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eideticmemory · 7 months

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ALONE TOGETHER | SPENCER REID

A chance meeting on a dating app spirals into an odd type of…friendship? Relationship? Who knows, but it means a lot to you.

Word Count: 8.6k

Warning/Includes: Excessive smut, fluff, 7 year age gap.

You are so sick of crying. You are nauseated from lying in bed, staring at a ceiling fan that does nothing but spin. You’re angry. You’re restless. You’re impulsive. And it is this impulse that takes you on Bumble, but more specifically, makes you set you preferred range between the ages of exactly twenty-eight and forty. You think, I just need someone to pay attention to me. You think, I need someone to make this go away because I just can’t.

Old men are gross, but they like you. They just can’t get enough of you. You’re flooded with hundreds of admirers, but you rarely match with any of them. You swipe. You swipe again. Again and again and it is with the teeniest, tiniest little bit of hope that you wish for someone to take your breath away. You wish for a man with a pretty face and kind eyes and a name that sounds nice when you say it with a moan.

And there he is.

Spencer. Age 30. 5 miles away.

You actually gasp.

You swipe right and it is a match!

You gasp!

It’s up to you to make the first move. There’s prompts you could send, questions you could ask, and just down the street, Spencer, who has just landed back home recieves a message only saying -

Hey :)

He immediately covers the notification on his phone as he exits the jet. When he swiped on your profile, truthfully, he didn’t expect a match. Let alone a message. So in less than three seconds, he becomes anxious and flustered and cannot stop shaking his hands because he can’t feel his fingertips.

He waits until he’s alone to message you back. He has no idea what to say, no idea if you’re even still interested, but down the street, you are lying on your belly and kicking your feet and you get a reply -

Hi, [y/n] :) How are you?

It’s not a lot but Spencer feels like he’s going to pass out.

You squeal, cover your mouth and type: Good! How are you?

And Spencer doesn’t even know how to answer the question. It’s not a hard question, it’s not a trick question, but he can’t figure out what to say so he stays objective.

I’m okay. I’m leaving work now.

You furrow your eyebrows, A little late, isn’t it?

He chuckles under his breath, Kind of early for me, actually.

Here, is where you decided to get bold. You make the decision before you even figure out what to say. How to say it.

I’m sure you’re worn out from a long day. Was hoping I could see you tonight. If not, maybe another time?

And aside from the millions of things that rush through his head, that are always rushing through his head, the first thing he thinks is: Oh, god, I wish Morgan were here. Although Spencer’s a little mad at him at the moment, he knows Morgan would tell him what to say. But no one’s here. It’s just him, pacing the empty halls of the bureau, a satchel with tums in it, and a pretty girl trapped inside his phone that wants to see him in person.

He types and he goes back, he types and he goes back, and then he asks, Do you like coffee?

You smile as you type, I love coffee.

So he has you meet him at this coffee shop in town. You stand outside, cradled in a cozy jacket, your hands stuffed in your pockets. Spencer sees you before you see him. And anyone with common sense would’ve walked up to you right away. Except, Spencer doesn’t really have common sense. He’s worried that you’ll figure that out. Still, he walks over to you and you’re only alerted by the sound of his timid footsteps. You turn to him with a grand smile and he immediately forgets how to breathe.

“Hi,” you greet him, holding your hand out. “Spencer?”

He looks down at your hand and then back at you and then back at the floor and your brain goes: ???

“Are you…not Spencer?”

“No, no, I am. Me…Spencer, yes. I just…I don’t like to shake hands.”

“Oh,” you retract, hold your hands behind your back.

“I mean not that there’s anything wrong about your particular hands. They’re just dirty- Not! Not-you’re not dirty, I know, you smell really good. I…” he stops, takes a breath, “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering, it’s actually, uh, safer to kiss.”

You tilt your head at him for two reasons. One, because you cannot believe he just used the word pathogens in casual conversation. And two, because you take his fun fact as a challenge that is readily accepted. You step towards him, slowly, because with the way his eyes go wide, it looks like he might run away. He grips onto the strap on his satchel so hard that his knuckles turn paper white. He goes cross eyed trying to look at your face as you lean in. And with a tiny smirk on your face, you press your lips to his.

It’s kinda, awkward. Spencer stays frozen in place and you mush your face into his and he doesn’t start to lean into you until the last second.

His face has gone bright red and you smile and say, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice t-to meet you,” he stutters.

You look around, “What is this place?”

“Oh, um, it’s, uh, it’s a coffee shop. It’s also a library. It’s, uh, it’s open late and I come here a lot when I can’t sleep.”

“It’s cute,” you smile.

He holds the door open for you and buys you a latte and you two sit at a table by the window. You sit in silence for a minute, neither of you really sure what to say and then when you do go to speak, you do it at the same time. It cuts the tension and you both laugh.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“I, uh, I was just going to ask if you’re from here?”

“Oh, oh no, I just moved here for med school. I’m in my first year at Georgetown.”

“Oh! Nice. That’s cool.”

“Yeah, it’s alright so far. We’ll see how I’m doing in the spring.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

You smile, “What do you do? What has you getting off work so late?”

“I’m, um, I’m a profiler…for the FBI. I, uh…”

“Analyze criminal behavior,” you nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard of that. I love forensic sciences.”

He can’t help but smile at you, “Yeah. It’s tiring but I like it,” he shrugs.

The conversation goes dead again and you sip on your latte, “Should we…should we just keep asking each other questions?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, I asked the last question so it’s your turn.”

“Um…” he ponders. “What’s your favorite color?”

You snicker and he instantly puts his face in his hands out of embarrassment. You giggle, “My favorite color? Seriously?”

“I couldn’t think of anything else,” he shakes his head, smiling, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Blue. You?”

“Purple.”

“Ooh, that’s a fun one.”

“I like it. Okay, your turn.”

“Okay, um, what’s your biggest fear?”

He raises his eyebrows at you.

“What? We got the favorite colors out of the way.”

He nods, agreeing, “Having nothing to show for my life.”

You nod, “Same. Your turn.”

“Why do you want to be a doctor?”

“Oh. You got me with that one. Um…because I’m not squeamish and I’m good under pressure and I want…to make a difference. Y’know, actually do something with all this ambition. Aaaand, I’m good with anatomy. I’m good with people. I like medicine.”

“Did you say all of that in your interview?”

“That’s two questions…” you grin.

He chuckles, “You can ask me two.”

“No…I told them what they wanted to hear. And admissions doesn’t wanna hear that you’re doing this for yourself. They wanna hear that you’re selfless, Mother Theresa, Princess Diana selfless.”

“And you’re not selfless?”

“That’s three!”

“Okay, okay, your turn,” he laughs.

“How’d you get into the FBI?”

“Um, about 8 years, 11 months and 3 days ago, I attended a lecture on criminology hosted by some members of the BAU. I…became fixated. I wanted to join. I wanted to make a difference-“

“Oh now you’re just copying me.”

He chuckles, “I applied and, uh, yeah.”

“That’s so cool,” you tell him. “So you’ve been working there since you were…22?”

“Yes.”

“How did you become a profiler at 22? It takes forever, I thought?”

“That’s three!” he laughs.

“Oh, c’mon! You can’t leave me on a cliffhanger here.”

“I, um, I graduated college when I was 16. Had my Phd at 20. I’m…not the fittest guy so I skipped a lot of physical assessments.”

“16?” you gasp.

“That’s four!”

“20?” you shout. Emphasis on the ???

“That’s five!”

“Oh, no, nuh-uh, forget that, you’re filling me in on this.”

And so, he does. He tells you everything. About the eidetic memory and the IQ of 187 and you just sit there in awe. You fire questions at him and the last one is, “What’s…” you type in your calculator. “34 times 106?”

“That is a different genre of question.”

“But what’s the answer?”

He sighs and shakes his head, “3,604.”

You look at the calculator and he’s right and you gasp, “You’re a fucking genius.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Are your parents geniuses?” you ask.

“My dad is a…” he pauses. “I guess the colloquial term is deadbeat?”

You burst into laughter but quickly cover your mouth. That’s not funny. But Spencer is smiling.

“And…my mom is…smart. Yeah, she’s a genius.”

“Is she…dead?”

“What?”

“You just got, like, super sad there.”

“She’s not dead. She, uh, she has schizophrenia.”

“Oh. I’m an asshole.”

“A little bit,” he chuckles. “But, I’m-I’m not sad…she’s been that way my whole life.”

You can see on his face that it’s a sore subject, so you say, “Okay. Your turn. Ask me a question.”

And he wants to ask something that will get you talking. Something he can poke around like you have at his brain.

“Who is…” he starts. “Your very best friend?”

He asks this as you’re taking a sip of your latte and you very suddenly slam your cup down on the table.

“Whoa,” he says.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m…I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I haven’t spoken to her since I moved. Any of them. I…we…we had a disagreement.”

Spencer studies your face, “How many friends are we talking about here?”

“Three,” you spit out. “Three. I’ve had the same three friends since I was twelve and I’m not talking to any of them.” Your hands shake around your mug and you clear your throat, avoid eye contact.

Spencer feels so bad for dulling your light that he doesn’t even know what to say. He knows it’s an illogical guilt, but a strong and pulsating guilt nonetheless.

He watches you take an anxious sip of your drink and he sighs, “Today’s my birthday.”

You almost spit out your latte, your hand flying to your mouth, all of your own thoughts and worries dissipating as you look him in the eye, “You’re…you’re kidding?”

“No.”

“You’re joking. You’re just saying that to distract me. A psychology trick.”

“As of…” he checks his watch. “Twenty-three hours and ten minutes ago, I’m thirty,” he can hardly say it. “Thirty years old.”

You sit for a moment. You realize your mouth is wide open so you close it. You realize your eyes are wide so you shrink them. You stutter, “You’re…not kidding?”

“No. I’m thirty, and I…worked a case for days straight and…and it was awful and we were too late and…I’m scared I’ll sound self-centered…”

“And…” you encourage him.

“And…it wasn’t enough. The case. The chaos. It wasn’t enough. I hoped…I hoped it would help. That I would…that I would get so lost in the rush that…that I’d forget I’m having an emotional crisis. I don’t know how to be thirty. I don’t know how to be an adult. I’m a child progidy…I’m a child prodigy and now I’m thirty so, what does that make me? What am I now?”

The question hangs in the air because you cannot answer it. You just reach across the table, put your hand over his, and trace his knuckles.

He releases a long sigh, “I’m having an emotional crisis and I’m thirty and my-my team…my friends…my family, the closest thing I have to a family…they, um, they forgot. And it was…it was a really bad case, it was a really tough case and it was enough for them to forget. But not me. It wasn’t enough for me.”

He lets you take his hand in yours, your pathogen ridden hand, and he can hardly look you in the eye.

“Hey…” you whisper.

His eyes flicker up to you and he looks so sad.

You give him a small grin, “Let’s get out of here.”

He lets you drag him outside into the cold air and the two of you stand under the soft light.

“Do you drink?” you ask him.

“Um. No. No, I used to do drugs so I’m scared if I drink, I’ll forget to…not do drugs.”

“Oh!” you raise your eyebrows. “Okay, fair enough. So, no weed then?”

“I…” he laughs. “You do know I’m a federal agent?”

“Ah! So scary!”

He cackles, “No marijuana.”

“Marijuana,” you roll your eyes, “Okay…okay…” you look around and the city is asleep. It’s cold. Another block over, there are clubs and people fighting the weather for a chance to party. Spencer does not want to party. “Okay, my place?”

He looks at you, “What are we going to do there?”

“Have a birthday party!”

“I don’t want a party…”

You pout, look around, “Do you want a donut?”

He nods.

You grab a couple donuts from a late night bakery down the road and you drive him back to your place. He grips onto the door as you whip your car into another lane, his breath trembling.

“Dude, chill out,” you tell him. “I’m a good driver.”

“Good…in the way that tsunamis are good waves.”

You look over at him and your eyes lock and he smirks at you. It has you so flustered that you’re quiet for the rest of the drive.

You let him inside your apartment and close the door as you two step into the entryway.

“Okay, wait here,” you tell him, quickly taking the donuts and taking off into the kitchen.

“What? Why?”

“Just wait!”

He can hear you banging around, drawers opening and slamming shut. Things falling to the floor. You muttering, “Shit!” under your breath. You rush by him and into the living, so quickly that his brain can hardly process it.

“Okay!” you call. “Come in!”

He slowly steps inside, a bit anxious at first, but then he sees you and his shoulders relax.

You finish lighting the last candle and look up at him, throw your hands in the air, “Happy birthday!”

His face breaks out in this great, big smile and he can’t help but laugh. It’s not much. One single glazed donut with chocolate, sprinkles and candles on top.

“Three candles?” he questions, stepping over to the coffee table.

You stand beside him as he sits on the couch, “Well, yeah, three because three and then none because zero. Three zero. Thirty!”

He furrows his brows, “Actually-“

“Hush,” you cut him off, putting your hands on his shoulders, “You gotta blow out your candles.”

So he goes to blow them out and you shout, “Wait!” and his heart stops for a second. “I have to sing the song?”

“Oh, no, really, I don’t need the-“

“Haaaaappy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

He covers his face to blush and laughs into his hands.

“Happy birthday, dear Spencer, happy birthday to you! Mwah,” you kiss his cheek. “Now make a wish!”

“Okay, I wish-“

“Whoa, stop! What are you doing? You can’t say it out loud, it won’t come true.”

“Well, actually-“

“The candles are melting.”

“Yep, right,” he nods. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, makes a wish and blows out all three candles.

You cheer and clap your hands. You go to remove the candles from his donut and stop, “Oh. Should I? Can I?”

“You’ve already touched it. I think, uh, that ship has sailed.”

You take out the candles and sit down beside him, “Should I have picked it up with my mouth?”

He giggles and picks up his donut, holds it out to you, “Cheers,” he smiles.

You pick yours up from the table and touch it to his, grinning, “Cheers.”

As you eat your donuts together, you can’t help but watch him. “I hope this made your birthday a little better.”

He shoves the last of his donut in his mouth and the corner of his lips is covered in chocolate, “It did,” he says with a full mouth.

You chuckle and lean in, wiping the chocolate from his lip with your finger and sticking it in your mouth.

He watches you, chewing slowly until he swallows and clears his throat, “Is this…is this weird to do with someone you just met on bumble? Genuine question because I have no frame of reference.”

Your mouth turns up in a small smile. And you nod. Slowly, quietly, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s a little weird. But I’m having fun.”

“Me, too.”

You look around, awkwardly rolling your next words around your head until you can say them out loud, “Do you…wanna do something that’s…not weird with someone you met on bumble?

His raises his eyebrows at you, “What’s that?”

You take a sip of water, eyeing him in your peripheral and set down your bottle. You lean your body into his and this time, Spencer is ready. You catch his mouth on yours and he kisses you back, even though his heart is racing under your palm. Your hand travels down his chest, over his tummy, and to the hem of his pants.

His breath catches in his throat as you kiss his neck, “What…what are you doing?”

You pull away and undo his pants, taking his cock in your hand. He whimpers and his body goes limp and you furrow your eyebrows at him, “It’s your birthday?” you explain. And then you kiss him again.

His neck. Down to his chest. Down to his tummy. And Spencer watches you drop down to your knees in front of him and he goes, “Oh, my god,” and he only says it once but his brain keeps going: oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god, oh, my god.

“Is…is this okay?” you ask.

But he can’t talk! He can hardly breathe! You’ve got his dick in your hand and he’s looking at you with these wide eyes and you look perfect and he’s just worried that he’ll bust all over you before you get a chance to do anything. So, he nods. He nods and nods and nods and leans his head back.

You smile and with a few pumps of your hand, his whole body tenses up. He grips onto the couch and struggles to breathe. Then your mouth is on him and he goes limp. Dead weight, not a feeling in his arms or legs or chest, just the warmth of your mouth around his cock, taking it all the way to the back of your throat. His nails scratch at the fabric of the couch and as undignified as it feels, Spencer gets noisey.

You bob your head, up and down, in slow and sticky motions, swirling your tongue over his tip and a loud moan burst from the back of his throat.

“Oh…oh, my god,” he pants.

You move your mouth on him and run your hand up his tummy, feel it heaving up and down in your palm. He nearly breaks a nail on the couch so he grabs onto your hand, squeezes it really tight and groans. The sounds he’s making are so whiny and breathless and sexy that you have to squeeze your thighs together before you go leaking down your legs.

His other hand takes hold of your face, caressing your cheekbone with his thumb. You lean into his palm a bit but you keep your pace, letting him hit the back of your throat, feeling him twitch between your lips. You look up at him and all you can see is the veins on his neck, his jaw clenched tight. His fingers slip through your hair, over your scalp and you hum, but just quietly.

The soft touch encourages you to speed up just a bit. His whole body trembles as you take the base of his cock in your hand and jerk him in unison with your mouth. It overstimulates him immediately and he yells out, gives your hand another tight, tight squeeze.

“Oh-oh, my god, [y/n],” he moans, and you squeeze your thighs tighter.

He doesn’t ever want this to end. And so he fights the fire burning in his belly with everything he’s got, but he knows it’s useless. You’re too good. You’re so good.

He lifts his head and looks down at you, his face red all over and his eyes locked on yours. He holds your hand against his chest, caresses your face softly and lets out these soft, desperate whimpers. His body tenses up, leans towards you a bit and his jaw hangs wide open with very little sound coming out. He gives you this look, maybe a little warning, and then he’s gripping onto your hair and hunched over your body, filling up your mouth and whining into the air.

You put your hands on his waist and keep him in your mouth until he rides it out, falls back onto the couch.

You tower over him, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and put your hands on his shoulders, “Good?”

“Yes. Wow,” he pants. “Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome,” you smile.

He huffs and he puffs, yet he can’t seem to catch his breath. “You know…” he breathes out. “That entire time…I actually forgot I was thirty.”

You burst into laughter and put your forehead to his, your giggles mirroring one another’s.

Spencer fixes his pants and huffs, “Will you…will you lay with me for a second?”

Your heart melts a little. You climb onto the couch, taking a seat beside him and swinging your legs over his lap.

And you sit like that. For hours. Talking until it’s no longer Spencer’s birthday and he’s just…thirty. You try your best to convince him to stay the night. He declines. And he declines and he declines.

Then he falls asleep in your arms.

