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joelscurls · 3 months

Text

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out.

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do.

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter.

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that—

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right.

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship?

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating.

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend.

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds.

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool.

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash.

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down.

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking.

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie. His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him.

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need.

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically.

“Ah — that’s alright.”

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him?

But then you think of Frankie inside — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly.

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too.

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff.

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?”

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes.

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks.

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone.

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink.

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline.

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers.

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again.

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke.

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver.

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion.

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all.

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming.

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans.

“Hey,” you announce.

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm.

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other.

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement.

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…”

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades.

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of.

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod.

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively.

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers.

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct.

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it.

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally.

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble.

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed.

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh.

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway.

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss.

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past.

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.”

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis.

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat.

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies.

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you.

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton.

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand.

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you.

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest.

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want.

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?”

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls.

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant.

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium.

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below.

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again.

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

“So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.”

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away.

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky.

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin.

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact.

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.”

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right.

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist.

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.”

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

#Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Frankie Morales x female reader #Frankie Morales fic #Frankie Morales smut #Frankie Morales fanfiction #Triple Frontier #Triple Frontier fic #Triple Frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut

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neckromantics · 6 months

Text

The closer you get to Astarion, the more mischievous the two of you become.

I'm talking gossip. Grade A shit talking with your bf when someone you don't like is just out of earshot. Sometimes, when they're still in earshot if the two of you hate the person enough.

Him, nearly knocking heads with you in his rush to make a sly comment about a particularly atrocious pair of shoes that an enemy is wearing. You doing your best not to burst out laughing and failing miserably bc he's right (obviously), and now that's all you can look at while the big-bad is making their big-bad speech. He's gotten so good at talking to you out of the side of his mouth, it's honestly impressive.

You, side-eyeing him to make sure he also heard that one dumb thing someone said, and sure enough he's meeting your gaze a millisecond later. The two of you perfected the art of having the most judgy conversations with your eyes only. He slow blinks whenever he's particularly unimpressed. You make your eye twitch to ask "can we just kill this guy, already?" The eye rolls from the two of you alone cause 2d8 psychic damage at this point.

You're just always making eachother laugh tbh.

You pretend to fall asleep on Astarion's shoulder and snore whenever someone's going on and on about something neither of you care about, and he has to turn fully away from you to keep a straight face. Sometimes when he's REALLY annoyed, he'll slowly pull out a dagger and feign stabbing at someone when they're turned away- and you can't even pretend to be disapproving bc you're about to piss your pants.

One of your favorite things the two of you do is play fight.

The first time it happened, it started out as a genuine disagreement. You said something stupid- or maybe he said something stupid, neither of you can remember- but whatever it was became a serious back and forth that could have ended in tears if one of you hadn't stopped and realized how utterly stupid the two of you sounded.

All it took was one look into eachother's eyes- the absolute worst one-liner you could conjure from the back of your brain and all was forgiven. The argument soon devolved into a quip-off so intense that the rest of camp couldn't even tell you weren't actually angry anymore.

You've done it for fun a couple times, now. Usually, it's bc you're in the mood to annoy the rest of your companions after they've given you a rough day.

Astarion initiates it this time- bc he wants to be a nuisance to poor Gale, who's just trying to read his book by the warmth of the campfire. Though luckily for him, it's such a ridiculous display that it doesn't last long.

You're seething. Boots slapping hard in the mud as you storm across camp to get Astarion by the shoulders- your hold delicate despite the venom in your tone. It looks like you're shaking him a little, but you aren't. The vampire is just vibrating from having to reign in his laughter.

You look ridiculous.

"Oh, yeah? Why don't you say that into my fucking mouth, then?"

Gale looks up from his book in confusion, only to see an equally not angry Astarion fist his hands into the fabric of your cloak and yank you closer.

"Maybe I will." He growls, or maybe laughs? Gale doesn't know at this point. He's too busy shutting his book, and walking briskly to his tent- far, far away from the giggly make-out session you're about to have in Astarion's tent.

#idk man its 4am #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #bg3 headcanons #gale of waterdeep

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su8arandspite · 4 months

Text

Show Me

Summary: When Steve and Robin bail on you, you’re left alone with Eddie for the first time and you want him to teach you how to play the guitar. But you find it hard to focus. Or, alternatively, the one in which you find out why Eddie Munson keeps handcuffs in his bedroom and what those stains on his mattress really are.

eddie munson x afab!reader, steve harrington x afab!reader (implied)

Warnings and content: 18+ mdni, smut, mentions of the ud, canon-compliant brief gore, eddie lives!post st4, alcohol and drug use, use of restraints, squirting, limited physical descriptions of reader (though I think I inferred long hair), no use of y/n, reader loves journey bc me too

A/N: i was absolutely drunk when i wrote this ngl. it’s shameless filth, and i am not sorry. this is my first good faith effort to write in second person, so y/n is used only sparingly. inspired by the fun, spicy lil details in eddie’s room. this was originally a steve x reader x eddie threesome piece but it was simply too long, so who knows, part 2??

Word count: 9.6k

divider cr: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

It was a Saturday night tradition. After a particularly mind-numbing shift at Family Video, you, Steve, and Robin were always in desperate need of some fun. Really, it was a miracle that Keith even let the three of you work the same shift, given the especially sloppy work you produced when presented with the distractions of your best friends. As much as you loathed Keith, you supposed you might as well use his apparent –albeit inappropriate– fondness for you to your advantage. After the first time Eddie called the store during your combined shifts, the routine formed easily: the second that the last customer left and the door was locked, the three of you piled into Steve’s BMW to meet Eddie at his trailer for a well-deserved joint or some shots of tequila, maybe a bit of both if the day was particularly unbearable.

Tonight, though, your friends seemed to have other ideas. It was Robin who first broke the routine. She burst into the store with a guilty grin and a rushed explanation about the maybe-date she had with Vicki. And, okay, you could admit that you were happy for her. The excited rush in her voice and dusting of pink in her cheeks made it hard to be too mad at Robin. Beaming, she nudged you in the arm:

“Besides, who wouldn’t want a night alone with Eddie and this dingus?”

You turned to glance at Steve, hiding the flush this brought to your cheeks. A sinking feeling settled deep within your belly as you caught sight of the giggly girl leaning her torso against the checkout counter. She batted her eyelashes at Steve, twirling her hair around her finger. You hadn’t needed to hear them to know that Steve was asking her out on another date that you were uncertain he even actually wanted to go on. For someone who claimed to hate it, Steve sure did seem to have quite a bit of mindless sex. Not that you wanted to think about Steve’s sex life, or him with his shirt off or– No. You pushed away the image before it could fully form in your mind.

“Whatever,” Turning back to Robin, you rolled your eyes. “Now, are you gonna help me restock the shelves, or should we risk leaving it for Steve?”

Chuckling, she nodded and followed you to the stockroom to grab the carts filled with the new arrivals. Both of you took one and wheeled it off to different parts of the store. You hummed to yourself as you lugged the heavy container towards the next genre. It was in the middle of your whispered rendition of “Lights” that Steve finally made his way over to help you.

He shot you a grin as he gripped the cart, taking it from you. You eyed him skeptically, raising an eyebrow:

“Someone looks happy,” you teased. “Did my tip to recommend Pretty in Pink get you a date again?”

Steve’s warm laughter filled the store over the radio playing through the loudspeakers. “That obvious, huh?”

You shrugged. Casually, you tell him: “There’s this little quirk to your lips that gives you away.”

Steve stared at you for a brief moment, surprised, but averted his gaze before you turned your torso back to him and grabbed another VHS. Shifting his weight, Steve rubbed his hand over his chin.

“Don’t worry, kid,” said Steve, unable to avoid a grin at the nickname. He gave you The Karate Kid Part II to put in the new release section. “I promise I’ll still drive you to Munson’s, okay?”

“Wait,” You paused, whirring back to gape at him. “What do you mean, ‘drive’ me? Steve, please tell me you’re not bailing, too!”

Steve broke out into a sheepish grin. You tossed your hands up in exasperation. While you busied herself with visibly pouting, you missed the knowing smirk that Steve gave in response.

You blinked at him. Robin, you understood; she’d been dancing around taking this plunge with Vicki for ages, but Steve…? Well, you didn’t know why that bothered you, but you suddenly found yourself filled with jealousy towards the stranger with her forced Valley Girl accent and ugly purple top. Unwilling to admit that, you instead focused on the other idea stirring your nerves. Robin wasn’t coming to smoke that night, nor was Steve. That just left you... And Eddie. It would be the first Saturday Smoke Nights without all four of you there.

The thought made your tummy flip. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Eddie– in fact, he had quickly become one of your closest friends. Still, something about the idea of spending time truly alone with him for the first time since, well, since the Upside Down, sent your heart aflutter.

You thought about canceling the whole thing until everyone was free. Except, when you floated the idea to him, Steve wasn’t having any of it.

“Maybe I should just call it a night, then,” you shrugged.

“No,” he shook his head firmly. “I’m driving you.”

Steve shot an odd look your way as he pushed the cart of tapes to be reshelved towards the Action section. You followed closely behind him, holding two tapes at a time and replacing them on the shelves.

That was how you found yourself sitting on Eddie’s bed while he deliberated over the two movies you had swiped from Family Video to watch that night— Airplane! or Teen Wolf. Not that you could care less; it was only a matter of time before you and Eddie weren’t sober enough to really care.

After a moment, Eddie looked up from the VHS cases with a brow quirked. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “How do you expect me to choose between two such riveting pieces of cinema?”

You shrugged. “Sorry, we had to pick something that Keith wouldn’t notice went missing.”

Eddie shrugged. “Werewolves it is, then.”

While Eddie held up the selected tape and carried it over to the VCR player, you rose to your feet. You adjusted your skirt as you stood, pulling the plaid material a little further down over your thighs. The white tank top that you had put on before work looked more see-through than you remembered it being without the oversized green vest of your employee uniform over it. With that shedded in the passenger seat of Steve’s car, the lacy black bra which you threw on that morning popped against the white.

“Hey, Eds,” you called out. ”You got any popcorn?”

Eddie spared you a glance, a finger suspended in the air over the play button. His breath hitched at the sight of you. He wondered if you knew how good you looked or if you meant to waste it on the renters at work. Or him, for that matter. Swallowing thickly, he told you about the Jiffy Pop he had waiting for you on the stove, and stared after you once your figure disappeared from sight.

When you returned to Eddie’s bedroom, snacks and drinks in hand, he was oddly quiet. You paused for a moment, your eyes scanning his face for signs of what was going on in that head of his. You bent to set the popcorn bowl on the floor by his feet and handed Eddie a beer. The tension in the room was palpable. It pushed you to plop yourself down in the space next to him. You watched the opening credits rolling on Eddie’s shitty TV as you settled into this new position, criss-crossing your legs.

Your palms slapped against your thighs as you rallied his attention. “Okay,” you said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get wasted.”

Eddie snickered. “Okay, princess,” he cooed. “As you wish.”

A delicious calm washed over your body as your high set in. The beer was shitty and slightly warm from not being in the trailer’s refrigerator long enough, but it was the best you two could scrounge up in Hawkins. It warmed you up and, more to the point, got the job done anyways. By the time you had a couple beers and half a joint in your system, the movie was over, and you felt more comfortable being alone with Eddie.

Your fingers ghosted over the tops of the cases as you sifted through Eddie’s cassette collection. It took a while for you to find something familiar. You waited until Eddie was in the bathroom to switch the stereo to Journey so that he couldn’t protest the change.

You spun around the room, strumming your fingers in the air against an invisible guitar. It was in the midst of this little solo act that Eddie returned. He leaned against the doorframe so as not to disturb you, a small grin overtaking him. Eddie’s eyes flickered to your hips subconsciously as the movement swished your mini skirt upwards; the sight gave him just enough of a show to stir up tantalizing thoughts about the soft skin of your upper thighs and up until they disappeared under your panties. His impure thoughts brought a dopey smile to his face. It was then that you noticed his presence.

Upon realizing that you had been caught, your cheeks heated. A small squeak passed your lips. You stopped dancing abruptly, hair falling like a curtain over your face.

“Please,” said Eddie. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Suddenly shy, you shrugged. “Shit, you scared me! But,” Your lips curled into a demure smile, “I thought you were the rockstar, Eds. Wouldn’t wanna steal your limelight”

He shrugged, “I don’t mind sharing, angel.”

