#ALL YOU GOT IS A MARRIAGE ON THE ROCKS AND THE FEELING YOU FUCKED UP BY TOU CHING MY MONSTER TRUCK

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 6 Posting Thursday April 25

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage. 

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly. 

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock. 

You might have hit the man on the back of the head. 

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him. 

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face. 

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.” 

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap,  hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles. 

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours,  still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.” 

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse. 

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.” 

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it. 

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag. 

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking,  you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help. 

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly. 

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic. 

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course. 

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest. 

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with. 

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would. 

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.” 

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry. 

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all? 

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?” 

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance. 

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught. 

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you. 

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though? 

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic. 

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind. 

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.” 

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.” 

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper. 

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy. 

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest. 

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention. 

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.” 

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing. 

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure. 

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin. 

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else. 

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock. 

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes. 

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?” 

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed. 

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob? 

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing? 

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse. 

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer? 

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.  

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate. 

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?” 

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet. 

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment. 

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer. 

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.  

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.” 

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home. 

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily. 

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along. 

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!” 

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips. 

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor smut #alastor x you

[diejager]

random thought but… stepdad!König fucking reader after finding out they wanna be in a relationship with him and saying “I’m going to marry you” or “I’ll make you mine one day” or smth like that. 🤭 and dbf!Horangi just kinda agreeing with him while sandwiching reader from the back, already having an idea of being the husband’s best friend that fucks his wifey 💝💝💝

—🎀—

Gah- that pink bow has my heart😵‍💫 cw: smut, STEPCEST, DUB-CON, creampie, sex marathon?, phone sex? Double penetration, p in v, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cheating, marriage, tell me if I missed any.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe, his knees weak and fingers twitching, his cheeks flushed with the joy he felt. Your little confession riled him up, your sweet tears and pout gave him the hardest erection he’d ever lived. Sweet, innocent words that would’ve seemed blasphemous to any other, sounded erotic, making his blood boil and arousal simmer under his skin. It worked through his body with tight and rushing pleasure, pumping blood down to his engorged cock and heavy balls.

“I want you,” sealed the deal, commanding his body to pound you into your bed, make you forget you ever had a life without him - he promised it.

And promised he did, he fucked you all day, pressing you down on your bed, folding you in half as keened loudly. The bed creaked and the wooden headboard slamming into the wall behind it with every rock of his hips, fingers gripping your soft bedsheets and toes curling over his shoulder. You were stuck beneath him until the time he knew your mother would be back, taking every moment he had to watch his cock push in you and back out with a ring of cum and slick around his thick cock.

At first, he took you alone, slamming into your while you mewled out, your sweet sounds reaching the hungry ears of your neighbour on the phone. König had called Horangi in a blur, his mirth infectious, making Horangi happy, chuckling out praises to you and giving his word that he’d come by after his exercise at the gym. Your stepdad kept his friend on the phone, the Korean wearing EarPods during his whole course, working out with his cock throbbing and pushing against his shorts.

An hour in, waking up after you passed out in pleasure, eyes rolled to the back of your head in white pleasure, Horangi made himself home, naked and kneeling between your thighs. You let out a surprised moan, back arching when he drove his tongue inside your twitching hole, his thumb rolling your sensitive clit. He took his take taking you apart, watching you flay and cream all over him, covering is face with slick.

Near delirious and body oversensitive, you felt them push into you, softly alternating between both cocks stuffing your stretched cunt. You were trapped between them, body pushed back and fourth, feeling them fill you up, bottoming out, balls slapping the other man, pulling out to the tip and slamming back in. You bucked your hips, chasing their cocks, nails digging into Horangi’s shoulder, gasping and moaning with your legs spread open by König’s hands.

“I’ll marry you, ja, Schatz?” König growled, pumping you full of cum, womb stuffed full with his and Horangi’s charged load. “Breed you and make you mine.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait to suck your tits,” Horangi couldn’t stop himself from agreeing, mind conjuring every image of your swollen stomach and wobbling walk. “Drink your sweet milk.”

“Do you want that, Schnucki?”

All you could do was nod, throat sore from screaming and body limp in your stepfather’s arms, your eyes were heavy chest puffing with loud, exhausted breaths. You liked their idea, marrying, breeding, becoming theirs, perhaps their delusions finally got to you.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly

#x reader #cod mw2 #tw: cheating #tw: dubcon #tw: stepcest #stepdad!konig #Stepdad!könig #Dbf!horangi #Mw2 smut #cod smut #horangi x reader #horangi mw2 #kim horangi hong jin #horangi smut #horangi x you #konig smut #König smut #konig x reader smut #könig x reader smut #könig x reader #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #konig

[bakugoushotwife]

𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑 𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 // 𝖙𝖜𝖔: 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖗

↳ cw: minors dni, dark content. proceed at your own risk. pentrative sex x2, riding, doggy, nothing really crazy here tbh, pregnancy, soft sukuna, human!sukuna, good husband fr. ↳ series masterlist ↳ jjk masterlist

you wake up the next morning enveloped in a warmth of an embrace you’ve never known. the sun was filtered red through the sheer curtain hanging over the window; the air a peaceful kind of quiet. you smile in remembrance, at the ache in your muscles and the realization of your new husband’s hard chest beneath you. he snores, you discover, every gentle breath bringing a little growl from his lips. you stifle a giggle to avoid waking him up. you have to smother out a hiss as you adjust yourself on him for the same reason—two more discoveries coming in tow–well three. you were still naked and impaled by a hard cock. now, you had heard stories of this. the old women of your village spoke of the differences between the male and female anatomy and this was one of the biggest inconveniences of being a man–so you’ve been told. men wake up nearly every morning with erections—simply a blood flow effect. however different from most men, it seems not even your husband could avoid such a problem. 

