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

He drags you out of the van by your gown, swinging your body in front of his as you settle unsteadily on your feet. You squint into the surrounding darkness and realize with a cold squeeze of dread that you have no earthly idea where Eddie has driven you. The trees are thicker here, dying leaves black in the moonlight, and there are no stars when you look up at the sky, only bulbous clouds. The air is still and cold, dense with the threat of rain.

The edge of something scintillatingly sharp drags itself down your spine, dangerous even through the fabric of your nightgown. You don’t dare turn around, but you can feel Eddie pressing himself closer as he allows that pointed edge to linger on your flesh.

“Feel that?” he asks. He taps it against your thigh, and you gasp.

“Y-Yes,” you squeak.

“That’s my knife.” Fuck. You have to hold your breath to prevent the moan that wants to spill out.

When Eddie kneels by your legs, he takes a moment to drag both hands appreciatively down either side of you, fingers flexing and kneading the soft flesh of your thighs as his blade pokes menacingly through your skirt. Then, in one swift motion, he slices through the zip tie around your ankles.

As if sensing your inclination to bolt away immediately, Eddie stands and snatches the plastic loop still ensnaring your wrists and tugs you backward against his chest. He wraps his other arm around your neck and the steel of his blade glints from the corner of your eye. You refrain from inhaling his scent, leather, cigarettes, and sweet earth, but just barely.

“Hold on, bunny, don’t hop away just yet,” he murmurs against your hair. “I haven’t explained the rules of our game yet.”

“Game?”

“Mmhm. And if I hear one bit of attitude from you, I’m gonna cut this pretty little dress off you and make you run around these woods stark-naked. Do you understand me?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you bite, not entirely understanding why you feel the need to do the exact opposite of what he’s just told you to do. He laughs, a downright sinister sound.

In one fluid movement, his knife cleaves through the front of your nightgown, splitting it open all the way down to your belly and allowing your breasts to spill out. Your nipples harden immediately from the frosty air, and you gasp, hands instinctively trying to cover yourself up.

“What were you saying? I wouldn’t dare?” Eddie teases. He nudges the torn fabric aside purposefully, further exposing you and taking the opportunity to grope your soft, chilled flesh. Warm breath washes over your ear, and he grinds shamelessly into your ass from behind.

“Now, our game. I’m giving you the chance to run, run, run aaall the way home. If you can find the way back through the woods and make it there before I find you, you’re free, sweetheart. I’ll leave you be and won’t darken your doorstep anymore. But…” Eddie bends you over forcibly, ghosting his lips across your skin as he speaks. You want to beg for him; your body cries out for it, but you don’t. You’re so fucking wet from all of this, from his threats and the glaring danger of his blade, that your thighs stick together every time you adjust your stance to gain some semblance of balance.

“If I find you before you make it home,” Eddie purrs, “I will spend the rest of the night breaking you, bit by bit until you can’t remember why you ever wanted to run from me in the first place. You’ll be my perfect little victim. Sound fair?”

“I…I…” You’re certain your brain just split clear down the middle. Something inside of you, something ancient, urges you to flee, to make your way back to safety by any means possible. But something else, the very same need that demanded it be known all those weeks ago when you first told Eddie about it, desperately wants to be caught. You want to streak through these woods, possibly getting yourself hopelessly lost in the process, only to have Eddie successfully hunt you down and make you suffer so beautifully for him. It’s so overwhelming that you don’t notice Eddie’s cut through the zip ties on your wrists until both arms have fallen limply at your sides.

He steps back, leaving you uncomfortably cold all over again, and lands a hard swat on your ass. You yelp and twirl around to face him, glaring heatedly at that morose white mask. His arms are folded, his posture is relaxed - you haven’t even started running yet, and he’s already so confident, the bastard. You pinch the sides of your shredded nightgown together and step back from him.

He flaps the hand clutching his knife at you, waving you off. “Go on,” he says. “Run along. I’ll even give you a thirty-second headstart since I’m so nice.”

When you, stupidly, don’t move a muscle, he heaves a sigh and pulls the sleeve of his jacket up to look at his watch. “Twenty-eight, twenty-seven-twenty-six…”

Shit. You pick a random direction and sprint.

The sound of him counting fades as distance mounts between you, and once you’re alone, in the total silence of the forest, Eddie is not the only thing you’re afraid of. You’ve heard stories about these woods, the frightening disappearances, and general odd goings-on that happen within. As you leap over a dead, fallen log while determinedly holding your rapidly disintegrating nightgown together, you recall what happened a few years ago to the kid Hawkins deemed Zombie Boy. Supposedly found long dead in a reservoir, bloated and green with decay, his family even held a funeral for him - only for him to turn up, alive and well, weeks later. What could’ve caused such a terrible misunderstanding? What’s worse, who’s to say that whatever - or whoever - caused that misunderstanding isn’t still out here? Who’s to say that they aren’t listening to every branch that snaps below your bare feet, that they haven’t picked up on your scent by now and are tracking you with all the stealth and efficiency of a wolf?

You shake the thought from your head and persevere.

You can’t remember, for the life of you, what direction home is in. You must start down half a dozen different paths before you think better of it and double back to the place you started, and none of your options seem correct. You curse yourself for dozing off in Eddie’s van instead of trying to count how many turns he took, what direction he was going in, anything that might help orient yourself now.

Something rustles the bushes a few yards behind you.

You don’t think - you pick a path and fly down it, swatting low-hanging branches out of your way and ignoring the brambles that hook into the fraying hem of your nightgown. Maybe you should’ve let Eddie cut this cumbersome thing off you when you had the chance. All pretense of trying to be sneaky, of trying not to attract attention, is gone - you are running blind, panting, heaving, whimpering, slapping down tree limbs, and crunching over dead leaves in the hopes you manage to stay just out of Eddie’s reach.

You are terrified. You are exhilarated. You’ve never felt this free in your entire life, and you can’t believe it’s taken you so long to ask Eddie for this.

You weren’t sure before, as you’d tried to tell yourself it was just the sound of your own footfalls echoing in the woods, but you’re certain now that you can hear Eddie’s boots striking the ground as he gains on you. Your thighs burn with the effort of propelling you forward, and every pull of ice-cold air into your lungs is like swallowing needles, but you press on. You want him to catch you, but he needs to work for it, and as you swing a hard left over fallen logs, his hysterical laughter explodes into your ears.

You chance a look over your shoulder. Eddie’s lithe body weaves and slinks through the forest behind you, seemingly unaffected by the foliage that’s presently slicing open the bottoms of your feet and legs; his mask bobs mournfully above his black clothes, a bloodless beacon reflecting what little moonlight leaks through the thick stormclouds above. He’s so close that if he really wanted to, he could reach out and snatch you up by the nape of your neck like a kitten.

You scream. The sound reverberates through the trees, shrill and elated, and another round of laughter booms from Eddie like thunder.

You’ve just managed to leap over a gnarled root without tripping over it or slipping in the mud when you feel fingers at the back of your neck. You squeal and swat aimlessly, which is a stupid fucking idea - Eddie nabs your wrist and pulls, forcing you to come to a skidding halt.

“Let go of me, you fucking freak!” you wail, thrashing against him as he gathers your hands together and snickers into your ear.

“Looks like I win, pretty girl,” he breathes. Something jingles just beyond your head, and before you can wonder what it is, Eddie shows you - steel handcuffs, silver and glittering, dangle in front of your eyes. You whimper and drive your elbows backward, fighting with everything you have to force Eddie off you. You succeed, albeit minimally, and can free one hand. You swing and claw at him, fingers scraping for something to grab hold of until they finally pinch one of his mask’s eye sockets. Lightning cracks across the sky overhead as you rip the mask off Eddie’s face.

The brief flash of light gives you a full look at his face. His brown eyes are wild and bright, crinkled at the edges from the maniacal grin splitting his cheeks apart. His skin is pink and glowing with sweat, and you can’t help how your heart swells as you stare at him. Perhaps if you ever do this again, you’ll set a shorter time limit - you don’t know if you can handle not seeing him for over a week again.