You hummed. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you blurted out unfiltered thoughts:

“You know, your hair’s almost as awesome as Steve Perry’s.”

Not this again. Eddie cocked an eyebrow, “Almost?”

You shrugged, a coy smile playing over your lips. “Just a little less silky.”

Pushing your hair away from your face, you narrowed your eyes at him. You sauntered over to the bed and collapsed yourself down onto it. Your eyes flickered from his hands to his tongue as he pushed it out to wet his lips. Getting comfortable, you shifted on the bed, tucking your legs up further underneath yourself. Your hands rested patiently over your thighs as you tilted your head.

“Hey, Eddie,” you said. “Will you teach me how to play guitar? I mean, how else am I gonna become a rockstar?”

His lips quirked up at this. “Sure,” Eddie nodded. “Most songs are three simple chords, anyways.” He lifted his hands to strum at an invisible guitar of his own. You couldn’t quite focus on his explanation with his hands moving like that.

“Okay, teach. I’m all ears,” you looked up at him with wide eyes, leaning forward with your elbows against your thighs and chin resting in your palms.

Eddie marched over to the wall where his guitar hung in its place of honor. He slung the strap over his shoulder, grabbed a stray guitar pick from the desk and placed it between his lips, before taking center stage in the middle of the room.

“Now,” Eddie began. “First, you’ve just gotta learn three simple chords: D, C, and G.”

He positioned his fingers, one at a time, over the strings in the correct position. The tip of his tongue poked out between his teeth in concentration. Even as crossfaded as you both were, Eddie wanted to impress you. After all, it wasn’t every day that he had a beautiful girl sitting on his bed, and he planned to milk the moment for all it was worth. So, he did his best to look cool and, if he was lucky, maybe you would ask him to teach you again. Eddie slowed the chord down to illustrate the correct posture. He played each of the three a few times then in succession.

“Then, when you put them all together, eventually, you get a little something like this–” Eddie strummed the iconic guitar solo of “Don’t Stop Believin’.” He thanked God for the liquid courage that allowed him to play Journey for you, like he hadn’t memorized the song just because he knew you were into them. Thank Ozzy for alcohol and weed or whatever it was that kept you from pointing out that Journey wasn’t exactly metal enough for Eddie’s usual taste.

And you meant to pay attention, you really did, but your brain turned into mush at the sight of Eddie truly in his element. You could think of nothing but the quick pace of his fingers. The thick rings he wore just on the cusp of his knuckles demanded attention. You bet they would feel cool against your skin, flushed and chest heaving, while he— pay attention. You swallowed around your cottony throat. White heat snaked up your spine as your mind wandered to thoughts of what else those skilled fingers of his could do. You shifted slightly in your seat. The room suddenly felt stuffy enough to run your mouth dry.

The sound of Eddie’s voice calling your name pulled you from her reverie. “Hmm?” Your eyes drifted slowly up to his face. “Are you even listening to me?”

You blinked your eyelashes up at him. WIth a faint smile, you tilted your cheek to rest against your shoulder. “Sorry,” you muttered. “Uh, can you show me that last one again? D, wasn’t it?”

“C, actually,” he corrected. “‘S something on your mind?”

“Oh, uh, I–“

You failed to think of an excuse, but you certainly couldn’t tell him what you were really thinking. Instead, you opened and closed your jaw, unsure.

Eddie let his hands fall to his sides. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “What’s a matter, baby? Cat got your tongue?”

The burst of warmth this brought to your cheeks gave him confidence. Eddie gently shrugged his guitar from around his shoulders and set it aside. You could only watch, eyes wide, as he strode your way.

He moved to sit beside you with his hands laid flat against the bed to support him, one on each side of you like a lanky cage, and his tall stature leaning over you. Eddie’s tongue peeked out to wet his lips. As he leaned forward, the guitar pick which he wore around his neck swung forwards to tap against the exposed skin of your shoulder.

When you didn’t respond, Eddie continued: “You wanna know what I think?”

With Eddie so close, you struggled to think of anything at all. The weed mixed with Eddie’s cologne— since when did he wear that?— and made your head swim even faster. You barely registered the words as they left your lips, “What’s that?”

Eddie sucked his teeth, a low rumble of a chuckle rippling through his chest as he leaned in to drop his lips to your ear. His hair tickled the skin of your neck. Gooseflesh rippled over you as his hot breath met your ear, “I think you’d rather watch”

You swallowed thickly. There was little time to compose yourself, though you tried, as Eddie leaned back against his palms, flattening them to give himself a better view. The expectant way in which he looked at you made you melt like putty under his hot, hungry gaze. Eddie reveled in the way you averted your eyes, embarrassed, and knowing you’d been caught. His big brown eyes gleamed.

Lamely, you shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

“I–“

You went to call him an asshole but lost your train of thought entirely. The quip died in your throat as a flash of something shiny in your peripheral vision caught your eye. It was your turn to smile devilishly at him as you realized what it was.

Eddie frowned at the dip of the bed as you rose to your feet and stepped away from him. His gaze followed your saunter as you tiptoed over a copy of Heavy Metal magazine and a pile of cassette tapes to stop before the wall.

You lifted up the silver object with one finger. Turning to the boy, your lip curled devilishly into a knowing smirk. Eddie knew he should have been embarrassed or something, probably needed to come up with some plausible excuse for why he kept handcuffs in his bedroom. Maybe you would buy it if he said he was trying a hand at being an amateur magician? No, that was lame. He wanted to be a cop? Yeah, right! He certainly couldn’t tell you that he liked to use his hands in bed and, sometimes, he wanted to be the only one doing that. Could he?

“You know,” you lifted your eyes from the cuffs to meet Eddie’s. “My big brother’s a cop.”

The way that you twirled them around in circles stirred up something within Eddie. This, along with the plump pout of your lips, left Eddie suddenly very turned on. He swallowed thickly. “Yeah,” he said lamely.

“Well, then, Eddie, baby, you should know that he also taught me a little trick about how to get out of them.” You pulled at each loop of the cuffs until the chain was taut. “Do you want me to show you how?”

Now it was Eddie’s turn to stare and squirm. The suggestive tone to your voice rendered him speechless. He nodded dumbly. Your lips curved upwards devilishly. Mimicking his tone from earlier, you teased: “Cat got your tongue?

“Put ‘em on for me?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he did so. He rose to his feet at your command. Your hands brushed as he took the restraints from the end of your finger. You blinked up at him expectantly as you pushed your wrists together in front of yourself. The cuffs bound your wrists as one with a resounding click. Eddie took a step back to admire his work. You looked so damn pretty with your hands all bound up for him, your wide eyes the icing on the cake.

“Wait,” Eddie shook his head. He gripped your wrists in one hand, stilling them before you had a chance to show him your trick. “Keep them on”

The mere sight of you in his cuffs made Eddie’s cock stir within his jeans.

“Perfect,” he muttered. The remark was more to himself than anything. It made you dizzy nonetheless.

Eddie didn’t know where his newfound confidence came from–the weed, maybe, or the shine in your eyes as you looked at him– but it was welcomed either way. Playful banter and a flair for the dramatics were his bread and butter, sure, but this? Flirting with you and unabashedly ogling you in his cuffs was something Eddie never saw happening outside of his perverted fantasies. Whatever pushed him to do it, he was chuffed that he had the courage to say what he did next.

His thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, lifting it upwards to force your gaze upon him. “You didn’t really want me to show you how to play the guitar, did you?” he clicked his tongue. “No, you wanted me to teach you what my fingers can do to you”

Then his thumb pushed at your mouth, tapping against your pillowy lower lip. He applied gentle pressure to it, just enough not to push its way inside. “Is that what you want, angel?” A whine rumbled deep within you. You could only nod dumbly in response. Eddie clicked his tongue, head shaking. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you”

“Yes.” That was all the confirmation Eddie needed. He pressed his thumb firmly so that it opened your mouth for him. Your tongue lapped at the intruder, teasingly, as you sucked him in. Eddie all but melted at the sensation and his cock responded similarly, his dirty thoughts racing with desire for that mouth of yours.

He jerked his head towards the bed. “Sit.” You obeyed readily and sat on the end of his mattress, legs dangling off the edge, and spread your knees wide for him.

Eddie bunched your skirt up with his fists and flipped it upwards on your hips. This gave him an eyeful of skimpy lacy panties that the skirt hardly covered to begin with. Christ. A whine escaped him at the filthy sight. He pushed your thighs as wide apart as he could by the knee. His hands ghosted over your skin from the knee up to the thickest parts of your thigh. He grabbed at the fleshy part of leg just below your ass.

He pushed aside your panties with his thumb to expose your wetness to him. A slow, shaky exhale escaped him as he dragged his finger through the slick and back up to rub sloppy circles against your clit. This made your breath hitch in your throat. Your mouth hung open with the silent whine threading to spill out.

Eddie’s Cheshire Cat grin only grew as he stretched his long fingers out to hook into the fabric of your underwear, keeping as much contact as he could with your clit, until he managed to yank them down your thighs and around the left ankle. Swiftly, and so smoothly that you didn’t even notice, he tucked the lacy material in the front pocket of his jeans. For later.

“Kiss me,” your voice sounded like a true angel whispering to him. His nickname for you had never felt more apt.

Eddie’s fingers never ceased on your clit as he dipped his head down to press his lips against your cheek. He mumbled a slew of praises and compliments against your skin as he mapped a trail along your jawbone to your neck, pausing to suckle a deep hickey on the jugular and ghost against your clavicle. Only when his name passed your saccharine lips did he give you what you wanted and press his mouth hungrily to yours.

As you melted into his touch, you breathed a happy sigh against him. You kissed every last inch of nerves and desire away into his waiting mouth. Eddie swallowed it readily. His mind buzzed with the hazy static of lust and illicit substances until he could no longer hear Steve Perry’s voice thrumming in the background. He thought maybe his heart was going to take flight. Deep unfiltered want drove Eddie as he added a second and third finger to your clit and increased the pace. He blinked through heavy lids as you twitched involuntarily at the sheer pleasure.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, Eddie was a hopeless fool for you. You were exactly the beautiful, smart, warm breath of air that he needed. His heart ached for you with each brush of your hands as you both reached for a kernel of popcorn from the same bowl during movie nights with your friends. That had been enough for him up until now; Eddie would take as much or as little of you as you wanted to offer him. Even if tonight turned out to be just another one of his elaborate fantasies, he’d die a happy man—he seemed to have more and more vivid images of you in all your sunny glory as of late, the filthy thoughts flooding his mind in the quiet moments when he was truly alone and his hand wandered on its own accord towards the waistband of his underwear. He had it bad for you, and Eddie didn’t want it any other way.

Though you couldn’t reach your hands up to card through his hair as you so desperately wanted to, you caught his attention just the same with nothing but those sweet lips of yours. He chased after your touch as you pulled away from the kiss, head shaking just faintly. The buck of your hips against him spoke for you.

Only, instead of taking your lead, his touch left you altogether. Eddie stared at you with heavy-lidded eyes, awestruck. His fingers drew shapes over your clavicle, inching over to your shoulder. The band of your bra strap snapped as he lifted it and let it flick back into place. Eddie hooked his finger under it once more but made no further moves.

“Can I?”

“Please,” you nodded.

Eddie pushed the straps off your shoulders, taking the tank top down with them. Gently, he propped you up enough to get the fabric up and over your head, tossing it somewhere behind him. With the dip of his head, Eddie leaned down to kiss the swell of your breasts just above the lace of the bra you wore, as he reached behind you to unclasp it once and for all. Before you knew it, that too was long forgotten. You laid bare on Eddie’s mattress, covered only with your skirt that was still bunched up around your hips.

He cupped your face in his hands. Your stomach flipped at the thrill of feeling your own arousal against your cheek. His voice and his grip forced your eyes on his.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he marveled. “A goddamn vision.”

There was an unmistakable fondness in his voice that made you feel warm inside with an emotion you couldn’t name. It only grew as he snaked one hand down your stomach and towards your core again, the other kneading your breast.

Ripples of pleasure rolled through you as he returned his thumb to its rightful place against your clit and pinched your nipples, rolling each between his fingers one at a time. You whimpered, hips bucking, and craving more and more of him.

The grin on his lips only grew at your silent begging. He lifted his hand, spitting on his fingertips, before bringing it back down to your dripping sex. It made an obscene sound as he gathered some of your arousal for good measure, toying with your entrance.