only, it’s creating a problem for you. he’s so big your hips are sore from keeping them in this position for so long–a sweet ache you know you’ll learn to live with. but besides that, you’re having flashbacks to last night, the glorious feeling of being fucked for the first time. you were so meek and unsure, but now…you feel a bit bolstered. it’s like your hips have a mind of their own, whispering to you that the only way to soothe the pain is by using the muscles. he’s asleep, your conquering king of a man. and surely, if being his wife meant being readily available for him to make use of—then the same would also be true in reverse, right? so you lick your lips, blinking the bleariness of sleep out of your eyes, and then push yourself up to lean back on him; his snoring hitches immediately. your eyes dart to study his face, to see if he’s caught you in your sneaky act. but he doesn’t move, his eyes remain closed and still. you’re safe. you set your brow in determination, getting your knees under you properly. 

your heart thumps loudly in your chest. you swear that will wake him before your movements do. but you can’t deny it’s exhilarating. you know you have nothing to fear even if you do wake him after all; except maybe him taking control for himself and ruining your ability to stand for another day. you’re awkward and unsure with your movements like a newborn fawn, slowly rocking back and forth with your head tossed back. you were still naked from the previous nights’ marriage festivities, as was he. so feeling him raw and bare was no issue, a hand sneaking up to fondle your own chest. little satisfied sighs and breathy moans roll freely, a gorgeous melody for anyone’s ears. 

sukuna, of course, has been awake for nearly an hour at this point. he woke up before even you, still soaking in the reality that he has a beautiful little wife tucked away on his cock. that this wasn’t all some realistic dream or cruel technique of an enemy. he spent every second admiring the way your body inhaled and exhaled; the part of your lips and flutter of your lashes as you slept against his heartbeat. he got to spend forever like this, with mornings like these, your supple body tangled up in his own firm one, your soft breasts resting like pillows beneath you. this was too good to be true. 

when you started to rouse, he quickly feigned sleep. part of him wanted to see if you would admire him in the same way he did you—but you were doing one better. it was growing more and more difficult to fake his slumber, your perfect little body bouncing up and down on him, his eyes cracked just wide enough to see your pouty lips purse with the need to shower him in their kisses; cock twitching inside you with the way your tits bounced with every slam down on his monstrous cock. you lean forward, stifling little whimpers as your pussy hugs and squeezes the very life out of him. your lips find his, and he struggles to stay limp and unresponsive. you whine with need, your dainty fingers tracing the calcified mask on his face. he can’t pretend anymore, kissing you back with the unbridled passion you always get from him. you squeal with a mix of surprise and happiness upon realizing that he’s awake, leaning back with a giggle. 

“good morning, husband.” you greet, a lazy smile with lidded eyes, panting with pleasure. 

“what a good morning indeed, my little wife.” he purrs, his voice sending quivers to your pussy. the deep rasp of it was intoxicating, it almost embarrasses you how responsive your body is to it. his massive hands stabilize the width of your hips, a lazy smirk donning his own features. “go on, my queen. make yourself cum with your husband’s cock.” he insists, fire blazing in those already crimson eyes. 

he has such a way with words. your pussy clamps around him again, fits of spasms causing you to flutter as well as rock your hips. he was sensitive from sheathing himself inside of your cozy cunt all night, and the way you look and sound doesn’t help matters. he knows he only has minute before you both cum, and these are minutes he’ll cherish until he gets to do it again tonight. 

“ryo–men!” you whimper brokenly, the sound of it like a chant to his ears—a name he used to despise hearing upon the lips of others was a treasure coming from you. sukuna was too formal for his wife to use with him, he certainly used your name enough. your head bobs quickly, brows pinching in sheer pleasure. it’s the telltale sign, he’s discovered, that you’re close to cumming beautifully. 

“yes, my precious little lamb, cum for me…” he demands in a tone that declared nothing but his fondness for you. your body shudders forward, jumping to obey his command, everything tightens up; your cunt around his cock, your legs on either side of his thick torso, even your pretty nipples harden up again. then he feels the gush of fluid coat his stiff length before that erupts inside you too. you slump against the comfort of his tattooed chest, purring happily at the feeling of his seed. you are trying to turn that into an heir for him after all. his hearty chuckles bring you back to the present moment, where his hands brace your hips. “what a pleasant way to start my day, little lamb.”

you smile, sitting up to meet his smitten red eyes. “i hope we spend most of our mornings this way.” you nod, just the silky sheet wrapped around your little frame. he arches a brow at that, a lazy grin that still clearly came from this softened morning state of him. 

“most? not all~” he teases, sitting up to pepper kisses to your face; his arms tighten around your back, biceps flexing to hold you taut to his body. this was a version of him that was only for you, you decided, the morning time has nothing to do with it. 

“i think my legs may fall off if i try to do that every morning–” you giggle, the sound so beautifully relaxing to his mind he can do nothing but laugh with you. that’s so foreign, laughing from a place of genuine joy instead of malice or brutal teasing. but it feels good. it feels like something he could get used to in your presence, a delight he could only indulge in with you. you were warm and kind and soft, the antithesis of everything he was. but you were also bold, and fiery, and honest—other traits he values just as much as waking up body on body. you complete him, a total monster, with your good humor and even temper–there is no doubt about it, you are the love of his life. 

and he would do anything to protect you. 

when a knock sounds at the door, he finds himself tucking you behind him with his left arms, staring at the heavy wood to register the energy behind it. he grunts his relief, covering you properly with the other fur blankets of the mattress. 