“If you’d stop squirmin’, this’d all go so much faster, sweetheart,” Eddie huffs, trapping your hands together again as you uselessly pound them against his chest. Despite your best efforts, Eddie snaps one cuff around your wrist with a soft click and, as he works on the second one, pushes you both up against the broad trunk of a tree. The bark scrapes painfully along your shoulder blades as you shriek and try to kick him off of you, but it’s too late. He wrenches your arms above your head by the thin chain connecting the handcuffs, and browning leaves descend onto your face as he loops them over a branch.

It’s so high up that you must stand on your tip-toes to avoid burdening your arms with all your weight. Because of that, you can’t gain enough momentum to swing them back down, and Eddie takes a leisurely step back to admire how well and truly stuck you are. He pants, leaning forward on his knees and staring at you through his dark lashes.

“Goddamn, you are a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, giggling breathlessly.

“Get me down from here, right now,” you growl. Admittedly, it’s very hard to be intimidating while your tits hang out of your shredded nightgown, but you still try.

“That’s not what we agreed on. I told you - I catch you, you’re mine. Good thing, too, my dick was just achin’ watching your cute little ass running from me.”

You whimper as Eddie straightens himself out, heaving one final, deep breath before passing a hand through his hair. You don’t realize he’s flicked his knife out again until he’s got the blade right beneath your nose.

“Now, let’s get this shit outta the way.”

You gasp and reflexively bend your body away as Eddie plunges the sharp edge down through what remains of your nightgown, hacking away at it as if it’s personally offended him until it’s reduced to nothing but a pile of silken scraps by your feet. You shudder, wholly unprotected from the cold now and utterly incapable of hiding the arousal smeared down your inner thighs from him.

His breath clouds in front of him as his eyes roam over your naked body with all the hunger of a predator eyeing its meal. The pink of his tongue darts across his bottom lip as he stalks up to you, already making quick work of his belt.

“D-Don’t touch me, don’t you fucking touch me!” you howl, even though the idea of his hands on you right now makes your stomach flutter. He ignores you, of course, and casts his gloves aside before resting both hands on the trembling flesh of your biceps. He’s so wonderfully warm, blood pumping right below the surface of his skin.

“I can’t wait to split this pretty pussy open,” he murmurs, mouth hovering just above your cheek as he drags his fingers down, down, down until they’re slipping between your hips and cupping you. You try to disguise the pathetically aroused sound that falls from your mouth by shrieking in faux disgust.

“Stop it! Get off, get off!”

“Dirty girl, you’re soaking wet for me already.” Without warning, Eddie plunges two fingers deep inside you, chuckling at how your eyes roll into the back of your head, and a scream tears itself from your throat.

“S-Stop it,” you sob. You throb around him, unable to disguise your body’s physical reactions, and it only sweetens everything for you. The way your cunt betrays everything you’re saying, twitching and clenching and gushing around Eddie’s fingers in the face of your pleas for him to stop, your insistence that you don’t want him, pulls you deeper into this fantasy.

“I don’t think you really want me to stop,” he muses, thrusting in and out of you so slow you’re confident you’ll go bat-shit insane soon. “If you did, you wouldn’t be dripping for me. What a nasty girl you are, all worked up for the big, scary man who chased you down in the woods like a scared little bunny rabbit.”

“Fuck…fuck you,” you say weakly, and stars explode behind your eyes as Eddie curls his fingers inside you. You screw your eyes shut and press your lips together to trap the noises threatening to burst out of you.

“Oh, I will,” he promises. “I’m gonna fuck you stupid. And then, I think I’ll keep you all for myself. Take you home and keep you tied to my bed like a good little pet. I’m sure you’ll learn to love it.”

You could cum just from listening to Eddie talk. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it beneath your tongue, and if it weren’t for the steel around your wrists forcing you upright, you’d sink to the ground and beg for him to fuck you already. You don’t care if it’d break the illusion, if it doesn’t coincide with the game - you are desperate, dripping just as he said, and the lust fogging your brain makes it impossible to consider anything but your own arousal.

“P-Please,” you whimper, hoping all you need from him is conveyed in that one word.

Something hot and hard nudges between your legs, and you gasp - you didn’t see him do it, but Eddie’s removed his cock from his jeans. The hand not buried against your pussy is fisted around the base of it, pale against his red, wet shaft and thick head. You gulp hard.

“Please? What a sweet word out of that filthy mouth.” He crushes you harder against the tree and lifts one leg over his hip, stroking himself slowly as you struggle to keep your eyes forward. His fingers leave your weeping cunt painfully empty for a brief moment, and then he slides his cock through the slick puddling just below your hole and teases his head around the rim.

“Oh, darn, looks like I forgot a condom, too,” Eddie says, sucking his teeth and shaking his head at his apparent negligence. Your stomach clenches, and heat pools between your hips. “I’m sure you don’t mind, do you, dollface?”

When Eddie enters you, you tip your head back and moan. It’s been a criminally long time since you’ve felt him inside you like this, hot and raw and forcing your muscles to stretch around his thick cock. It burns just a little, but the lack of prep and the pain hueing your pleasure makes it better.

“God, God, oh God…”

“Nope, just you and me, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s teeth latch onto the flesh below your jaw, pinching and sucking it into his mouth as he bullies his cock deeper inside you. Usually, he’d take his time getting you ready for it, loosening you up around his fingers and drawing a few orgasms out of you until you were perfectly pliant for him. Right now, though, he doesn’t have it in him to bother with all that, and you are so grateful.

Fat drops of rain plop onto your hair and dribble down the sides of your face as Eddie starts fucking you in earnest. His hands come around to grasp greedy handfuls of your ass and pull you in tighter against him, and he quickly litters the side of your throat with hickeys as his hips snap forward. You can’t help how you squeal and groan as you’re jostled against the tree, and you realize with a shudder of humiliation that you’re getting close already.

“P-Please…please, Eddie, please…” You don’t particularly know what you’re begging for; you just hope he’ll take pity on you for it and give you more. You need impossibly more. You need him to ruin you properly. The way he throbs inside you reminds you of the lack of protection, and you beg for him again.

“What a fuckin’ whore. I knew you wanted it,” Eddie snarls, the edge of his teeth rasping against your jaw.

“I…fuck, Eddie, please, it’s so much,” you whine, choking on air as he buries himself as deep as he can get. He shushes you, and another flash of lightning in the sky illuminates his handsome face as he pulls back to look at you.

“Do you need mercy, baby?” he asks, blinking rain from his big brown eyes. Your hair sticks wetly to either side of your face, and you can’t tell if you’re shivering more from cold or pleasure. You whip your head from side to side.

“N-No, no mercy,” you mewl, “I-I just…please, please just fuck me, break me, I need it so fucking badly, baby, please.”

He doesn’t respond, not verbally, anyway. He yanks your other leg around his hip, settling your weight entirely in his lap, and the slight change in angle pushes him just that little bit further inside your twitching cunt. Your mouth drops wide open as he quickens his pace, the denim of his jeans slapping against your bare ass so hard it burns, and the way he grunts from the effort makes your toes curl.

“I didn’t think you’d be such an easy fuck,” Eddie teases. “Guess you’re just a dirty slut after all, huh?”

“Fuck, oh God, fuck, I’m cumming, I can’t stop, E-Eddie!”

Your orgasm scorches through you like molten lava, burning you from the inside out and robbing you of enough air to scream. As Eddie continues pounding into you, you claw at the branch beneath your fingers, desperate for something to anchor you to reality. You don’t think you’ve ever cum this hard in your entire life, and the fact you did so without even once touching your clit fills you with an odd sort of pride.

“Fuckin’ squirting all over me, fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie growls, and you only realize he’s right when warmth starts trickling down your thighs. You blush, trying futilely to bury your face in his neck out of embarrassment. When he doesn’t stop fucking you, and your orgasm ebbs enough for pain to start lapping at the edges of your pleasure, you whimper.

“H-Hurts, hurts.”

Eddie shushes you. “I’m not done with you yet. Just shut up and take it, like my good little victim.”

He crushes you tightly against the tree, huffing and panting into your ear while he desperately chases his own pleasure inside you. You cry out openly, the chill of the rain intermingling with the heat of his body against you so deliciously that you think that if lightning struck the pair of you right now, you’d die a happy woman.

“You’re gonna take every drop of my cum, understand?” Eddie snarls. “If even one drop leaks out of you, you’re gonna lick it up.”