Slowly, Eddie pushed the very tip of his middle finger inside of you. His ring finger soon followed, and he twisted his wrist so that his palm now faced the ceiling. You writhed under him, craving more, but were unable to find it; his other hand gripped harshly at your hip to keep you in place. Only once he had you good and still did he push his fingers deeper. The thick rings he wore were cool against the fluttering heat of your body. He curled his fingers deliciously upwards. They only just brushed against your most pleasurable spot at first, leaving you just out of reach, teased.

You babbled at him. The sound of your own voice begging sounded far away, “Eddie, Eds, please”

Who was he to refuse you? “Well,” Eddie tutted. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Eddie knelt with his thighs pushed up against the mattress. He was close enough that your Achilles’ tendon brushed over the tattered denim of his jeans. But you wanted him closer yet. He still felt so very far away. Just as you mustered the core strength to pull yourself up without the aid of your hands, he moved his free hand from your hips to splay over your lower stomach, just above the pubic bone. It forced you back against the mattress, dumbfounded. You were fully at his mercy as he worked to fuck his fingers into you. They pushed slowly inside of you, down to the base and out again at a snail’s pace. He pushed them in faster, this time, only to the knuckle and curling them.

The added pressure of his hand on your stomach coupled with the speed of his movements ensured that every move hit you in a way that left you breathless. Eddie seemed to know your body like it was his, quickly finding the spongy area inside you that made your mind empty save the pleasure he was giving you. It was an electric spark that spread from your very core and threatened to burn you to pieces. You gasped at the sensation– a weak little sound that faded out into silent cries of pleasure.

And oh was that just the thing Eddie had been needing to hear all night. His own breath quickened as he doubled his efforts. The pace at which he thrusted his fingers was brutal and delicious. You mewled, unable to form a coherent thought that didn’t include Eddie and his magic fingers.

Each curl of his fingers caused the exposed skin under his tattoos to flex, and it looked so hot. Your eyes were drawn to the way his veins popped with the movement, and the sight nearly had you drooling. Every one of your senses was overwhelmed with him: his touch was unlike anything you could have anticipated, the shaky, aroused breaths that escaped him and the pornographic squelching sound of his fingertips each time he thrusted them into you made you dizzy, and you turned your head to whine into the mattress and breathed in his scent like it was pure oxygen. Eddie was everything.

Your toes curled and your legs began to shake. “Eddie, ‘m gonna– fuckk, I–“

“Yeah?” He tutted. “Let go, sweetheart.”

His soothing voice and unrelenting cadence made it difficult for you to focus on anything but the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. The tugging warmth of your orgasm that had been building surged until it was all-encompassing; intense pleasure slammed you all at once. Every ounce of tension left your body as you came around his fingers.

Eddie kept his fingers tapped against just the right spot as you rode out your orgasm. He lazily rubbed the heel of his hand against your very sensitive clit. Unable to help himself, he palmed at his erection with the other as he watched you come undone.

You’d had orgasms before, but never anything remotely like what Eddie was doing to you. The familiar knot in your stomach was there as it built, but it was accompanied by something else— another type of pressure that was foreign to you. He left you no time to dwell on it, because you were coming before you could even really process it. When you finally did, it was a release unlike any other.

You hardly noticed it at first, but once you started to return to your senses, you felt something wet between your thighs that hadn’t been there before. Leaning up, you tried to get a glance at it. Your cheeks burned, slightly embarrassed, as you saw what a mess you’d made. The bedsheets and—oh, God— Eddie’s forearm and parts of his pants were soaked.

When you managed to look at him again, locking eyes, he was smug. There was no sign of disgust or surprise anywhere. He looked proud, almost.

“Eddie,” you said, at a loss for words. “I don’t know what… I’ve never done that before.”

Only you weren’t entirely sure what it was that Eddie had done to you, just that it was the most intense euphoria in the world.

He smiled at you in a way that made it hard for you to feel insecure. Like you were a work of art; his masterpiece, even. Eddie rubbed his clean hand against your cheek, gently stroking your skin with his thumb.

“It’s okay, angel,” he reassured you. “You’ve never squirted before?“

You hesitated. The term sounded vaguely familiar to you, like maybe you’d once heard your girlfriends whispering about it, but you didn’t think it was real. Hell, no other boy you’d ever been with had even come close to making you orgasm at all, so this was entirely uncharted territory. It left you wondering where the hell Eddie fucking Munson had been hiding those skills all this time.

“No,” you shook your head. “But it felt really good.”

“I’m glad,” he pressed a gentle kiss to the blooming hickey he sucked on your neck earlier. “Just wanna make you feel so good. Such a good girl.”

He breathed in your scent like he was trying to commit it to memory. Eddie stayed with his face nuzzled in the crook of your neck for only a moment. He was leaning back up all too soon.

Finally, Eddie pulled his fingers from you and held them up to the light. His lips curved as he admired the way your slick glistened, thick as he separated his index and middle fingers. A deep hum left him as he lifted his hand to his waiting mouth and licked them clean.

“You taste so fuckin’ amazing,” he groaned.

“Yeah?” You asked, though your head still swam with the haze of your orgasm.

“Think it might be my new favorite dessert,” he confirmed.

Your heart flipped. Though you assumed he was only teasing, Eddie knew just what to say to render you speechless. You couldn’t get enough.

Eddie lowered himself onto the mattress next to you. As he propped himself up by the elbow, he brushed some hair from your face. His umber eyes were dark with lust-blown pupils.

Though your cheeks still burned, you grinned mischievously as a memory creeped up on you. It was probably something you should have forgotten, what with everything you had all been through since March of 1986, but you could still hear Eddie clear as day in your mind, see his doe eyes widen as he glanced nervously at you over Robin’s shoulder:

“Those stains are, uh… I don’t know what those stains are”

Gently, you nudged Eddie to get his attention, as if there were anywhere or anything else in the world that it would be.

“So,” you locked eyes with him. “That’s what those stains are, huh?”

Eddie chuckled. It was a full belly laugh that had his shoulders shaking in amusement. He shook his head fondly at you.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s what the stains are.”

Well, that and bong water, —mostly the latter— but he thought it sounded more impressive if you thought of him as some sort of sex god.

You hummed in recognition.

Eddie smiled at you. He gripped the hem of his shirt in his fingers and toyed with it, chewing on his lower lip.

“You know,” he said. “I’m feelin’ a little overdressed here, don’t ya think?”

“You are entirely overdressed.”

You’re unable to fight off a smile. Eddie sat up again and reached to pull his shirt up and over his head. It fell in a heap beside the mattress. As he started on his belt, you let your eyes take in the marvelous sight of him.

His skin was pale and his long torso seemed to go on forever. The black ink of his tattoos and healed scars popped against his flesh, the largest of which spanned across his stomach, just over the naval, and blended into the beginnings of his happy trail.

Eddie and you had never discussed that fateful night in the Upside Down. It was easier that way than to admit your nightmares were still mostly plagued by the overwhelming fear you’d felt as you and Dustin carried his limp body back to the base camp in that stolen RV and in the weeks you spent nursing him back from the brink of death. Eddie’s heart slowed to a pace so imperceptible he swore it had stopped and, for the briefest of moments, he was on the other side. He knew he should have died that day and that, really, he supposed a part of him had.

Perhaps for the first time since then, Eddie didn’t feel nervous or hesitant to reveal himself, scars and all, to someone else. Because it was you, after all. You, who had cursed at him through teary eyes for his monumentally stupid need to play hero and had somehow managed to remain calm enough to stem the bleeding, then scoured through the vehicle for something to sew him up with. It had been you who shooed Dustin out of the room, at least enough to shield the boy from the gruesome sight of your shaky hands as they crudely stitched him back together well enough to last until Steve and Robin and the others returned to regroup. He knew then, even in his weakest state, that he was in trouble because the flutter of your eyelashes made his sluggish heart ache. As he looked at you now, your eyes blinking up at him, Eddie realized he never stood a fighting chance when it came to you. He supposed it was impossible not to fall in love with you, the angel who had saved his life, as he drifted in and out of consciousness. And every moment since then. He had called you his angel ever since.

You kissed a trail from the scars by his chest, down his tummy, and the one that disappeared under his boxer briefs. His skin was warm but erupted into goosebumps at your touch. Eddie’s breath caught in his throat as you craned your neck further down to peck an open-mouthed kiss where the head of his aching cock strained against the fabric.

Suddenly, he’s stopping you. Eddie’s hands cupped your cheeks, gently pushing your face away from him. The flash of hurt in your eyes must have been clear because he immediately softened his gaze, stroking your face lovingly with his thumbs.

“What’s wrong?” Confused, you glanced from the tent in his groin back to his eyes. “Do you not want to?”

“No!” Eddie cut you off, maybe a little too quickly and too loudly. He cleared his throat to recover, playing it off as a cough. “No, believe me, I really do. Fuck, if I’m bein’ honest, angel, I’ve wanted you since the second I first saw you in that boathouse. But, right now, I just really want to taste you. It’s a need, actually”

Eddie wasn’t done with you yet. No, tonight, he wasn’t letting up until he made his sweet little angel come against his lips, clenching around his fingers, and, finally, around his cock. Only then, after he took everything you had to give, would Eddie allow himself to come.

This confession rendered you speechless. A meek oh was all you could make out. Though he smiled down at you, a hunger swirled in his eyes that had you feeling he wanted to swallow you whole, and God, you wished that he would.

Even so, he made no further moves to act on it. His hands itched as he slid them from your face, down your chest and waist, before gripping at your thighs. He tilted his head, blinking expectantly at you.

“So, uh, can I? Eat you out?”

“Fuck, yes,” you nodded. “I’d be offended if you didn’t, now.”

Eddie didn’t waste another second. He pressed himself down against the mattress, lowering his face closer to the apex of your thighs, and tightened his grip on your flesh, swiftly yanking you closer to his waiting lips. They were wet and warm as he peppered kiss after kiss up the insides of both your upper thighs, nipping at the soft skin there.

“Don’t be a tease,” you wiggled your hips to chase his touch.

His breath hit your sopping core as he let out a quiet chuckle. Eddie nudged his nose foreword, just barely brushing it against the hood of your clit, dragging it down to your wetness.

He hummed, “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

“Eddie, I swear to–“

Your empty threat dissolved as he relented. Eddie shifted his grip to spread your lips open for him, thighs now caged in the crooks of his elbows. It’s when he wrapped his lips around your clitoris that the shock of pleasure shot through your spine and took the words from you. He sighed into your core and let himself push closer to it, almost smothering himself.

Eddie intermittently flitted his tongue out as he suckled at your clit. His mouth worked at the perfect rhythm and if you’d had the presence of mind to listen past the hammering of your heart in your chest, you would have been able to make out the tune he was humming; ‘Open Arms’ was surely for your benefit.

With his arms wrapped tightly around your hips, you had no choice but to ignore the urge to buck your hips against him. You got only what Eddie gave you, and good God, would you take every last ounce of pleasure hungrily.

After what could have been minutes, hours, or mere seconds —you couldn’t tell— Eddie broke his lips’ seal from your clit and let his nose take their place against it as he breathed out. He’s only off of you long enough to let out a low rumbling chuckle, asking: “Hm, what was that, angel?”

But you’re unable to answer him, because Eddie’s reattaching his lips to you and sucking with more intention than before. You couldn’t remember what you were saying even if you wanted to. Your mind was wiped of everything outside of him. Eddie Eddie Eddie. Your thoughts were a chorus of his name and him only. Eddie!

You had little presence of mind left to be embarrassed about it, as your second orgasm snuck up faster than the first. You were already close, barely able to contain your whines and sweet sighs any longer. Eddie seemed to sense this, and shifted his right hand from his death grip on your thighs—which would surely bruise, you noted with a twinge of excitement—and prodded two of his fingers at your entrance.

He licked lazily at your clit between words, remarking, “Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

He plunged his fingers inside finally, curving them again to find the spot he’d discovered earlier. His lips had only just returned to their rightful spot around your clit when your release hit you.

Eddie didn't let up on his suckling until you were still again, a broken sound falling from your lips. You pushed at his head as best as your restraints allowed, trying to wriggle away from the overstimulation. “‘S too much, Eds,” you pleaded.

He pulled himself away with a wet smack of his lips. Eddie wiped your arousal from his face with the back of his hand, though not without sucking it clean off his fingers. The grin he gives you is a delicate mix of devilish and heavenly.