“you may enter, uraume.” his deep voice thundered , giving you a nod of reassurance as the knob clicks to open. in struts someone in long robes and white hair styled in a bob, red streaks around the center. 

“sukuna-sama,” they bow deeply, tucking their hands inside their sleeves. “good morning. i hope you had a good rest.” you feel something akin to jealousy bubbling in your gut. they bow again. “my queen, i am honored to meet you. i am your humble servant, please send for me should you need anything.” they hum. 

“good, good. get us breakfast.” sukuna smirks, fond of the unsure smile on your face. not only do you love him, but you’ll get jealous over him? and that fact fills him with such pride he doesn’t know what else to do but smirk. oh the surprises you’re showing him daily…

uraume bows once more and exits the room on a mission to get their boss and his new wife something to eat. 

“uraume is an outcast like i was. i have cared for them as my servant since we came across each other. they are loyal–but i can promise there is nothing to worry about, my love.” he says tenderly. you don’t doubt him, you would never doubt him. but his words put you at ease. you nod a few times, twisting to give him another kiss before slipping out of bed to freshen up before the faithful servant returns to see you so disheveled. 

he grabs your cheek before you can escape him completely, “you trust me.” 

your eyes bounce between the mask and his plain eye. “of course i do.” you grin, “i’m just going to get dressed for the day!” you hum, leaning into the warmth that takes up your entire head and face. he smiles softly.

“good, we have a big day ahead of us.” he says, admiring the glow to your skin, the happiness crinkling your eyes. “we’ll have an official coronation by the end of the week. the people from the lands i have conquered will recognize their rulers or die.” he hums, a pleasant lilt to his voice even when he’s saying something vicious like that. “then we’ll focus on the renovations to the castle and building our family.” 

your heart thumps. he has such big plans, all of which include you. he wants to create a life with you, for you. the strongest man on the planet wants you to be the mother of his children and rightful queen in ruling alongside him—something he wants to share with you. he has all the power in the world to make you completely and utterly subservient to him—to take what he wants and not waste his time on anything else. marrying at all spoke volumes, but the genuine love he handles you with is enamoring in and of itself. 

“i can’t wait. planning will be fun. i love to host.” you wiggle your hips, opening your closet to find some robes for the day. he lays on his side and lovingly watches you comb through your hair and wash your face clean. your body is littered with lovebites from the night before, some only reddened from his added attention this morning. you’re so radiant to a point he almost doesn’t want anyone to look at you. but alas, you’re a natural born leader and a queen too perfect to hide away. even if that will manifest his own jealousy. your happiness is his primary goal—something he never thought he would say. 

uraume returns with omurice for the two of you, and eagerly discusses plans about the coronation with you. they will spread the word immediately so that the subjects from far and wide may travel in for the event. and uraume will contact the finest architects to start bringing sukuna’s designs to life. your excitement is palpable by the time you finish breakfast. 

the rest of the week ticks by without much fanfare. the two of you have settled in your makeshift palace—or castle as sukuna has taken to calling it. your life as a married woman is lavish. someone brings you your food and runs your bath water for you, braids your hair as soon as it’s combed through—which your husband insists on doing himself. he dotes on you in all of his spare time, working tirelessly to “welcome” all the travelers into the growing city he was proud to call home. this was his wife’s birthplace, of course he would erect your lives here. 

the night before the coronation, he comes to bed later than usual. “some of these nasty little gremlins talk incessantly–” he complains, finding you in a tight silken nightgown laying atop the sheets. you seemingly know what you do to him. it’s already hard not to destroy your little body, and then you have to go and provoke him–

“i missed you.” you purr, crawling on your knees to the end of the bed. oh the desire burning through his veins is ominous for you. you may have to be crowned seated tomorrow. “i know you were so busy today…let’s unwind?” you sit back on your haunches. he would move mountains to keep you here like this forever. 

his eyes siren in on you, merely a wolf preying on his lamb. “i missed you too, tiny queen.” he stalks forward, pawing at the breadth of your hips, the swells of your breast. “you know just how to make a bothersome day better.” he mutters, tucking his face into the crook of your neck, hot breath fanning over your skin—raising goosebumps in its wake. the simple touch of his hands mixed with the feeling of his voice rumbling against your veins had your eyes shutting to try and tame the yearning stinging in your pussy. “i want to put my children in you.”

a small moan slips past your lips. your black widow technique is suited for it, just an added ability to be fertile since it’s related to animals and mother earth. his promises to breed you only activated a very deep seeded part of you that only he can satisfy. he eases you back, turning you to a position on your knees. you brace yourself, the chill of excitement racing down your spine. his large hand smoothes against the soft pudge of your belly, prompting you to sink in against it in the most perfect arch. 

“i’ll be nestled in so nicely my little lamb,” he promises, the deep silken baritone of his voice has you clenching, the familiar wetness drooling down your thighs. you’re so easily worked up. but he can’t bring himself to just take from you, his inability to say how much he loves you easily replaced by his need to show it. his hand angles lower, calloused middle finger petting back the hood of your precious clit, your breath catching in your throat. “so deep i’ll cum straight into your womb.” 

just his presence makes your head woozy. that’s before the gentle circles to your swollen bundle, before his strong body pressed against your back had your knees wobbling against the mattress. he found it adorable that your hips moved on their own, grinding into his hand to seek your own pleasure. he loved watching it, loved listening to your little whimpers as you processed just how good a few of his digits could make you feel. “so much cum, drown your poor insides,” he sighs in faux boredom, grinning as you fling your head back with a gasp. “do it, go ahead.” 