“Yes, fuck, I understand.”

“Your pussy clenches so hard when I threaten you, baby, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Thunder claps overhead as Eddie presses stills inside you, cockhead pressed as deep as it’ll go inside your throbbing slit and starts cumming with a wanton howl into the night. Liquid heat floods into your core, and though you weren’t even aware of it building again, your second orgasm crashes into you as you realize the risk you’ve just partaken in by letting Eddie cum inside you. It feels so right, allowing him to claim you this way, bearing his mark on the deepest part of you, and you know for a fact that after tonight, you will beg him to never use another condom again.

When he’s finished, Eddie sags against you, trembling hands digging into the globes of your ass as he shakily supports your weight. You pant, blinking rain out of your eyes, and kiss the wet curls beside your face.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

~~~

Turns out, Eddie didn’t take you far from home at all.

In fact, he drove only a mile away and spent about forty-five minutes doing circles in the woods because he didn’t want to disturb your nap. He tells you this as he leads you out of the forest and back to the van, holding his leather jacket above your head like a makeshift umbrella.

He retrieves a towel from inside and wraps it around your shivering, rain-soaked body before planting you in the driver’s seat. After he drapes a thick, flannel blanket around your shoulders and points all the vents toward you as the heat blasts, he cups your face in both hands and kisses your forehead.

“You did such a good job, sweetheart,” he murmurs, trailing his lips down over both eyes, your cheeks and finally landing on your trembling lips. His mouth, despite everything, is still so warm.

“I did?” you ask sleepily. He nods and rubs your arms to inspire blood flow back into your extremities.

“You did. I’ll draw a bath for you once I get you home, okay?”

“Join me?” Eddie smiles and pinches the sides of the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“I would, but someone’s gotta feed us both.”

When he hops into the driver’s side, you note with a snort that he’s stripped down to his boxers. He laughs and revs the engine, throwing an arm over your seat as he reverses out of the forest.

Eddie doesn’t allow you to walk the few paces up the steps and across the porch to get inside your house. Instead, he cradles you against his chest, bridal-style, and struts through the door he purposefully left unlocked before setting you down on the toilet in the bathroom. You slump against the sink as he readies your bath, arms pillowing your head and eyelids drooping. Steam fills the room and carries the sweet, light scent of roses, and the flash of a pink bottle in Eddie’s hand clues you into the fact he’s dumped some soap into the faucet to create huge piles of white, frothy bubbles.

You’re nowhere near steady enough to lower yourself into the tub alone, so Eddie grips you by the elbows and slowly sinks down until your butt hits the water. It’s almost too hot at first, but after your body adjusts to the sudden change in temperature, you recline against the porcelain at your back and sigh. Eddie brushes a hand over your hair and kisses your forehead again.

“Thank you,” you mutter, eyes closed.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, you handled everything like a champ.”

You glow under his praise and nestle further into the hot water and bubbles. It’s going to be a challenge not to doze off here.

When you blink your eyes open, Eddie’s still hovering next to you, lips quirked in a small, soft smile as the early morning light falls in purplish shafts over his face. You reach for him, sliding your palm through the hair at the back of his head, and bring him close enough to kiss his lips. He tastes like rain and cigarettes.

“I’ll come get you when the food’s ready, alright?” he whispers, squeezing the hand you’ve rested on the rim of the tub before standing. You nod dreamily.

“I love you,” you call after him, and though his frame is bleary through the steam condensing in the room, you see him turn back and smile at you.

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

taglist: @silky-luxe, @celestialwaavelength, @bornslippys. if you'd like to be added to my taglist, i have a post on my page, or you can dm me!

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #ao3 author #eddie munson x reader #f!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #ghostface #kinktober #kintober 2023 #stranger things fic #stranger things kinktober #stranger kinks #my writing

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wisteriagoesvroom · 23 days

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happy "breaching the top 10 f1 rpf pairings on ao3" day to landoscar nation 🎂 because it's all about.... two people that are so much the same yet so different. australia vs the uk. oscar's cool collected calm versus lando's ricocheting personality. twitch streams and side hustles and multiple endeavors vs singlemindedness of racing. purity of craft vs embracing everything life throws at you and trusting that it'll all work out. the rivalry that isn't (well it is, but not really). pushing each other to be better. making heart eyes in a taylor swift video, reaching out to your teammate in silverstone after surviving a media maelstrom and him being pleased and stepping closer because he's been given permission to. making fun of your resident weeb for reading the words "kit kat" but just in a japanese accent.

it's being so ridiculously competitive that you'll hide in a burning bin in the name of fun for a game with made up points and then squinting at your teammate ringed with the bright light of the sun and laughing at how stupid this all is. it's making fun of your teammate's music taste that you can hear through the thin walls of the drivers' rooms. trusting the journey. mimicking each other's body language. knowing it's for the marketing but winking at the camera together anyway, like we're all invited to be in on the joke. two parallel lives woven in two different garages with almost identical specs. being so comfortable you have this weird rapport that is kind of a cipher and unknowable to anyone outside of the immediate network or team, but it's so assured and quiet that for the first time the person who's been the person who was once the younger teammate steps up, acts older now, and becomes comfortable with the silence.

it's knowing your best friend was on their renault team and not saying anything about it in public but the motorsport world is so small and specific and the experience so surreal that surely some laylines are just strangely predestined. it's about growing up together. it's watching the brit upstart in a generation of two other brit upstarts chase his dream and give up everything to win and get velcroed to the seat because he's kind of small, just like you, but you dream bigger than anyone dares to dream and you identify with the other's self belief that says you, too, could stand on that top step one day. it's you following the little blue-suited guy racer on social media and liking sooo many of his posts over the years, and not even bothering to hide that fact when you've probably become that goalpost for someone else one day, too.

it's chapter 2, with 3 more to go. it's watching your teammate win his first sprint race and finding it in yourself to be happy for him even when you're sad that it wasn't you. it's publicly saying that the rookie is not a threat, he's a threat who makes you race better. it's making fun of newbie's first day at mclaren and finding him unknowable. and he arrives with all this hype and pressure so what can you do but focus on you and step up your game, but he's always in the background and the periphery, chasing and chasing with this hunger that is unbelievable and unfamiliar because it's always humming in a way that made you mistake stillness for idleness in the past. but now, you know: still waters run deep, so you swim harder, too. drop the dj-ing. become more disciplined. train more. do things that don't matter, less.

because the future is vast. the future is happening constantly if you're ready to meet it. and maybe destiny will be kind, and your names will be remembered. your name, inked on a trophy in the precious metal of kings, and dreamers. your name, inked in gold.

but today, you're 22. you're 24.

you're driving a car as fast as you can, and everything that's possible, feels like it could be possible, right now.

#landoscar #oscar piastri #lando norris #f1 rpf #814 #the landoscar thesis #mctwinks #twinklaren #i started putting this as a tag on mechchrome's post announcing the top 10 pairings development on ao3 #and then i was like lol wait i have can't shut the f up ism #so i might as well make this a post #<- in fact the last two points might as well explain my entire existence on f1blr atp #overthink it? yes i will! thanks!#pls release me from the orange mind-tessaract

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adnauseum11 · 2 months

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Low Intensity Conflict (John Price x Reader)

John deals with the interloper and pushes boundaries.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, allusions to physical violence

feedback welcome!

John doesn’t come straight to you, as you had assumed he would, but goes directly to your place. He tells you to hang up and call the police as you hear him getting out of his car. The call disconnects before you can reply.

You call the police with shaking hands and give your address to the woman on the other end. You’re walking back when you hear shouting. You’d recognize John’s gravelly voice anywhere and pick up your pace, concerned. When you approach the front door, you can hear thumps and scuffling in between the yelling. The operator on the other end of the line can hear it too apparently, because she asks if an ambulance is needed.

You can hear the panic in your own voice when you say you aren’t sure. Biting your lip, you debate entering to see what’s going on. The woman on the other end of the phone call urges you to remain in a safe place, which you are prepared to do until you hear John calling for you.