In the morning, he wakes up alone and for a one whole minute, he forgets where he is. Then he remembers you and he goes looking for you and finds you in the kitchen.

“Oh,” you smile, “Hi, you. Breakfast?” you hold out the box of cereal that you’re eating out of.

He glances at the box and then back at you and he stares.

“What?” you ask.

“I…” he trails off. “I thought…I thought I dreamt you. For a moment, I thought it all was a dream.”

You tilt your head at him, “I’m very real.”

He chuckles, scratches the back of his head, “And…and the…the…”

“Blowjob?” you laugh. “Yeah, that was real, too.”

“The donuts?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “All of it.”

He continues to stare at you, this soft smile on his face and you hold out the cereal again. Shake it around.

“I’m okay,” he chuckles, stepping over to you. “I should…I should probably get going.”

“Oh, but why?” you whine.

“Because I…need a shower,” he laughs. “And to brush my teeth and lay in bed until I get called in again.”

“Yeah, I should probably start preparing for my lectures this week, too.”

You stare into his pretty, pretty eyes and you set the cereal down, hold his face, “You’re not gonna ghost me are you?”

He furrows his eyebrows, “Ghost you? What does that mean?”

“Oh, I forgot you’re old,” you laugh.

“Stooop,” he whines. “Stooop.”

“Ghost me. You’re not gonna go radio silent? You’re not…not gonna act like this never happened? Like I don’t exist?”

And Spencer instantly thinks: I don’t think I’m ever going to leave you alone. But instead of vocalizing it, he strokes your waist and he says, “No. Of course not.”

And he really meant that.

The next time he got called out on a case, he let you know that he’d be gone for a while but he’d be back. And he’d really, really like to see you when he’s home. He tries his best not to text while working, but when he’s laying in a hotel bed, unable to stop thinking about you and what you’re doing, he opts for a phone call.

“Hey, Sherlock,” you greet him. “Crack the case yet?”

He chuckles, “No. Almost. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were home in a few days.”

“And then you’ll come see me?”

“Yes,” he nods. “I’ll come see you.”

“Good.”

“What about you? How’s your journey to being a selfless doctor going?”

“Terrible. I missed like half of my lecture this morning because I blew a tire on the way.”

“Oh, no, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just hit a pot hole and swerve a little bit but it’s not my first time.”

“Oh?” he nods. “That’s…not good,” he laughs.

“I survived. I’m tough.”

“Yeah, you are, aren’t you?” you can hear the little grin in his voice.

You bite down on your lip, “Okay, tell me what’s going on there. Serial killer? Kidnapping?”

“Confidential.”

“Booooo!”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs. “Um, a couple days ago a body washed up on the beach and…”

You talked until you both were nearly asleep. In the morning, Spencer rolls out of bed and the lack of sleep hits him like a truck, but he thinks about you and your sleepy, soft voice and he smiles. He smiles out the door and down the hall and Morgan strides up beside him.

“Morning, kid,” he says.

“Morning!” Spencer replies and Derek eyes him because it was just sooo cheerful.

Derek bites his tongue for a moment, but is incapable of doing it for any longer so he asks, “Who were you on the phone with last night?”

Spencer trips over his feet at the question and stutters, “O-oh, me? Me? I wasn’t talking to anyone.”

“Mmhmmm,” Derek hums.

“No. N-nope, just the voices in my head.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Spencer comes back home on a Thursday and immediately hops on foot, on a train, to get to your apartment. You open the door for him and pull him inside, taking him in a big hug.

“Hi, you,” you whisper in his ear.

“Hi,” he snuggles into you.

“I made dinner. Pasta. It’s the only thing I know how to make, but there’s plenty. You hungry?”

“Yes,” he nods, pulls out of the hug. “Thank you.”

He goes to walk into the kitchen, but you grab his hand, “Hey, wait,” and you throw yourself into his arms and take him in a long kiss. He grips onto your shirt and goes weak in the knees, smushing his face into yours.

You step back, “Okay, now we can eat.”

He mumbles something incoherent and walks into the wall and you laugh, putting your hands on his shoulders to guide him into the kitchen.

The entire time that you two are hanging out on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, you can feel him looking at you. The one time that you catch his eyes, you lean in for a kiss and he is much more forward when it comes to kissing you back. He pushes his body into yours and a soft moan empties from your lips. It gives him enough courage to drop to his knees in front of you.

“Whoa,” you exclaim. “What are you doing?”

“I…well, I…I wanted to do this for you and I’m ready, I researched it.”

“You…researched how to eat me out?”

“I just want to return the favor.”

“But it’s not my birthday?”

“Is that a…requirement, or?”

“No,” you laugh, cover your face, “Okay. Okay, show me what you learned.”

And so Spencer disappears under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your thighs and grabbing onto the thin straps of your underwear. He pulls them off your legs and you chuckle as they fly off. His face flushes bright red and he gives you a soft smile, taking a deep breath before he leans in and kisses your thighs. You hum under your breath, spread your legs for him out of instinct.

He’s very timid at first. Peppering gentle kisses on your hips, teasing his tongue on your clit. Then your back arches, his face falls into you and all the notes and research just fall right out of his mind. He wraps his arms around your hips and moves his tongue in this rhythmic up and down motion that he can tell you love so he keeps at it. And at it and at it, stepping off with a sharp suck that makes you yelp.

You rest your head on the couch, licking your lips because they’re so dry from your gasping, your constant moaning. You grip onto his hair and moan his name, only twice because you’re losing your breath. His fingertips press into your skin, spread your pussy open so he can bury his face in you.

Your body starts to twitch and tremble, your toes curling into themselves so tightly that it cuts off circulation. Your voice is high and whiny, growing louder by the second. Spencer feels your thighs tighten around his face and he knows now is not the time to let up. He swirls his tongue over your clit and you tighten your grip on his hair, straining your throat from moaning so loudly. You try to say his name, one last time, but then your back is arching off the couch and your orgasm washes over your entire body. From the tip of your head to the tip of your toes.

Spencer wipes his mouth off with your inner thigh and stands up looking so, very proud.

“Fuck,” you laugh. “What did you read?”

He cackles and gives you a wet kiss on the cheek and then the lips. Immediately after, you push him down and suck him off and as he holds you afterwards, he breathes off, “Remind me to return the favor again.”

“Oh,” you giggle. “Believe me, I will.”

The next few days, you two are inseperable. He spends two consecutive nights at your place, bitching and complaining and listening to each rant for hours at a time. He helps your study for your next exam. It’s not until he gets called out again that real life creeps in. It’s the first time goodbye is really hard.

You joke over the next month that he should just move in. This constant pattern of fly out, fly in, visit and repeat is a lot of run around.

“You’d get sick of me,” he replies.

And you hold him real tight and shake your head, “Never.”

When he’s on his next trip and calls in the middle of your lecture, you only step out and answer because a feeling in your gut tells you something is very wrong. Spencer never calls in the middle of the day. He’d never want to inconvenience you. But, today, it has to be you.

“Hello?” you answer.

“[y/n]? Hey…” he huffs.

He sounds distraught, like his chest is tight as he speaks and you take a seat on the floor, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I’m…I think I’m having a panic attack. I think…I think I’m dying.”

“What? What happened? Honey…”

“Just tell me something to calm me down, anything. Anything. Please.”

“Um, um, um, uh,” you sutter. “I think we should have sex.” As you say it, someone walks by giving you a dirty look and you shake it off, wait for Spencer’s response.

His breath has slowed, but just a little, “Oh…that works.”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “You know, I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot, aaand yeah, when you get back, I-I think we should do that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

“When I see you,” he says. “I know you’re busy and I should get back.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Glad I could help,” you laugh. “Call me back tonight, okay?”

“I will. I miss you.”

You smile to yourself, “I miss you, too.”

When you hang up, you’re happy and giddy, grinning to yourself like a fool. Then you look up to find the same person from before, whispering with their friend as they watch you.

You roll your eyes and shout, “What the fuck are you looking at?” and you walk back into the lecture hall.

The day Spencer tells you they’re flying back, you start preparing. Shaving, showering, spraying on some nice perfume. You walk around your apartment in a silky, short nightgown, lighting candles in the hall and all over your bedroom. When you’re content with the atmosphere, the only thing left to do is wait.

And wait.

You check your phone several times and when there is still nothing hours later, you think it’s time to blow out the candles, lay in bed and cry. For a moment, you feel so stupid and confused and angry that you almost throw a lamp at the wall. Then there’s a knock on the door.

Spencer stands there, immediately saying, “Don’t be mad.”

“Too late, I’m mad,” you snip, turning away from him.

He lets himself in and grabs your hand, stutters when he finally notices your nightgown, the candles, “Oh. Wow. You did all this?”

“Spencer!” you whine, crossing your arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I…I bought you a donut,” he holds the bag up to you. “Your favorite. I’m so sorry, please don’t be mad. Not tonight. Any other night but tonight, please?”

Maybe if he wasn’t so good at the kicked puppy eyes, you could’ve held out a little longer. But you’re happy he’s here and your horny and this is happening no matter what time it is. You snatch the bag from his hand and just as quickly as you drop it, you pull his body into your, gripping his waist, your mouth open on his.

He trips over your feet as you pull him down the hall and into your bedroom, the two of you tangled up so tight that you collapse on the bed in one big sweep. He falls on top of you, between your legs, kissing you hungrily.

“Wait,” he huffs, breaking the kiss. “Wait.”

You stare up at him, his face only visible due to the candles, “What is it? Did you…already?”

“What? What? No,” he laughs. “I just…uh…um…I’m not an expert at this. I…I don’t…I’m not experienced in this area and I will do everything I can to make it good for you. I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Aw,” you whisper, caressing his face. “Take your clothes off.”

“Huh?”

“Spencer. I’ve been thinking about having sex with you since I first saw your picture on bumble. Now it’s happening and you were late so we gotta catch up.”

You pull him back in for a kiss and reach between your bodies, undoing his pants so you can grab his cock. He gasps and moans into your mouth.

“Don’t overthink it,” you mumble, staring in his eyes, “Just do whatever you want to me.”

He moves his hips forward, stroking himself with your palm and whimpering against your cheek. He starts to kiss your neck, gripping onto your waist, bunching up your nightgown in his hands. You push his shirt up his waist and he quickly pulls it over his head, catching you in a kiss as soon as he can.

“Can I take this off?” he pants, pinching the hem of your clothes. And you sit up, allowing him to pull it right over your head.

His eyes rake down your body, lingering on your breasts, “Can I…?”

“Oh, god, yes, please,” you nod and lay back on the bed, holding your hands above your head.

Spencer chuckles and leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth ever so gently, swirling his tongue around the hard bud. You purr, grab a fistful of his hair, and lick your lips. He presses his body weight onto you, holding your other breast in his hand and sucking on your skin.

“F-fuck,” you moan. “Spencer…”

And he moves to the other side of your chest, now more confident, now unstoppable, flicking his tongue on you so fast that it makes your body twitch. He kisses down your tummy, looks up at you as he slides your panties off, kisses on your thighs. He knows how to do this. He’s good at this, per your review and when he puts his mouth on you, the most broken, whiny little noise falls from your lips.

He hums between your thighs, holding your hips tight and flush against his face. With your moans rattling around his skull, he loses all inhibition. He works his tongue on you slow, methodical, in all the right places. You give his hair a soft tug and he grunts, his hand trailing up your waist. You brace your hands on his biceps, squeezing them between your fingers, sighing out his name.

You hook your legs over his shoulders, tightening your thighs around his face, moving your hips up and down to feel his tongue gliding. Wet and sticky like he’s drowning inside of you.

“Oh, god,” you moan. “Yes, Spencer, yes, yes.”

He moans under his breath, quickening his tongue, clamping his hands down on your thighs. You pull at his hair as your back arches off the bed and your legs tremble around his head. He gives your clit a sharp suck and you cry out, gripping onto his hair at the scalp. And when your voice gets so high and whiny that it could break glass, he knows you’re close and he spreads your pussy open, works his tongue on your clit and doesn’t stop.

Your body tenses up and you hold him tight, tight, tight, crying out his name, your breath catching in your throat. And when you come, you collapse with a long and drawn out groan, shoving your fingers in your mouth to catch your breath.

You instantly reach over to the nightstand and grab the condom that’s been waiting all night to be used. Spencer brings his face back to yours and you kiss him instantly, grinning when you feel him pushing his pants down his legs. He lets you roll the condom onto his hard, leaky cock and asks, “Do-do you wanna be on top?”

“No,” you shake your head, wrap your arms tight around his waist. “Stay on top of me,” you say against his lips, “I like it.”

“Okay,” he nods into a kiss with you and settles between your legs. You help him align, you kiss his neck and hold him close as he pushes his cock into you. The both of you gasp, your noses smushed together. “God…” Spencer moans. “You okay?”

You nod, “Mhm. Are you?”

“Mm…” he hums. “Trying not to explode.”

You two chuckle, catching each other in yet another hungry kiss as Spencer starts to move in and out of you slowly. His breathing in low and jagged, hot against your face. He’s so gentle with you, pushing into you with little pressure and caressing your face.

“H-harder…” you pant. “You’re not gonna break me, I promise.”

So he plunges into you a bit harder, a bit deeper and you gasp, “Harder.”

He obeys and angles himself above you, watching your face as he pushes into you with the right amount of force. You moan, your eyes rolling back and your head along with it, “Oh, fuck, yes. Like that.”

“Yeah?” he repeats the movement, his moan blending in with yours.

“Yes,” you nod. “Yes. Yes. Just,” you reach down and start rubbing your clit. “Fuck, keep going.”

And he does. He focuses on keeping his rhythm, slow, but intense, the bed squeaking everytime he moves his hips into yours. You gasp against his lips, wrap your arm around his waist, your hooded eyes focused on his. He runs his hand over your hair, whimpering to you, melting into you, and taking short breaks to keep himself from finishing too soon.

Your fingers get cramped and soaked from the incessant rubbing on your clit but it’s like you can’t stop. Spencer leans in to kiss your neck, his hand absentmindedly running up your ribs and gripping your breast. You hold onto his hair and groan into his ear, his low and breathy moans vibrating against your skin.

“F-fuck!” you cry out as he slams into you. “I’m gonna come, don’t stop. Fuck, please don’t stop.”

But he does, only for a moment because the dirty combination of your voice and your hand tugging his hair and your pussy tightening around him, he’s dangerously close to bringing this entire thing to a premature end. So, he pauses. He takes a breath and he pounds into you. Even slower, over and over and over, watching your face closely, watching you fall apart.

“Oh,” you whine, your fingers quickening on your clit. “God, Spencer,” you moan and then body trembles, tensing up underneath him as you come so hard that you lose your voice. He grunts, falling into a sloppy kiss with you and following right behind you, his body suddenly going weak as he comes, his entire weight placed upon you.

Spencer collapses beside you and instantly pulls you into his chest, squeezing you in his arms and peppering your forehead with kisses. “How was that?” he asks, looking down at you. “Was that good for you?”

You touch your fingertip to his chin and smile, nodding, “Oh, yes.”

“Good,” he hugs you. “Good, good, good. For me, too.”

You smile into a long kiss with him and giggle against his lips. Lying there, your breathing falls in sync and you trace the center of his tummy, sink into the bliss.

“They, uh…” Spencer starts. “They remembered my birthday today. That’s why I was late, they threw me a party.”

You glance up at him, but only for a moment and then you put your head back on his chest. “Oh.”

“It was nice,” he shrugs. “It was fun, but the whole time, I just…thought about you. I thought about how angry I was that they’d forgotten at all and how…how you just made everything so much better,” and he tilts your head up to say this next part directly to you, “You always make everything so much better.”

And as you stare into his eyes, the corners of your mouth turned up ever so sightly, your eyes start to water and your lip starts to quiver.

“Oh,” he softens. “Oh, no. Nooo. Are you crying?”

“No,” you shake your head. Then you put your face in your hands and nod, suddenly sobbing.

“Oh, no, no, [y/n], no, I’m sorry. Did I say something?”

You shake your head.

“What is it? What-what just happened?”

“I-I-I-“ you stutter. Lifting your head from your hands, you cry, “I-I just wish I could tell my friends about you.”

He frowns and takes you into a tight hug, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head, “I’m so sorry,” he whispers to you. “Oh, [y/n], I’m so sorry.”

And because he’s never really seen you cry before, his only thought is to ask, “Do you-do you want me to go down on you again?”

You look up at him, your lip poked out in a dramatic pout and you nod.

“Okay,” he says, climbing on top of you and wiping the tears from your face. “I can do that for you.”

It works. It leads to more sex. The two of you don’t go to bed until the sun has nearly risen and don’t get up until well in the afternoon. Spencer thinks you’re using his dick as a distraction and you fear there’s no respectful way to say: I just can’t get enough. He gives you a few days and nights worth of it and still, it’s not enough.

He’s actively trying to get inside of you when he gets called into work. He’s on top of you, between your legs, pushing his tongue into your mouth when his phone goes off. He pulls away to check it and you whine, “Nooo, noooo, don’t goooo.”

“I have to. People are dying,” and as he speaks, you kiss his neck, touch your tongue to his jaw and he moans, “Oh, god,” before he can stop himself. “[y/n]….”

“Just-stay. Stay. They can save one day without you, can’t they?”

“Actually, I don’t think they can.”

“Ugh. You and your big, useful brain. I’m sick of it.”

“I’ll be back,” he gives you a kiss.

“Nooo, stay,” you hold him tight so he can’t move and he busts out laughing.

“I have to go, I’m sorry.”

So he showers and gets dressed and you sit on the bed pouting the entire time. He comes out of the bathroom and frowns, matching your pissy and childish expression.

“I will be back,” he tells you as he takes a seat on the bed. “I always come back.”

“I know, I know, I’m just being dramatic. Let me be dramatic.”

“Okay,” he chuckles and gives you a kiss. Nuzzling his nose against yours, he whispers, “You should call your friends.”

You instantly recoil and he puts his hands on your shoulders, “Okay, okay, I know. I know. But I think it’s time. You need them. They need you. You’re an easy girl to miss.”

You roll your eyes and he sighs, kisses your forehead and squeezes you in a hug. “Call them,” he says and then he leaves.

You sit there for a moment, ponder on his words. Ponder on the entirety of the past few days, past few months. You pick up your phone. You stare at it in your palm. You dial your friend’s number and though you don’t expect an answer, she picks up with a, “Hello?”