and how could you not? the perfect combination of touch and taunts to get you to the precipice. your orgasm shatters your insides, eyes widening at the intensity. that’s a feeling you’ll never entirely get used to no matter how many times sukuna gives it to you. he chuckles fondly, tapping your swelling cunt. you hear the shuffle of fabric and then you feel it; his weighty cockhead dripping against your entrance. “that’s a good little wife, let’s see how many you can handle on my cock…” 

your hands fist the sheets, body going rigid to accommodate his size in this position. it hurts so blisteringly good, lightning sparkling in your vision as he, as promised, prods at your poor cervix, in for a long ride tonight. his hands position themselves on your hips, drawing the fat of your ass along the fat length of him, eliciting wanton moan after wanton moan from you. you stretch your arms out in front of you like a cat, grunting and whining from the way his hips collide with your asscheeks. it’s all you can hear though, even drowning out the sounds of your own moans. he’s drilling you; cramming inches of dick in such a small space he can’t believe you’re real. no wonder he’s so taken with you. he goes impossibly harder–faster, your arms giving out beneath you–face collapsing into the bed. 

“ryo—” your voice is muffled from the sheets, body crumpled up beneath him. oh it’s so hard not to break you entirely—only out of his utter love for you is he able to keep a clear mind, be thankful that you have enamored him so. your hands brace against the headboard, nails scratching at the wood in front of you, vision completely blacked out–the only thing you can think of is how fuzzy you feel all over. 

“cum, i’ll turn you over and keep going.” he growls against your shoulder, looping an arm around your neck to put you in a secured headlock. it’s not choking, but it’s suffocating all the same. the cushion of his strapping bicep makes you drool from both ends, spasming around your husband’s cock for the nth time since you’ve been married. his voice commands such obedience, so domineering in the way that he orders you cum for him. your body physically cannot disobey. 

his grin is devilish once he feels the warm rush, and he stays good on his promise, flipping you to a more comfortable position on your back. “that’s one…” he hums softly, picking up your legs at their bend, pinning them to his hips as he slides back in. you scream out at the added pressure, the stimulation so much to endure at the hands of your passionate husband.

instantly, he’s rocking slowly. you know there’s a plan, a secret bite. he’s hitting you so deep, smacking into your breeding spot each and every time, warming it up to the idea of taking every drop of him. your skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, lips swollen and pink from all the chewing on them to quiet yourself. your gorgeous tits bounce to punctuate every thrust–he can’t get enough of you. he puts your legs on his shoulders with a little snarl, nipping at the skin on your neck. 

you’re drifting blissfully in waves of pleasure, barely conscious already. “so beautiful, fucked out, making cream on my dick..” he chuckles into your ear, licking the shell and nipping the lobe before giving you a hungry kiss. it demonstrates his true passion, his genuine worship of his wife. his hips snap a little faster, mouth angled over yours to swallow up all your moans. “so good for her husband. taking me so very well..” 

he ends up drawing four orgasms out of you total. tomorrow he’ll try five—in the name of celebration of course! you’ll officially be king and queen tomorrow. and he intends to keep such festivities going for as long as he can. for once, sukuna has a lot to celebrate. 

the next day, uraume is stretched thin trying to attend to you both. you require the most attention, as your hair and robes are rather intricate and need assistance to put together. but sukuna is impatient and doesn’t like to be separated from you for any length of time, so he insists on changing in the room with you and sitting with you as your hair is braided and weaved. no one would have pegged him as the clingy type—but it does make sense when you think on it past his brute surface. you are the only person he has ever cherished. putting you in danger was something he just simply wasn’t willing to do. problem is, he considers anywhere out of his immediate sight as danger. 

eventually though, you’re dressed like the queen you’re soon to become. sukuna wore simply ravishing black robes, allowing all the color and decor for his beautiful bride. he smiles at you as you step off of the stool in all your glory. 

“you look beautiful in that…you always do.” he says with a nearly dopey expression on his face. he reaches for your hand and tucks it around his bicep, leading you out on the terrace overlooking the crowd. a raucous roar greets the two of you a you come into the scene, red and black flowing fabric swaying with the gentle breeze; highlighting the complexion of your skin and the warmth of your smile. 

a town shaman performs the crowning rite. it’s short and simple, your crowns anything but. while the general consensus of the crowd seems pleasant, you can pick out a few less than satisfied faces out amongst the rest of your new congregation–a hubbub of your old one. sukuna takes your hand once again, standing before everyone on an elevated platform, leaving without another word. no grand speech, no slaughtering to strike fear into their hearts. just the faint smile as he leads you back to the quarters you’ve come to love so much.

you almost expect him to get straight to it, fiddling with the tie on your dress robes, but he helps you with a gentle hand. he’s still in disbelief, honestly. these are dreams he hadn’t even dared to dream before. you make everything better. it’s…shocking. he helps you into your regular nightgown, disrobing on his own. “how does it feel..? to officially be queen–my queen?” he asks as he peels back the covers for you. he seems eager to pick your brain, and you know it’s his way of figuring out how he feels exactly too.

“i feel good. i feel like we have a lot to do, and we have a lot of support and ability to make this a really successful reign, my love.” you smile. laying on your side to look at him. he’s mirroring your posture, reaching out to paw at your hips, bringing you closer, wrapping his frame around yours in a tight hug. “i feel like we’ve already accomplished so much in bringing all these people together!” 

your answer brings a smile to his face. he should have known it would be some optimistic cute utterance like that, you’re genuinely too sweet sometimes. “how about you? how do you feel?” 

“i feel…like i am dreaming.” he replies, nuzzling his nose against yours. the gesture makes your heart swell and heat up. you just spend a few moments gazing at each other. 