“Here, I’m here.” You call back, your voice wavering.

“Good girl, come to me. Upstairs.”

John’s confident voice pulls you into the apartment, the woman waiting on the phone line forgotten. There’s evidence of a struggle the deeper you move into the apartment, pictures knocked askew and items knocked off tables and shelves. You timidly climb the stairs, unsure what you’ll find.

What you’re confronted with when you enter your bedroom is a stranger, forced to kneel on your rug with his ankles and hands zip-tied together in improvised handcuffs. He’s glaring at you from behind a cut and swelling eye with so much malice you freeze at the threshold, unwilling to come any closer. John is behind him, holding his bound wrists behind his back, forcing his shoulders up at an uncomfortable angle.

“Bring me your phone.” John’s radiating calm, holding a hand out for you. “It’s alright love, he can’t hurt you. Come here.”

You dance around the edge of the room to get close enough to hand John the phone clutched in your hand and then dart back to the doorway. Instead of answering the woman on the line as you expect, John hangs up the call and pockets your phone, looking at you steadily.

“Our new friend doesn’t want to explain what he’s doing here. You’re going to take 2 minutes before the police arrive and look around. You’re going to tell me anything that’s out of place. I want to know what he’s after.”

You can feel your eyes widening, not expecting to be given a task. You obey and head to your vanity immediately, the jewellery box filled with vintage pieces untouched once you open it for inspection. You frown. You check a few other obvious places, like your spare change jar and find nothing moved. You finally step to your tiny desk, realizing even though you left it messy that someone has tossed your papers around and rummaged through the drawers.

“The… desk. It’s all… wrong.”

You finally say, frowning at John who’s watching you closely. He nods and jerks his head towards the door.

“That’s excellent, love. Go wait for the police outside, I’m going to help our guest down the stairs.”

You nod jerkily, a fine trembling taking over your limbs as the adrenaline subsides in your system. You can feel John’s eyes on you as you shakily head back down to wait on the front stoop. You hear the sounds of more scuffling and then a sharp cry of pain, followed by limping steps. When the police show up, you flag them down, leading them into the apartment. John and the stranger are in the living room, the stranger with one more dislocated shoulder than you recall him having only several minutes earlier. You don’t ask, assuming it came about in the struggle with John.

You both have to give statements, the police particularly interested in John and the zip-tie handcuffs. You’re drooping by the time everyone clears out and leaves you two alone in the wrecked apartment. John’s presence is comforting, taking charge of the situation as your energy wanes and reality starts to settle in. He ushers you back up to your room, opening your closet as he speaks.

“Pack a bag love, enough for a few days and anything you don’t want actually stolen. Get your jewellery. You’re staying with me.”

“What? I can’t just…leave my place with the door like that.”

“You can and you will.” John answers evenly, in a tone of voice that doesn’t leave much room for argument.

You manage to find the energy to argue though, and push back, fisting your hands on your hips.

“John, all my…my whole life is here!”

But he’s already rummaging in your closet, pulling your suitcase out and tossing it on to your bed.

“I’m not having you stay in a place with a damaged and unlockable front door. Absolutely not. No.”

John’s adamant, his big frame mirroring your pose, putting his hands on his hips and facing you.

“John, I’m an adult –“

You try to reason with him, but he won’t hear it.

“Listen, I get it. I do. But it’s not safe, love. The door has to be replaced. You gotta focus on what matters, and what matters is you being safe. Everything else is just… stuff.”

“But…”

“Listen darling, I love you, but you aren’t fucking staying here and that’s final. Pack your stuff or I will.”

John’s tone brooks no further nonsense. You get the impression that he will physically remove you from the premises if need be.

Between his admission and sharp words, you’re startled enough to comply without much more of a fight, frowning as you collect your belongings. John hovers at the top of the stairs protectively, watching you shuffle around and organize your suitcase. If you drag your heels and take longer than necessary John doesn’t comment on it, hefting your luggage once you’ve filled it with your selections.

“This is bullshit.”

You finally state petulantly as he ushers you back downstairs to his car, wrapping your arms around yourself to hide your trembling. From anger or fear or both you don’t know, exhausted from the adrenaline surges and wild emotions.

“I know, love.”

He agrees easily, opening the car door for you and settling your suitcase in the trunk. You watch him wrestle the damaged front door shut as best he can and slide his thumb back and forth over something near the top of the doorframe. He returns to the vehicle, his face drawn with concern. His palm settles on your thigh as he drives, the heat of his body steadying your frayed nerves despite your annoyance.

Within hours of your arrival at John’s place, his previous evening plans arrive. An old friend, with only a few hours between flights whom he couldn’t divert. You’re polite but tired and escape to John’s room after introductions, crawling into bed. You can hear the rise and fall of their masculine voices down the hall but their conversation is indistinct as you drift in and out of sleep.

His friend is gone by the time John wakes you, crawling in to bed beside you. You hum tiredly as he kisses your temple, sliding his arms around you.

“Alright, love?”

He asks lowly, resting his chin against the crown of your head. You press your face into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent before you reply.

“Think so. John?”

“mm?” He tenses slightly, bracing himself.

“Thank you. For being there, tonight. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

“But don’t talk to me like that again.”

You follow up your thanks with a reminder that you aren’t used to taking orders. John sighs and runs his fingers through your hair slowly, as if he’s been expecting this.

“I’m sorry, love.”

To your surprise he doesn’t push back as you expect him to, accepting your displeasure with equanimity. You leave it there, satisfied you’ve been heard. The room is quiet with your slowed breathing, and John stroking your hair, lulling you back to sleep. You don’t bring up what preceded his stern words, too exhausted for any more raw emotions tonight.

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye

#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #john price cod #friends to lovers #john price #break and enter #john price x f!reader #captain price #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic

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not-rab · 1 month

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fic idea ~

it’s nearing 9 years after the Marauders, a popular boyband consisting of James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, announced they were taking a ‘break’ to pursue solo careers

less than a month before the Grammys, the guest list was released to the public, displaying all four of the boys as nominees for their individual work

this will be the first time in almost a decade that the whole of the band have reunited to the public eye after their ‘divorce’ as it’s known to fans

what’ll the outcome be?

OKAY I DID SOMETHING

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ao3feed-prideandprejudice-book · 2 years

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It was just a "crush"

by NaDacca

Words: 602, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Additional Tags: Romance, Crushes, Secret Crush, Friendship/Love, Platonic Relationships, Short & Sweet, First Love

from AO3 works tagged 'Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen' https://ift.tt/JvrVDEw via IFTTT

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen'#pride and prejudice #Jane Austen #ao3 f

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beardedjoel · 10 months

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closer | part one

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

story summary: you are staying with your parents, helping them move into their new house in austin. what happens when joel miller, the attractive neighbor you've been eyeing obsessively starts to show you some much wanted attention? 4.9k words.

chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), masturbation (f and m), reader is described in a few outfits (shorts and cropped shirt) and as having hair, this chapter is mostly expo and some ~flirtations~

a/n: been posting this mostly on ao3 for a while but thought the tumblr audience might also enjoy my self indulgent joel smut story <3

It’s well into your second week staying with your parents, and you’re laying in the grass in their backyard, reading the latest off your long list of books you’ve been itching to get into. It’s pleasant but already getting hot as you lounge in the shade, the Texas summer heat not yet at its peak for the day.

You came to stay with your parents in Austin after they officially moved here several weeks before you arrived, and your mom called you in a panic because your dad broke his leg falling down the stairs while they were moving in. You remember sighing loudly, your accident prone dad had finally broken something, and of course it was something this major.

You had already planned to move here after a job offer at a new startup in Austin was too alluring to pass up on, and after graduating from your Master’s program you had no further plans before this came along. So you came a few weeks before you planned to, hurriedly packing up your things in Chicago and coming to help your frazzled mother before planning to eventually find your own place and get settled at your new job. It’s been mostly relaxing aside from the moving and your anxious mother buzzing around constantly, almost like a little vacation before you start the rest of your life after years of college.