Eddie crawled up the bed, long, alabaster torso towering over you as he planted his knees at either side of you. His fingers fanned out over your face and cupped your cheeks.

“You okay?” His eyes softened.

“More than okay,” you assured with a breathy giggle.

“Good,” Eddie said.

You could barely think. Not with your body still humming from your earth-shattering orgasm and not with Eddie’s big Bambi eyes blinking at you with such softness and deep affection. It made you feel like you were being seen for the very first time.

He couldn’t help the smile on his lips as he dipped his head to press a kiss to your lips. It was gentler than before and he tasted of your slick, a fact that elicited a soft groan from your chest. Eddie swallowed it up. His guitar-calloused thumb stroked your cheek as he titled his head to deepen the kiss. It was passionate, sensual, and every brush of his tongue against yours stoked the butterflies in your tummy. There was a certain sweetness behind it, too, that you weren’t used to. The type of need that Eddie was oozing ran far deeper than lust alone.

It was Eddie who broke the kiss, panting to catch his breath and nuzzling his nose against your cheek. His cheeks swelled as he broke out into the fondest of smiles. You softened under the weight of his heady gaze.

Your entire body ached for him. Eddie may have been content to focus on your pleasure all night long, but you thought you might die if you didn’t get the privilege of returning that favor.

Growing impatient, you were desperate to make Eddie feel good. You straddled Eddie as smoothly as you could, settling yourself in his lap. You locked eyes with him and kept your gaze steady as you pressed your dripping core harder into his erection, slowly dragging it for friction as much as his grip would allow. A low growl came from him as he blinked up at you with his wide chocolate eyes. A greedy hand grabbed at your ass, as the other lifted your wrists to his face. Eddie pecked soft kisses to your knuckles, the heel of your palm, and just above the metal cuffs. He pulled back just enough to see you properly, still stroking your hands with his.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he told you. Eddie’s smile never wavered. It had been a joke, but he meant it; part of him wouldn’t mind if you ripped his lovesick little heart from his chest and never bothered to give it back. He would let you with a smile.

He was painfully hard; you could feel it with every rock of your hips against his. The deep ache within him felt like your own, like every throb of his cock was your heartbeat.

“Eddie,” you whined. “Baby, please, I wanna make you feel good now”

Something inside his head short-circuited at the filthy words leaving your sweet, vanilla-scented lips. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered to himself. With a heavy swallow, Eddie nodded. He gripped your hips tightly.

His thumb drew mindless shapes against your skin. “Think you can handle more?”

“Mhmm,” a breathy moan escaped you at the feeling of his cock twitching beneath you.

“Tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?”

You gave a single nod, “Yes. I will– just, please, Eddie, I want you to fuck me.”

Eddie planted a searing kiss to your lips. He pulled you from his lap and set you down on the bed next to him. You watched with awe as he finally pulled his boxer briefs off and kicked them away. A rush of want swam around your head and in your core as you took in the heavenly sight of his nude form for the first time.

You truly weren’t prepared for just how perfect he was. The tip of his dick was a needy red, painfully erect, and dripping with pre-come; the length curved to the left and was just the right girth.

The kiss he pressed to your lips once he’d fully stepped out of his jeans was sweet and short. He kicked the fabric aside and leaned further into you, gently using the force of the kiss to guide you back against the mattress. Eddie’s left hand pushed your cuffed wrists over your head, where he wanted them, while he pumped himself a few times with his right.

“Ready, angel?” He asked.

This time, Eddie accepts the slow nod you give him. He tapped his tip against your swollen clit, lips curling devilishly at the whine that escaped you. Tease. Eddie gave you very little time to feel sorry for yourself before giving you what you needed.

With one slow, measured movement of his hips, Eddie thrusted fully forward. He planted his palms against the mattress to hold himself up and get better control. His breathing was shallow and ragged, eyes squeezing shut, at the feeling of your pussy adjusting and stretching to accommodate the curve of him. The stretch was a sweet ache, and you’d never felt so full. If you’d thought Eddie was everywhere before, he was the only thing now.

His hips pistoned into you at an unrelenting pace. After so long of ignoring his own need, Eddie chased any relief he could get. And this, burying himself balls-deep inside you, was better than any drug in existence; it made him feel like a virgin all over again. A string of expletives left his lips that would have confused you if you had enough presence of mind to pay attention.

Eddie lifted your hips further up, twisting just so to ensure every pump slammed into you at just the right spot. It knocked the breath out of you until your lungs burned with every gasp and whine. The curve of his cock was made for you, made to fit right against your g-spot with every pass.

You thought of running your fingers through his hair. But, of course, when you pulled at the handcuffs, you were unable to get at him. A deep chuckle rumbled in Eddie’s chest that stoked a fire within you and reminded you exactly why you had plucked them from their hook in the first place.

Your third orgasm loomed at a rate that must have been some sort of record. Eddie had you too cock drunk to care, though. It was like you were floating and a lucid part of your brain wondered if the heat of your pleasure had set you ablaze and you were watching yourself from above.

Eddie lifted himself away from you enough to get a good look at every inch of you— your plush lips parted in pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes glistening and pupils blown wide, the bounce of your breasts in time with his thrusts, the way his hand looked as he splayed it wide over your lower stomach, meeting just over where his cock hit your walls. He did his best to commit every last detail to memory.

His thrusts became sloppier, nearly stuttering, with the way your walls tightened.

“You close?” He managed, but it wasn’t much of a question. “Come on, good girl, come f’r me, just one more. That’s it”

As if your words summoned it, you spasmed and contracted around him with your third and final orgasm. Your back arched clear off the mattress like a woman possessed, weak and held up largely by Eddie’s tight grip and where he was still fucking into you. The squeeze of your cunt around him was too much, and Eddie let out a guttural groan of your name as he came. His come was warm and foreign inside you.

Eddie collapsed onto you, the last of his strength he had been using to keep both of you upright finally giving out. His face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, panting into your sweaty skin until he caught his breath again.

“Well,” he muttered. “Fuck. That was… fuck.” You chuckled in response and Eddie lifted his heavy head, not willing to miss a single second of it. “Yeah,” you agreed.

Eddie slowly leaned down to your bound wrists, pressing a kiss to the sore skin.

“Here,” he helped you slowly sit upright in the bed. He pressed one last peck to your temple, then finally peeled himself away from you and his damp bed sheets. Eddie glanced around his room, ready to retrieve the key and free you, when your sweet voice pulled him back to you.

“So,” a playful smile spreaded over your lips. “You still wanna see that trick?”

Eddie hummed. He turned back to you, pulling his boxers back up to rest lowly on his hips with his eyes locked on you. His heart skittered as you blinked up at him.

“Ta-da!” you lifted your now-empty wrist to show off.

Your trick was impressive. Sure enough, you had freed your wrists from the bounds and the second cuff dangled from the chain, tapping against your forearm. If anything, it only made Eddie’s heart swell with the knowledge that you could have gotten yourself out of it at any time but you hadn’t, for him.

“Color me impressed,” he said.

Chuckling, you leaned in to him. Eddie keened, melting against the gentle touch of your newly-freed fingers against his face. Slowly, you pressed your lips to Eddie’s. The kiss was lazy, slow, and heavy. Your lungs burned as she breathed him in.

The unmistakable glow of headlights shined through the curtains as someone pulled up to the new Munson trailer. It was enough to break the delicate bubble of you and Eddie’s post-coital bliss.

Eddie grumbled, lifting a hand to shield his eyes. You lifted yourself to pull the fabric aside, taking a peek at who had pulled up. Panic inched up your spine as you recognized the car.

“Shit,” you whispered. “Shit, Eds, it’s Steve.”

The headlights cut off, and you sprang to action. In your haste, you hadn’t paid any attention to where your clothing ended up. Your knees nearly buckled under your weight as you stood. With burning cheeks, you hushed Eddie’s cackle and could practically see his self-satisfied smirk without turning to look at him.

With Steve only moments away from catching you in far too compromising a position, you yanked your shirt as far down your hips as it would go and decided that would have to do; you couldn’t see your panties anywhere and you had no time to hunt them. Eddie, who seemed to have no trouble redressing himself, tossed your tank top to you. It was just over your head as you heard three telltale raps at the door to the trailer.

Eddie’s long legs allowed him to rush ahead of you and lead the way to answer the door. His grin didn’t dull one bit.

“Relax, angel,” he assured you. “It’s just Steve.”

You really weren’t sure if that made you feel any better or it was somehow worse. Eddie’s touch burned as he slung an arm around your shoulders and you weren’t able to think about it any longer.

“Harrington!” Eddie beamed at the younger man as he stepped inside the trailer.

Steve offered him an odd look at the uncharacteristically chipper tone but pushed past the pair of you and continued his beeline to the kitchen. He grumbled under his breath as he yanked open the fridge. Steve snatched the last cold beer and slammed it shut after himself.

You shared a brief glance with Eddie. Raising an eyebrow, you asked:

“I take it your date went well?”

Steve groaned again. Even his hair looked sad, drooping, as he shook his head. He opened the can and took a heavy swig. It told you everything you needed to know about his latest failed attempt at romance.

“That bad, huh?”

Eddie’s laugh is maybe a little louder than he meant for it to be, but there was no malice in his voice. Only then, as he set his beer down on the counter, did Steve properly look at you and Eddie for the first time since he arrived. It took him longer than it should have to notice something was off. When he eventually did, though, Steve’s jaw lowered. He blinked at his friends a few times as if he had somehow imagined it.

You were worse for wear. Where you had it neatly styled when he dropped you off, your hair was tousled and messy, tank top askew on your torso. The thin fabric did little to hide your pert nipples from his sight and, holy shit, was that a hickey? Your lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, a matching set to Eddie’s, complete with spit and the gloss of your vanilla lip sheen. But all of that was nothing compared to when his gaze lowered towards your thighs. Steve struggled to look away, though he knew he should, but he was mesmerized with the sight of Eddie’s cum dripping down your thigh.

Only then, when he could still clearly see the single handcuff clasped around your wrist with its counterpart dangling at your side, did Steve say anything.

“It smells like sex in here.”

When no one responded, Steve trudged on:

“Were you two just– oh!”

Steve’s chocolate eyes widened slowly with the realization.

You glanced over to lock eyes with Eddie. He barked out another laugh, his dimples popping with amusement.

“Sorry, Stevie,” he teased. “You just missed the show.”

Your fist didn’t even budge him as you smacked Eddie square in the chest for his lewd comment. He gently caught your wrist and snaked your fingers around his to hold your hand.

“Wait,” Steve flitted his eyes between you and Eddie. He called your name softly. “Is this why you didn’t want me to drive you here?”

“No!” You shook your head. “No, I just, uh, didn’t want you to feel like you had to or anything.”

Steve knit his eyebrows. “You’re never a burden, kid.”

Steve’s pretty face pinkened as he took in your disheveled appearance once more. You pulled uselessly at your skirt, as if it might grow longer. He hadn’t noticed he was staring until you squirmed under the heat of his gaze.

Eddie slung his arm around your shoulders easily, pulling you close. Cocking an eyebrow, he called, “Aw, Harrington, you’re just jealous I got to her first.”

“Wait, what?” You glanced between the two boys, brow furrowing.

The glances they shared conveyed some secret conversation you didn’t understand. You raised your brows, asking one of them to clue you in on their little secret.

Steve didn’t deny it when Eddie spoke for him:

“He thinks you’re pretty,” he batted his eyelashes at you, teasing.

“Fuck off, Eddie,” Steve whined. He turned to you, dipping his chin shyly. “But I, uh, yeah.”

It was just a fact. You were beautiful, and Steve didn’t see why he should have to pretend that was a secret.

Your stomach flipped.

“Okay, well,” you stepped out of Eddie’s grasp and towards Steve. You picked his beer up from the counter and drank from it. Gently, you squeezed his shoulder and grinned. “Thanks for the ride, Steve.”

Steve’s pretty face darkened to scarlet, sparkly eyes blinking rapidly. He swallowed thickly and muttered out a weak response. You had them both watching your every movement as you carried the beer towards the living room.

“Now,” you called over your shoulder. “Who wants to watch a movie?”

You smirked into the beer as the boys scrambled to race each other to the couch, arguing amongst themselves about who got to sit next to you. Mentally, you decided you needed to thank Robin for ditching you tonight.