“you’re not dreaming.” you whisper between you, fluttering lashes just flirting with him. a grin spreads his cheeks. 

“come here and prove it.” 

he gives you the promised five orgasms that night, and your body is so spent you sleep through most of the next day, spending those remaining daylight hours out in the flower field on a picnic date with your husband. 

the next week was spent hosting the contractors and architects, sitting in on the meetings with your king husband to weigh in on your own designs and choices. it’s fun to see everything laid out so simply, every image and description the two of you have was brought to life. the cobblestone kitchen idea, the long hallways, the wrapping stairs and canopy bed. all of it. 

the week after that, they start construction. it’s been about two and a half months into your marriage–two months have passed already? how could that be?

“m’lady? lunch.” uraume’s voice rips you from your own head. you had yet to drag yourself out of bed this morning. you hadn’t been feeling very well at all the past few days, and the idea of eating whatever that awful smell was had your stomach bubbling. uraume hadn’t even fully entered the room yet, seeing you sneer at your food, they sigh heavily. “what is it, do you not like my cooking all of a sudden?”

your husband got up on schedule to oversee some of the work being done today and was no doubt sending his most loyal servant in to check on you. you really were feeling horrible, if it weren’t for their usefulness you’d have half a mind to be annoyed with sukuna for sending them. you shake your head fervently. 

“no–i dunno, there must be some flu going around, i’m sure it will pass.” you sigh, snuggling the blankets up to your face. 

“let me bring the healer. perhaps she has a tonic to ease your nausea. or perhaps it’s the news you’ve been waiting for, my queen.” they say with a giddy little grin. their reminder has you gasping. 

“yes, please fetch her. do not tell the king until we know for certain, please?” you ask hopefully. it’s always a touch sell to have uraume keep anything away from sukuna. but to your surprise, they nod. this is news that you should break yourself. 

sure enough, uraume returns with the village healer nearly an hour later. sukuna is still tied up with the building plans—you can hear him yelling orders from your bedroom—but you’re actually grateful to be without him for now. you lay down for her and answer her questions about your marriage dates and your last bleeding. 

she feels your stomach, listening with a tool you’ve never seen before. 

“ahh~ seems your servant had the right idea. it seems the queen is pregnant. congratulations.” she bows her head deeply, your eyes filling with tears as you exchange a sweet look with uraume, how special for them to be a part of this moment. 

“thank you–” you manage with a gasp, absolutely over the moon, needing desperately to see your husband. this was news you’d never be able to keep to yourself for long. uraume seems to know exactly what you’re thinking; offering to fetch him instantly. 

you stand at the foot of your bed, pacing in wait. you have no idea what uraume said to draw him in your direction, and you’re hurrying to think of a good way to share the news. you didn’t have very long, your husband bursting into the room with panicked eyes searching over you. 

“uraume says the healer was here—are you alright?” he says, his lower set of hands reaching for yours. your grin blossoms, betraying every intention you had of playing coy. 

“i’m fine, my love. i’m more than fine. i’m pregnant!” you squeal, the news like someone sucked the air out of his lungs. you squeeze his hands, beautifully happy—contagiously happy. it’s finally real, you’re going to grow the family. you’re making all his dream reality. he blinks at you, wondering if that was just his active imagination. 

“what?” he blinks, bringing you closer, holding your hips, “say it again.” 

“i’m pregnant, sukuna. we’re going to have a baby. a little heir!!” you grin from ear to ear, being scooped up in his strong arms a second later. you’re spinning around the room in a fit of giggles, his touch secure and tight. 

if you thought your husband was clingy before, good luck getting him to leave your side now.

tags: @neon-crow @skypperlegacy @gis4greenandgreenisgre4t @secondos-slut @alltimenogoaway-blog @tragedyofabrokensoul @eiaaasamantha asukahiriko2 @t4naiis @thejujvtsupost @mymelx @maskedpacific @berranurates @enchantingartisanwitch @alastors-radio @gojosukuna2268 @hannas16 @alwaysfreakingout @thepurpleempath

#jjk x reader #kyleewritesjjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #dead dove fic #dark content #sukuna jjk #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna

[yandere-kokeshi]

yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost yandere ghost

— His Prey

Pairing: yandere childhood friend Simon x gn reader

Warnings: yandere behavior, slight spoilers for the comics; if you haven’t read it yet, I’d highly recommend reading it - stalking, implied family abuse, kidnapping(?), mentions of alcohol, hinting that the reader is slightly older, and smut.

Smut tags: dubcon, public sex(?), size kink, creampie (wrap it before you tap it!!), messy aftercare(?), and kidnapping?

A/N: I hope you enjoy this. This took so long and this is probably my favorite one. But I may take a break from smut, idk 🤷‍♂️

GIF IS NOT MINE || BELONGS TO @/sgt-gaz

You had been missing for years. Decades that seemed to last for millions for Ghost. As a kid, he’d imagine marriage and having kids - something that every kid admires at least once. 

It’s true, he did love you, you always took care of him and helped clean him up after every time he had himself a fuck up. Be it romance problems, money problems, or even family problems. You always struck out your head for him. So, why wouldn’t he look for you?

Your family gave up on you, for reasons that are now beyond him. For reasons that disgusted and angered him. 

On his fair share, he could understand what you had gone through. His family was also a mess, specifically his father - always screaming at anyone, especially at you whenever you came to visit. It was a mess. Just like he was and still is. 

But, when he got the news that you ran away; your loyal image distorted and tainted by your family’s grief and anger.

He was angry. He remembers jumping over fences, ignoring the pouring rain, and running to your home - not believing the words of his father, but when he knocked frantically, your drunken father answering with slurring words and the smell of cigarettes strong, he knew you had left.