You peer up from your book, seeing their dog Benny, a chocolate lab, running around the yard with a smile. You stifle a yawn before taking another drink from the iced coffee set beside you in the grass, the glass sweating onto your hand. You go on high alert quickly, though, when you see that your parents’ neighbor is pulling out his lawn mower in the yard next door. This is the other perk of staying here - Joel Miller, the man who lives next door, the man you’ve been obsessed with since the first time you laid eyes on him. You haven’t managed to say a word to him, but every time he’s outside you’ve watched him as casually as possible, trying to learn more about him, observe him. You feel completely creepy half the time that you’re so interested in everything he does, but it’s hard to help it when he’s the most attractive, alluring man you’ve ever seen. He’s definitely older than you, although you can’t be sure by how much, but none of that matters to you as you lay your eyes on his toned form across the way, taking in his tanned skin, slightly tousled dark hair, and beard yet another time.

You find it hard to go back to concentrating on your book, although you’re certainly pretending to as you periodically look at him through your sunglasses while he mows his lawn. Even from afar, you can see the sweat glistening on his forehead and neck as he works out under the sun, and it’s driving you insane to think about how it would look up close. You can picture a bead of sweat running down the back of his shirt, and you have to force yourself to snap out of it. When the hell did you become such a horned up monster like this? It has… been a while since you’ve been with anyone, and even then those past encounters were pretty underwhelming, you muse to yourself as you continue to peek over at Joel. He reaches his white t-shirt up to wipe the sweat off of his face and you have to bite down on your lip as you see a glimmer of his stomach appear and then disappear.

Fuck, you need to go inside and cool off.

You snap your book shut, gathering your things and heading back towards your parents’ house, to the small detached apartment above the garage that came with the place. They hadn't thought much of it initially when they purchased the home, but for this situation it worked out perfectly - as a grown adult you were dreading the lack of personal space that would surely come with staying with your parents. This small apartment was a great surprise to find out about after agreeing to come to Austin early, affording you a bit of privacy. And thankfully you have it, you think as you quickly fling yourself onto your bed, letting the air conditioning cool you off and try to wipe the downright nasty thoughts you’re having about your neighbor you don’t even know from your mind.

The more you try to fight it, the more the thoughts invade your mind, and not for the first time since you noticed Joel, you give into the thoughts and slowly reach down into your linen shorts and start touching yourself, feeling the wetness that had already formed just from seeing him mow the lawn and the racing desires you were having about him. For fuck’s sake, you think to yourself as you feel it, but move on quickly to imagining what was under that shirt, imagine undressing him and kissing him and fucking him. You just know he’d be a good fuck, a giving lover - he has a confident, sexual appeal to him that feels so undeniable. You rub your clit in slow circles, trying to picture his hand being the one to do it, and come quickly at the thought, biting down on your fist to muffle your panting moans just in case your parents could hear. You haven’t yet figured out the amount of noise traveling from the apartment to the rest of the house, so better to be safe than sorry. You lay, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling for a bit, debating yet again on finally talking to him. There’s no way you’d even be able to get a sentence out at this point, and you laugh to yourself trying to picture it.

Instead, you keep yourself busy around the house for a while with your mother while your dad attempts to unpack some things from a chair, his leg fully casted. You both roll your eyes jestingly at his effort, and continue to organize until your mom decides she wants to go pick up some dinner. When you sit down with them that evening to eat, you notice Joel through the kitchen window, which has a decent view into his yard. He’s cooking on his grill, holding a beer in the other hand, taking a swig from it. You sigh quickly, irritated that you can’t even eat your pizza in peace without his distractions. Your parents both eye you, your mom asking if anything is wrong with the food, and you shake your head.

“No, I just… remembered I was supposed to call my friend back in Chicago - you remember Sofia? So I think I’ll just eat the rest of this up in my space, if that’s okay,” you say, lying right to their faces.

“Of course, don’t miss your little date with Sofia,” your mom smiles at you, and you excuse yourself, grabbing the plate of pizza and going through the sliding glass door to the backyard. The entrance to your apartment is along the back of the garage and up a flight of stairs, so you have to cut through the yard to get there. As you approach the stairs, it takes you nearer to Joel’s fence and your view of him at his grill. His back is turned, but when you walk closer he turns slightly, just enough to catch your eye. He raises his beer slightly as a greeting and gives you a smile, and you’re barely able to smile back due to the nervous butterflies you now feel under his gaze. You rush quickly now, darting up the stairs and heading into your apartment.

Coward, you think as you set the pizza down on the counter of the small kitchenette and hold your head in your hands until you can calm down. You do indeed end up calling Sofia, filling her in on the latest news of your “hot neighbor” as you two have been naming him, and she laughs in earnest at your complete inability to speak to Joel, that she’s never seen you like this about anybody, but continues to encourage you to go for it. She says she knows you’ve got it in you, but you aren’t sure anymore. You can’t tell if she’s a bad or good influence on you, but you do know you desperately want to follow her advice and simply begin by having a conversation with the man. Maybe once you talk to him, you won't feel this insane desperation towards him anymore, maybe he’ll be boring, maybe he’ll seem uninteresting if you get to know him. Somehow, you think as you try to fall asleep that night, you doubt all of that to be true.

“Mother fucker…” you mutter angrily to yourself the next day, attempting to do… you truly have no clue what you’re attempting to do to fix this gate, but you’re stubborn enough to keep trying. Your parents are both out of the house at work today, and you were told to try and be productive, so here you are trying to do just that, desperately poking, prodding, screwing and unscrewing pieces on this latch.

“That’s quite a mouth you got on ya there,” a deep, slightly rough voice with a southern accent cuts in. You gasp lightly in surprise, having not heard him coming with how focused you’d been. You turn your body and look up from your crouched position, shielding your eyes from the sun shining behind him. It’s Joel Miller, right there in the flesh, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to him. He must have come up behind you from the pathway that leads to the driveway of the house when he saw you struggling with the gate. You can see the lines in his face a little better - his tan, speckled skin, and brown eyes are catching your attention much more at this distance. You suppose you’d known he had brown eyes, but as you rise up to meet him, you’re absolutely mesmerized by them.

“I… uh,” you stammer, still surprised he’s talking to you. “My mom would kill me if she knew a stranger heard me talking like that,” you laugh a little, rubbing your neck nervously, feeling how it’s sticky with a layer of sweat from being out in the hot sun. You can’t believe those are the first words you’re uttering to Joel, the one you’ve been trying to find the perfect thing to say to introduce yourself to, and you end up talking about your fucking mom. Just great.

“Good thing I ain’t a stranger then, I’m a neighbor,” Joel replies, looking at you with a small, friendly smile. You see his eyes roam quickly over your whole body, taking in your shorts and small cropped tank top leaving little to the imagination. You feel your cheeks go warm under his gaze taking in your features.

“Yeah, but I don’t even know your name, so where does that leave us?” you lie, acting as if you hadn’t casually asked your parents about him as soon as you could fit it into a conversation.

Joel lets out a little chuckle, his whole body seeming to rumble slightly with it. “Right,” he says, and you think he may be able to see right through you with his scrutinizing eyes. “Your folks didn’t tell you anything about me, then?”

“Not really,” you say sheepishly. He doesn’t seem to buy it, but he plays along.

“I’m Joel,” he reaches out a hand, “Miller.”

You tell him your name and grab his hand to shake it. His grip is firm but gentle with you, and you can feel how hard his large hands are from working with them. You try not to have a visceral reaction from touching him, but you can feel yourself shy away from it and you hope to any higher being that he doesn’t notice.

“What’cha workin’ on there?” he asks, gesturing to the gate.

You press your lips together, feeling embarrassed at him having seen you fail so miserably at your handiwork. “Just trying to fix this gate for my parents, the latch is messed up or something,” you say, biting your lip nervously. Joel gives a wry smile with his head cocked as you attempt to explain.

“Lemme take a look, darlin’,” he says, putting a hand on your shoulder to gently move you to the side. You try not to let your mouth hang open at his use of a pet name and the feeling of his hand touching your bare skin. You don’t know how it got this far, these few weeks spent watching him from afar, that you’d fallen head over heels for the man based on sight alone. Now that he was talking to you, touching you, there was absolutely no turning back now. You need more, all of your senses already hungry for him, and you force yourself to reign it in as quickly as you can, blinking to focus on what Joel is doing.