You take a deep breath, “Hey…”

When Spencer arrives at work, he finds himself heading up the elevator with Morgan who is so completely and totally normal that Spencer thinks he can smell the sex on him. He watches Derek from the corner of his eyes, fidgeting with the strap of his satchel and shuffling on his feet.

Suddenly, Derek smashes the emergency button on the elevator and brings it to a halt. Spencer falls back and grabs onto the wall.

“Why-why-why did you do that?” Spencer stutters, his pulse starting to rise. “Why did you do that? You remember what happened the last time you messed around with the elevator? Turn it back on.”

“Not until,” Derek says, turning to him. “You tell me whatever it is that you’re dying to tell me.”

“I’m…I’m not dying to tell you anything. I’m just scared of dying.”

“Pretty boy. I step in the elevator, you start sweating. I act like I don’t notice, you’re giving me the side eye up four floors. What’s up?”

Spencer closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he stands up straight. Then he falls back again.

“Kid?”

“I’m…” Spencer starts. But he can’t finish. “I’m…” He thinks he doesn’t know what to say. Key word: thinks. But there’s only one sentence swirling around his brain and he has to say it, but he doesn’t want to say it and so he bites his tongue. He shakes his head and then looks up at Derek, “I’m having sex!”

And he says it with such a whiny voice that Derek can’t help but laugh. Visibily.

“I knew it,” Derek says. “You’re shaking in your converse to tell me that?”

“What? What do you mean you knew it?” The response sobers Spencer up a bit, his anxiety weakens just enough so he can figure out why Derek is laughing.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you walkin’ on in here everyday with a lil’ extra pep in ya step,” Derek chuckles. “You’re not that sneaky, kid. I knew there had to be someone.”

Spencer sighs, lets his shoulders relax. “It’s-it’s not that big of a deal. It’s just…sex…lots of sex. Lots of really, really good sex. I think. I think it’s good. It…feels good, seems good. I don’t have much to compare it to but, um…yeah…”

“My man,” Derek laughs and Spencer breaks a smile. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Spencer smiles wider, “[y/n]. She’s gorgeous and smells good and makes me laugh and I…don’t feel weird around her she makes me feel so unbelievably not weird and y-yeah, she’s a little bit younger but I hardly ever notice.”

Derek puts the elevator back in motion, “How young are we talkin’ here?”

“Um, she’s twenty-two.”

Derek replies with nothing more than a whistle and Spencer rolls his eyes, “Stop.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You said plenty.”

The elevator dings and they step off, Derek swinging his arm over Spencer’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, pretty boy, we’ll get you back to your lady soon.”

And Spencer laughs it off but in his head, he’s thinking: yes, please.

It’s the first week out of town that Derek is suspicious every time Spencer checks his phone. When the case starts to get heavier and harder, Spencer missing a few of his nightly phone calls, you worry. You can’t help it. He texts you when he lands and it’s stupid how wide you smile.

Library? he texts.

Y: Literally on my way.

You approach each other at the front doors, and from far away, you can see the bags under his eyes and the hunch in his shoulders.

“Hey, you,” you cradle his face in your palm. “Tough week?”

He leans into your touch, nodding and closing his eyes to take a moment and reset. When he opens them to find your face, illuminated by the light, he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. You giggle against his lips and your leg lifts behind you, almost uncontrollably.

You smile at each other and Spencer asks, “Do you like coffee?”

You cackle, “I love coffee.”

He holds the door open for you, asking, “Hey, what do you think about meeting some friends of mine?”

You smile, turn to him, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

#mine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reidxreader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #Spotify

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bloatedandalone04 · 6 months

Text

Illicit Affairs

➪the one where leon is yours entirely, even though he is married to someone else.

Warnings: cheating, affairs, swearing, unprotected sex, fluffy sex, mentions of cheating, angst, smut, toxic relationships, small amount of ada slander since that is actually a warning i found out, mentions of divorce and all that fun stuff

Word Count: 3.3k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Left the door unlocked, just in case. I hope you had a good day.

That was the text Leon is met with as he enters the house he shared with his wife. His thumbs ghosted over the screen, his mind trying to come up with a good enough answer that wouldn’t leave you feeling cheap. There was nothing he could say through text, he decided, and he ended up pocketing his phone and heading towards his bedroom.

Ada was sitting against the headboard, picking at her freshly painted red nails with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Her engagement and wedding rings reflected off the bedside table lamp, and Leon wished he cared enough to remember where he had placed his own wedding band after taking it off many weeks ago, but it held no meaning to him. “Late again, Leon,” she muttered, glaring at him as he entered the room. “What was it this time?”

Leon huffed as he walked towards the dresser. “Work,” he answered and he was being completely truthful, not that she’d ever believe him - which is quite hypocritical, if he had to be honest. He was well aware of the many times she came home late, and the many more times she never came home at all. She was just as bad as him, maybe even worse. “Like last time.”

Ada scoffed, tossing the sheets over her body and crossing her arms. “Liar,”

She was trying to get under his skin, something she has always been able to do, even back when he was twenty one years old. Now at the age of twenty eight, he had no idea why he still continues to put himself through this.

He was so sure that what he felt for the woman was love, but after four years with her, he quickly found out that it was lust. He met her when he was just starting out and had no idea what love even was, but he knew that it wasn’t what he felt for her.

At first he was infatuated with her. It was a cat and mouse game that left him feeling like he could never truly and fully have her, and that was still true to this day.

He married her, and yet she still wasn’t his.

The guys she met at the bar. The men she ran into on missions. The rookies who had information she wanted, but didn’t need. She was all of theirs, as well as Leon’s, but never in full.

Leon kept his back to her as he rolled his eyes and rummaged around in his drawer. “Whatever, Ada,” he muttered, grabbing his grey sweats before opening another drawer.

“Don’t whatever me, Leon,” she seethed. “Don’t act like you haven’t been sneaking around on me. We both know you have. Some poor, naive girl who thinks you’re actually into her but probably doesn’t even know you’re married to me.”

Leon hated the way she was talking about you, and she was once again getting under his skin. He slams the drawer shut loudly after grabbing a black tee, turning towards his wife with a fire in his eyes. “You’re one to talk,” he growls. “You’ve been sleeping around since before we even got married. You haven’t changed, and I was dumb enough to believe you would.”

Ada’s eyes widened a bit but she tried to hide it by sitting up a little straighter.

He caught her, though. And they both knew it. “Yeah,” he laughs, the sound lacking any humor. “Haven’t been as discreet about it as you thought, huh?”

Leon turns to leave the room, but she wasn’t done playing with him, clearly. “Oh, come on, Leon,” she called out, dropping her attitude and making her voice sound sultry. “We both know how good we are together. Just come to bed with me. We can forget all about this.”

She pushes the sheets off her body and crawls over to him, kneeling on the bed and running her hand up his arm. “Ada-”

“Shh,” she purrs, reaching her hands up and capturing his lips in a messy kiss. He doesn’t move at all, even though he wants to pull away, he also wants to prove a point. The fact that this was the first kiss they’ve shared in months should be a clear enough sign that this was completely over. She smirks when she pulls away, licking at her slightly wet lips. “See? You feel that?”

Leon didn’t know what he was supposed to be feeling, but he knew that she was trying to coax him into bed with her so he can fuck her and then pretend like their relationship was a normal and healthy one.

When her hand wanders down his body and is about to touch him through his jeans, his own shoots out and his fingers wrap around her wrist, successfully halting her advances. “I don’t feel a thing,” he says, his voice so serious it had her eyes narrowing as she ripped her hand away from him.

She sat back in disgust, crossing her arms again. “You can’t leave, Leon,” she states, unaware of just how far gone he is from her control over him. He’s detached from her completely and felt nothing for her but resentment. And maybe a little anger at the years he’s wasted chasing after her when she didn’t want him at all.

“I want a divorce, Ada,” he says, voice monotone as he turns away and leaves the room.

She yells harsh words after him but makes no move to stop him, further proving the point that she didn’t care. And neither did he.

Leon hates how much time he’s wasted with her when he could’ve been with you. You could’ve been his, officially, had he not been so afraid to let go of something he’s spent so much of his adulthood holding onto.

He grabs his keys from off the counter, where he had tossed them not even ten minutes ago when he arrived home, and leaves the house, his mind on you as he hastily types out a reply to you and starts his car.

I’m sorry.

You read the text over and over again as you lie on your side in bed.

What was he apologizing for? For stringing you along? For promising he’s going to leave his wife but never does? For not showing up tonight?

The night was still young, so he might still show up, but the fact still stands.

You felt terrible.

Leon’s marriage was an unhappy one, and you knew he found happiness with you, but he hadn’t made it official yet, nor had he broken things off with Ada yet. Was it all a lie? Does he only come to you for an easy lay? For a sense of normalcy?

You weren’t sure you wanted the answer.

Falling in love with him was slowly breaking your heart, but you really didn’t have a choice. Leon was every girl’s dream and only became unfaithful when he grew sick of the lonely nights where his wife went off and fucked half the town.

From what you know, you’re the only person he’s seeing, and that was enough for you to keep on inviting him to come over and escape from that environment.

How Ada could ever take him for granted was beyond you.

You shut off your phone and set it on the nightstand beside you after reading the time. It was nearing twelve in the morning and you were beginning to feel a bit like an idiot after sending that text to him.

It was an invitation to stay at your house, and you even threw in a dumb line about his day, all because you knew Ada didn’t care enough to ask him that herself.

As you begin to get more comfortable in bed, the sound of the front door opening then locking pierces your ears. Your mood lifts considerably at the fact that he had shown up after all, but you also knew you would be met with the same old line of ‘I’m going to break up with her, I promise’.

You really weren’t sure how much more your heart could take.

Quiet footsteps neared your bedroom, where the door slowly creaked open. “Y/n?” His soft voice called out and you just shifted to let him know that you were still awake. Leon kicks off his boots and drops his sweats and tee onto the top of your dresser before pulling the covers back and moving to lay behind you. “Sweetheart.”

“Hi,” you greet quietly, keeping your back to him.

“Hi,” he says back, wrapping his arms around you. “I missed you.”

You stiffen slightly. “Did you?” You ask harshly, instantly regretting it when he doesn’t respond. You turn your head and look back at him, seeing guilt swim in his blue eyes, even in the dark room. Sighing, you turn back around. “I missed you, too.”

Leon could hear the tiredness in your voice, and he knew it wasn’t because of how late it was. He knew it was because of his broken promises of leaving his wife, but never sticking to them. Until now. “Baby,” he called softly, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the side of your head, smiling at the way you lean into his touch. “I asked for a divorce.”

That had your eyes widening and you tried to turn around, but his arms kept you still. “Really?” You ask as you settle against him once again. When he nodded and hummed, you added, “When?”

“Before I came here,” he answered, tangling his legs with yours under the sheets.

Your lips tremble as you try not to get too ahead of yourself. “Leon,” you nearly whisper.

“It’s over,” he confirmed, kissing your head again. “I promise, this is the last time. She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“And me?” You felt selfish for asking, but you needed to know that you weren’t the only one feeling this between you and him.

Leon’s hand slides under your shirt as he pulls your body closer to his. “You’re my girl,” he mumbles. “And I love you.”

Your head turns again and you keep your back to his chest as you grin. “You love me?”

He nods, leaning in and brushing his lips against yours. “So much,”

Reaching behind you, your hand tangles in his hair as you pull his head closer to yours. “I love you, too,” you confess, pressing your lips to his afterwards in a kiss that was all smiles. “I missed you, Leon.”

Leon runs his hand higher up your body and strokes the undersides of your breasts. “I missed you, too,” he says as he kisses along your neck. “I thought about you all day.”

“Leon,” you hummed, gripping his hair tighter as his fingers began to tease your nipples. His thumb and index finger gently pinch and pull at the buds, making your legs squeeze around his. “God.”

With the arm that is pinned under your body, his fingers continue to tease your chest while his other hand slides down your body. “I need you, sweetheart,” he nearly begs. “Please.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this about Ada, and it was clear that you had completely changed his perspective on what a real, happy relationship looked and felt like.

You remove your hand from his hair and wrap your fingers around his wrist, sliding his hand lower down your body until he is softly rubbing your clit through your panties. “Take me, Leon,” you request in a whisper, reaching behind you so you could gently palm him through his jeans. “I’m yours.”

Leon kisses you deeply, sliding his hand in between the lace and your skin so he could properly tease your clit. “All mine,” he stated when you pulled away and moaned. “‘M all yours, too, baby.”

You whimper when his index finger gathered up your wetness before sinking into you knuckle deep. “Leon,” you moan quietly, struggling to unzip his jeans from the position, but somehow managing to.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder blade. He thrusts his finger a couple of times before adding his middle and allowing his thumb to rub bruising circles onto your clit. “Everything I could ever want.”

This is how it’s supposed to be.

You never pressured him to do anything, never forced anything or broke his trust in any way. It felt so right with you, like how a relationship should.

He didn’t have to force himself to love you, that was something that came naturally, and quite quickly.

Running into you at that bar nearly seven months ago was one of the best things that has ever happened to him, and he wouldn’t take that day back for anything in the whole world.

“Leon,” you moan and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

“I’m right here,” he promised, kissing the side of your head as he slowed down the fucks of his hand in order to help your own rid him of his uncomfortable jeans. “You want this?” He asks, just to be sure you weren’t thinking this was all he came here for.

Really, he would’ve been completely content with spending the night fully clothed and in your arms, but he was also more than okay with ending his day with you wrapped around him.

“I want this,” you kiss him deeply, the angle making your neck hurt a bit but you don’t care. You kick off your panties as you ask, “Do you?”

Another thing he wasn’t used to, the question of consent that sounded so sweet coming from you. “Always,” he answered, kissing you again when you reached back and pulled him free before guiding him to your slick entrance. He slips into you with a deep groan, the quiet gasp you emit making his head spin in the best way. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”

You shake your head and reach back to grip his hair as he pulls your leg to rest over his. “I think I would’ve waited forever, Leon,” you confessed as he began to slowly rock into you.

He grunted quietly at your words and felt his whole body heat up, as well as his heart begin to race. He had never felt this way before, and he was glad he had found the person to experience this with at a still young age.

Leon didn’t ever want to let you go after the first night he met you, and that only intensified as the months went on. “Yeah?” He asked as his hand settled on your hip, his other arm wrapping tightly around you. “I can promise you this, baby, I wouldn’t have made you wait that long. But I love you for telling me that.”

You lean back and kiss him, your brows furrowing at the slow fucks of his hips. “I love you, too, Leon,” you say back, placing your hand on his that was still tightly gripping your waist. “I just want you to be happy.”

He kissed along your neck, his teeth nipping at various spots. “You make me happy,” he rasped, pulling your body impossibly closer to his as he loved on you in more ways than one. “I’ve never been happier.”

You moan at his words, your heart swelling with pride and a bit of shock at the fact that you were, it seems like, the only person who truly has his entire heart, and the only one who has made him feel like this.

At the sound of Leon’s quiet grunts, you allow yourself to lean back and against him completely, the assurance that he was yours entirely after tonight at the front of your mind.

“You make me happy, too,” you say as you bury the side of your face in your pillow. Leon hums in response, pushing your hair away from your neck with his nose before kissing the skin there. “Leon…can I?”

He opens his eyes and looks down at you, noting the way your head was turned so your lips were ghosting against the base of his throat. Without you even finishing your question, he knew what you were asking, and he somehow got even more turned on at your request.

A deep grunt leaves his mouth as he nods, gripping your hip tightly and thrusting into you. “Yeah, baby,” he answered. You smile and moan quietly before kissing his neck, your lips teasing his spotless skin. He grunts again, tilting his head a bit and exposing more of his neck to you. “Do it, baby. Please.”

You give in and suck a mark onto the base of his throat, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your lips as you stay there for a bit. He groaned loudly, and the thought of Ada seeing the hickey when he returned back to her with divorce papers sent his mind into a frenzy. He wanted her to see it after seemingly assuming that he had no one other than her. Oh, how wrong she is.

Pulling away with a lopsided grin, you bury your face in the pillow again when he sped up the pace of his hips.

He couldn’t wait for this to become his normal life soon. The sound of your sweet moans filling your room played on repeat in his head whenever he was away from you, and your kind smile was the only thing he thought about when he went to sleep.

“You’re everything I want,” he promised as his hand slipped from your waist and found your clit once again. Your body shuddered against his as a loud moan left your mouth, and you reached a hand down to grip his wrist. “Everything to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper and arch your back a bit as you feel your high quickly approach. Your hand wraps tighter around his wrist as your moans increase in volume, chanting a multitude of “Please.”

“You close, sweet girl?” He asked, already knowing the answer as he felt you clench helplessly around him.

“Yes,” you replied in a breathy whisper, pulling his hand from in between your legs and pressing it against your chest. “Please, Leon.”

He wraps his hand around your breast, his thumb rubbing against your nipple through your shirt. You cry out and he feels your walls spasm a bit as you come around him, your core sucking him in even deeper and begging him to mark it as his own. “Good girl,” he praised, kissing all along your neck while you writhe against him. “Good girl, baby.”

“Leon,” you whispered, leaning back into him again and turning your head so you can brush your lips against his.

“I know,” he rasped, fucking you through your sensitivity. “‘M gonna come, too, baby.”

“I want it,” you begged, tangling your hand in his hair.

And he would never deny you of something you wanted.

He groaned and cursed under his breath, his thrusts halting altogether as he leaned down to kiss you again. You moan against his mouth, your fingers gently massaging his head as you both came down from your highs.

When he pulled out of you, your body turned to face his. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kiss him deeply and tangle your legs with his again. “You really mean it? It’s really over between you and her?” You ask quietly when you break the kiss, your fingers gently tracing his jawline.

Leon turned his head and kissed your fingertips as he nodded. “It’s over, sweetheart,” he swore, kissing your forehead after. “I’m all yours. I always was.”

973 notes · View notes

eddiesghxst · 9 months

Text

cigarettes, coffee, and club-hopping

alrighty, she's here and i hope she lives up to the expectations! this is part one of...idk how many yet, but enjoy!

based on this idea I had 80 years ago

————

part one | part two | part three | part four

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: ex-bf!rockstar!eddie x lawyer!reader

summary: you're a divorce attorney in Los Angeles and your newest client is filing against famous rockstar, Eddie Munson, who is also your ex-boyfriend

contains: exes to lovers trope, mention of a past relationship, slutty banter, smoking, mentions of alcohol, a hint of mean!eddie, public sex (restroom), a sprinkle of degradation, eddie likes to kiss your neck, fingering, eddie licking your c*m off his fingers (bye), and eddie being hot <3

word count: 5.8k

-masterlist-

Eddie hates waking up early.