Asking where you had gone, all your father did was shrug his shoulders. Talking down to you as a ‘pent-up bitch who deserved to leave’.

Those few nights in jail weren’t fun. He can still feel the blood on his knuckles. The bruises cracked his skin and made them bleed. To Simon, he was a lucky bastard to even still breathe. 

It hurts to be left behind, but Simon soon understood. For your own safety and happiness, you had to escape. He knew in his heart and soul that he’d find you again sooner or later. 

And when he did, he’d feel your hands hug him tightly. Hear that pretty voice of yours that was addicting to listen to, even if he didn’t know what you were talking about. Those times in your garage, listening to heavy rock and dancing to the embarrassing beats as you pulled him into a messy kiss. 

Those memories were precious to him. 

You two went your own ways. But now… he grasps the nice times he had with you. Comforting and safe times with you. The ones where he could run to your home - knocking on your window at midnight, covered in sweat from how fast he ran. Your embrace was the best for him.

Tightening his hold on the film in his hands, the one where you two are hugging from his graduation, days before you had left. He sighed; inhaling through his tight teeth, he jumped out of his truck and started walking towards the diner he knew so much about. 

You are his mission, for now, and until he dies. 

Ghost had gathered enough information about your cold trail to find you. Found a friendly woman on the way, one that was quite nice and oblivious to the dangers - a nice and gentle lady who had offered to give him the location where she had last seen you a few weeks ago. 

A sad but comforting word of, love goes a long way. I hope you find them. 

Thudding his worn boots against the pavement, he admired the morbidly dead-beat town; a few people passing by him, eyes staring at him as if he was an alien. But, what was weirder was that no kids were running around - no music or loud beeping of cars could be heard. 

Only the occasional noises of crickets and wind blowing against the covering of his hoodie. It was uncomfortable. 

Approaching the recognizable diner, the lights were flickering. The run-down neon lights of spotted letters buzzed ever so slightly, the humming could be easily mistaken as a wasp nest. The letters were barely hanging on, only having support from the strings above the window; swinging left to right as if it was a lullaby.  

The D and R had shut down completely, making the rest of entire letters seem bigger, a series of flickering flashes that made it as though threatening. 

But threatening didn‘t scare him. Not anymore at least. It was something he was used to it.

Coming inside, the loud but nostalgic ding! Was nice to hear. His eyes follow the insides of the booth, looking at the familiar retro commercials playing on the TVs and people munching on the greasy food, chugging cheap beer down their throats, and jazzed music playing in the background. 

The heavy smell of oily french fries and vanilla milkshakes burned into his nose. A familiar chase of reminiscent, made him shut his eyes as he sighed, stupidly.

What if you weren’t here? What if… all of this was a dream and he was still a beat-up kid? It was something he didn’t wanna think about, but with everything that’s happened - his family, his home, his mind a fucked up place; everything was possible.

Taking a deep but swift sigh, he reopened them, revealing a familiar face on the opposite side of the counter. It didn’t even take a second for him to know who it was. 

It’s you. Look at you…

Walking about, doing your job as you unknowingly noticed the man in a giant hoodie. He watched you walk from table to table - seeing your little notepad and the recognizable clicky pen you’ve somehow kept. The black and orange lines on it have yet faded. Didn’t he give you that in high school? 

You’ve… grown. Still cute as a darlin’. Addicting as ever. 

He saw you smile at your coworker - their voice going into the abyss of his mind. Your smile is so pretty. It still is. Your laugh too. It was way too genuine for this crappy and unsafe place; a place you shouldn’t even call home.

It gave him the chills. The way your voice was nothing but a gift. Such a gentle smile and laugh. Just like in the old times.

The memories hit him like a train. The photos and slow moments of spending most of the summer with you, running away from old men who were yelling at you for stealing candies at 7/11 - you were facetious and flirty, somehow always grabbing his hands, pulling him along to your mischievous plans. Then, it was fun. 

After all, in his mind, you were still the gorgeous partner he so loved. A love grew into need. A need that turned into years of searching and trying to find you again. 

But looking at you now, Ghost betted a few hundred bucks - that you’d look really nice with his tattooed arm around your throat - those lips promising to be good and treat him well. 

You always tasted amazing. Even whilst sweating or crying. 

Tonight, you were exactly what he was looking for: his soulmate. Sure, he didn’t believe in that kind of stuff, but he knew you were meant for him. You were everything he could ask for. 

Besides, with that adorable smile of yours, you were practically begging to be manhandled and thrust up against the brick walls behind the diner. For now, all he had to do was wait till you were off. And again, you were his mission after all. And he takes them very seriously. 

“Night, Rebecca!” You yelled, shutting the door behind you as you started walking towards your apartment. Pulling your jacket more into your figure, you cursed out loud. Jeez, did today have to be more exhausting? 

Maybe I could stop at the wine shop. It is Friday after all, you thought. As you continued to walk down the similar path to your apartment, you never noticed the large figure following right behind you. 

Though, you were always a bit naïve. Somethin’ that drew Simon in like a rope around a horse.

Suddenly, whilst you were walking, your phone slipped out of your pocket. The brutal hit of your phone screen smacking onto the concrete made you cringe. Your heart banged out of your chest as you immediately let out a wild yelp.

“Shit!” You blurted out, crouching down to pick it up. Though, as you went down, there was a rush of wind and suddenly you were hoisted by hands grabbing you by the waist. You screamed, trying to kick and hit whatever was behind you, whilst trying your best to ignore the anxiety spiraling in your chest and down your body.