He inspects the latch, testing it a few times before calling you over to look more closely. You can barely breathe as you stand next to him, the warmth of his body radiating towards you, but despite the heat of the day, you find you don’t mind it at all.

“Now see here?” He says, pointing to an area on the latch mechanism. “This is all bent up, no wonder it keeps poppin’ open.” You realize he must have been watching you attempt to fix this for longer than you’d thought, if he knew that the latch had kept popping back open on you. The thought is equally tantalizing and embarrassing and you can’t help but wonder what he was thinking of you as he watched. You realize he’s looking towards you now, awaiting confirmation that you understood what he said. You make quick eye contact, but decide to focus your eyes on the latch instead so you don’t immediately lose your train of thought.

“Ah, okay. So... what do we do, then?” You bite your lip again, then silently curse yourself for the nervous habit.

“Could try hammerin’ it back into place until you can get a new piece,” he says with a small shrug, still standing close to you. “You got a hammer in that toolbox of yours?” he asks, motioning down to where it rests near your feet. You bend down to grab it for him, feeling his eyes on you as you grab the hammer and hand it to over him. He shows you what he’s doing and explains along the way, but you can hardly pay attention - his toned arms, tan from being out in the sun, are bulging out of his dark t-shirt as he puts the effort in to knock the latch back into place are the biggest distraction. You nod along and appear interested, sneaking a quick glance at his arms or concentrated face every so often.

“All done, should do for now,” he says, quickly testing the gate’s latch, then turning to you with another friendly smile, his brown eyes catching yours again.

“G-great, thank you,” you say, knowing you want to keep the conversation going, but unsure of how to keep his interest. What the hell could hold his interest about a stuttering, inexperienced woman like you? “Really, I appreciate it. Who knows how long I’d have been out here trying to fix that.” You laugh a little, and it comes out nervous sounding, which makes you nearly cringe. But Joel just continues his lopsided smile at you and hands the hammer back over.

“My pleasure, darlin’, felt like the neighborly thing to do,” he replies. You think you might pass out if he calls you darlin’ one more time, you swear it. “Got anything else you needed my help with?”

You try not to look too stunned at his offer, knowing it’s your chance to try and get to know him better, and not wanting to mess it up.

“Actually, y-yes,” you say, and it’s the truth. Your parents house came with a few projects that have now become your problem since you’d offered to help out. “I was going to try and fix this cabinet in my parents’ kitchen, but you don’t have to -” you start, but Joel interrupts you quickly.

“Let’s go on then, show me,” he says, putting a hand out for you to lead the way. You walk through the newly fixed gate and into the backyard, leading him towards the sliding glass door.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to take up too much of your time, I can probably figure it out,” you offer as you start to open the door.

“No offense honey, but the way you were fightin’ with that gate, I think you could use my help in here,” he says, his accent thick on the word ‘honey’ and you feel yourself sink into the feeling of it, a warmth low in your belly that spreads outwards. You just give him a nervous but appreciative smile as you lead him into the kitchen. The air conditioning immediately brings you relief from the way your cheeks are burning, just being around Joel sending you reeling. Goosebumps coat your skin and you cross your arms instinctively at the cooler air hitting you and shut the door behind Joel after he enters. Benny comes in the room, sniffing at Joel, and Joel pets him and gives him a scratch behind the ears with a soft smile before Benny trots off. You try to hold back a smile at the immediate green flag popping up with how sweet Joel was with Benny.

“Sorry about the mess, uh, still unpacking everything here,” you apologize, walking past some boxes and taking note of all the piles of stuff yet to get put in its place. “Did you… want some water, or anything?”

Joel nods. “You’re a polite thing, aren’t you,” he drawls, eyeing you, and the way he says it makes your skin tingle, the hairs on your arms standing up. “Raised in the south, I assume?” he says, watching you think for a moment which cabinet your parents had unpacked the glasses to and quickly finding one, trying to hide your slightly shaking hands as you fill the cup at the sink.

“Er, yeah, San Antonio,” you say, handing him the glass. He takes a lengthy sip then looks back in your direction.

“What brought your folks to Austin? Brought you to Austin?” he asks casually, leaning against the countertop now. He sure is making it easy to continue the conversation, which is exactly what you were hoping for, him carrying the brunt of it while you try to get your footing.

“My parents wanted to be a bit closer to family, buy a smaller house, that kind of thing. I’m just back here from school in Chicago to help them settle in since my dad broke his leg right after they moved. And a job offer here in Austin kind of sealed the deal for me,” you ramble nervously, unsure of what to do with your hands so you tug anxiously at your shorts.

“Hm,” Joel says, considering you and tilting his head to the side. “Awful sweet of you to help out.”

“T-thanks, it’s not a big deal, just for a while until I get set up at my new job,” you say as a shaky smile crosses your face. You’re looking at the floor on and off for most of the conversation, trying your best to meet his eyeline.

“A bit shy too, it seems,” he smirks a little, but not in a condescending way - it’s friendly, and almost sweet. “Seen you round, but you’ve never said hello,” he says. You think you can’t possibly feel any more flushed and embarrassed around him, but there it is, that familiar burning feeling rising to your cheeks.

“Neither did you,” you retort, trying to sound brave and sassy, maybe the type of girl Joel would be into. He laughs a little at your comment, and you wonder if you’re on the right track.

“Fair point there,” he replies, “Didn’t wanna scare you away, I ‘spose.” His tone is teasing, but you have to wonder quickly at the content, that he was... worried about scaring you away. Does that mean he’d noticed you, wanted to get to know you as well, but didn’t know how to approach? You brush off the runaway thoughts, assuming he was just joking around and being friendly, because there was not a chance any of that was true. You picture yourself in his eyes and nearly shake your head - of course none of it could be true.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you say back, surprising yourself with your own words, feeling a rush of pride that you were able to flirt with him, even if just a little. Your response gets another smile out of him, and he seems to take note of your flirty tone with a small raise of his eyebrows.

“Let’s take a look at that cabinet, then,” he says, putting the glass down on the counter. You show him the slightly crooked upper cabinet that’s been driving your mom nuts, the one you swore to her you could try and fix today. You aren’t sure if you want to even explain the whole truth to her when she sees with surprise that it actually got done - you think she might be upset with a stranger being in the house, but like Joel said, he’s a neighbor, not a stranger. “You got a power drill?” he asks, interrupting your thoughts.

“Oh, um,” you say, thinking out loud, “I think it’s around here somewhere,” you immediately start looking around busily, trying to remember where your dad said he put it in this current mess of a house.

“No worries, let me just go and grab mine,” he offers, leaving out the sliding door and you standing alone. Finally. You release a long, slow breath, realizing you’d practically been holding it without noticing. You try to shake off the nerves, not let Joel get to you so much - he’s just your neighbor, just some guy, you shouldn’t be this puddling, nervous mess around him. But the way you felt being so close to him when you’ve been pining for him from afar has far from left you, you think as your stomach turns with butterflies.

Joel returns before you can fully calm yourself down and begins working on the cabinet. When he reaches up to use the drill on the hinges, his shirt lifts slightly, just enough to see a sliver of skin around the waistband of his jeans. You’re mesmerized by it, and feel warm all over again despite the air conditioning blasting through the house. You’re currently lost in wondering what it would be like to grab a fistful of his shirt and continue lifting it up, revealing his stomach and chest, the little peek of hair you can see there.

The intermittent noise of the drill as he works has become background noise to the downright filthy thoughts you were having about Joel’s midriff, so you don’t fully notice when it stops and Joel turns towards you, catching where your eyes had just been staring. You inhale sharply, caught in the act, and avert your eyes, rubbing your arm and trying to look casual. You swear you hear a quiet chuckle come from him and you know your expression gives you away, but you dare to bring your eyes up to his face, which is watching you with a knowing smirk.

“All set,” he says, seeming to choose not to comment on the situation, which you silently thank him for. He made quick work of fixing the cabinet, and now you truly don’t have any other projects for him to work on, feeling a small pit in your stomach at the thought.

“Thank you,” you squeak out, still reeling from your embarrassment. “My parents will be relieved that all of this is fixed now, but I guess no thanks to me.” You laugh at your own confidence this morning, thinking you had the ability to do any this handiwork today when you’ve hardly fixed anything around the house in your life.