He’s never been a morning person— in all his twenty-eight years of living, Eddie has never seen the letters ‘AM’ and smiled. This is partially why Eddie failed his first-period class in high school for two — almost three — consecutive years in a row. This is also partly why Eddie was fired from nearly every job he landed after graduating. You would imagine that Eddie has learned his lesson after all this time. Not quite.

Eddie is nearly an hour late to his first divorce settlement conference. One would think that Eddie would, for once in his life, wake up at a reasonable time to take a shower, grab his usual morning energy drink, beat LA traffic, and get to his appointment on time— as a mature grown man would do. Still, Eddie failed even to set an alarm to wake him up.

“You’re forty minutes late already— traffic is gonna make it even worse, and you don’t have another day to reschedule this for the next two months, so I suggest you get up, Munson!”

Eddie watches through sleep-fogged eyes as Kelly, his assistant, throws his window curtains aside to let the morning sun seep into his room. There’s a pounding kick drum beating behind Eddie’s eyes, a result of Eddie falling into Jeff’s sinister persuasion to go out. He should stop listening to that asshole— he’s part of why Eddie married his soon-to-be ex-wife.

Eddie’s bones click and crack as he stretches, sits up, and lazily swings his legs over the side of his bed with a sleepy groan. He can hear the rustling sound of Kelly picking up laundry from his floor— something he’s told her multiple times not to do, but she does it anyway, so he’s given up on fighting her. He runs a hand over his face, a yawn wracking through his entire body before reaching over to his nightstand, feeling around for the box of cigarettes he knows he left the night before.

“I tossed them out,” Eddie glances up at Kelly, who is now grabbing the last of his laundry on the floor and leaving his room. “Go freshen up and get dressed; we need to leave now.”

Eddie’s doctor advised him to start weaning himself off the cancer sticks; something about it fucking with his gums, and that’s on top of the risks he’s running with the vocal strain it’s put on his voice. Eddie knows he should take it seriously, but he needs a lick of nic before spending the next three to four hours bickering with his wife about what’s his and hers.

Eddie drags himself out of bed, shuffling across the cool tile of his bedroom floor. He sleepily rubs his bare stomach, flipping the light switch and groaning, annoyed at the sudden brightness. He brushes his teeth and splashes water on his face before walking into his closet and sifting through the random pants and jackets strewn across the floor. There’s gotta be some smokes in here somewhere.

He finds a nearly empty pack of Marlboro reds and wastes no time sticking it between his lips, lighting it up with the lighter on his nightstand before getting dressed.

By the time Eddie steps into the law firm, his headache has intensified by about 80 beats per second, and he’s gone through the old pack of smokes. It feels as if the back of Eddie’s eyes have a heartbeat of their own, throbbing with every direction they turn. Eddie can hear his attorney giving him pointers for the conference, but if Eddie’s honest, he doesn’t plan on talking much, so he doesn’t pay close attention to what the man is saying.

When they enter the conference room, Eddie is seated across the table from his wife and offered a cup of coffee, to which Eddie gladly accepts to nurse his hangover. “You could at least take the glasses off.” A sweet voice that’s grown to grate every one of Eddie’s nerves whenever he hears it. He glares at his wife from across the table, and though nobody could see his eyes behind his glasses, everyone could sense the distaste behind his words, “Fuck off, Nezza.”

A strong hand is placed on Eddie’s shoulder, his attorney’s, stiffly squeezing the thick leather jacket. “How about we get started then? Before things get… rowdy.”

“Great idea.”

Now that voice—- that voice, Eddie could hear at any second of the day, any time of the year, and know exactly who was conducting that sweet song.

Eddie likes to believe that the universe works in mysterious ways and that things really do happen for a reason, but sometimes he swears whatever god is up there behind the clouds just likes to fuck with him for fun. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve prepared Eddie for the sight he sees when he flits his gaze from Nezza to the woman sitting next to her.

For a moment, Eddie is taken back to a time he remembers in golden dream-like clouds of smoke—- the spring of ‘83 when he fell headfirst in love with the woman sitting next to his wife. And for that moment—- for that split fraction of a second, Eddie is happy to see you.

It’s surprising; after all this time he spent resenting you and spitting out the sour taste you'd left in his mouth, Eddie imagined he would never be able even to see a picture of you and not want to slam his head against the nearest surface he could get his hands on.

However, that feeling only lasts about .012 milliseconds before Eddie’s entire being is filled with every emotion he’d suppressed towards you over the last nine years. Eddie looks at you and sees the girl he loved and the girl that broke his heart. His last memory of you is so vivid that it almost outshines all the good from your past relationship. Almost. Like a python wrapped around his neck, Eddie chokes on adoration and hatred all in one breath.

If Eddie said it didn’t piss him off to an ungodly level that he has a sliver of excitement to see you, he would be lying. You had always known the best ways to wriggle under his skin.

This one takes the cake for the cruelest way so far.

————

Eddie looks the same.

Not much has changed on him throughout the years apart from expensive clothing, healthier-looking hair, and a little more muscle on his arms to fill out the black leather jacket clinging to his frame. He still has a knack for jewelry, you note from the priceless rings hugging nearly every slender finger of his and the chain resting against his chest, hidden beneath his shirt. He carries himself the same way, confidently with a smear of carefree and chaos. You couldn’t get a read on him when settled down in his seat across from Nezza, and the black sunglasses shielding his eyes didn’t help you decipher him any further.

He smells like Marlboro reds and a sharp cologne; dark scented and intense, easy to tell he’s the one wearing the scent. It’s a different scent than you remember from him. He’s swapped the cheap four-cent bottle of Brut for a more decadent scent— a mix of tonka bean, musk, and patchouli with a dash of something feminine you can’t quite put your finger on. The scent matches him better than Brut could ever amount to, but you find yourself reminiscent of the past.

Eddie doesn’t look your way until you speak, and either Eddie has mastered his poker face over the years, or he doesn’t remember you.

Not even briefly does Eddie’s expression falter from the bored look plastered on his face. The sunglasses do no justice either, and you wish the universe would strike them off his face at this very moment. You had forgotten what his eyes looked like in real-time and desperately wanted to remember— take a mental picture and shove it in the corner of your brain filled with essential memories, all things that make you smile, cry, and scream.

There’s a moment where you feel pained by Eddie’s unwavering reaction to seeing you. That feeling is quickly replaced with relief, relief that Eddie has matured just as much as you’d hoped he had. When you found out your client would be filing against Eddie, your high school boyfriend, you had initially panicked and paced the living room floor of your tiny studio apartment, thinking of ways to back out of the case. However, after a hefty glass of wine, you managed to persuade yourself that Eddie most likely isn’t still hung up on something as silly as a high school relationship. It happened nearly a decade ago; surely, you’ve both moved on, right?

With this indication, you feel the tension in your shoulders ease a little, hopeful that this process will be seamless, seeing as both parties want nothing to do with each other and Eddie holds no hard feelings against you.

Once the conference begins, you don’t look away in time to avoid Eddie’s gaze as he removes the glasses, your eyes landing on those dark pools of brown that you used to dip into each night. Vibrant and so full of life, full of untold stories and sights you’d missed out on in the last decade, a story unfolds beneath the glimmer of his eyes under the lights. They feel like home at first, but as you continue holding his gaze, your home becomes clouded by lightning and wind, dark storm clouds with a promise of a downpour.

As you gaze into Eddie’s eyes, you see nothing but the boy you left behind in the summer of ‘85.

————

Stomach growling and frustrated sighs indicate the need for a break at around 12:40 PM.

The conference had started on a good note, with seamless agreements between you, your client, and Eddie’s team. That was until your client decided to become rather difficult and demanding.

“We’ll pick up where we left off in ten minutes.”

The atmosphere in the room has become stuffy and tight over the hours, so you get up to stretch your legs on a short walk to the coffee cart in the hallway.

Your mind feels muddled, pushed to exhaustion from hours of reading documents and going back and forth with Eddie’s attorney. Nezza wants more than Eddie is willing to give, money-wise, property-wise, and everything else under the sun. You’re determined to get your client as much as possible, but it’s proving to be more of a struggle than expected; Eddie’s team is headstrong and unwilling to bend to your substantial advances. Oh, and Eddie’s been practically throwing daggers at you from across the table with each chance he can get.

As you stir in a sugar packet, you watch the dark brown liquid swirl in the foam cup. You fall into a short trance as you watch the tiny bubbles dance within your drink, but the sound of a throat clearing shatters the spell. You glance to your side where the person is standing and are surprised to be met with a leather-covered shoulder and dark brown curly hair.

“Are you done with the sugar?” Eddie points towards your hand, and you blink, stuck as you stare at him for a moment. You know you should be professional, you’re an established attorney, and you’re in the middle of doing your job, but you’re also 100% fucking human, so— “I don’t know, are you done sending me death glares from across the table or do you wanna keep being an asshole?”

Eddie grabs the jar of sugar packets from your hand, “You wouldn’t have to put up with it if you just… quit the case.” Eddie shrugs as if his advice is a task as easy as folding towels. You take offense to his response, eyebrows pinching together as you watch him rip open a packet and sprinkle sugar into his cup, “I can’t just drop a case, Eddie.”

Eddie mockingly laughs, “Really? That’s weird; I mean, considering how you kind of just dropped everything and fled the fucking state, I’m sure you can drop a case just as easily, sweetheart.”

His words hurt. As much as you wish he didn’t have that effect on you, it’s evident that he still does, considering how your neck heats up in anger. You don’t miss the pet name he slipped in; you hate that it makes your neck even warmer. “I didn’t flee the state; I went to fucking college— and how is that even my fault? I gave you the number to my dorm, and you never called.”

And Eddie remembers that letter you left him. He remembers it like the back of his hand. He memorized every sentence, including that stupid number you left for him. “Yes, I did. I called you after every show for months, and you never picked up!”

You spent eight years in New York, and out of those eight years, you spent four of them staring at an ugly green phone on the wall of your dorm hallway, waiting for it to ring so you could pick it up and hear his voice again. You asked your roommate to listen for a call if she was up studying late or if you went out and she stayed in. Now, you wonder if she failed you on her part because you would’ve never, in a hundred years, missed Eddie’s call. Never.

Before you can respond to the information, you are being called back into the room to resume the conference— you’d almost forgotten that’s what you were here for.

You and Eddie let the man know you’ll be right there and watch as he walks back into the room. When you turn to Eddie, his gaze is no longer on you as he tosses the small wooden stirring stick in the trash.

Eddie is silent for a moment before he looks at you and gives a forced, close-lipped smile, “It’s nice to know you’re still full of shit.”

And then he’s gone. Eddie leaves you there, stunned and offended by his words. Eddie Munson thinks you’re full of shit— as if you were the only one to blame for your falling out. You feel stupid for believing in a better-evolved version of the Eddie you’d known. You wish his words didn’t affect you, but the conversation has left a bitter taste on your tongue. You glance down at the cup of coffee in your hands, and your stomach churns. You no longer have an appetite for the drink.

————

Late-night club hopping has never been your preferred way of spending a Saturday night. There’s a different type of energy in LA’s club scene than there is in New York. It was easy to have a good time in New York; the clubs are all close to one another and stay open nearly all night. In Los Angeles, it’s been a slow rise to liking the nightlife— clubs are more scattered, and on top of that, you learned the hard way that it’s difficult to even get into clubs when you’re not Madonna-level status. That last problem isn’t so much an issue now that you’ve settled in and made a few connections around the city.

Tonight you’re celebrating a friend from work's birthday. Penny was the first person you talked to at the law firm; she instantly made you feel at home and offered to buy you lunch at a cafe next door. The two of you have been joined at the hip ever since.

You’re happy to celebrate Penny’s birthday and glad to be tagging along with her in this new chapter of her life, but what you’re bothered about is the fact that you chose to wear the most uncomfortable shoes in your closet. You were under the impression that you would be eating dinner with Penny and a few of her friends, but somehow, dinner turned into a night-long clubbing adventure.

Logically, you have no one to blame but yourself for wearing Steve Madden pumps, but if Penny had told you the night would be long, you definitely wouldn’t have worn these god-awful shoes.

You’re sitting on a bar stool waiting for your drink and thinking about what excuse you’ll give Penny to go home when suddenly, you feel someone walk up beside you, waving over the bartender. You glance at the person and immediately look away, preparing to run for it before they notice.

Sadly, you’re not fast enough to escape his line of sight, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re stalking me.”

You turn to the man and take in the sight of him as you tilt your head. “Wouldn’t it be the other way around since I was… you know, minding my business until you came here.” You motion to where Eddie is standing, and he smirks, silently taking his drink when the bartender passes it to him.

“How’d you get in here anyways?” He asks. It’s not a bad question; sure, you’re a damn good attorney, but you’re of no celebrity status, and this club is one of the more difficult joints to get into. However, you still take offense to Eddie’s question.

Your eyes narrow slightly, debating whether you should continue entertaining Eddie or leave and find your friends. “If you’re going to continue to be an asshole, then I’m leaving.”

“Fine by me; I want nothing to do with you.” Eddie scoffs into the rim of his drink before taking a short sip. You roll your eyes, feeling like kids in elementary getting into petty fights. “What makes you think I want something to do with you?”

Eddie snickers over the rim of his glass, “The fact that you’re still sitting here says enough.”

You scoff, looking away from him as you shift in your seat, attempting to make it seem like you want to get away from him, but it only scoots you closer to him, your arm brushing his elbow. You panic at the touch but act as if it was nothing. “If my feet didn’t feel like they were about to fall off, I would be miles away from you by now.” You grumble as you distract yourself by tugging down the hem of your dress.

“I don't believe that.”

You let out an exasperated breath, looking over at Eddie with an annoyed expression as you speak, “Not everyone is head over heels dying to be around you.”

It might be the alcohol or Eddie’s sinister pheromones you’re breathing in paired with the sound of his ridiculously annoying laugh—- you’re not sure which it is, but you find yourself enjoying this back-and-forth banter. A big part of you is frustrated by Eddie’s insistent prodding at your nerves, but your other part is intrigued. Too stuck to grab your things, bid him goodnight, and leave.

You almost think you heard him wrong when he responds, “We’ll see if you’re saying the same thing once I get you in the back.”

You blink, momentarily silent, as you glance at him to watch him calmly sip his drink. Not a single hint of regret or shock flashes across his face, and you almost think you imagined it until you see a ghost of a smirk brush the corner of his lips. “Excuse me?” And like a child, Eddie’s response is quick and irritating, “You’re excused.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m willingly going anywhere with you that’s not a fucking law firm or courtroom.”

Eddie laughs, glancing at you and nodding once, “Sure.” You hate how smug he is, and you hate that he’s so fucking right, but you swear you won’t fold for whatever stupid game he’s playing. “Sure?”

You watch Eddie tip back his drink and finish what’s left, placing the empty glass on the bar countertop before lazily nudging it forward. You shift back with an annoyed grimace when he turns to you and leans an elbow against the bar. He points over your shoulder, and you catch yourself before you follow his lead, gaze stuck on his face as you prepare for whatever bullshit is about to leave his mouth.

“I’m gonna head to the restroom to take a piss. You can sit here and bitch about everything under the sun, or you can quit being a pussy and meet me there.”

And without further explanation or interaction, Eddie gets up and leaves. You turn and watch in shock as he walks off, watching his back until it’s washed away by the sea of people on the dance floor. You turn back to the bar and gaze at your drink. For a moment, you think this might be some elaborate scheme Eddie has to fuck you over. Complying with this proposition, Eddie has now opened, could very well lead to you losing your job, something you’re not very keen on doing.

You glance towards the direction Eddie had walked off in and groan, briefly shutting your eyes as temptation washes over you. There’s no way this is real. There’s no way you’re actually thinking about going into that restroom with Eddie.

You take a deep breath, clenching your teeth in thought before muttering a curse. You’re fucking yourself over with this one, but you do it anyways. You toss back the rest of your drink, wincing at the bitterness, before hopping off the barstool.

Your adrenaline is so high that you don’t even feel the ache in your feet as you cross the dance floor, maneuvering through sweaty bodies and spilled drinks toward the bright neon RESTROOMS sign.

From the corner of your eye, you see Penny standing at her rented-out section as she tosses back a shot with the girls you’d arrived with. You should turn around and join them, return to celebrating Penny’s birthday, and forget all about your interaction with Eddie. That’s what you should do, but you don’t. You continue walking towards the restrooms, mentally going back and forth with yourself until you reach the door and wrap your hand around the handle.

However, the door opens before you can fully prepare to open it, and the scent of hand soap and Eddie hits you in the face. Your wide eyes meet Eddie’s glinting gaze. A smirk spreads across his lips, and he snickers, “I’d say I’m surprised, but that’d be a lie.”

Your gaze is hot and heavy as you stare up at him. The sounds of the club you're in seem muffled as you spend your last seconds considering what you’re about to do. You should really turn around.

You tilt your head up, silently sizing Eddie and daring him, a tipping point where you both know there’s no going back now—- especially not when you mesh your lips against his and stumble into the restroom. You plan to blame this on the alcohol.

Eddie makes quick work of turning to press your back against the door, fumbling to lock the door as you grumble a breathless ‘Fuck you’ against his lips.

“I intend to, sweetheart.”

You hate how stupid and witty the response is, but it makes your stomach twist in need, nonetheless. Eddie’s hands are roaming and squeezing you wherever he can reach, hiking up your dress enough to slink a few digits into the hand of your skimpy panties, snapping them against your waist and smirking when you push up against him. Eddie manages to speak in between haste kisses, “I’m gonna be honest; I didn’t think you’d give in this easily.”

Eddie is now ushering you towards the sink, softly snickering at the gasp that escapes you when the cold marble digs into your lower back. “Are you trying to say I’m easy?”

You can’t hold back the moan that slips from you when Eddie’s hand slithers between your thighs to press a thumb against your clit. “Maybe… also just pointing out that you clearly missed me.”