#my writing #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things smut #eddie munson smut #steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic

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g1rld1ary · 2 months

Text

just blurry ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you accidentally get lockwood drunk and have to walk him home from the pub where his drunk rambles disguise real feelings

➻ word count: 1264

➻ warnings: getting drunk

➻ had my first uni orientation today!! made a friend :)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Since you and the rest of Lockwood & Co had turned eighteen, you all loved a good drink after a case. It eased all sorts of pain inflicted during your missions — physical and emotional. Whilst you mostly drank together at home because of the bizarre hours you usually worked, when it was appropriate you’d all taken to a quaint little pub named The King’s Court. It was only a few blocks from Portland Row which was ideal for getting home in the middle of the night, and almost always had a table for the four of you. Plus, you were pretty sure George had a crush on one of the bartenders, but you couldn’t be certain.

Tonight was one of the nights you’d wrapped up a case early enough for you to get a seat, but that didn’t mean it was an easy fight. It was a particularly aggressive poltergeist, your personal least favourite ghost to face. Invisible and aggressive, someone almost always ended up getting hurt. Tonight was no exception. Lucy had been gifted a rather long — but thankfully shallow — cut all the way up her arm, and the rest of you were physically exhausted from fighting. Yet when Lockwood cheerfully suggested the pub, no one had the heart to disagree with him.

You’d all had a bit to drink, which made Lockwood giggly, George loud and Lucy tired. You personally felt fine, not having had quite as much as the others. One of you had to be able to get the key into the front door, you figured.

George and Lucy left first, George becoming transfixed on her injury despite her protests, and wouldn’t rest until he was allowed to bandage it up. You’d stayed with Lockwood after he’d whined about wanting to stay out later, in a way not unlike a petulant child. You didn’t mind though, he was always fun to talk to — even more when he was drunk and giggly.

You gossiped for a while, Lockwood telling you stories of adventures the company had been on before meeting you, and in turn you told him about growing up in your own small town and the small group of friends you had out there. Lockwood, on top of his perfect eloquence, was also a great listener. You found yourself spilling secrets without even meaning to, spurred on by his eyes locked on yours, slightly glazed over with admiration as you spoke.

Without realising it the two of you had stayed until closing, and the last bartender working waved you out apologetically, a sympathetic glance to you as you supported Lockwood’s weight. You apologised for the both of you staying so late and tried to coax Lockwood into working with you, dragging his stumbling frame down the street. You really should have cut him off a few drinks ago.

While the rest of his body worked at half speed, Lockwood’s mouth was running at a million miles a minute. He blabbered on about whatever came to mind; the weather, what he might have for breakfast, an argument he was having with George before. You listened dutifully — there wasn’t much else to do while you struggled under his weight.

Taking a break you pushed Lockwood up against a ghost lamp, two hands on his shoulders both to pin him upright and take the pressure off your poor legs. Usually when you were carrying an injured agent you had assistance, and Lockwood was rather tall and gangly, making for a very awkward trip. However comfortable the position was for you, it did put your faces very close together.

You and Lockwood were inadvertently gazing into each other’s eyes as you caught your breath, and he suddenly noticed all the variation of shades in your irises. He looked down at you in utter amazement, all the minuscule details he’d never had the chance to see before coming into focus.

“You’re really pretty,” He breathed, a moment of tense silence hung between you, the only sound the faint buzzing of the lamps. And then Lockwood giggled, light and airy and ridiculous enough to dissolve whatever moment between you had been beginning.

“Alright, it’s time we get home,” You said, disregarding his previous statement, but Lockwood wasn’t having it. As you both stumbled home he couldn’t be silenced.

“No, I really mean it! You’re so pretty. Your eyes and your hair and your face, when you stick your tongue out to concentrate…” You didn’t know anyone noticed that. “Plus, you’re so funny. And nice. And you always put up with my stupidity. You’re so great.” If you didn’t know better you could have sworn you’d seen little hearts floating above his head.

“You’re really drunk right now,” You settled on replying, “I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of this tomorrow.”

“I’m not drunk at all! You’re just blurry.” Without even looking at Lockwood you knew exactly what expression he had on. Seeing the charming, lopsided grin would only heighten your own feelings further and so you locked your gaze down the street, where Portland Row seemed both so close and yet so far. You entertained his gushing until you made it to the doorstep, where you were grateful for the excuse to put distance between you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could resist him when he was saying such sweet things while pressed up to your side.

You finally sent him up to his bedroom with a promise to go tuck him in in a minute (you weren’t sure if he was joking or just got really honest when drunk), and headed off to the kitchen, fetching him a glass of water and some painkillers.

Knocking lightly on his door you found Lockwood sitting cross legged on his bed, absolutely adorable in his worn out pyjamas. He looked up at you again with those eyes and you imagined that was what a younger, more innocent Lockwood might have looked like all the time. Your heart ached for a moment when you thought about it, a quick yearning for a time when the both of you could have been just kids. You shook the thought off as soon as it came, aware of Lockwood watching and analysing your expressions.

“Well, come on then, get in bed,” You said, and Lockwood clambered under the sheets in a way that made you laugh softly. “If I only knew it would be this easy to get you to go to sleep, I would have gotten you pissed a lot sooner.” Lockwood only smiled, shaking his head.

“If you want me to go to sleep you just have to ask, I’ll do anything for you.” You hesitated for a moment at his confession, but wrote it off as drunk ramblings. You needed it to not mean anything to push back the warmth glowing inside your chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood. Come get me if you need anything.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before you could talk yourself out of it. The second your face retracted from his Lockwood’s hand was touching his cheek, a dumb smile creeping onto his lips.

You were out the door before he could respond, but standing outside to regain your composure, you could definitely hear his inebriated giggle through the door and smiled softly. He might be a drunk idiot, but you guessed he was pretty cute like that.

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cafeacademia · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐩 𝐔𝐩

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐃𝐍𝐈

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: While at Rossi's for a dinner party, Spencer has a bit too much to drink and accidentally spills the details about your secret relationship...

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Some sex descriptions, oral, Spencer's a little bit wine drunk but mostly just chatty and giggly, reader is embarrassed, flirting, you can look at Morgan and Penelope as a couple or just flirty friends in this one.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: Approx 1k

𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello! This one was requested by @reidsbookclub! I hope this turned out okay and you enjoy it!!

Rossi had decided that after a string of particularly heavy cases you had all worked on nearly back to back over the last few months, that it was well and truly time for a proper night off. He’d invited you all over to his house for dinner, you’d offered to help him with cooking, being good with cooking yourself, but he refused and told you that you needed to relax.

Which was what led you to sitting next to a partially wine drunk Spencer while rain poured down in torrential sheets outside. Dinner had been and gone and now the evening continued with casual chatter in the living room. But Spencer kept letting Rossi and Derek top up his wine glass a few times, to the point that he was now a bit beyond tipsy and oh so giggly and chatty.

“Oof, no I think my worst experience was with a guy who bragged so much about knowing what he was doing but when it came to it, he had no idea how to please a lady.” Emily said, adding to the current conversation about awkward and embarrassing sexapades. “What about you, Morgan?” JJ moved the conversation across the room to him and he raised a brow, smirking while he thought about what could be the best story to tell. “It better not be about me.” Penelope warned and he grinned over at her. “Oh no, baby girl. You know you’re the best for me.” He winked.

But as Morgan told his story, Spencer was getting lost in his thoughts. He’d had sex before, but nothing compared to the sex he had with you. But no one on the team knew that. They had no idea you’d even kissed before, let alone the secret nights where he fucked you deep into the motel mattress after sneaking to your room on a case, or the times you had a heated makeout session in the back of one of the SUVs or… Well any of it.

But the thought that came to his mind almost made his mouth water. You loved to let him dom you, you loved the way he treated you in bed. He was the perfect mixture of soft and dominating and you would do anything he told you to so long as he called you his good girl.

But his favourite of all things to do to you was work you up and up until you were so sensitive, making you cum on his tongue over and over again until you couldn’t take any more orgasms. It was a thought that almost made him feel even more drunk just imagining it.

“Spence?” “Mm?” Spencer snapped out of his daydream and locked eyes with JJ. “Any embarrassing sex stories, boy wonder?” Penelope asked, almost teasingly. He didn’t even think, the words just poured out from his lips before he even had a chance to consider that it was a secret. He looked right at you, heart eyes and all as he spoke. “I wouldn’t know, but I do know that my good girl loves it when I use my-.” He was quickly interrupted by a sharp jab to the side and he looked over at your shocked face as the realisation dawned upon him. “Oh shit.” He muttered. “Oh my god! You two? You two are dating?!” Penelope gasped. “I knew it! I knew you were a thing!” Emily was all too ecstatic about it with JJ at her side getting excited that you two were in fact together.

You wanted the sofa to swallow you whole when you saw Rossi, Hotch and Morgan passing their bets to each other. “I told you.” Hotch told Rossi in his very I told you so dad tone. Fuck knows how long he’d known this was going on for and you weren’t really sure you wanted to know how he’d guessed.

“Sweetheart I’m so sorry.” Spencer whispered to you. While part of you was absolutely mortified, you were grateful at least that he hadn’t actually said the full act out loud. But maybe a little part of you was a tiny bit turned on by how much you had short circuited him into accidentally blabbing your sex life to everyone. Okay, no, you were very turned on, but you couldn’t deny that you were horribly embarrassed all at the same time. But you thanked yourself at least that it wasn’t like anyone had walked in on you and Spencer doing something in secret, especially on a case when you definitely shouldn’t be fucking.

“So when did this happen?” Penelope asked, sitting forwards in her seat and pointing between you two. “Seven months, thirteen days and,” Spencer paused to look at his watch. “Approximately three hours ago.” He confirmed and you wanted to fully climb behind the sofa and escape. “You’ve been keeping it secret for seven months?” Penelope asked.

“You okay, baby girl?” Spencer asked, leaning in to speak to you quietly. “I don’t know if I was ready for them to know about us.” You sighed softly. “But it’s okay, they seem happy about it at least.” You smiled. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you later.” Spencer dropped his voice to a whisper, hand coming to rest on your thigh and the dark tone in his voice was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat. “I’ll do anything you want.” He whispered while the others chatted loudly about how surprised some of them were and the rest of them boasting about how they’d always known you’d make a good couple.

“Anything I want?” You asked quietly. “Yeah, baby girl. Anything.” You might have felt embarrassed by Spencer’s slip up, but you knew he’d more than make up for it. You were in for a few nights of anything you asked for… Maybe letting that secret slip wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

@reidsbookclub @russian-potatoes @hallecarey1 @deanhisbaby @alexxavicry @guridoodles @liltimmyst @f-me-reid

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid oneshot

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desafinado · 1 year

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♡‧₊˚ little things they do that make you smile

a source of small but certain happiness can sustain you a lifetime

°｡⋆ fluff, a bit ooc alhaitham, like one swear word, just a tiny bit suggestive?

°｡⋆ alhaitham, kaeya, kaveh, xiao x reader (wc: 626)

note: i'm trying something a bit shorter, so that i can post at least once a week!! i already have some papers due as well as an…interesting… group mate (i hate real men sigh) so there's that :’)

alhaitham ♡

leaving notes for you in the books he reads; ever since he noticed you borrowing books from his collection, he started leaving little annotations here and there. whether it be a book about the ecological history of avidya forest or the subtle art of not giving a fuck, you can bet he’s leaving a little message for you, words of encouragement (“this is where it gets interesting, i promise.”) and passive aggressive critiques on the text (“ngl, this part reads like a drunken rant”). you can imagine his face, his voice, and his gaze as you read, so it's only given that you let out the most giggly smile. he even knows when a chapter or two can be exceptionally boring for you, so he'll write a proposition on the top of the page. “hmm, why don’t you come into my room and i could read it to you instead?”

kaeya ♡

greeting you by hugging you from the back; he was never one to shy away from pda, so he never really cared about the stares he’d get from abruptly hugging you from behind. it came about when he had gone through a particularly tiring mission; he had missed you so dearly that the moment he saw you at the kitchen making some dinner, he clung onto you tightly. it took you by surprise the first few times, of course, he did when you’d least expect him, but you quickly grew to love it, getting familiar with his touch, his soft breathing tickling your neck. you’d be at the market talking to some vendors when you suddenly feel a warmth around your waist. it was definitely a welcomed warmth, and you’d often greet him back with a kiss on the forehead. fighting a smile against his warm embrace is like denying yourself entry to heaven; he’s always right there for you, and you only need to let him in.

kaveh ♡

massaging your shoulders after a long day; he’s had his fair share of stupidly stressful days, but he’d take the hit for you any day if he could. the next best thing he can offer is a massage with some sweet smelling essential oils. you don’t even need to say a thing; the moment you enter with that hunched over posture, darkened eyes, and breathless voice, he knows what must be done. you don’t want to trouble him, that’s the last thing you’d want to do, but he practically nags you until you give in; he’s a romantic, can you blame him? he’s dedicated to seeing you happy, no matter what it takes, and how right he was, because within a minute you’ll be sighing in pure bliss; he can’t help but chuckle as you surrender to his affections. nowadays, it’s almost instantaneous how you fall into his arms, trusting him with your body.

xiao ♡

lying down next to you, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying your company. it’s rare for you to have moments like these, moments where he’s not brooding over his past sins or in pain for them; in these moments, he only cares about the both of you and the future you might have tomorrow. he’ll caress your cheek mumbling something about how he can’t believe how unreal you look or simply close his eyes and hold your hand, squeezing it gently. it’s especially endearing when he seems to fall asleep, his faint snoring is the only thing to be heard. he looks so peaceful like this, you can’t restrain the audible “aw” that comes out of your lips. after staring at his carefree state for a few more minutes, you get into your own comfortable position (usually cuddling him, burying your face into his chest) and fall asleep next to him.

requests are open!! please do not repost on other sites.