“Don’t think you’ve got a handy bone in your body, darlin’,” he jokes. “Tell you what - why don’t you tell them it was you, take all the credit,” he says, giving you a wink. A fucking wink. It’s quick and you almost think you imagined it, but it makes your knees feel like jelly.

“Oh, n-no, I couldn’t do that,” you say, furrowing your brows with a quick shake of your head. Joel chuckles, the sound rich and ringing in your ears beautifully. You realize you want to hear it a million times more, that you don’t think you could get tired of hearing that sound come out of his beautiful mouth, those plush lips so fucking inviting it’s driving you insane.

“Like I said, such a polite girl,” he teases, and your cheeks continue the way they’ve been steadily warming since you two started talking. “Well, you know where to find me if you ever need more help ‘round here,” he says, turning to head for the door, then after a few steps rotates back towards you slightly. “Or anything else,” he adds with what you swear is a devilish smile on his face. You feel your breath hitch at the words and almost can’t say anything at all, your mouth and throat drying up and refusing to make any noise for several seconds.

“T-thanks again, really,” you say, still dumbfounded, as he reaches the door. You follow closely behind, trying to be polite and close the door behind him - there it is again, damn it, the word polite.

“Take care.” He gives you another quick smile and walks off, leaving you standing in the doorway for a few moments before you blink hard and regroup, finally closing the door.

Joel leaves your house with a smug grin plastered on his face, his thoughts reeling from his interaction with you. Of course he’d noticed the sweet girl who arrived one day next door at his new neighbor’s house, the one who lounged around in the backyard in sexy summer clothes - little shorts and cropped shirts - trying to stay cool but making it hard for Joel to focus when he was struck by how beautiful you are. Of course he’d noticed how you noticed him, at first maybe thinking you were just being a little bit nosy, but then seeing the way he’d constantly feel your eyes on him, your expression changing over time as you continued to watch him throughout the weeks. He could sense the lustful look in your eyes even from afar, and did his best to keep his glances at you as short lived as he could stand. It was when he saw you laughing for the first time, fully and whole-heartedly, on the phone with someone as you twirled a strand of your hair, that he knew it was bad, that he was already in too deep.

He saw you always reading, writing in a journal, or sunbathing with headphones on, and it was mesmerizing to watch you in your element, Joel thought. He’d also noticed, whenever he did any kind of work in the yard, how you would watch more intensely, and his own thoughts would begin drifting into something inappropriate, until you’d get up in a hurry and head up into that little apartment above the garage. He didn’t want to make any assumptions on what you were doing, but seeing you rush away looking hot and bothered into a private place always left him feeling a bit of the same way. He’d already lost count of how many times you’d popped into his mind as he masturbated, despite him trying to avoid it, you always wormed your way in there, an image of you always being the final blow, the reason he came.

It was clear as day you were younger than him by a good amount, and he’d been having misgivings about it, thinking it was already borderline just how much he’d been unashamedly checking you out. But, when he saw you struggling with that gate, he couldn’t help but to watch with a little smile for a bit - you’d looked cute, your brow furrowed and concentrated, trying all the tools under the sun, having no idea what to do. He decided against his better judgment that it was time to step in and close the gap between you two, despite his reservations.

He hadn’t expected just how shy and nervous you’d be, based on your demeanor from afar and the way you’d been watching him. You’d seemed confident, cool headed, and a bit boisterous when you talked to your parents, or on the phone. It was sweet actually, he thought, just how shy he’d made you, but he hoped he hadn’t misread the situation and ended up making you uncomfortable. He found the way you’d looked so flustered and tripped up on your words so endearing, and the way you got a bit more bold towards the end of the conversation gave him hope. Hope for what, he wasn’t sure yet, but he was longing to find out exactly what you wanted from him.

You’re not crazy, you know that. You didn’t imagine the wink, and you certainly didn’t imagine the way he so slyly added on that last comment, saying to find him if you needed “anything else”. You spend the entire evening analyzing every moment of the conversation, then imagining what that ‘anything else’ could entail, and find yourself reaching a hand down your pants for yet another time that night, furiously fingering yourself with thoughts of handyman Joel fucking you on the kitchen counter. Then on your bed. His bed. The couch. Against a wall. In his truck. The list goes on and on, each new place you fucked in your head better than the last. You lay back, sighing, after you come again and still feel completely unsatisfied, knowing that you’ll remain this way until you experience the real thing. You go to sleep exhausted but with resolve that night, knowing you’re going to find out if there’s a possibility of fucking Joel Miller if it’s the last thing you do.

#PLEASE ENJOOOOY #i promise this shit gets juicy as fuck #this has been doing so well on ao3 i wanted to spread the love #fic: closer #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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fabtastic123 · 2 months

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Confession time: the only reason English teachers teach The Great Gatsby is so we can continue to fuel the Nick/Gatsby ao3 tag. It is our lifeblood.

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pedroshotwifey · 25 days

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Without Words

This can be seen as a stand-alone but I count it as a part to two this fic

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word count: 2.6k

Tags/Warnings: Oral (m), cock worship, piv sex, rough sex, choking, semi-public sex, sprinkles of feelings, age gap, face fucking, degrading names (affectionate), cum eating, stuff I'm forgetting

Summary: You want to show Joel how much he means to you...but maybe in a less classy way.

A/N: Hey, babes! I hope you enjoy this part! I know a lot of people wanted to see an update, so here we are <3

*****

It’s been another long ass day. You and Joel were able to pick up the same shift, but there was enough work for four people—which is not the norm for the job you’d picked today. It took you three hours too long, but you’d gotten it done. Now that you and Joel aren’t glaring daggers at each other anymore, you’re actually able to be productive.

You walk hand-in-hand with him now toward your shared apartment. It’s been about a year since the two of you had caved into each other, and things honestly couldn’t be better. You’d had your fair share of fights—which is only to be expected with the attitude you both possess—but things have been good.

You moved into his apartment a couple of months ago, since he kept having to sneak out of yours too close to curfew. He practically lived at your apartment, even though his was bigger, because he didn’t want to risk you walking home late at night. It was an effortless change for you.

There was the issue at first about your age difference, and about how people might react when they realize what the two of you had become, but neither of you wanted to let that affect you. It’s the end of the fucking world, as Joel had put it, you both deserve to spend it with whoever you want.

You look up at him, admiring the way he walks so confidently with you on his arm. Like it’s no big deal at all. It took a little while for people to stop giving the two of you strange looks, but even from the start, he had embraced your relationship with no shame.

You haven’t even told him you love him yet.

It’s more of an unspoken thing, you think. Something you show with gifts and actions and physical affection, because deep down, you’re both still broken people in the apocalypse, and you don’t want to admit that you have a weakness. That’s what love is, after all. Just another thing for you to lose.

“Joel?”

It’s only now that you finally lose your composure. All damn day, you’ve been distracted, and you can tell he knew that much, but maybe not exactly what the problem was. Maybe it’s that thought—that you haven’t told him how you feel. But you know that you won’t even now. So you’ve been caught up in other ways to show him, to tell him.

You’ve been thinking about it all night. Ever since the two of you got home from your shift and he shucked his pants off to change. It’s not your fault, really. Not your fault the man has a massive fucking cock that makes a sizable, mouthwatering—and extremely daydream-able—bulge in his boxers.

You’re not usually a weak woman, but. Shit. Nobody would be blaming you for what you’re about to do if they were in the position to do it.

“Let me suck your dick,” you whisper up at him, watching his eyes go wide as he snaps his head left and right to make sure nobody heard that.

The two of you had gone to the last dinner offered at the hall, so it’s pretty dark out, and it’s also been raining for the last hour or so. There are only a few people out other than you since it’s so close to curfew, but Joel’s face still goes a little red at your request. You can’t help but bite your lip to contain your smile.

It really is funny how flustered he gets about you saying something like that when he’s the one who loves to talk about railing you in public. There’s not a single person under the canopy that you stopped under, but he still lowers his voice as he speaks.

“Yes fuckin’ please,” he says through a scoff. “But you couldn’t wait to run that filthy little mouth until we got home?”