You don’t answer him, leaning forward to capture his lips in a heated kiss as your hips rock back and forth against his touch. You smooth your hand down his chest and over his belt to grasp the heavy bulge between his thighs, humming when he moans, “Looks like you missed me more, Munson.”

You giggle when he grunts in annoyance, fingers dipping into the waistband of your panties before shucking them down your legs and lifting the flimsy garment for you to see with a smirk, “Won’t be needing these anymore, will you?”

You grimace in faux disgust as you watch him stuff the soaked material in his back pocket. “Gross,” you comment, although Eddie doesn’t answer, busying himself with pulling you off the counter, flipping you around to face the sink, and eyeing you through the neon-lighted mirror. “You’re a perv; you know that?” You add as Eddie wraps an arm around your front and hikes your dress to sink his hand between your thighs.

Your shaky fingers grasp Eddie’s wrist, hips squirming as he begins to rub your clit, dipping a finger lower to spread your sticky arousal. “If I were you, I would start being very nice to me.” His voice is low and gravely against your ear as you smile, gazing back into his darkened gaze through the glass reflection. You push back against him, and you both sigh in pleasure. “Just fuck me, Eddie.”

You gasp when he sinks a thick digit into your weeping cunt, slowly pushing it in and out of you to create a sinful twist in your tummy. You shake your head in protest, although your hips rock against his thrusts. “No, no, I don’t need it. I don’t need that. Just fuck me, please?” You repeat, voice teetering on the edge of a whine.

“God, you’re still a fucking brat. So used to getting what you want, hm?” Despite his comment, he doesn’t give you what you’d asked for. Instead, he slips in another finger, greedily squeezing at your chest with his other hand. Your thighs tremble as his fingertips delicately massage that sweet spot hidden between your wet walls, a shaky hand reaching up to grasp his hand as he fondles your breasts over your dress. “Not anymore, princess,” His voice is low and foggy with sex, purring against your ear with ease as he plays with you. “This time, you’ll earn it like a good slut. You’re going to have to ask me very nicely if you want it that bad.” “A-ah…Fuck you.”

Eddie laughs at your response, digging his face into your neck when you throw your head back, inhaling the intoxicating scent of your perfume. He presses a kiss to the base of your neck, and you hate how it makes your stomach twist, thighs clenching around his hand, causing him to pause. “Keep them open.” He warns, ignoring your pathetic attempts at rutting against his hand.

When you don’t obey his instruction, Eddie brings his foot in between your pump-clad feet, knocking the toe of his shoe against both heels, causing your legs to part, shaky limbs failing you as you stumble in his hold. Eddie chuckles, nipping your jaw as he sinks another finger into your soaking heat. Your moan is loud and pitiful as you reach forward to grasp the sink counter for stability. “Oh my god—” “Jesus, you’re fucking tight. Barely taking three fingers.” Your moans are high-pitched as you rock your hips against Eddie, nails digging into the skin of his flexing wrist as he fucks you with his fingers.

The sloshing sounds from between your legs are just loud enough to hear over the booming music of the club barely, and if Eddie’s fingers weren’t fucking you so well, you would’ve felt ashamed. You hardly notice Eddie’s free hand traveling to the low neck of your dress, tugging the material down to expose your chest. He groans at the sight, palming one of your tits as his mouth latches to the side of your neck. His fingers pinch and roll your nipples, his tongue warm and wet as he licks up your neck, humming at the taste of you and smiling when he feels you tremble against his body. “I can feel you squeezing me, princess; you gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, humming when you hastily nod. “I don’t think so.”

He slows the draw of his fingers, softly petting at your walls to give enough sensation to have your eyes rolling but not enough to tip over the edge. You frustratedly huff, “Eddie—” “Good sluts ask to come, you know that.”

Your stomach twists at his words, hips squirming in search of more, more, more. You have a lot of pride; you’ve been told it’s your strongest and worst quality before— but here in this dingy club restroom, with Eddie’s overwhelming presence surrounding you and the incessant need to cum gnawing at every cell in your body, you find your pride quickly dwindling like a flame under water. The time when you need your pride the most, it’s nowhere to be found.

“Please, Eddie.” You whisper so quietly Eddie almost misses it. He smiles, “Since I know how hard that was for you, I’ll take it— but I won't be so kind next time, princess.” He pulls his fingers out of you and urges you to turn around and face him.

He nudges you back to sit on the edge of the sink, stepping between your thighs and opening them wide enough to see your glistening cunt, sticky arousal winking up at him beneath the dim neon lighting. “N-next time?” You take in a sharp breath as he hitches your leg around his waist

He chuckles, glancing at your swollen lips as you gaze up at him trying to fight through the hazy fog of arousal. Eddie runs three fingers over your clit before sinking back into you, a low hum rattling from his chest when your shaky hands grasp his shirt, fingers curling and wrinkling the material, “Next time.”

Your words get lost on you when he begins fucking you again, eyes fluttering shut as your legs subconsciously tighten around his waist. You can feel his breath against your top lip, and you fight the urge to seek out his lips with yours. You push up into him, mumbling incoherent pleas into the air. You lick your lips, pussy clenching when the tip of your tongue catches Eddie’s bottom lip. Eddie doesn’t wait for you to make a move this time, his free hand reaching up to grip your jaw, fingertips digging into your cheek as he pushes his lips against yours. You both moan into the kiss, your hips grinding into the thrusts of his fingers.

You keep kissing Eddie until you can’t, too overwhelmed by the pending promise of an orgasm. You slide away from Eddie’s lips and nuzzle into his neck, finding solace in the soft brush of his hair against your face, the distant but familiar scent of his shampoo invading your senses. “I’m gonna come.” You whisper, nails digging into his biceps as your thighs quiver.

Eddie keeps his hand working between your thighs, thanking the many hours he’s spent playing guitar for training his wrist to maintain endurance. His other hand dances up your heaving back, dipping beneath the curtain of your hair to grip the back of your neck, softly squeezing in encouragement. “Let go, baby. Let me feel it.”

You nearly sob when you finally tip over, body tensing before melting against Eddie’s body in shambles of incoherent words and shaking limbs. You can hear the sticky wet substance of your release squelching around his fingers; you can feel it smearing against your thighs and dripping onto the cool tiles of the floor, and you almost feel ashamed when Eddie points it out, “Fuckkk, you’ve been saving this for me, haven’t you?” You hardly register his words, but you nod, mewling as you nuzzle deeper against him, thighs twitching when you teeter on the edge of sensitivity.

“I… Enough, Eddie, please fuck me.” You’re practically begging, pulling away from his neck to blink up at him blearily, sex-drunk hands fumbling to reach out for him. Eddie kisses you and chuckles against your lips, fingers finally slowing down. He pulls away with a lewd hum, leaning back to watch as he removes his fingers from your cunt, dragging the drenched digits up to smear your arousal around your clit, grinning when your thighs twitch.

You try to catch your breath as you silently watch him bring his fingers up to his lips, sinking them into his mouth to sinfully lick your cum from his fingers. He glances at you with a smirk around his fingers, and you squirm in your spot. “You’re being a tease.”

He releases his fingers with a pop before stepping away, “Sorry to cut this short, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta run, and I’m sure your friends are worried about where you went.” You watch in disbelief as he glances in the mirror and fixes a few unruly hair pieces. He looks your way and drops his eye in a wink, “I’ll see you later, princess.”

You silently gape in shock, watching him turn around and stride toward the door. Eddie can feel your eyes throwing darts at him, and he doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he opens the door and steps out.

You have to take a moment to wrap your head around it, but once you do, you wind up more annoyed with yourself for falling so quickly into Eddie’s trap. You clean yourself up and make yourself look presentable again before leaving the restroom to find your friends.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Penny exclaims once she sees you. She gasps when you get closer, and she sees your neck, leaning in to get a better look, causing you to slap a hand over the sore spot. “Oh, my god. Who?” “What?” “You were definitely screwing someone in the back! Who?”

You wince at her volume, quickly shushing her, “Nobody, Penny, this is old.”

Penny rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but you quickly cut her off, “I have an early meeting tomorrow, Pen; I have to get going.” Penny frowns but understands either way, giving you a quick hug and bidding you goodbye for the night. You leave her with a final Happy Birthday and make your way out of the club, already yearning for the comfort of your bed.

Before getting a taxi, you find yourself walking into a nearby store and purchasing a CD of Corroded Coffin’s first album, letting the CD burn a hole through your hands on the ride home. When you get home, you fall asleep atop your sheets before you can listen to the record.

You spend the rest of your night dreaming of hazy summers in Hawkins with a young curly-headed boy you knew once upon a time.

————

a/n: aH, i hope this was good, next part will be a bit more angsty so this part was for the sluts <3

————

teeny taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @sidthedollface2, @peachysink, @hereforshmut, @duncanhillscoffeecups

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its-time-to-write · 9 months

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hi, i love your writing! could i request something where jamie and reader are dating and jamie starts introducing them to the important people in his life, like roy, keeley, the richmond boys, etc. and each time they get introduced to someone new, whenever jamie steps away, they basically get some variation of the 'you better not hurt him' talk, and when jamie finds out he's worried that reader is gunna be offended or upset but they reassure him that it's fine, they think it's cute that everyone's so protective of him and that it's nice to see him have so many people care about him

Sorry this took FOREVER. Here it is!

the way it goes

It has been exactly twenty-one days since Jamie asked you out on a proper date, and you’re of the opinion that life can’t get much better than this. You’ve only met two of his teammates so far, (Isaac because he’s one of Jamie’s good friends and Richard because you ran into him while shopping) and honestly, they aren’t what you expected at all.

They’re kind and they seem to genuinely like working together.

(It’s a little funny to call football “work.”)

Isaac tells Jamie to bring you next time they all hang out, and reminds him to buy more juice packs than last time so they don’t run out again.

—

Turns out the next “hang out,” is a night at Isaac’s, and the whole team is there with various partners and spouses. There’s a strict sweatpants-only drsesscode, and pretty much everyone is in clearly expensive matching sets. You’re grateful that Jamie shrunk a brand-new deep green set the other week, because you didn’t have time to go out and buy something new/not ratty.

There are tables of board games, a pile of snacks, and even a bar. Jamie drags you over so he can get “proper buzzed,” and requests something incredibly complicated from Beard, who appears to be the only coach present.

“Babe,” Jamie says, “you good here? I’m gonna get some food.”

You nod and watch him weave through groups of people. You lean against the bar and wait for Jamie’s drink.

“So,” says Beard, “you’re Jamie’s girlfriend.

You nod. “Yeah, I am. I’ve known him for ages, though. Since I was in uni. Always thought he was just some prick footballer trying to score, if you know what I mean.”

Beard chuckles. “I get it. He’s a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

You grin. “He’s my asshole.”

Beard slides you Jamie’s drink but before he completely lets it go, he says, “Hey.”

His voice has lost its jocularity, so you look up to meet his (very intense, slightly terrifying) eyes.

“Jamie doesn’t need his heart broken. He may have been a giant prick, but he’s different now. He’s not the kind of guy you can just screw and move on from.”

Your mouth has gone a little dry, so you just nod. Right then. You turn to go find Jamie and hope he won’t mind if you take a sip of his drink. You’re planning on staying sober tonight, so that one sip is going to have to get you through till the end.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s told you to be careful with Jamie. The first time was actually Roy’s niece, Phoebe. Jamie was babysitting and he asked you to come along, so while he was paying for ice creams Phoebe tugged your arm so you’d get down to her level and said, “If you make him cry, they’ll never find you again.”

You had looked at her in shock while she matter-of-factly stated, “My Uncle Roy’s been teaching me things.”

She said the word things far too ominously for an eight year old, but then Jamie came back and she was all smiles again.

You got a similar, equally threatening talk from Phoebe’s mum, and then from Roy, and then Roy’s girlfriend Keeley.

Variations of the “break him and I’ll break you” talk had begun to trickle in whenever you’d pick up Jamie from Nelson Road. The tone ranged from Sam’s vaguely threatening, “We all love Jamie very much. We’re incredibly protective of him,” to Jan Maas’s blunt, “If you break his heart, you will never find another date on this entire continent.

Even Ted had a comment, which was more along the lines of, Jamie’s a big softie, he doesn’t need some to play him right now, he needs a real supporter. Each time, you assured them that you weren’t going to hurt him. You didn’t ask why they thought you would be the one doing the hurting when he was the one with the reputation.

Because you are fully aware of his reputation. You hadn’t seen Lust Conquers All, but you’d seen enough clips to piece together exactly how it went. And you’d seen the details of his cheating scandals all over the papers. And dealt with him firsthand while in uni. So yeah, Jamie’s past prick-ish behavior is not a mystery to you.

You find it endearing that so many people love him enough to protect him. It’s a good sign, you think.

You find Jamie carefully stacking various snacks on a tiny, tiny plate. His face lights up when you come into view.

“Oh good,” he says. “Extra hands.” He grabs his drink with one hand and gives you the plate with the other. He starts piling on something flaky and slightly green.

“Isaac’s girlfriend makes these fucking pistachio things, and they always go way too fast. Gotta eat them while you can,” he says while creating an engineering marvel.

“Glad you like ‘em, bruv,” comes Isaac’s voice from behind you. You jump a little, and the plate wobbles.

You turn to see Isaac with an absolutely gorgeous woman on his arm.

“I’m Stella,” she says. “It’s wonderful to meet you. We’ll have to have you two over for a real dinner.”

Jamie and Isaac quickly become engrossed in a serious discussion about football tactics, with Jamie downing his drink and then taking the plate of food from you. He was right, those pistachio things are amazing.

You chat with Stella for a little bit and learn she’s the face of a modeling agency and met Isaac during some football/branding thing.

“He was the only one during the entire shoot who made sure I was drinking enough water,” she laughs. “Who knew the way to my heart was through proper hydration?”

You talk a little longer before Jamie’s arm is snaking around your waist to whisk you off to see Dani. It goes like that for a little while until you finally settle down at one of the game tables. It’s a card game involving a lot of yelling and pointing fingers.

The house is noisy and cozy, filled to the brim with people who are just comfortable around each other, and you think you’ve never experienced something like this in your whole life.

Jamie on the other hand, is yawning a little bit. His hand, which had been on your knee tracing squiggly patterns, is starting to slow down so you put yours on top of his and whisper, “You about ready to go?”

Jamie nods and presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“Got fucking extra training tomorrow,” he quietly laments.

You get up to leave and Jamie follows suit with a very loud pronouncement that he’d rather be somewhere private, much to the amusement of the Greyhounds who begin to hoot and whistle. You roll your eyes and smack his butt on the way out.

Forty-five minutes later, Isaac’s phone dings with a photo of Jamie in a pink robe and green face mask, hair pulled back in an equally pink and fluffy headband. He’s lying on your bed and he can see the tv screen playing Notting Hill. You’ve typed, Someplace private, my ass, and Isaac just shakes his head and grins. Fucking Jamie. Prick on the outside, softie on the inside.

You better not break his heart, he writes.

HAH comes your reply a moment later. Not a chance.

“Babe, look,” you say handing Jamie your phone. “I’ve collected the whole set.”

Jamie reads your text thread then looks up at you in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

“Isaac is the only one who hasn’t like, threatened me or something if I hurt you,” you reply.

The tips of Jamie’s ears turn red. “What do you mean, the only one?” he asks. “Like, the team?”

You shake your head. “Oh no. I mean, yes, the whole team, but like pretty much everyone who works at Nelson Road.”

Jamie’s eyes widen as you begin to list people on your fingers. “Alright, so obviously the Greyhounds, plus all the coaches, Keeley, Rebecca, Higgins, Trent, Samantha at the front desk, Gary, Phoebe and her mum, Will-” you pause. “Should I keep going?”

Jamie groans. “Fucking hell. I’m sorry. They’re all twats, except Phoebe. I swear, they’re not always like that. I’ll talk to them and make ‘em leave you alone.”

“No! You can’t let them know that you know! And…” you hesitate, “I thought it was kind of sweet. Like a green flag, you know? They all like you enough to make sure that you’ll be ok, and they want me to know I have something special. Of course, I already knew that,” you continue, “but it’s nice confirmation.”

Oh. That’s new.

Jamie’s quiet for way too long so you look over at him. “Babe, are you crying?”

“No,” he says, choked up. “Face mask got in my fuckin’ eye.”

“It’s dried solid, babe.”

“Fine,” he says, “I might be a little. But you can’t tell anyone, especially not Ted, because then he’ll talk to me about feelings and shit, and I’d rather eat ten fucking scones than that.”

You laugh and snuggle into his side. There aren’t going to be any heartbreaks here, not if you can help it. You’re both planning on keeping the other around for the rest of your lives.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt

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georgiapeach30513 · 9 months

Text

No More Last Chances

Summary: When you can’t handle Cole’s smothering, he makes sure you can take a little more.

Pairings: Cole Turner X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, sex pollen/dub con, kidnapping, unprotected sex, PIV sex, degradation, multiple orgasms, creampie, multiple men, DP, mentions of DVP, blowjob, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.5K

Cole Turner Masterlist

You tremble as your eyes try to peer through the bag that’s over your head. Wiggling your hands and legs only to discover that they were bound. Tied up and face covered. Nothing to do, and nowhere to hide. Twisting your head you look around your space, and it looks like an almost empty room, minus a bed.

It is cold. The type of cold that makes your barely dressed body pop up with goosebumps, and your nipples push against your clothing. What were you wearing? So much of your skin is exposed. Silk. Tight. Covering only enough to make you not naked.

“Hello?” Your voice echoes out in the room. “Hello?” You croak again, losing all hope. What did he, she, or they want? Judging by your lack of panties, you could only guess.

“Hello?” Your voice cracks as tears start to roll down your face. The tears weren’t helping anything. And it pissed you off. Your fear is turning to anger. “Let me the fuck out of here. Hello!”

“Hey, HoneyBee,” the bag over your head slowly lifts off you, and you don’t have to let your eyes adjust to know who had you bound up in this stupid mother fucking chair.

“Cole!” Seething through your teeth, as your brows furrow and you glare at him. “Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing? Unite me this instant.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cole!?” Unaware if this was a question or just a demand, your face starts to soften. “Cole? Please.”

“There’s your manners. You know, I love you.”

“Loved,” you interrupt, and he cracks his neck, hissing through his teeth.

“Love. I still do, HoneyBee. And you ran.”

“You were smothering me! You text twenty-seven times in a row, and I didn’t even have a chance to respond.”