The back of your head smacked against the stone of the wall. But before you could react, a hand was placed over your mouth as the stench of incense and light booze crawled into your nostrils; letting you take in the large yet dark figure in front of you which was leveled with the sight of a black hoodie and muscular arms. 

“Shh,” a gritty voice growled in your ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

Is this where you’re gonna die? Where the Fox News makes a case for your murder in cold blood?

It was then that you noticed the nature of the voice, the familiar smell of comfort waving in. Home. It smelled like home. 

Preparing yourself, you peeked up at the tall and masked man, barely reassuring yourself as the adrenaline of fright from being thrown into a dark alleyway and being held against the bricked wall was starting to sit in.

Though connecting eyes with the man, you released a gasp. Looking into those recognizable brown eyes you could remember anywhere.  

“Simon?”

It’s his eyes. Black holes. No stars. The face paint around his eyes burned into them like ash.

He could feel his heartbeat in his hands, a sudden reminder of his given name, sitting nearly forgotten at his hidden identity; whipped away with ‘Ghost’ and ‘The most Brutal Soldier’. 

Simon was no longer Simon. He was Ghost. A hulking behemoth of a man. Nothing but pumped full of adrenaline, a dexterity for killing. A cover-up from his messed up, a shit show of the past. 

“Holy shit…”

Your gaze made his heart ache. Watching how tears swelled up into them, how blown wide they were. All he wanted was to wipe those away and kiss them better. Comfort you the times you did to him when he’d come to you crying - feeling your small hands wrap around him and kiss his neck affectionately.

“I thought… your family and you–”

Your hands were shaking - fists clenching and unclenching as his hoodie near his chest. Your voice was shaking, almost like a doe-eyed deer trying to escape its predator; thriving at its very last breath as it tried to talk. But, nothing was coming out. All that was heard were hiccups and the slight pounder of cars driving by.

You sniffled, eyes flashing. The sweet look of concern on your adorable face. 

His hand went down, pulling away at his gloves before wiping your tears as more came down. Your hands, always delicate and soft, ascended to hover above his face, barely touching his skulled balaclava. He could feel his throat tighten - like a noose was secured around it. Threatening to yang the weapon if he dared to speak.

“Can… I pull it down?”

You expected a harsh no. A quiet negative answer. You could tell he was wearing it for a reason. Hiding something that he didn’t want you or anyone else to see. It squeezed your heart - uncertainty piling into your stomach. 

Though, when his fingers curled around the bottom of the balaclava - pulling up and off the mask, your throat went dry.

So much has changed since you were kids, the Simon you once knew: the soft chubbed cheek and rounded smile was now scarred. Everything on his face was bumped, unmetrical. Dry and harsh. Something you’d never expect from your Simon. 

“H-how…” You asked, reaching him to touch his warm cheek - your fingers grazing over his littered cheek of scars. He almost didn’t look like the Simon you knew years ago. His eyes and hair stayed the same. But the rest of him didn’t. The tattoos, his demeanor, the scars, the littered marks all over his body and hands that were once soft and hot to touch. Instead of being the scrawny kid he once was, he was now… big and intimidating. 

“I know. Not the proudest moment to introduce again,” He chuckled, his giant hands grabbing yours and tightening his hold. He pulled them up to his lips, taking a moment to look into your eyes before kissing your knuckles.

“I won’t let anything hurt ya’ anymore, okay?” He stated, his hand letting go of yours and wrapping them around the curves of your hips, pulling you closer towards him as he pushed his face into your hair, inhaling a sharp sigh. 

“Simon. How did you…?” You ushered out, laying your forehead on his chest as you waited for his answer.  Simon — took an agonizingly long minute to reply, his hands tightening around your hips as you wrapped your arms around his lower back, feeling more tears rolling down your face. 

“It’s a long story, doll.” He stated, digging his face deeper into your hair as you felt your stomach twist and turn into butterflies. 

You detach yourself from his chest, looking up at him as your lips quivered. “I- don’t understand Simon. How are you…?”

“How what, sweetheart?” He looked down at you, his hand going up to your chin, quickly wiping the tears that fell as he patiently waited for your answer. 

“Your father- he…”

Suddenly, Simon growled out. His grip on your hips tightened, making you grimace loudly. “Don’t. He doesn’t matter. What… happened years ago doesn’t matter right now.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Shh- it’s fine. Jus’... You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He danced his fingers up your chest, making their way to your sternum. Slowly he unbuttoned your shirt, making sure to take his time as his lips attached to your neck, leaving a few marks that he intends to stay. 

“S-imon,” Your words were a little above a whisper, peppered with high-pitched gasps that seemed to be enjoyed by the man in front of you; his lips kissing your ear, jaw, and neck. Slowly making his way down to your stomach.

“I know. Me too,” He chuckled, fully unbuttoning your shirt, and pulling it off as it fell onto the floor. “Been waitin’ the right time, for you to become mine again. I promise I won’t be too mean.” 

A whine blanked your mind, feeling his hands knead at your soft skin, cupping your arse under his fingers as he dropped your pants onto the floor. “Fuck, n-not here please.” Though, Simon’s answer was a harsh one as you felt something hard poking you on your thigh.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fast then we can leave, yah’?” His chest touched yours, and with his strong hands, he gripped your thighs and hiked you up onto his hips, knocking your knees together which prompted you to wrap and tighten your legs around his waist. 

Your hands fisted his hoodie on his shoulder, “What are you—!” 

A moan was let out as you felt his fingers dip beneath your briefs, teasing your core as you cried out; feeling him hit that spot that made your knees go weak. “Oh gosh-” you gasped.