#alhaitham #kaeya #kaveh #xiao #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #alhaitham x reader #kaeya x reader #kaveh x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact #fluff #airi.writes #airi.dbf

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intheticklecloset · 2 months

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Strawberry Isagi (Blue Lock)

Summary: Bachira tickles Isagi in his own playful, Bachira way. That's pretty much it. 😊

A/N: So cards on the table - last year I watched and fell head over heels in love with Blue Lock alongside my friend @giggly-squiggily! I've been writing fics for it on my own and finally decided to go public with it this year! And OMG do I ship Bachisagi SO MUCH! 😍😍😍 This particular fic is more platonic than romantic, but it could be read either way. Enjoy! 💖

Word Count: 928

~~~

There was no way out of Blue Lock unless you quit or were disqualified. Everyone knew that; it had been cemented into their minds on day one.

Right now, however, Isagi was really, really wishing he had somewhere to hide.

“Bachira!” he cried, wriggling uselessly around on his sleeping mat, kicking the covers every which way and generally making an embarrassment of himself. “Dohon’t!”

“Uh-oh. Are we a little ticklish, Isagi?” the smaller boy giggled, gently wiggling his fingers into Isagi’s sides, forcing muffled chuckles past his lips.

“Wahahait! Bahachira!”

Isagi tried to roll over, but Bachira was straddling his lower back, keeping him pinned in place face down on his bedroll so that all he could do was flail and kick and sputter out embarrassed giggles as his teammate explored this new discovery. And if he knew Bachira, he wouldn’t be satisfied with simply learning he was ticklish; no, he wouldn’t stop until he’d covered every last inch of him, finding his worst spots for future reference, and that was why Isagi was so desperate to get away. It was bad enough he was so stupidly ticklish, but to have someone like Bachira constantly poking and jabbing at him when it was least convenient? The thought only made him kick even more.

“My, you’re a squirmy one, aren’t you?” Bachira switched tactics to begin pinching his ribs from the bottom up, taking the time to make sure each round of pressure did the most tickly damage it could.

Isagi squealed, frantically reaching for his pillow so he could muffle himself. “Bahahahachira! Cuhuhuhut it out alreheheheady!”

Somewhere nearby, he heard a few of his other teammates chuckle at the scene. Isagi flushed bright red. That was the other reason he wanted to be able to hide – having everyone on the team know about this weakness of his was humiliating. He was here to become the best striker in the world; how could he uphold that image when he was helpless like this?

It wasn’t like he’d been the only one tickled on Team Z; Bachira had made his rounds with pretty much everyone at this point. But still!

Speaking of, the smaller player had now moved up to his armpits, trying to wiggle his way in. “Aww, don’t fight me, Isagi. I just want to hear you laugh!”

“I ahahaham lahahaughing!” Isagi whined, trying to buck his hips upward and deter his friend.

Bachira was immovable, however, and quickly changed tactics again. He went back to digging into Isagi’s side, which was a guaranteed way to get the brunette to try and physically stop him, which left his armpits open, which meant…

“Gotcha!” Bachira declared gleefully, diving his fingers into the opened up spaces, grinning at the shriek that flew past Isagi’s lips. “Ooh, good spot? Does it tickle here, Isagi? Hmm? Well – I’m waiting for an answer~”

Isagi was going to – well, he couldn’t quite bring himself to think he’d kill Bachira, but he was certainly going to get him back for this.

“Yehehehehes, it tihihihihickles there! Wohohohohould you stahahahahap it?! Please!”

“Not yet~ I wanna see where else I can make you laugh.” At that moment Bachira seemed to hit a particularly sensitive spot, as Isagi shrieked into his pillow once more and brought his legs up to try and kick at him, one foot landing successfully on his teammate’s back for a brief moment.

But then Bachira hummed with renewed interest, and Isagi knew he was done for. “Nohoho! Wait, nohohohoho!”

“Oh? Do your feet want to play, too? They must be tired from all that running today,” Bachira teased, moving so fast the poor brunette had no chance of getting away or stopping him. In the next moment his ankles had been straddled and his bare feet were being tickled mercilessly, sending him into bouts of laughter that were much louder than anything he’d let fly before. Bachira sounded far too pleased with himself. “Ooh, I think this is a really good spot!”

“GAHAHAHAHAHAHA BAHAHAHAHACHIRA, DOHOHOHOHON’T!!” Isagi screamed, caught between wanting to muffle his cries and wanting to beg for mercy, trying to twist onto his side but not having the strength for it. He settled on slapping his hand on the ground in the universal tap-out gesture. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAHAP!! ANYWHEHEHEHEHERE BUT THEHEHEHERE!!”

“Anywhere?”

“YEHEHEHEHEHES!!”

“All right, then…” Bachira left his feet alone, allowing Isagi a momentary sigh of relief before he was flipped onto his back and straddled again, this time with wiggling fingers descending on his open belly, slipping under his sweatshirt to get at the sensitive bare skin.

Isagi squeaked and burst into giggles that flowed freely now that he had no way to hide his face or muffle his sounds. His hands flew down to grasp Bachira’s wrists, but the beaming smile and playful gleam in his friend’s eyes stopped him from actually trying to push him away. Why was that?

“Look how red you are. You’re like a strawberry! How cute~” Bachira chuckled, leaning down so they were nose-to-nose. “I could just eat you up, Isagi~”

The brunette’s eyes widened at the statement, feeling himself blush even harder now. Was it getting hot in here?!

“Get a room,” Chigiri mocked playfully from somewhere nearby, and that sealed Isagi’s fate in his own mind. He resigned himself to giggling and squirming until Bachira was good and done, and if it was obvious how he felt about him now, so be it. He was going to be the best athlete in the world! He could take a little more tickling!

Probably…

#fanfiction #tickle fic #blue lock #isagi yoichi #bachira meguru #bachisagi #fluff #playful #tickling #ticklish #tickle

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sopebubbles · 9 months

Text

I was going to wait until Monday to post, but i slept like shit last night, and work is irritating so i need something to get me through the rest of the week. So....

Chapter eleven coming Friday July 21st, 6am ct/8pm kst

(Teaser below the cut)

Jimin sat down with just enough room to his side for you to sit, but you hesitated. Instead of waiting for you to figure it out, he simply grabbed you buy the hips and pulled you down.

"Jimin, behave yourself," Yoongi warned when you let out a surprised yelp.

"I am, hyung," Jimin grinned as he manhandled you into a comfortable position. You weren't quite sitting on him, but when he pulled your legs over his and your thighs were touching, you weren't exactly not sitting on him either. He helped you spread the blanket over your legs and wrapped an arm around your waist. Your chests were pressed together just barely. "Breathe," he whispered to you when he noticed you were holding in your breath. You did as he said, taking in his faint lavender scent as you breathed deep, and you felt yourself relax into him. You thought you would feel uncomfortable, but it was the opposite. You fit perfectly into him and he seemed perfectly content to have you there.

For several minutes after the movie started, he simply let you rest there and get used to the closeness. Soon his thumb began to stroke softly where he held your side. You were facing the TV, so you couldn't see, as Jimin could, the way Yoongi watched the two of you with envy. Jimin knew what he was thinking as clearly as if he could read the alpha's mind. There was room enough on the chair for all three of you, if Yoongi were in the middle and the two of you on his lap.

After about fifteen minutes, your focus was solidly on the plot unfolding on the screen, and although Jimin's thoughts had been almost completely on you, he could tell you were no longer thinking about the ways your bodies were touching. You seemed fully comfortable, and he decided he could push it a little further. He knew Yoongi disagreed by the dark stare and slight shake of his head that he gave, but Jimin was undeterred. He leaned into you, pressing his forehead to your temple to get closer to your scent.

"Do you know you have such a nice scent, pup?" Jimin whispered into your ear, smiling when he felt the chill go down your spine.

"I think it's just okay," you breathed back. Barely making a sound, you held completely still.

Jimin shook his head. "It's so fresh and crisp. But it's even nicer when you get warm and sweet." He snapped his teeth close to your scent gland, and to your surprise, you giggled.

"Jimin," Yoongi warned in a deep voice, not quite a growl but very commanding.

"Trust me, hyung," Jimin responded quietly. "You're alright, aren't you, pup?"

Jimin's nose nudged at your ear, and you began to feel fuzzy and warm around the edges. As he nosed at your hairline with soft sniffs you felt yourself go from relaxed to boneless. His lips unintentionally skimmed your jaw as you turned your head to look at Yoongi.

"S'okay, alpha." Those little words and the deep dark look in your eyes were all the reassurance he needed.

Jimin loved to sweeten his partners' scents. All it took was some careful touching, some gentle prodding to get them soft and warm. Doing it to Hobi was one of his favorite things to do before bed. To get Hobi all warm brown sugar sweet made the nest perfect for falling asleep. The omega always got particularly hazy when Jimin got his way, but it worked for the alphas, too. Taehyung especially got cute and giggly whenever he and Jimin cuddled and the beta got access to his neck.

Now, he pressed his lips into the soft warm spot under your chin. It wasn't quite a kiss, but only because the intention was clearly not sexual. It was no less intimate though. You'd never known anything like this kind of touch. You knew, or instinctively trusted, that his actions were intended to soothe you. He nuzzled into your neck and smiled as you sank further into him.

"You smell as sweet as apple pie, pup. Like pup pie," he cooed, and you giggled in unison.

#bts a/b/o #bts omegaverse #bts ot7 x reader #bts jimin #bts yoongi #bts jin #bts jungkook #bts namjoon #bts taehyung #bts hoseok #jimin x reader #bts fanfic #bts series #bts fic #bts #lone wolf

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starryevermore · 4 months

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foolish one ✧ leo campo

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: Hiiii, I just read your Leo fic and I absolutely loved it. Is there any way you can write another one? - anon

pairing: leo campo x fem!reader

summary: you know how to keep me waiting. i know how to act like i’m fine. don’t know what to call this situation, but i know i can’t call you mine. and it’s delicate, but i will do my best to seem bulletproof. ‘cause when my head is on your shoulder, it starts thinking you’ll come around. and maybe, someday, when we’re older, this is something we’ll laugh about over coffee every morning while you’re watching the news. but then the voices say, “you are not the exception. you will never learn your lesson.”

word count: 2,076

warnings?: implied smut, friends with benefits, angst, no happy ending, not proofread

It ran like clockwork. Every Friday night, you would go to Luigi’s an hour before closing time. Leo would bring you a vodka martini that you would drink as he flits between flirting with you, serving final drinks, and running through the closing activities. As the last of the patrons left, Leo would offer you a charming smile, ask if you’d like to take the party upstairs, and you would (trying to not seem so eager) accept. He would lead you to his apartment and…Let’s just say, make a mess in his sheets In the morning, Leo would offer you a coffee—a croissant if he was feeling particularly nice. By the time you finished drinking, you would be ready to leave. and it would all repeat again the next week.

You liked the routine. You liked the simplicity of the arrangement.

You liked that, for once, Leo would actually pay attention to you.

For as long as you could remember, you had had a crush on Leo Campo. It wasn’t an uncommon position to be in. He was funny, witty, and handsome as could be. Nearly every woman in Little Italy—single and taken alike—wanted him. But it was an equally uncommon position for Leo to not notice you. In your younger years, his attention was completely devoted to his best friend, Nikki Angiolo. Then, when their friendship eventually deteriorated because of the sudden feud between their families, you still couldn’t catch his eye. You were a dorky sort of kid. No one really spared you a second glance.

It wasn’t until you left for college, had a glow up, and returned to Little Italy to take over the family business that anyone really noticed you. (In some ways, if you were being honest with yourself, that kind of hurt—the younger version of you deserved to be noticed, too.) But the most surprising thing of all was when Leo noticed you.

“Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” Leo said, two shot glasses in hand, when you came to Luigi’s one Friday night. He slid a shot of tequila in front of you, keeping one shot glass to himself.