“When I text, you should acknowledge that you’re thinking of me, just as much as I’m thinking of you,” you roll your eyes, and tilt your head back, looking up at the ceiling. He was going to start monologuing again. “I took time out of my day to tell you how beautiful you are. How much I love you, and that you’re amazing and wonderful, and that I missed you. And you couldn’t take five seconds out of your day just to say you love me.”

“I am working. I don’t have the time to do that when I am having to watch and teach twenty-five eight year olds. I have…”

“Shh. I speak, you listen. And then it occurred to me, you lack boundaries. You need them set up, so you know how our relationship is going to work.”

“We’re not together.”

“I said to be quiet!” He was worse than your students. Throwing a tantrum because he needed to be heard. “You need boundaries. And I need you. I need you to understand, and…why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why did you bring me here? You kidnapped me,” he shakes his head no, trying to think of an excuse to call this anything but kidnapping, “You did. I am tied up and wearing a silk slip, and nothing else.”

“I have my reasons.”

“Why?” You ask, and Cole lifts up his hand. His fingers peel back one at a time before you’re left to stare at his palm covered in a powder. “Cole, what is…” he blows over his hand, and dust flies into your face. Coughing and sputtering, you watch as he innocently drags a chair to sit in front of you.

“Cole?”

“I’m just waiting. I was told it wouldn’t take long,” crossing his legs, his eyes drift down your body. Watching as beads of sweat prickle your skin. What was happening? You have to look away from Cole because the most lewd and disgusting thoughts were plaguing your brain.

Taking a deep breath, you roll your eyes closed, but visions of his body hovering over you as his hips drive him deeper into your warmth have you jolting them back open. It isn’t any better. They were undressing him when they opened as well. Playing tricks on you, and making you view him completely naked with his cock hard and calling your name.

“Cole,” you whimper. This wasn’t right. And you couldn’t think of anything but him. “Cole,” a deep need that is seeking pain courses through your veins, clouding your judgment because all you want is relief. It’s what you desire more than the air you breathe.

“Cole,” whining as your hips start grinding on the chair. “Cole. Cole!” It helped a little. The fabric runs over your drenched cunt, offering a little relief from the pain. And that asshole sits in front of you grinning from ear to ear. Of course he would enjoy your discomfort.

He is no doubt enjoying the show you are putting on, but you couldn’t help it. You move over the chair so much that the silk slip starts to ride up. Exposing your dripping core to Cole, and you didn’t care. You weren’t going to stop. If riding a chair was going to offer relief, it’s what you would do.

“Sweet lord,” Cole growls as his eyes stare at your visible pussy. Watching as your slick spreads over the chair hungrily. Trying to moan out anything but his name, but there was no use. He was right there. His pants are tight and bulging. He was hard from your little desperate show.

“My goodness,” he moans again, standing up to walk beside you, and moves your top down, pulling out your tits, and rolling your nipples between his fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” you plead. His hands were offering even more relief. “Cole, I need it.”

“I can tell. You’re creating a trail like a little snail. Desperate and fucking a chair. It didn’t take long,” you want to cry when he takes one hand off your chest, and lifts your chin up to look at you. “What color are your eyes?” Who the fuck cared. You want his fingers in some hole in your body. Let you suck on them, or let your pussy suck them into the depths of her warmth.

“They look black right now. Are you so needy that you’ve become a junkie for my cock?”

“Cole!” Ouch. That hurts not only your cunt, but your ego. “Cole!” Did he want you to beg for him? How much lower could you sink than grinding on a chair? “Cole, untie me!”

“Why, HoneyBee? What could I possibly gain by untying you?”

“Please. My god, please!” He is cruel. You have already embarrassed yourself enough. You couldn’t say what you really wanted him to do. No. He could tell. Your body was telling on you. It was visible. And you couldn’t even close your legs. Couldn’t even touch yourself. Something needs to be inside you. You need friction inside your pussy.

“Oh, come on. I know that you’ve got to be burning to be stretched. Your sweet little cunt needs someone to fuck her, but I’m enjoying this show. If you want it, ask nicely.”

“Fuck me!”

“Ask nicely,” his mouth turns sideways and into a devilish smirk, but you didn’t want to ask nicely. You could hardly breathe. Sweat slides down your body almost as much as your core was dripping down the chair. It hurt. It burned. And you needed relief.

“Eh eh!” He tsks when you start to shout at him. He knew you enough that you didn’t break easily. “Ask nicely, or I leave for a while. You won’t even get to stare at this,” unzipping his pants, he pulls out his beautiful, succulent and achingly hard cock.

Running his thumb on the tip, and you see strings of precum stretch off him upon removal. He was a tease. Slowly stroking his cock. Able to touch himself, while you’re quaking inside. No amount of grinding was offering any relief. It was like being edged for eternity. Never given the moment to actually orgasm. Getting close enough, so close, but nothing. It was a cruel build up, and then it was gone.

“Fuck you,” you spit at him, but he chuckles.

“Oh, I can fuck myself. You on the other hand will be left on that fucking chair, hunching until you go mad. Starving, but only worried about getting that cunt stretched and pumped full of my cum. Is it so hard to ask nicely?”

Why did his cock look so pretty being stroked with his hand? Why couldn’t you look at anything other than his cock? What did he blow at you? Blow? Would a blow job help? Job? You could give him a pussy job. Pussy? Your pussy needs to be filled. Filled? Just like a cream filled donut.

“Cole,” you whimper out his name. “Cole, please. Please can you just fuck me?”

“Fill that tight little hole with cum?” Cole’s eyebrow arches up, and you nod your head.

“Yes. Cole, please. Please just fuck me. Please, it hurts. Please? Pretty please fuck me like a bitch in heat. Please, I need you and your cum, and that thick giant cock.”

Cole’s movements become rigid as he stands. Fingers shaking so hard it was a struggle to undo the bindings on your arms and legs. You can’t even stand. Couldn’t do anything but grind hard on that chair. Moving so rapidly over it that Cole has to pick you up. Place you on your back, and your legs spread wide. Ready to take him and that thick veiny cock.

“Cole,” you beg again, trying not to touch yourself as he stalks over to you. “Cole,” your hands start to dip between your legs, but he chastises you. “Cole, I need to be fucked. God, I need to be fucked so hard, and good, and deep. Ahh,” the bit of relief you feel as Cole pushes through your weeping cunt.

You sigh in relief as he completely bottoms out, leaving you panting and needing more than just to cockwarm him. “Cole!”

“Hold on. I’m enjoying this. You were always so much prettier like this. Filled and stretched with my cock, and oh so satisfied. What is this?” He asks, acting all surprised. “Are you already fluttering around me? I enter into you and you’re coming like a desperate little whore?”

He was cruel. You feel like you have been aching for hours. Of course you were ready to come. Your body has been needing this. “Cole, fuck me so hard!” Pulling himself out of you, he quickly stabs back into your wet channel, and a louder sigh rings up at him.

It feels glorious. A scratch that had finally been itched. Feeling a rush of adrenaline in your body. Euphoria. Such a sweet delightful high. Smiling as your body rocks with Cole’s motion. This was better than being drunk. Better than any massage you have ever had. It was spectacular. Something you couldn’t even put into words because it was that good.

“How many fucking times are you going to come?”

“All of them,” you sigh as another burst of flames rips through your body. This was the life. Constant orgasms, and fucked too dumb to even know what was happening.

“I’m almost there.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Right there.”

“Please, don’t quit.”

“Right…fuuuckk!” Oh no! Was this the end? That was too quick. There had to be more.

Cole’s cream starts to leak out of your body, and the irritating unease starts to build back up. This was going to be painful again. No! You couldn’t do it again. Never again. You needed to be fucked always.

——

“When do you think you can get here?” Cole asks, staring at you gripping tight to his ankles as you bounce over him. The perfect view of your cunt spread wide over him. “What do you mean? I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep.”

“Cole. I can’t stop,” you inform him. Why would you want to stop? It’s the best high in the world.

“I know she’s desperate. I need more than you.”

“Oh fuck. This is the best thing ever!” You triumphantly declare as another orgasm makes you smile. You didn’t want to stop. You couldn’t stop. The pain was always there. Always.

“I used all of the powder. I don’t understand,” Cole smacks at your ass, hoping that would make you get off, but it doesn’t.

“Fuck my ass!”

“Do you hear her? She was against anal. So….you gave me all that sex pollen for what reason?”

“Cole! Fuck my virgin hole!” Begging seemed to do the trick with him.

“Just all of you come up here! I can’t fuck anymore.”

“No!” You cry. Cole had to fuck. You need to be fucked. Fucking was all that mattered. Fucking was everything.

——

“She never sleeps,” Jax eyeballs you as Bucky fucks harder into your ass. Steve lays there filling you up, petting over your pretty throat, and Dean just fucks your mouth harder. “Why did you use all the sex pollen?”

Cole turns toward his friend, pursing his lips. You would have never agreed to being airtight like this. To have men ruin your body almost every hour of the day. “Uhh…why did you give me all that sex pollen?” He turns back to watch you with your eyes gleaming at the man that was using your mouth. You were in heaven.

“In case having sex with her didn’t help. It could have given you time to make her see she belongs with you. And then you go on and blow every bit of it in her face. What is wrong with you? I don’t know how long this is going to last. She’s offering up her greedy little holes for whatever person wants to fill them. You fucked up big time.”

“Jax,” you breathlessly call over to him. Tears stream down your face, and you moan as another high courses through you. “Jax, I need two cocks in my pussy.”

“Oh god,” Cole moans, as you sit up more. The force of Bucky was making your body ripple with pleasure.

“Or…oh fuck…suck my titties as everyone uses me! Please! Fuck fuck fuuuckk!! Call some more friends. Call them!”

“No!” Cole gives you a pout. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to want him. Not every other man. But my god did you not look beautiful being used. “Dean fuck her mouth some more. Jax, let's suck on her tits.”

“Fuck that shit. I’m cramming my dick beside Stevie’s. You and him can suck on tits. Maybe she’ll be in control enough to give you a handjob. But I am not missing this opportunity.”

“How long was this going to take? How long would it last? Were you forever to be doomed to being a used wet hole forever? Or eventually could you sleep? You weren’t sure. What you did know was that you wanted to be used. Needed to be used. And the urge was still just as strong. But maybe after each man had destroyed you, you could be at peace. Or maybe, just maybe you needed to be fucked for the rest of your life. Taking turns. Or bringing in new men.

You didn’t know. Wouldn’t care. You guess your holes were just open for business. And that’s what you took comfort in. Being used. Every second. Every minute. Every hour. Of every day.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @donutloverxo @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bambamwolf87 @harrysthiccthighss @annislittleshopofhorrors @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

#no more last chances #cole turner #cole turner x reader #cole turner x fem!reader #cole turner x you #cole turner x y/n #dark!cole turner #cole turner smut #ghosted #ghosted movie #chris evans #chris evans characters

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colorsdevoida · 2 years

Text

HOW ARE YOU RUINED.

ruined by loneliness

you are so lonely. you are miserable in your solitude. you hate that you cannot bring yourself to reach out, to ask for help. you will be forgotten by all who never knew you. your biggest fear is that you will die alone, and you know this fear will be seen to fruition. you refuse to extend yourself beyond the box that others put you in. and it is a box that no one dare come near. you are lonely because you are afraid of yourself.

tagged by: @satanheir tagging: @timerevolt, @cosmicveiined, @masterstrange, & you !

#* ABOUT ◟ 📖 I HOPE YOU MAKE IT TO THE DAY YOU’RE TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 1 year

Note

Hiya star!!! Happy 100 umm

“Louder. Let them hear you.” With Jake okay bye

Hi Pike! Thanks for this ask, Lovely! It kind of ran away from me, and is way longer than I expected. But, I hope you like it!

Complete Mess (You Make Me)

It wasn’t often that Miramar had two squadrons operating out of Naval Air Station North Island. After all, NAS NI already had the Dagger Squadron permanently stationed on the premises. But sometimes, a mission came up that required two squadrons. Twenty-four of the Navy’s best on one tiny air station already stuffed to capacity with ego and testosterone. It’s a nostalgia trip for most of your squadron, yourself included. It’s been four years since you’d graduated from Top Gun and you are wholeheartedly looking forward to running amok in San Diego with your squadron in tow.

Of course you hadn’t expected to see some old friends when you walked into the Hard Deck. Fanboy, Bob, Rooster and Phoenix, you adored. It was great to see them all again and to introduce them to your own squadron. It was Jake Seresin, or Hangman you couldn’t stand. He’d been in your Top Gun class and every day had been an endless competition between the two of you. He’d cut into you with every word he spoke and you’d returned fire just as readily. It had gotten so bad that at one point in time, Cyclone and Warlock had forcibly separated the two of you. You’d been forbidden from flying with him, but there was only so much they could do when the two of you were flip-flopping in and out of the number one spot. And now, so help you, you need to somehow work with him for this mission.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t little Starling!” He’s smirking when you walk up to the pool table with Fanboy’s arm around your shoulder. “Are you living up to your birdie flying name yet?”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t ole Hangy!” You lean over the pool table and nab the eight ball just as he tries to hit it, tossing it idly from hand to hand. “What’s up, old man? Leave anyone hanging? Or are you still letting your juniors get the better of you?”

You don’t even try to hide your smug smile as he fumes at you. The rest of the night, you happily avoid Hangman as much as humanly possible, smirking in his direction only to see him squirm as you dance with Rooster a bit later.

That one set of interactions sets the tone for the rest of the training for the mission. It’s like being back at Top Gun the first time all over again. Except this time, it’s worse. The chip on your shoulder is bigger than ever and he seems to get under your skin more than ever too. It’s just pure luck now that the two of you can run the training course blindfolded when you’re paired up. So even if you’d like to avoid him, you can’t. It doesn’t help either that he’s so damned hot now that you can see past his ego. You’ve woken up more than once in the middle of the night dreaming of his hands on your skin and his smart mouth occupied by other things.

But your mouth is just as smart as his, and you shouldn’t have said what you did in the heat of the moment. The two of you had been walking back to the pilot’s ready room while discussing your latest run. He’d been on you since the two of you had landed about your prowess, or lack thereof on one of the maneuvers Admiral Mitchell had the combined twenty-four aviators practicing today.

“Starling, you have to move faster! When we hit the inversion at the top of the course, you have to drop down and pop the first missile immediately! If you wait any later, you’re going to miss the shot every time!” He’d actually been pretty nice when he’d said that.

“I know, Bagman!” Your frustration at yourself was at an all time high as you spat the words out. “I just can’t get the targeting to stabilize when I level out.”

He’d been smarmy as he replied, “Oh, baby. You just need to get fucked, then everything will level right out.”

That nearly innocent comment, though you’ve heard it before, sets you off. You poke your finger into his chest as you spit, “I’m not your baby, Seresin. And honestly you’d be the last man I want to get fucked by. Isn’t that what your ex-fiance said that night in the Hard Deck when she dumped your ass for your brother’s? What makes you think that you’d be good enough for a fellow pilot when you couldn’t even keep someone your equal in intelligence?”

You’re not expecting to hear the entirety of both your squadrons fall silent as they’re chatting in the background. You’re also not expecting to see Jake’s face blanch before a blush sets high in his cheeks. He surges forward, placing his hands on your shoulders as he herds you towards the nearest wall. The thud of your head smashing against one of the many pictures on the wall is loud in the silence. As your ears ring from the impact, you can hear the whispering from the others as they stare at you in shock. You can also see the pain swimming in Hangman’s eyes as he stares down at you.

“What the fuck is your problem, Starling?” His voice is a growl as he glares at you. “My observations up in the air were right and you know it! You don’t have to bring up something that happened four years ago because you don’t like that I’m trying to keep your ass alive when we get sent up there every time.” His voice is a dry chuckle as he pulls his hands away from where they’d been wrinkling your flight suit. “Yeah, y’all heard right. The womanizer Hangman. He got left in favor of his own fucking brother. I’m a terrible human being. I’m unlovable. There’s a reason why I stick around for a good time, not a long time.”

You’re futilely reaching for him when he whirls around and strides out of the room with his shoulders up around his ears. That’s when the full weight of your words hits you. When you step away from the wall, glass pieces tinkle to the floor. You feel terrible, and even more so when you see disappointment on your friend’s faces. Things between Hangman and Rooster have never been smooth, but even he’s looking at you like you fucked up. The worst part is, you know you did. The shadow of your words follows you as you slink out of the room, going in search of Jake.

He’s pacing in the hallway outside, dragging his hands through his hair as he tries and fails to calm down.

“Umm, Jake?” Your voice is hesitant as you reach for his arm.

“What do you want, Starling?” You’ve never heard him so dejected, so beaten down.

“I need to talk to you.” You’re wringing your hands together when he places his hand on your elbow and pulls you into a nearby supply closet.

“You’ve got me. Now talk.” Your heart aches, hearing the pain in his voice.

“M’sorry, Hang - Jake. I shouldn’t have brought that up. Please, let me make it up to you. I was wrong to throw that in your face. And you were right about our training run.” You can barely see his face in the dim light bulb’s light.

His snort is derisive. “So what? You’re unbelievable, you know that?” His breathing is heavy in the small room. “I’ve been trying to be nice to you, to be friendly the entire time we’ve been training for this mission. And you’ve been a real bitch, you know that? The worst part is, you’re gorgeous, gorgeous and smart and sweet. You’d be perfect for me if you’d just get over whatever it was that you think I did and just give me a chance. But that’s not possible right? I’m just dumb unlovable Hangman to you.”

You can’t help yourself, not anymore, when you surge into his arms and smash your lips to his. His stuttering intake of breath is incredibly sweet as his hands rise up to rest gingerly on your hips. It’s a gentle press of your lips to his for several moments before you pull away.

“I was wrong, Jake. So wrong. Give me that chance? Please? You’re under my skin. So far, I don’t know where it even started. Let me prove that you’re worth loving?” You can see his lips part before he dips down to kiss you carefully again. This time, you taste the coffee on his tongue, as well as something intoxicating, something Jake that you don’t think you’ll ever get tired of. It’s not long at all before you’re panting against his mouth as his hands divest you of your flight suit. It’s wet and filthy as he presses you up against one of the walls, facing it, and tugs your panties to the side.