You shake your head, smirking at him. You swear you can feel your heart beating against your ribs as you wait for him to understand your request. Your body is going hot from the pure want coursing through your veins.

“I want it now,” you practically whine as you pull on his arm like a petulant child. His eyes go wide again.

“Now?” he asks, obviously a bit shocked at your sudden desperation.

You nod at him, licking your lips.

This time, you catch a small twitch from between his legs before you give him your best doe eyes. You glance at the dark, empty alley a few feet away from you, and his eyes harden. He glances around one more time, clutches your upper arm, and drags you into the concealed space.

“Shit, baby, just be fuckin’ quick about it,” he mutters as he shoves you down to your knees. You smile devilishly up at him as your hands immediately fly to his zipper.

You frantically pull them down, the zip getting stuck halfway due to the massive bulge pushing against the denim. Joel hisses and you whimper as you snag it down quickly, not caring if it breaks or not.

The first time you saw him, you’d had a hard time admitting to yourself that it was the most gorgeous cock you’ve ever laid eyes on. It took a minute for you to understand that he wasn’t a threat, and only then did you allow yourself to appreciate the appendage to the degree that you do now. Since then, you’ve been sure to let Joel know just how much you love it.

It makes your mouth water as you pull it out from his pants. Girthy and long enough to still almost scare you even at half-mast. You know how it fits inside you though, how good it makes you feel when he’s pummeling it into your sore, stretched cunt at full force.

You want it to feel as good as you do, to feel the way your wet, hot mouth can wrap around it and slobber on it until Joel’s thick thighs are shaking with need to spill his seed down your welcoming throat.

The feeling of one of Joel’s hands threading your hair between his fingers and pushing you toward his crotch pulls you out of your daze.

“You gonna suck it or fuckin’ stare at it?”

You shoot Joel an annoyed glance and squeeze him lightly in warning. You give in anyway, however. It really doesn’t take much.

He makes a grunting sound as you take the fat tip of him between your lips, suckling the head and tonguing at his slit as your hand pumps the rest of him. You love the taste of his salty pre-cum on your tongue as you eagerly lap him, trying to get more.

Joel pushes harder on the back of your head and bucks his hips forward—though you’re not sure if that part is voluntary. Your hand moves back to the root of him, holding tightly and pushing him so that he can’t shove himself into your mouth.

You pop your mouth off of him, ignoring the string of spit that keeps you connected to his soaked tip. With heavy lids, you glance up at him to find that he’s staring back at you with a look in his eyes that can only be described as fiery.

“Be patient, old man, I’m trying to enjoy myself.”

Joel scowls at you. “The fuck you mean enjoy yourself? You’re suckin’ my cock,” he snaps.

“Okay, well I happen to really fucking like sucking your cock, Joel, so be. patient.”

He rolls his eyes at you and leans his head back against the brick wall behind him. Satisfied that he’s stopped arguing, you go back to his dick, grabbing it so that the underside of it is facing you.

You lean forward to lick up the entirety of it, coming down to suck and kiss at his balls every couple of strokes. Your head is going a bit fuzzy and your core is throbbing almost painfully with need.

You can’t stop though, you love the feel of his silky skin on your tongue, the way it moves slightly with each pass of your mouth. You moan loudly against him, enough so that it reaches Joel’s ears through the sound of the heavy raindrops pelting the ground and buildings around you.

He pulls sharply on your hair, but is unable to pull you away with how tightly you latch on to his thighs. You squeeze your eyes shut and just about double your efforts to ensure he won’t make you stop.

“Gotta hush, baby. Sound like a fuckin’ whore, moanin’ on my cock like that,” Joel squeezes out at you through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, but you love it,” you pull away just enough to retort.

“Damn fuckin’ right,” Joel smirks back at you as you get back to work. “Little s-slut just for me.”

When you lean forward this time, you take him fully between your lips, swallowing as much as you can to get him as deep as possible. You know you’re drooling, but you can’t find it in you to care, you’re far too drunk on his taste, his scent, the feel of his cock inside your greedy mouth.

Joel groans as you suck harshly, resisting the urge to gag as you hold him in your hot mouth and fondle his balls. God, you can’t fucking get enough. You pull back again once you literally can’t breathe, but not before taking his balls into your mouth once a piece.

“Fucking love your cock, Joel,” you tell him as you stroke him lazily.

“I know you fuckin’ do, darlin’. Why don’t you show him how much? Make him feel good, hm?”

You nod eagerly at him and put your mouth back on him, bobbing your head and using your hand to tightly pump what you’re not able to reach. Joel makes a choked sound and grips your hair so tight that tears spring to your eyes.

The sounds reverberating through the alley are nasty, but it only turns you on more. Between Joel’s bitten-down moans and the sound coming from his dick being slammed down your throat, it’s a fucking symphony in your ears.

“Shit,” Joel breathes from above you. “Want to be inside you, baby.”

You shake your head as much as you’re able. You want his cum down your throat, that’s the whole point of this. Twin tears trail down your messed cheeks with the movement, but you keep going at a quick but steady pace.

He grunts and pulls on you again, and this time, you’re forced to let go.

“Joooel,” you whine, hands going out to grab at him, only for him to squeeze again and hold you firmly in place.

“You fuckin’ quit that, now,” he commands, and you do. Albeit reluctantly and with a furious pout. His cock bobs tauntingly in front of you, throbbing and glistening with your saliva.

“C’mon, princess. Up.”

You continue pouting but do as he says, letting him haul you up so he can pull your pants and underwear down. You yelp, not expecting that part so quickly. The cool, moist air hits your heated core and you clench your thighs, making it more difficult for Joel to spin you around and shove you against the wall.

He’s behind you again in a heartbeat, the tip of his cock breaching your tight hole as he presses his entire front to your back. You keen as he slides into you, the stretch making your toes curl in your boots.

“See?” Joel mutters into your ear. “Shut you up quick, didn’t it?”

You can only nod as he starts to move inside of you, your slick making it easy for him to build up a quick pace. Your fingers spread out on the brick wall as he grips your hips and thrusts harshly up into you, a sheen of sweat starting to cover your body at the force in which he’s using you with.

He hits your g-spot each time, making you huff out weak little moans to mingle with his grunts. His heavy balls slap against you with each thrust, making a lewd sound against your soaked seam and sending shocks atop your swollen clit.

You mewl as your orgasm starts to build, a warmth starting to spread throughout your entire body. And when Joel brings one hand to wrap around your throat, you just about lose it. He squeezes the sides, cutting off your airflow and making your head spin.

You close your eyes and your senses hone in only on the feeling of his cock spearing into you, the way his grip is so hard on your hip that there are sure to be bruises in the morning. Your head rolls back onto his shoulder and he uses the opportunity to nuzzle your jaw.

“So s-soft ‘n’ wet for me, ain't ya? Like soaked fuckin’ silk.”

You whimper as much as you’re able, your body starting to shake as you get closer to the edge. Joel lets his fingers ease up from the grip he has on your throat, allowing air to sweep back into your lungs, and you explode.

You moan obscenely as you cream on his cock, his hand moving to your clit to thumb tight circles and prolong your pleasure. Your hands move from the wall to grip hard onto his forearms.

“That’s a good girl,” he growls into your ear.

“M–Please, Joel,” you whine. “Let me swallow–I–”

Joel’s dark laugh startles you, but he moves to give you what you want. He pulls his cock out of you, and you suddenly feel empty. You whine despite yourself, but are quickly distracted again by the way he spins you around and shoves you back to your knees, your pants still pulled down around your ankles.

You watch him dazedly as he fists his drenched cock and then guides it back to your swollen lips. You taste yourself on him as he pumps his hips and glides onto your tongue. He places a hand on the back of your head again, helping you take him.

“There you go, you fuckin’ cum-hungry little slut.”

You moan, and you can tell that’s his undoing as the vibrations travel through his length. He shudders and groans into the empty alley as his balls tug up and he spills into your mouth. You greedily drink him down, gripping his thighs and closing your eyes as you focus on not spilling a single drop.

He pushes your head down until he hits the back of your throat, waiting for you to gag before he slowly pulls all the way back out. You’re both sweaty and panting but you still open your mouth and tilt your head up for approval that you swallowed every bit of his cum. Joel watches you with parted lips and nods.

“Good job, princess,” he tells you, and you smile.

“Alright, baby, I gotta get you home before curfew,” he says after a moment. “Let’s get you cleaned up so it doesn’t look like we just fucked in a damn alley.”

You grin at him and lift your arms for him to help you up again. You don’t tell him that it’s pointless to clean you up since you’ll just end up in the same state once you get home. If there’s one thing that will never dwindle in your relationship, it’s the insatiable hunger that the two of you harbor for one another—and all the messes and mischief that comes with it.

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