You were caught between being snarky (“You’d’ve seen me if you paid attention to women who don’t look like a model straight off the runway”) and finally, finally, getting to be the giggly girl who finally caught the hottest boy in town’s attention in your fantasies. You tried to find the middle ground by saying, “Been gone a few years.”

“You’re from here? Nah, I think I’d remember you if that was the case. Can never forget a beautiful woman like yourself.”

Humming, you picked up the shot glass, tilting it in Leo’s direction. “Maybe you should get your memory checked.” You leaned in a little.

“Would you mind helping me refresh my memory?” Leo asked, picking up his own shot glass.

“Do you talk like this to every woman who comes up to the bar?” Truthfully, you didn’t want to know the answer. You kind of already did. A man as handsome as him? With as well-known playboy tendencies that your friends loved to tell you about whenever you’d call? Yeah, you technically knew. But you that this line was the ultimate flirtatious exchange. It would make his feelings toward you more clear, let you know if it was okay to make a move.

“Only the gorgeous ones,” Leo said, flashing you a grin.

It felt weird to be this bold. It felt so out of character, so out of left field that if anyone was witness to this, they’d think you had gone off the deep end. But… Well, you already got this far. You couldn’t back down now—not that you really wanted to. So, you asked, “When does your shift end?”

Leo glanced at the clock on the wall behind you. “‘Bout an hour. I gotta close, but my place is right upstairs.”

“Maybe I’ll stick around then.”

Leo’s tongue darted out, licking his lips. He shamelessly looked you up and down, pausing for a bit longer than maybe necessary to stare at your cleavage. (Thank God you had decided to wear a shirt that provided a tasteful peak at your breasts and a push-up bra that accentuated them all the more, you had thought.) When he looked back up at you, his face was subtly tinted pink. “You should.”

And you did.

It was a night you would never forget, finally getting to live out your fantasies. And, oh, what an amazing night it was. For all of Leo’s womanizer tendencies, you expected him to be more focused on his own pleasures. To not care about making you feel good. But you were so, so wrong. Because that man was fucking dedicated.

You never expected it to last, though. You thought it would be just a one time thing. Something you would tell your friends about and giggle over the idea that maybe he would show interest in you one more time. But come morning, Leo was handing you a mug of coffee and saying, “We should do this again sometime.”

You were caught between being shocked and giggling like a schoolgirl. You distracted yourself by taking a drink of the coffee, trying to figure out how to response. Finally, you said, “Just name the time and place.”

And so, the routine began. And you never looked back.

At least, you didn’t for a while. This was always supposed to be a casual thing. Nothing serious. The classic friends-with-benefits, no-strings-attached scenario. You both were free to see other people as you pleased. Either one of you could call it off if you so pleased. And you were content with that. Leo Campo, after all, was not the sort of man to commit. You always knew that. You always knew you would never hold a piece of his heart. You never expected anyone to.

But then you saw her. Saw the way he looked at her. Saw how he dedicated all of his time to her ever since she came home. And you knew then that Leo Campo could love. It’s just that he could never love you.

And yet, he still came back to you. Still invited you into his bed. Pretended that neither of you could see the way he burned for Nikki Angiolo. And you knew it shouldn’t have, but it gave you just enough of an inkling of hope to think that maybe he did care about you in some capacity.

Though the question ate at you, you never intended to voice your concerns. You knew nothing good would come out of it. And even if you would eventually lose Leo to Nikki…Well, you so selfishly wanted to keep him around for as long as possible.

But nothing ever really went to plan for you. Perhaps it was because it was a Monday, not a Friday. Perhaps it was because he came to your apartment. Perhaps it was because you weren’t expecting him at all. But it brought the question to the very forefront of your mind, and it wouldn’t let you rest until you got an answer—no matter if it was the one you didn’t want to hear.

“What are we?” you asked one night as the two of you basked in the afterglow before you could stop yourself or even think about what you were saying.

Leo shut his eyes, suppressing a groan. You knew he hated when you brought this up, even if it was seldom that you did. It’s just…The boundaries of whatever this was, was never defined. You just wanted to know your place in his life. If you were more than just a good lay. If you meant something to him like he did to you.

“Not this again,” he grumbled. You weren’t quite sure you were supposed to hear that. It almost sounded he was talking to himself. You certainly had never had this conversation with him before, had always respected the boundaries he so carefully constructed. How often, though, had he had this conversation with the other women he slept with? Did he consider you to be one of them—never satisfied with the arrangement, trying to trap him in a relationship he never wanted? Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Leo run his hands over his face. A little louder, he asked, “Why does it matter?”

You turned over on your side and looked at Leo. When you tried to reach out, caress his face, urge him to look back at you, he only pushed your hand away. You asked, trying to swallow your hurt, “I mean…we’re friends, right?”

He didn’t say anything immediately. Didn’t try to convince you he felt something, anything more than lust, for you. You were really to take that silence as an answer, turn away from him, pretend that you hadn’t said anything at all. Of course it couldn’t be that simple. “Never really thought about it.”

And, oh, that hurt. Reaffirmed everything you ever thought about how Leo felt about you. In just five words, Leo told you that you never meant as much to him as he did to you. And even if that was something you always knew, deep down, it still hurt for it to be confirmed. To know that it would the truth instead of some lie you just told yourself to keep you from getting your hopes too high.

“Go.”

Leo finally looked over at you, his brows pinched together. “Huh?”

“Leave,” you said, thinking that he didn’t understand you were telling him to get out. Sometimes he was like that. Sometimes you had to tell him something very directly for him to understand.

Leo pushed himself up, propping himself up on his elbows. “You’re kicking me out?”

Why wasn’t he understanding? Why didn’t he get that, if you meant nothing to him, he didn’t get to stay? What was so hard about understanding that? You rolled over on your side, turned your back to him. You couldn’t look at him while you did this, or else you might change your mind.

He reached over, touched your shoulder. You jerked away, pushing yourself closer to the edge of the bed to get away from him. “Don’t be like this.”

“I have work in the morning. Gotta get up early.”

“Earlier you said you have tomorrow off.”

Damn him. Damn him for remembering what you said but still not caring about you. “Errands then. I just got an early morning, and I’d like to sleep.”

Leo reached for you again. This time, you didn’t move away, let him touch you one last time. “Don’t push me away. Please.”

“Why should it matter? You don’t even think of me as a friend.” You pulled the covers around you tighter, burrowing yourself in a little cocoon. Didn’t even care that, in doing so, you were taking the covers from Leo. He didn’t deserve your covers. “And that’s pretty fucking clear. I never ask anything of you, but when I ask you to leave, you can’t even give me that.”

“Why are you doing this? What’s wrong?” Leo moved closer to you, sure that you wouldn’t try to pull away again. He pressed his body against yours, buried his face in the crook of your neck. His lips ghosted over the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “C’mon. This isn’t like you.”

“How would you know? We’re not friends.”

Leo kissed your shoulder softly. In any other circumstance, you might have melted. But, now, it felt like he was burning you. “I care about you—”

You fought the urge to scoff. How was this caring? “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Me neither. I never want to fight with you. Just, please, tell me what’s upsetting you so I can make it better—”

God, how was he so obtuse? How couldn’t he understand what you were saying?

“No. I don’t want to do…whatever this is anymore. I want to end this…arrangement between us.”

Leo pulled away. Finally. “Are you serious?”

You could only nod.

“…did I do something?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the tears pricking at your eyes to not fall. Not now. Not while he was still hear. “You did nothing at all.”

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

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giggly-squiggily · 7 months

Text

I'm jumping from fandom to fandom this weekend like it's a game of hopscotch!

Anyway here's Wonderwall (Shin Soukoku)

@intheticklecloset >:3

CW: Foot tickles

Atsushi really should delete TikTok.

"You got a friend in me," He mouthed as he barrel rolled over to where Akutagawa sat, lost in his book. "You got a friend in me." He tucked his hand under his shirt, popping the lid of his sharpie off as quietly as possible- all while watching his boyfriend from the corner of his eye.

No reaction. Proceed as planned.

"When the road looks rough ahead," Atsushi army crawled closer, sharpie pointed as he reached out, gently grasping the other's ankle. "And you're miles and miles from your nice bed, you just remember what your old pal said."

He was wearing socks, but Atsushi didn't mind. If anything, it might spare him a painful death.

"Boy, you've got a friend in me." He let himself whisper the last few words as he pressed the sharpie into Akutagawa's foot. "Yeah you got a friend in me."

He managed to get one stroke.

"GAH!" The brunette spasmed, book flapping out of his hands and bookmark skittering across the table. "Weretiger, what the hell are you- AH!"

"Hold still!" Atsushi grunted, pulling Akutagawa's leg into an armlock as he scribbled in a massive "A" "It's gonna look all crooked!"

"What the hehehehell are you going on about- Stahhahap that!" Akutagawa tried to sound ferocious, but reluctant giggles bubbled up his lips, killing any staged anger he felt. He tried to pull his foot away, but the angle plus Atsushi's death grip on his leg made it near impossible. "I'll kihihihill you!"

"Uh-huh. Sure. You've said that how many times since we started dating?" Atsushi giggled, starting the "T" in his name. Yes the trend was supposed to say "Andy" but Akutagawa was his. He wasn't giving him to this Andy kid! "You're awfully giggly for someone so murderous right now- what's up?"

Akutagawa clamped his mouth shut, glaring as best he could into Atsushi's back. He was gonna kill him- oh he was gonna skin that damn tiger alive-

"Wereti-Eehehehehehhehahahaha!" So much for murdering him. Atsushi was currently scratching the marker repeatedly along his foot for the "S", the sock proving to be quite the challenge. "Cuuhuuhuhuht thahahhat ohoohohohohut! Gehahahhahaha stahahhahap!"

"Oo, are you ticklish?" Atsushi grinned, something devilishly knowing in that smile. "Toys don't laugh, Ryu~"

Akutagawa once again tried to clamp his mouth shut, but the constant scratching of that damn sharpie. "Rahahhahashoohohohmon!"

Nothing came.

"Didn't you leave your coat on the couch?" Atsushi reminded. Son of a-

"Ahehahahhahaha! Dehhehehehvil! Yohoohohohu dahahahahmn dehehehehvil!" Any efforts to grab the weretiger and yank him off failed immediately; each swish and scratch of his sharpie sent a new wave of ticklishness up his leg, spreading through his nervous system like a fever. He never felt so defenseless in his life! "Ahhahahhare you ahahahhamost dohoohohohne?"

"Nope! Halfway there!"

"Fohohohohoor gohoohohohd's sahhahake! It's sehehehehven leheheheht-EHEHEHEH!" The sharpie found a particularly bad spot along the base of his toes, earning an embarrassing squeak noise. "CHAHAHAN'T YOU SPEHEHEHELL?"

"Oi! Keep that up and I'll write my last name on your other foot! And that's-" Atsushi paused briefly, counting off his fingers. "...8 letters!"

"Yohoohohu had to coohount?"

"...." Atsushi shot him a side eye before wiggling a singer finger against the bad spot. Akutagawa squawked, nearly hitting his head on the coffee table.

"IHIHIHIM SOHOHOOHRRY! IHIHIHM SAHAHHAHARY STAHHAHAHP!" He pleaded, cheeks dusting a pretty shade of red and tears dotting his eyes. "AHAHAHTSUSHI!"

"Heh, okay okay." The weretiger released him, dropping his foot and recapping his marker with a proud nod. "Now everyone will know you're mine!"

"Ehehe..hehehe...ahahahs if thehehy doohohon't already..." Akutagawa sat up some, eyeing the shaky handwritten "Atsushi" along his socked foot. "You could have just asked."

Atsushi raised an eyebrow. Akutagawa flushed, wide eyed.

"The sock! For the sock! You could have asked for the sock- not the ti- the torture!" He quickened his reply, sinking back further with a glare as Atsushi started to grin once more. "It probably would have came out cleaner that way."

"Eh. This was more fun." Atsushi smiled, then suddenly looked towards the front door, eyes widening. "Oh my god."