“D’you want this, sweetheart?” His voice is tense, and your combined ragged breathing fills the small space as you try to think of the words. His blunt, calloused long fingers are teasing your sopping cunt with each word, before he tugs the cups of your bra down. The first touch of his hands on your skin has you finally gasping your response.

“Yes, Jake. Please! I want you. I want you so badly. M’on birth control. Please.” His answering groan as he presses a kiss against the side of your neck is paired with his cock pressing gently into your waiting heat. Inch by inch, he presses into you, the stretch of his length as he splits you open sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through you. Your mouth is spread in a silent scream when he finally bottoms out in you.

“Y’good, baby doll?” His voice is a barely contained hiss in your ear as he pulls you close, his hands trailing soothingly along your sides.

“M’good, so good.” You’re nearly delirious already, strung out on the feeling of his thick length buried deep in you. His answer is to begin to piston his hips. Each thrust sends electricity through your veins as you’re squished between the wall and his muscular body. You’ve got your hand over your mouth, muffling the strung out squeals he’s wringing out of your mouth as he plows into you. You’re going to feel him on you for days.

“Louder. Let them hear you. Y’feel so good for me, gorgeous. Gonna make you feel so good. We gotta prove you’re mine.” His words send even more arousal dripping through your veins. You can feel the building ache of your orgasm as with each thrust he hits that spot in you that makes you see stars.

“Jake.” Your voice is a punched out hum as you scrabble to reach for his face. You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his mouth. “Gonna cum. Cum with me, darling?”

“Yeah, baby doll. I’m with you.” It’s only a couple more thrusts before you’re sagging in his arms as the aftershocks of pleasure sing through your veins. In the dim light, he carefully drags a paper towel over your tender folds, pressing a kiss against the small of your back. It’s an uncoordinated fumble as he carefully pulls you into his lap after cleaning you up.

“Where do we go from here, baby?” He still sounds so tired. It makes your heart ache. “Tell me what you said was true? That you’re going to prove to me that I’m worth loving? Cause I don’t think I can go back from this. Not now. Not when I know what you feel like when you cum in my arms.”

“Jake,” You nuzzle into his neck, wrapping your arms carefully around his waist. “I meant every word. I’m going to make up for being a bitch. And I’m going to show you that you’re not what she said.”

You can feel his smile against your lips as he kisses you for your words. It’s a feeling, along with the soreness in your cunt, that sticks with you for the rest of the day, especially when he winks at you when the two of you walk back into the pilot’s ready room a while later. Though you definitely wish you had a polaroid camera to memorialize the face Rooster makes when Jake asks you to dinner after the final hop for the day and you tell him to pick you up at 6 that night.

Want to request something for my 100 Follower Celebration? The guidelines are here! Please leave me a request in my inbox with your ask!

- XOXO Star

#star writes #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #100 follower celebration #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun imagine #hangman imagine #top gun smut #hangman smut #top gun fanfic

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harrywavycurly · 8 months

Note

Already in love with Eddie and his little book loving girls! Could we see the conversation reader has with Steve about if he knows anyone with the name Munson??? Love you Sarah!!!💕💕

Hiii babes!! Eddie’s little book lovers omggg that’s so cute!!! Sure you can see Reader asking Steve about him! I hope you enjoy!! Also love youu more!!💖

-this goes along with this post here✨

*also in this Eddie and Chrissy graduated with Nancy while you graduated the year after them*

“Too much caffeine isn’t good for you.” “Says who?” “Your much older and wiser brother…duh.” “Much older? Get real Steve you’re like twenty months older than me not eight years…” “still older is older.” “Well what can I do for you today oh wise one?” “Can I not just come see how my sister is doing at work?” “Steven….” “I get bored on my days off…so what’s new? Need help with these?” “Sure…oh can I ask you something?” “Oh you’re asking now before just blurting out random questions for me? How nice…but sure what’s up?” “Do you know anyone named Eddie Munson?” “Munson? Yeah I know him…well Dustin knows him more than me they are in a club together…or they were at least I’m not sure if it’s still a thing since Dustin is graduating this year.” “Did he go to school with us?” “Eddie? Yeah he graduated a year after me so he’d be…at least what? A year older than you…maybe?” “How does he have five year old twins then? Did he have them his senior year?” “Uh well people do have sex while in high school so yeah…I think their mom is…god what’s her name she was dating an asshole before she hooked up with Eddie…” “an asshole? That really narrows it down.” “His name was Jason…but her name is just…gone but yeah I remember Dustin telling me he got her pregnant right before she ended it with it but now they just coparent or…whatever.” “Chrissy Cunningham? That’s his baby momma?” “Yes! That’s her name!” “Shhh it’s a library Steve.” “Sorry…yeah that’s her but why all the questions about Eddie?” “Oh uhm I just saw him in here earlier with his girls…I don’t remember him in high school…” “well not to be rude but you were kinda a loser…but in a cool way? You just…kept to yourself that’s all.” “Thanks Steve…” “wait…oh my god…” “shut up.” “You think…he’s cute don’t you?” “Don’t you have a date to be getting ready for or something Mr. Ladies Man?” “No that’s not until tomorrow so…I have all the time in the world to make my little sister annoyed because her big brother knows who she’s crushing on.” “You’re so annoying.” “It’s the hair isn’t it? Or the rings? Does he still wear all those giant ass metal rings on his hands?” “Yes…” “yes he wears them or yes that’s what sucked you in?” “Please leave…” “oh don’t be like that…come on I’ll help you put the books away…but really Eddie is a nice guy…you should talk to Henderson if you wanna know more.” “Okay…maybe I will.” “The hunger games? What the hell is this about?” “Oh Steve…”

#eddie munson x harrington!reader #eddie munson fluff #dad!eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x you fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader #steve harrington and eddie munson #Steve Harrington #eddie Munson #my little dungeon master baby #my little fluffy haired baby #eddie munson fanfiction

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flowersfromautumn · 2 months

Text

come back, be here

5 times Buck hated his name and 1 time he didn’t mind it so much.

tw: use of explicit language. nothing else major i don’t think? like slight mention of parental neglect from bucks parents and mentions of daniel as well as the fire truck incident but other than that i think it’s okay.

Margaret Buckley gave birth to a son on the 19th of August 1991, five years after she thought her family was complete.

For the first two weeks of his life, Buck didn’t have a name. Simply known as “the baby”, almost as though his parents were already trying to separate themselves from his existence.

It was a six year old Daniel who gave him his name, after Margaret and Philip didn’t care enough to decide.

He was christened Evan Daniel Buckley on the 4th of September that same year.

Two weeks later, his older brother was gone, and with him, his mothers perceived warmth and his fathers everlasting patience. With him, any hope Buck ever could’ve had of his parents love. His name, his face, his existence was a reminder of the son they loved but still lost and the son they never wanted but were stuck with.

Eight years later he lost his sister- and the only positive influence in his life- for the first time to university. Three years later he lost her again to marriage.

It was around then his parents stopped calling him his name. Or any name at all.

It was around then that he became a ghost in his home.

It was around then he stopped liking his name.

Stephanie was the best thing to happen to him in Peru. The bartending gig was sweet, yeah, but Stephanie? She was a firecracker full of late nights and early mornings and bottomless Margaritas. Her laugh made Buck think he understood love for the first time.

So when she revealed she’d found a job in Poland that she was going to take, he was fully prepared to start packing before she’d even finished her sentence.

It was when she sent him a small smile with pity shining in her dark eyes that he knew. They weren’t on the same page. Probably weren’t even in the same book.

“Evan.” She began, in a way that made him feel like he was eleven all over again, standing in the kitchen while his mum explains that her and Philip are really busy and can’t make his baseball match and why are you being so selfish? “This has been fun. You’re a great guy, but you’re not someone I’m wanting long-term.”

And wasn’t that the very crux of the matter? He was never someone anyone wanted “long-term”. He hadn’t spoken to his own parents since he left home two years ago without a second glance, hadn’t talked to Maddie since she moved to Boston with Doug (the unanswered postcards didn’t count).

Long-term was, apparently, fantasy for him.

“Take care, Evan.” Steph said, right as she closed the door behind him for the last time.

It was then that he decided he needed a new name. A new life.

His feet landed on the tarmac of LAX Airport at 3pm the next day as he disembarked the plane. He took a deep, steadying breath as a warm breath ruffled his hair and hoped that, if he was lucky, this would be his very last beginning.

It took him 6 months to decide to enrol in the LAFD training academy, and by that time he’d almost burnt through his savings (LA was fucking expensive), but as he clicked ‘submit’ on his online application, he felt a sense of accomplishment that he’d never truly allowed himself to feel.

There were two other Evan’s in his class at the Academy, and by the end of day one Firefighter Zimmerman (their trainer) was already tired of the confusion.

It was at the start of day two, on the 12th of February 2013, that he was christened for the second time at the age of twenty-two.

As though Firefighter Zimmerman literally lifted bricks off of his back, Buck’s shoulders slackened and his chest loosened as the tension left along with his name.

Buck.

Yeah. Yeah, he could get used to that.

Abby was his first real love. She had sunshine in her smile and made Buck think he could find the secret to happiness in her eyes if he stared at them long enough. She wasn’t his usual type and maybe that was the secret? Buck couldn’t remember ever being this content. Buck, who’d never felt like he truly deserved the life he was living, was constantly waiting for the catch. For the other shoe to drop.

Which is why, of course, it did- so fast and so hard that it uprooted his entire life along with it.

“I bought a plane ticket to go to Dublin.” There was an excited smile on her face and an ease about her that Buck had never seen before. It reminded him of how much he still didn’t know about her.

Buck’s entire mind screeched to a halt, freezing as the meaning settled. “Dublin as in…Dublin, Ireland?”

“Yes, Dublin, Ireland. I’m gonna go…for a while, probably.”

The meaning behind her words settled, his muscles tensing as his mind screamed at him. No. Not her.

“But, Evan—” It was then he should’ve known, because Abby never called him that, she knew what it meant for him, knew that it wasn’t him, not really. That Evan hadn’t been him in a long time. “Evan, me going away? Doesn’t have to mean the end. I’ve…I’ve just got to do this. I need to know who I am…without serving other people.”

And Buck had understood. He had. He’d promised. He’d waited. He’d put up with five minute phone conversations separated by whole weeks of silence that Abby blamed on her shitty cell service, he’d put up with getting updates with the rest of the world through Instagram and Facebook.

And then, Buck eventually stopped understanding, lost hope. Broke his promise and stopped waiting.

His love for Abby could only stretch him so far before it was self-destructive. And he was over being self-destructive.

And he was so over his name.

Ali was the next girl to give him hope. It took him a while to ease the ache in his heart after Abby, but every time she laughed a crack healed, every time the sun shone through her dark hair it felt as though she’d placed a band-aid over every wound. Even after almost dying pinned under a fire engine, with only a small inkling of hope of ever doing the job he loved again, she still had the power to make him smile.

Ali made him feel the most him since Abby.

Then history repeated itself, as it tended to do, and it all came crashing down.

He wasn’t quite sure how the conversation started, how his smile turned into indignation and the crinkles around her dark eyes transformed to tears, but her voice was soft like a melody as she was pleading and his heart clenched as though her fist was squeezing it.

“It’s not like I didn’t know you were in a dangerous line of work. When I met you, y’know, ten stories up a collapsing high rise—”

“—Exactly!” He interrupted, his voice louder, angrier than he intended, not quite understanding what this meant for them. For him. He didn’t like the way she flinched at his tone.

“That was one day, one day of my life, Evan.” His name made his heart stutter to a stop, as though shocking it into a standstill. “It’s every day of yours. I’m just…starting to really understand what that means.”

It’s when he saw fear in her eyes where he used to see his future that he knew how this would end. She could’ve watched him die. She couldn’t watch him die again.

He watched her leave and felt every crack she’d healed break open again.

After Eddie is shot— after Buck watches him get shot— it takes a while for his mind to understand that everything’s okay. Even when Eddie is up and talking, and smiling at him with that smile that makes his eyes sparkle and makes Buck’s heart skip a beat in a way he’d never taken the time to analyse, his mind takes a minute to catch up.

Buck still feels the blood on him, sometimes. Can feel the phantom splatter of it as it landed on his face, sometimes stares at the shirt he was wearing that he really should throw out but somehow can’t find it in himself because it’s stained with Eddie’s blood, and don’t you understand?

The day Eddie’s due to be discharged, the man asks Buck to sit.

A million things run through his head as he perches himself awkwardly next to Eddie on the stiff hospital bed, turning to face the man and desperately trying not to nervously chew his lower lip (he’s mostly successful).

“You might’ve noticed I almost died. Again.” It was the exhaustion in his voice that made Buck desperately want to reassure him, tell him he never would’ve died, that Buck wouldn’t’ve let him, but— he didn’t because he couldn’t lie to Eddie and because Buck almost did. He just stood there, when he was shot. Probably would’ve stood there a lot longer hadn’t it been for Captain Metha. Probably would’ve been shot himself because his body refused to process that Eddie had been shot. Right in front of him. “Yeah, I’ve had a lot of close calls,” Eddie continued, “This one wasn’t even my closest—”

“—Eddie.”

“Just let me finish.” Eddie pleaded. “After the last time—” The well. “When the well collapsed on top of me—”

“—Which you survived.” Buck interrupted again. Couldn’t help himself. Needed to reassure Eddie— reassure himself— that Eddie was still here, still breathing.

Eddie huffed, nodding before continuing, “After that, it, uh, got me thinking. What would happen to Christopher if I hadn’t? So…I went to my attorney and changed my will. Someday, if I, uh, didn’t make it, Christopher would be taken care of. By you.”

What?

“What?”

“It’s in my will that if I die you become Christopher’s legal guardian.” Eddie stated again, firmly, eyes never leaving Buck’s. Buck squirmed, his mind working overdrive.

“I mean, h-how-how does that even work, don’t you need my consent?”

“My attorney said you could refuse.” Eddie said placatingly.

“But you knew I wouldn’t.”

“But I knew you wouldn’t.” Eddie repeated, smiling smugly, nudging Buck’s knee gently, playfully, with his own.

“But-but he has grandparents. Other family?”

Eddie laughed sarcastically, as though the very idea was ludicrous. “After Shannon died they all tried to guilt me into giving Christopher to them. It’s…not what I wanted then and it’s not what I want now.”

“I-if it came to that, wouldn’t they fight for him?”

Eddie shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. Probably.” He nodded placatingly, before pausing to look Buck in the eyes seriously. “But no one will ever fight for my son as hard as you. And that is what I want for him.”

“You said you did this last year. Why are you just telling me now?”

“Because, Evan.” Eddie sighed, and instead of the oldness he was expecting, Buck felt his heart fill with warmth at the sound of his name coming from Eddie’s lips in such a way. Almost…loving? “You came in here the other day and you said you thought it would’ve been better if it’d been you who’d been shot. You act like you’re expendable…” Eddie sighs, before raising his hand and placing it over Buck’s, intertwining their fingers. Buck’s heart did somersaults in his chest. “But you’re wrong.”

fin.

andie notes: i published this on ao3 too if you’d like to check it out on there instead! here’s the link:

#evan buckley #buck and eddie #buddie #9 1 1 fanfiction #9 1 1 buddie #eddie diaz #5 + 1 fic #5+1 things #buck buckley #buckley diaz family #buddie fanfic #buddie fandom #buddie fluff #hurt/comfort #Spotify

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

Text

Her | First Dance

bestfriend!jungkook, tattooartist!jungkook, F2L, fluff, smut

Word Count - 5k

Jungkook has other ideas for your first dance. Warnings: swearing, lots and lots of tooth rotting fluff. I cried writing this

MINISERIES COLLECTION | SONG

Two whole years of dating Jungkook have flown by in a romantic blur. Your best friend and fiancé treats you with nothing but respect and love, every day you wake up and count your blessings that he’s yours. Especially when he tugs you into a tight embrace and tells you he loves you. Every morning. Without fail.

On your one year anniversary you moved in together into a large beautiful house just outside the city. Surrounded by fields and farm animals, chic interior and cosiness. It’s perfect. The open fireplace, the wooden beams adding a dash of character to the high ceilings. Thankfully you and Kook have mostly similar taste and agreed on pretty much everything in your home. Although he did get his own way with one element, the huge photo wall on the staircase, filled with pictures of you both together throughout the years. Turns out his emotional hoarding came in handy for interior design if nothing else.

Living in the middle of nowhere comes with it’s ups and downs. Jungkook had to chase a family of foxes out of your garden three months ago when he discovered they were the culprits behind his cabbages never growing. Yeah, cabbages. Your fiancé has turned into quite the farmer these days which is something you still can’t quite wrap your head around. Giving his huge, manly, heavily tattooed beefy body that does not resemble a farmer’s whatsoever.

But there he was in the middle of the night, wearing absolutely nothing to hide any shred of dignity he had left. Holding a rake he got excited about buying in Target one time. Chasing foxes in the fields. Completely naked. It's a good job you don't have neighbours.

Sometimes you struggle to get signal on your phone which isn’t ideal, especially at a time like this. You’re in bed alone, your girl-friend’s and family taking up all the spare rooms the luxurious cottage-style house has to offer. It’s almost midnight. It’s the night before your wedding, a wedding that you and Kook managed to plan in just under eight months because you just want to be married already.

Tomorrow is the big day and the nerves have kicked in.

You’re really doing this. You’re really marrying Jeon Jungkook. Your best friend.

He proposed to you in the sandpit of your old preschool one night, the playground filled with rose petals and candles and he even rented an ice cream truck for affect which both your parents hid inside, secretly filming your reaction.

You can still remember the way he looked up at you so hopeful, with doe-eyes swimming with adoration and relief when you said yes. How could you say anything else? You love him. You love him more than you thought would ever be possible, and here you are, less than twenty four hours away from being the one thing Jungkook promised himself you would be thirty years ago.

Mrs Jeon.

The lack of phone signal is proving to be a real pain in the ass, you want to message Jungkook and make sure he still wants to go ahead with tomorrow. Despite the fact you already know he wants nothing less. You’re nervous, excited, a little overwhelmed and you can’t physically get comfortable in bed without him here. The sheets are drowning you without him being hellbent on stealing them. You sigh.

You just want to talk to your best friend one last time before he becomes your husband. He’s at his parents’ house for the night, the whole wedding party is going straight to the venue tomorrow morning at seven am to begin getting ready. Or should you say seven am today, because according to your phone it’s now 00:02AM.