"What is it?" Akutagawa followed his gaze, finding nothing.

"Andy's coming!" The weretiger exclaimed before tossing himself onto Akutagawa, knocking them both into the ground and going limp.

"W-Weretiger!" The brunette griped, halfheartedly shoving him off as he realized it was yet another joke. "Get off!"

No response came, only a muffled fit of giggles from the other. Akutagawa rolled his eyes as he flicked his boyfriend's messy bangs, getting comfortable. "You're lucky I'm...fond of you, weretiger. Even when you decide to replicate that clock app thing."

"Love you too, Ryu." Came a muffed reply, softening the other completely.

Thanks for reading!

#BSD #shin soukoku #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke #tickle #tickle dabble #I was inspired akjrkejakjrejakr #I had a desire for lee!Aku and I ran with it #here you go :D #Now I must go work on other fics lols #and hit the hay #I'm sleepy #silly things happen when I'm brainrotting and sleepy #tw: foot tickles

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sungbeam · 2 months

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𝐆𝐎𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐗! — eight

viii. is that my shirt ?!

2.1k written (omg im sorry)

in which sungchan's so-called plan includes a dash of jealousy, a pinch of friendship, and ... jisung's shirt??

park jisung x f!mc ; humor, mentions of alcohol, swearing, uhm ur wearing jisung's shirt at some point so if u think that's uncomfy...

« prev · m.list · next »

a/n: surprise 😭? ik u all probably don't even remember what's going on cuz it's almost been TWO YEARS since the last update,, im sorry btw 😭 anyways, it's only this long bc i was stupid when i outlined this and i had to write more to make my stupid idea not sound as stupid

You could already tell that Mark was given speaker privileges when you pulled up outside the house and you felt the bass pulsing through your car. Your brother Mark had a few different aux cord modes: bass boost, lo-fi hoe, Celine Dion, and just plain stripper. You didn't particularly enjoy the latter because that was your brother (gross), but all of the others were quite enjoyable.

Chaeryeong told you earlier she would be coming with her dance club friends, so you had coerced Sungchan to carpool with you. Well, you actually hadn't needed to do any persuading. He somehow just… asked you. Huh. Weird.

"I didn't even realize I stole this shirt," you told him as the two of you hiked up the front lawn of the house, narrowly dodging a couple giggly boys stumbling down the street. You wrinkled your nose at the distinct "Beatbox" logo written in charmingly messy bubble letters on the front, signifying that one charity event the boys hosted a year ago. The back had been decorated in more pen inked doodles and a scrawl you guessed was close to Mark's. Or maybe it was Jeno's… either way, Sungchan had found it tucked among the rest of your t-shirts and you threw it on with no further complaints.

Sungchan shrugged, holding the door open for you as you both entered into the throes of the party. "You didn't realize you stole my pen that one time."

"A pen is different than a whole damn shirt though."

You glanced over at him to see if you had lost him to the crowd, but you should have known better since he towered almost everyone here. He seemed to have gotten a text from someone, but he was quick to tuck his phone away and search the crowd. "Who're you looking—"

He slung an arm over your shoulders and steered you toward the living room. "No one. C'mon, Mark hyung just asked me to bring you over to the DJ booth. Something about cashing in a song suggestion."

That immediately drew your attention. "I can't believe he remembered."

(And Sungchan couldn't believe he just got away with that. He looked over his shoulder toward the hallway where he saw Jisung's face appear in the crowd, then caught his eyes. Sungchan grinned to himself. It was time to get started.)

When you and Sungchan finally reached the DJ booth, Mark greeted you by handing you his phone. Mark and Sungchan exchanged looks over your head—everything was going perfectly.

"Hey, I'm gonna get us some drinks," Sungchan told you with a reassuring pat on your shoulder. You nodded to him as you scrolled through your song choices, but Sungchan was practically gone.

Not even a few steps away, Jisung appeared before him, his dark bangs hanging in his eyes. "Oh, hey."

Sungchan chirped back at him, "'Sup, man."

Jisung narrowed his eyes just slightly, head cocking to the side. "Is Yn here?"

Sungchan almost laughed at how well this was going. "Yeah, she's back with Mark. I was actually just gonna get her a drink—"

"I can get it," he said, and his eyes widened as if even he was surprised he just said that. He cleared his throat, cupping the back of his neck. "Uh—I mean, I can get all of us drinks. I was actually gonna ask if Mark hyung wanted anything."

Suuuure, Sungchan wanted to say. But he could respect this guy's quick thinking. "Oh, cool. Thanks, dude. I think Mark hyung says he's okay, so it's just Yn."

"Cool." And then he was gone.

As Sungchan turned back to the DJ table, he realized Jisung hadn't even asked Sungchan what you wanted or liked to drink.

When he returned to the DJ table, you threw Sungchan a confused look. "I thought you were getting drinks?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Jisung said he'd get them."

"Jisung?" Now, why in the world…

As if your brain had magically manifested him, you spied Jisung carefully maneuvering through the crowd. In one veiny hand, he clutched the necks of two bottles of some mystery liquor, most likely beer, while he raised a little can of ginger ale into the air over his head as if scared the bodies around him would spill it (yes, spill a sealed can of ginger ale).

You couldn't help but eye his attire—the white tank top beneath a dark bomber jacket, paired with a pair of black jeans. There was a silver chain link choker around his neck, and Sungchan even raised his eyebrows at the way your eyes made a generous sweep of the newcomer's form.

You hated him, huh?

Jisung set the beer bottles on the cleared off space on Mark's table, his eyes meeting yours first. He passed you the ginger ale, "Hey, for you."

You accepted it with a hasty nod. He must have asked Sungchan what you wanted.

"Oh, thanks." You took the bottom hem of the Beatbox T-shirt you wore and swiftly swiped it over the rim of the can, before cracking it open with a satisfying click and hiss.

Jisung clasped the back of his neck instinctually, but when he saw the shirt you wore, he thought offhandedly that you and he could've matched. Not that he wanted to match with you. Definitely not. Why would he want that?

You were probably wearing one of your brothers', but he could've sworn the little doodle on the corner of your shoulder looked… familiar.

Wait.

Wait a goddamn second.

Jisung's eyes widened in alarm.

Sungchan held back a snicker. "Uh, you good, Jisung?"

Jisung coughed, glancing over at Mark in case he had caught him staring, too, but the older Lee brother had already turned the opposite way to speak to Vernon from the SVT fraternity. Jisung popped open his beer bottle, then passed the other to Sungchan. "Yeah, ahem, I'm great. Hey, Yn, is that Mark's shirt?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you ducked your head to look at the shirt. "Actually, I'm not really sure."

"Oh really? 'Cause… I… I think it's mine."

You sputtered a laugh. "Good joke."

He grimaced. "Can you… turn around?"

"Turn around? Why?"

If Sungchan's eyes weren't deceiving him, he was certain Park Jisung was blushing.

Jisung sighed, a stressed sound. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead as he inspected the shirt you wore closer. “Because I would've written my name somewhere on the back,” he mumbled with a wince.

You could feel your face and neck warm after he stated his reason, and in an effort to get this matter solved so he could stop staring at you, you turned around. After a moment of silence, you twisted your head over your shoulder to peer back at Sungchan and Jisung. “See? Not your shirt.”

“Except, it definitely is his shirt, Yn,” Sungchan said, lifting his free hand up to cover his grin.

“What?”

Jisung had gone quiet, eyes widened like twin saucers. Not a thought passed behind those eyes as you attempted to look at your back to confirm exactly what both Sungchan and Jisung were telling you. It was impossible—how in the world could Jisung's shirt appear in your closet?

“Sungchan, is it really his shirt?” You asked your friend, pleading for him to tell you this was all a huge misunderstanding.

Sungchan had the decency to look sheepish. He reached over and gently grabbed your shoulder, pulling a part of the T-shirt edge so you could see. This brought you and him closer together as he pointed out Jisung's name to you.

The movement did not go unnoticed by Jisung, who watched this interaction with a wariness he didn't know what to make of. You were wearing his shirt, and somehow looked… good in it…? His eye twitched—why weren't you as friendly with him as you were with Sungchan? He could totally be a good friend—

Acceptance, swiftly followed by immense embarrassment, swept over you. It seemed it wasn't just Jisung who had gone quiet; neither of you could look the other in the eye.

After stepping away from you, Sungchan's eyebrows arched high as he sipped his beer and his gaze flickered between the two of you. “Well, this is awkward,” he mused unhelpfully.

That was enough to snap Jisung out of his daze. He clasped a hand on the back of his neck. “Would you be more comfortable in one of your brothers’ shirts? I can go grab one for you to change into—”

“Oh, uhm, yeah. I can just go upstairs and raid Mark's closet or something. I'm sure you'd like your shirt back.”

“No—I mean,” he sputtered, “yeah. It's no worries, really, if you don't wanna go through the trouble.”

Sungchan suppressed a screech akin to a pterodactyl. He hadn't thought you two would be this awkward around each other. It all played out a lot differently in his head, but… wait. Where the fuck did you go?

He realized quickly that you and Jisung were no longer right in front of him. Sungchan's head swiveled around nearby to search the crowd for you and Jisung, but it seemed that both of you were nowhere in the vicinity. Maybe you were headed up to swap shirts after all; that made his life easier.

As soon as you'd changed out of Jisung's Beatbox T-shirt and into one of Mark's Justin Bieber tour T-shirts, you prepared to step back out into the party. When you opened the door to Mark's bedroom, you found Jisung right where you'd left him, stationed outside while nursing his beer and holding your can of ginger ale.

“Here's your shirt,” you said to him, drawing his attention to you.

“Ah, thanks.” He traded you his T-shirt for your drink, but still, neither of you could hold eye contact.

For a moment, you racked your brain for something to say to loosen all this tension. “Uhm, you did great at the showcase, by the way. Your performance, I mean.”

Jisung's head perked up. “Oh, you stayed for it?” There was an intonation in his voice just now—you’d actually stayed and you also complimented him? He didn't understand why his heart was rattling around in his ribcage like a stampede of galloping horses, but he guessed it had something to do with the fact that he was pleasantly surprised. Something like pride filled his chest.

You gave a small nod, and if he wasn't mistaken, it almost looked shy. “I did end up staying. The thing I thought I had planned…” you trailed off and you filled the silence with a nonchalant shrug.

“Well, thanks for watching and I'm glad you thought I did well,” he said with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Was he finally getting through to you? Were you warming up to him at last?

He couldn't help but search your face then in the dim hallway light. Were your eyes always so pretty? There was a small smudge of silver glitter on the side of your cheek that glistened like diamonds, and he recognized it from somewhere on his shirt. It must have gotten into your face while you were changing.

He raised a hand, then froze. “Uh, you've got a little—a little something—” He pointed to his own cheek to tell you where it was.

“Oh!” You used the back of your hand to rub at it, but because glitter never listened the first time, it stayed put. “Is it gone?”

He winced. “No, it's, uhm—right… right there…”

You tried again, and he awkwardly tried to point it out without actually touching your face.

On your fourth attempt, he huffed. “Here,” he muttered, lifting his hand and gently brushing the glitter off.

When he was done, his hand fell back to his side like a dead weight as reality came crashing back. He coughed. “It's gone now.”

You averted your eyes. “Oh, cool, thanks.”

“Anyways, I should probably go put this away,” he said, gesturing down the hall toward his room with the shirt in his hand.

You gave an eager nod. “Right, yeah. I'll just—I’ll see you back down at the party then?”

Jisung bobbed his head in agreement. “Yeah, for sure! See you down there.”

Like two rats, the pair of you scurried away from each other in opposite directions. Even as you were descending the stairs, you threw a look back at Jisung, who was opening his bedroom door at the end of the hallway. Unbeknownst to you, Jisung had tossed you a glance just milliseconds before.

You swore you could still feel the brush of his fingers against your cheek, but it wasn't like it meant anything, right?

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