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel!” You hear it before you see it, the sound of stones hitting your bedroom window a little too hard for your liking. “Let down your hair! Julieeeeet! Come down! Romeo is here! Princess Fiona?! Wait no maybe not her, would that make me donkey or shrek? I don't really wanna be shrek I'm way hotter...” You hear him mutter to himself and you snort in bed, throwing your head back into the pillows.

You’d recognise that voice anywhere.

You’re giggling like a school girl when you head over to the window, feigning annoyance when you open it and glare down at the huge grassy garden and the man standing in it. As expected, it’s your fiancé.

Jungkook laughs brightly when he catches sight of you folding your arms over your chest with raised brows. He's shuffling his weight awkwardly between his thick legs, extending his arm up to wave at you. It’s like something from a movie, your fiancé pelting stones at your window the night before your wedding in grey sweatpants and an oversized black t shirt.

He definitely snuck out to do this, the idea alone makes you chortle aloud. A thirty two year old man, sneaking out of his parents house essentially just to go home.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper, face already aching from smiling.

Jungkook’s clutching his hand to his chest now, offended, eyes narrow and tinted with mischief, “I live here?”

You nod slowly, glancing round at the near pitch black atmosphere surrounding him. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Do you? I’ve tried calling you but your phones switched off—”

“No signal.” You offer an apologetic smile and low chuckle, he wanted to talk to you too? Apparently you’re more alike than you realise, “Why’d you try to call me?”

Kook shrugs, burying his fists into his pockets with the phoniest frown you've ever seen him wear, “I wanted to make sure those foxes didn’t come back and eat everybody, dangerous creatures foxes yknow—”

“Jungkook.” You try to warn him, but you look less than threatening in your silk white ‘Bride To Be’ pyjama short sets. The fact you’re giggling doesn’t go in your favour either, it’s obvious you’re not really mad that he’s here. You could never be mad at him, point proven by your childlike grin. “Why are you really here?”

He’s gazing up at the bedroom window with a fond smile, sparkly eyes and a tiny sigh of defeat. “Okay fine, I wanted to see you. Come on I need to show you something.”

“It’s midnight you know!” You snort, playfully rolling your eyes, “I can’t come out at this time, it’s the day before my wedding!”

“Yes you can!” He frantically nods, mirroring your joyful expression, “I did! Please? Climb down the drain pipe—”

“I am not climbing down the drain pipe.” You scoff, kicking your head back with genuine laughter. “I’ll use the front door like a normal person, but give me ten minutes I need to get changed first.”

“No you don’t need to get changed! Y/N wait—" He shouts, but you close the window with a sigh of disbelief and head over to your closet. He really is something else, and you have a whole lifetime of this shit ahead of you.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jungkook is mindlessly kicking stones under his feet when you step outside into the garden, thankful that nobody in the house seems to be awake right now. When his eyes find yours they light up with a smile that hasn’t even tugged the corners of his lips yet. He holds out his hand for you to take and you do, your own hand is a lot heavier than it used to be with the addition of your engagement ring. A custom made diamond ring he spent way too much money on, just to have sand from the sandpit you first met in melted into the white gold band.

Further proving that Jungkook is the most romantic person you’ve ever known.

“Where are your bride to be pyjamas?” He quirks a brow, tugging you along to his car in hurried steps after giving your new outfit of blue jeans and one of his hoodies a second look. “You looked cute in them.”

“I wasn’t going to sneak out in pyjamas. Where are we going?” You laugh, messily attempting to keep up his fast pace down the driveway.

“It’s not sneaking out, we’re in our thirties.” He snorts, “I’ve just had the same conversation with my mom you can’t physically sneak out when you’re thirty two. I’m an adult and I’m capable of making my own decisions.” You finally reach his car and he slows down, turning round to face you with an unreadable expression.

Your brows raise expectantly when you let go of his hand, “Kook where are we going? This is kidnapping.”

“You came willingly so don’t even try that.” He grins, stepping closer and taking your face between his inked hands, pulling you into a gentle kiss that makes you weak at the knees. “Come on I don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”

Glancing round at the empty road ahead you can’t help but giggle, jokingly shoving him away with one hand. “It’s so dark I can barely see. Who’s crazy enough to be driving round at this hour?”

“We are. Come on let’s go.”

He kisses you again, teeth nearly clinking against your own because you’re both smiling so damn much. There’s no doubt about it, you’re crazy over your best friend. And tomorrow you’re going to be his wife. Finally.

The car journey takes around twenty minutes, you note you’re heading further into the city from all the buildings and street lights you recognise. The atmosphere feels…familiar, in a way. You’d grown up in the city, as did Jungkook, so you both know the area pretty well. When the car comes to a stop you glance around again, surprised when you register your old ballet building, which just so happens to be Jungkook’s old Taekwondo building too.

“Why are we at the sport centre?” Your brow quirks as you step out of the car, smiling contently when Kook drapes a strong arm over your shoulder.

“You’ll see.” He chuckles mostly to himself, planting a chaste kiss to your temple as you walk up to the main entrance. “All this time and you still don’t trust me. Kinda hurts.” He jokes, shaking his head.

After playfully pushing him away you sigh, “Is it even open?”

“Check for yourself.” He grins, tattooed arms folded over his strong chest, gesturing for you to open the door with his chin.

“I’m not going in there!” You scoff when you point to the door handle, a wide open smile tugging your mouth, “Is this some kind of set up? You get me to set the alarm off and then I get arrested and you get to eat the wedding cake all to yourself and—”

“Oh my god,” He groans with eyes squeezed shut, not so successfully stifling a loud laugh. “You’re soooo dramatic, move out the way.” His hip bumps yours with some force, almost knocking you over when he pushes the entrance open.

Candles. Rose petals. Music.

“Kook… What is all this?” You whisper, curious gaze flickering down the hallway, following a perfect trail of romance into the main sports hall where you’d both taken many lessons as children.

He’s smiling down at you, watching the way your eyes light up in awe at his creation with a fond hum of approval. “I had to pull some strings but, I think it’ll be worth it. Come on.” He extends his arm, and you happily take it.

The two of you walk in comfortable silence, your head resting on his shoulder as you drink in your surroundings. When you make it to the main hall you’re even more blown away, the room glows golden in the candlelight. Not a single corner, or space has been missed. There are pillar candles everywhere, crimson red rose petals scattered on the floor and the faintest sound of love songs softly thicken the air. The centre of the room is completely empty in a perfect circle, and that’s exactly where Jungkook takes you.

“You know… I already said yes to your proposal, you don’t need to do it again.” You whisper, turning to kiss his bicep gently as you walk.

“I know…” He hums, once you’re centred in the room he adjusts himself until he’s standing in front of you, large palms loosely gripping the bend of your waist. Instinctively your arms drape around his shoulders and he chuckles. “But I wanted to have one selfish moment with you before tomorrow, everybody’s going to be there and fighting for your attention all day. I mean why wouldn’t they?” His grin widens when he begins to sway his body from left to right, “You’re amazing.”

“Jungkook...” You sigh, gnawing your lip to suppress the biggest smile humanly possible. “Tomorrow is our day, not just mine.” You sway with him, blood rushing to your cheeks when Jungkook shouts from out of nowhere, glancing behind you.

“Alexa! Play Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elvis Presley!”

The song you’ve picked out for your first dance tomorrow.

When the intro to the song plays he moves with more purpose, dipping his head to your cheek where he kisses it sweetly. “Tomorrow is about you Y/N, every day has always been about you… and now everybody else gets to celebrate you the way I always have.” He pulls back to look down at you, his doe-eyes swimming with adoration and sincerity. “And the way I always will, for the rest of my life. So for me this is our first dance, nobody else, just you and me.”

Your heart bursts inside your chest, head nuzzling into his neck to hide your glassy eyes. Meeting Jungkook was the best thing that ever happened to you, he’s not only your best friend but the love of your life. Every day you love him more and more, and he never fails to surprise you or sweep you off your feet.

“I love you Kook.” You sniffle, overcome with emotions.

“I love you too baby, so damn much.” His grip tightens as the two of you dance in the centre of the sports hall, when a sudden memory flash back comes to mind.

You peel away from him, peppering his sharp jawline with dainty kisses, whispering, “Wasn’t our first kiss in here? At your first Taekwondo tournament?”

At this he laughs, a genuine sound that’s like music to your ears, “Mmm. Except a certain somebody said it wasn’t a proper kiss.”

“You know what I mean...” You tut, jokingly rolling your eyes, “It wasn’t a real kiss and I stand by that. But it was the first time our mouths connected.”

“I still count that as our first kiss,” He hums with a soft smile, continuing to sway with you in his hold, “Since you ruined me for all other women that day.”

“Who's being dramatic now? We were nine.” You snort.

“And I was madly in love with you even then. Fuck, I wish I could go back and tell baby Jungkook that he’s actually going to marry you one day. I almost gave up hoping for it a few times yknow? But luckily for me I didn’t.” He kisses your temple.

“Mmm.” You agree, tip toeing until your nose ghosts his, “Lucky me too.” Your lips meet in a gentle yet open-mouthed kiss that oozes love and sheer joy, your shadows becoming one in the candlelight. “I can’t wait to marry you tomorrow.” You sigh.

At this he fully envelops you in his arms, squeezing you tight, “Me too. Speaking of, I have something else for you. For tomorrow.” He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, finding the strength to let you go and dig deep into his pocket. “Here. Your something old.”

You’re giggling nervously, head cocked to one side when you realise what he’s showing you. The neon pink and orange friendship bracelet you made him in elementary school, the one he hasn’t taken off since that very day. You take it from his grip curiously, opening your mouth but not knowing the right thing to say.

“But you never take this off…?” You remind him with an amused puff of air from your nostrils, brows furrowed.

His grin is bright and knowing when he shakes his head, “I can't now.” And he lifts up his arm.

Tattooed pink and orange beads decorate his wrist in the space between his favourite black snake artwork on his arm and the ones dotted about on his hand. The bracelet looks freshly done, shiny and dark. Your jaw is on the ground, eyes wide and in disbelief.

“Kook… What… You’ve…” You’re truly at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the gesture of him permanently marking his body with something of yours. Despite the fact he has hundreds of tattoos and they’ve never phased you, this one feels different. Sentimental.

“When I’m old and dying and you’ve shipped me off to a retirement home because you’re finally done with my shit…” He chuckles, pulling you back into his embrace, cupping your cheek with one hand, “And I forget everything about my senile self, I never want to forget that sweet girl who made me that bracelet. From tomorrow you might be my wife, but you’ll never stop being my best friend first. Not to me.”

It's a good job he didn’t spring this onto you at the wedding because you’re a goner, tears cascading down your cheeks and these aren’t even his vows. He’s so romantic, the most genuine and sincere person you’ve ever known. And he’s yours.

“I-, You’re my best friend too Jungkook.” You giggle through the cries, snaking your arms around him when you squeeze him as though your life depended on it, burying your face to his chest.

“I was going to get your name but I figured you’d probably call me an idiot.” He snorts, reassuringly rubbing the spans of your back with a large palm.

You nod with a wide grin he can’t see, “Yeah, probably...”

This is it. The moment Jungkook has spent every day since he was three years old thinking about. He’s standing at the top of the alter with a small yet excited smile, dressed in an all-white suit, the fabric contrasting against his tan dewy skin. Almost everybody he’s ever loved is in the room with him, his parents, your mother, friends and other family members. They’re all here, save for you and your father who are due to arrive any minute now, ready to celebrate the event everybody but you knew was coming one day.

“You good?” His older brother and best man asks with a pat on his back and Kook turns to face him.

He nods once, smile growing, “I’m great.”

“Ladies and gentleman will you please stand for the bride.”

The announcement has nothing but ecstasy coursing Jungkook’s veins, his heart hammering inside his chest as it always does when he knows he’s about to see you. This is it. This is everything he’s ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed about and it’s all happening right now.

The bridesmaids and groomsmen come first, holding onto large lilac and white bouquets, all wearing the same teary-eyed smile and pale purple floor length dresses. Your coordination is impeccable he notes, though he expected nothing less. He knows most of the girls are ex-ballet dancer friends of yours and judging by the low, barely audible whistle his brother makes they look good. But honestly? He’s not even looking at them. He’s looking past them, waiting for what feels like a life time.

And then the double doors open, and Jungkook struggles to catch his breath.

“Are you ready?” Your dad asks you with puffy features, he’s been crying all morning much like the rest of your bridal party. You nod, blinking back your own tears that threaten to ruin your makeup.

“I’m ready.” You breathe out, closing your eyes.

Your dad links your arm, noting the bracelet you’re wearing isn’t exactly on theme for your aesthetically pleasing wedding. His brow quirks, smile growing, “Isn’t that the bracelet you made for Jungkook?”

“Something old.” You chuckle, and your father releases a sound that sounds like ‘ahhh’ right before the doors finally open, and all eyes are on you. But there’s only one pair you’re drawn to, the same big brown doe-eyes that hold your heart standing at the top of the alter.

Jungkook takes one look at you and starts sobbing, which almost sets you off as you slowly walk towards him. His sharp chin quivers when he sucks in a breath, his pierced lip tucked between his teeth but somehow he’s still smiling through it. He’s blinking through the tears, stare not faltering from yours, not even for a split second. He looks awestricken, mesmerised, so overwhelmed by emotions that you feel too. You know everyone is gazing at you, but you can’t physically look anywhere else but him. He looks so... Happy. Before you know it the walk is over and you’re standing in front of the love of your life, your dad having just peeled back your veil and given you away.

After the standard wedding speeches and legalities are over it’s time for vows, and you clear your throat having asked if you could go first. Knowing whatever your almost husband has to say is going to make you cry. It always does.

“Jungkook…” You sigh lovingly, looking up at him through long eyelashes, feeling lightheaded as you forgot how good he looks with his hair pushed back. His smile is closed but wide, sincere as he listens to what you’ve prepared with his hands closed together in front of him.

“If someone had told me three years ago that I’d be standing here marrying you today I would’ve simply rolled my eyes and added them to the long list of people who already said that. You were my best friend, you’ve always been my best friend and for a long time that’s all I wanted you to be. But the night you told me you loved me that all changed, I started to see you in a different light, started to admire you in ways I never expected to. To this day you never fail to surprise me, you constantly and consistently show me that true love is real, and that it’s ours. I fell in love with my best friend when I least expected it, and I fell hard.”

Kook stifles a laugh at the way you add weight to your words, his eyes sparkly and his smile broadening with each passing word. Everybody else chuckles along, but the sound is nothing more than white noise in your ears.

“I promise to always be your best friend. To be there for you, to be with you, and to love you for the rest of our lives. I promise to be patient with you, to never go to bed angry with you, to hold and comfort you and live my life unapologetically with you. I can’t put into words what you mean to me, I’ve known you for almost thirty years and in my own way I’ve loved you for every single one. But now, standing here in front of you on our wedding day, I promise to love you the same way you’ve always loved me, thank you for being so patient with me. It may have taken a while to realise—”

“Twenty seven years.” Jungkook mouths with a smirk and raised brows and you giggle.

“But I’m here now, and I’m so grateful for how things have worked out. I love you so much Jungkookie. I’m proud to be your wife.” The return of your childhood nickname for him wins a collective ‘awww’ from the crowd, and Kook’s eyes squeeze shut in feigned annoyance but he soon gets over it.

“Y/N.” He’s grinning, doe-eyes swimming in adoration and tears that threaten to cascade down his cheeks at any given moment. He clears his throat, nodding to himself a few times before he carries on.

“When I say I’ve loved you my whole life, I mean it. Not a single day has gone by where you haven’t been at the forefront of my mind. Even though I was three years old when we met, the second I saw you sitting in the sandpit wearing that pink dress with sunflowers on the skirt I knew you were the one. It sounds impossible but believe me when I say I have adored you since day one. You make me the best version of myself, you lift me up, you challenge me, you call me out on my bullshit-, shit sorry! No I mean just sorry!” He stutters, eyes wide with panic when he turns to the vicar standing between you. You laugh, as does everybody else and he cocks his head to a side swiftly, briefly closing his eyes with a nervous sigh.

“Where was I? Oh! You complete me. When I’m with you I’m in utopia, and I don’t know about you but utopia seems like a pretty good place to spend the rest of our lives to me. All I’ve ever wanted was to spend my life with you, you are my life. My home. The only place I ever want to be is by your side. I promise to support you, to care for you, to always agree with you even when you’re wrong.”

You can’t help but playfully roll your eyes, and you’re pretty sure you hear your dad snort from the seat closest to you.

“But most importantly I promise to keep loving you with everything I have, to keep surprising you, to fight for you, to share everything I have with you. I’ve chosen you every day for my entire life and I promise to keep choosing you, to honour that choice. You’re my best friend. All my favourite memories are shared with you and I promise to keep making more of them, to fill more photo albums and cover the staircase walls with more hideous pictures that don't match your decor.” He grins, “I love you so much Y/N. Thank you for always being there for me when I needed you, best friend or otherwise. Thank you for making me the happiest man on earth and saying I do.”

You’re crying, but your smile remains bright and wide, mirroring his own.

“Do you Y/N Y/L/N take Jeon Jungkook to be your lawful wedded husband?”

You nod, brows pinching slightly with excitement when he slides the ring on your finger. “I do.” You exhale.

“Do you, Jeon Jungkook take Y/N Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedding wife?”

The vicar is old and looks equal parts glad this is over and so utterly done with Jungkook’s shit right now, he did just swear in a place of worship you guess. You’re trying your absolute best not to laugh at the elder man’s attempt of hiding a scowl, but Kook doesn’t even seem to notice. He's only looking at you.

“I do.” He chews his lip, sighing contently when you slip the white gold band onto his finger.

“I now pronounce you… Husband, and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And he does.

When the sea of loved ones quickly gather round the white dancefloor adorned with lilac strobe lights to watch your first dance later that evening, you and Jungkook share a knowing smile. Both of you melting beneath the others touch while you sway to the lyrics that resonate more with you today than they did yesterday.

You couldn’t help falling in love with him, but you did, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kook hums contently, one hand on your waist the other holding yours close to his shoulder as you slow dance, “I love you so much Mrs Jeon.” He kisses your temple, keeping his head resting atop of your own with a proud closed smile.

“I love you too Mr Jeon.” You sigh, feeling the happiest you’ve ever felt in your whole entire life.

All because of your best friend.

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