Simon drew his face closer to yours and kissed you. The taste of alcohol and tangy smoke blended in with your breath as he kissed you so sweet that you never wanted it to end - your moan being muffled as his tongue explored your cave. 

Your fingers traveled from his shoulders up to the back of his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you two hungrily fought for a truce; fighting the urge to smile as he groaned from your sly fingers. 

Finally, you two separated for air - heaving deeply as you two looked into each other’s eyes. Suddenly, you felt his fingers push up inside you in a twirling motion. You groaned and writhed beneath him, and as you did, your thigh pushed against his groin.

His harsh breath that blew onto you had goosebumps rise across your skin.

“I need you.” he rasped. 

You reached your hand down to slide your hand inside his pants to grip his erect cock. You swallow the words that wanted to come out, feeling how your fingers barely touch around the width of him. Jesus, how could anyone have this size? 

You rub your thumb over the tip. He’s leaking pre-cum and when your nails grazed his sensitive head, he shivered. By the time you had removed your fingers, bringing them up to your lips, his hands were already finishing unbuttoning his belt and undoing his zipper; freeing his cock.

He was thick, with a bulbous base. He had building veins. Some on the underlining of his cock, outlining the leaking pre-come, rolling down the length of his cock. He also had a happy trail, a sagittal one that was very attractive. 

You ached to feel him inside you, but when you reached down, he shook his head. “Let me taste ya’ first.”

Taking a minute, you nodded, and he took your hips in both of his giant hands; adjusting your position up onto his shoulders, letting your legs hang off them. He then lowered his mouth to your body, kissing and nipping down to your V-line, then worked his tongue and teeth to pull down your undergarment as he came to the sensitive skin where your thigh met your pelvis. 

He kissed you there sweetly, breathing in your tainted-sweat skin and scent. Infuriatingly ignoring where you wanted to be touched most. 

He groans out your name. Spilling it out like a love spell.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he started to work his tongue over and around you. Circling, sucking, caressing. Taking in your taste like a wolf with its mate.

At first, Simon only kept his left hand on your thigh, watching you unravel from his mouth — bucking upwards into his mouth, seeing you moan out as he growled against you, sending vibrations to your core. His nails dug deeply into your thighs, adding a counterpoint to the intense sensations of his tongue and lips as he made sure you whined out.

It took you a pretty short time before he brought you breathless, pushing you over to the edge with his tongue and hands. The rough fingers of his, the depth of penetration of his tongue, and the wet noises made you go boneless. 

Yet, he still didn’t move the heat of his mouth from your hole while you came, admiring how your body clung to the concrete wall and his head for support as your shouts echoed throughout the alleyway. He cleaned you more with his tongue — relishing the taste of you.

“Fucking hell.” he grunts.

He departed himself from the mess he had caused - giving you a quick peck before he hiked you back onto his hips, moving your legs around his lower back as he lowered his slick cock between your parted legs, breathing hard.

“I need you, darlin’,” He growled in your ear.

You panted, nodding slowly as your vision was barely picking up - already overstimulated from how long it has been since anyone else has made you cum quite violently. 

His breath was hot. Breathing directly down to your collarbone as he nudged the hot tip of his cock against your entrance. He’s too big, his blunt head snags against your entrance. You breathe through your nose, brow furrowing as you tighten your eyes closed. 

“Jesus Christ,” He hissed as he bucks, clearly impatient, needing more as he feels the clutch of your sex. 

“Easy.. please,” You try, feeling him draw your forehead against his, the sweaty skin rubbing against each other as you two share the love you two once shared - an act of surface, awaiting till it boils over.

“Fuck,” he mutters in your ear. 

You cling to him, desperate and a little dizzy. He’s so big and you’re so full, packed to the very brim as his cock drags against your sensitive walls; you feel his nose press into your cheek, his mouth sliding against your jaw as he grinds into you.

“Ss’good,” he utters quietly, “Fuck, I love ya’ so much.”

You cried out in pleasure - clenching down at his shoulders as you bit your finger. His hips and cock punching against the furthest part of your core. He releases a deep groan of pleasure at your sheer tightness.

“More!” You rasped out, grabbing his cheek and kissing him. He parted his lips and let your tongue taste his mouth. You tasted yourself - but you didn’t mind. All you cared about was Simon. Your Simon. 

He plants his feet deeper into the concrete, beginning to really fuck you. Positioning his hips and slamming up inside you until the sound of only your soaked hole swallowing him repeatedly along with slapping skin bouncing off the walls.

It’s overwhelming. The heavy smell of rain. The smell of sex and the sounds of raspy groans. Squelchy noises of your hole being brutally hit as your thighs are turning raw. It’s rasp and chafe. But you were enjoying it. Enjoying every bit of it.  

“Fuckin’ hell,” he hushed out, his hips snapping more. “Feels so good.”

He began to move deeper, harder, sharper. You clutched at his giant arms, your legs tightening around his waist as his hips cracked more. You felt his muscles tighten, a slight warning of him crashing down to his peak. 

Your toes curled. Entwining up with the sensations spreading all over your body, pounding at your sensitive ears. You could hear everything. Feel everything. Taste everything. 

He’s reclaiming you. His hips fully abusing your hips and thighs. His groans and tightened jaw were a sight to see. His eyes shut closed as his body tightened up. 

“Come for me.” he says, “I know you need to, love.” 

Your eyes rolled in the back of your head. Yet another pleasure crash came over you, consuming you again, and at that, with a bellow that shook to your very core, your orgasm took you by surprise with a scream.

His voice lowers down. His hips sped up even more as your toes curled and head rolled back - eyes seeing white. Your nails dug into his back. 

You felt Simon stiffen. The warmth of his spent filling you. His hips spasmed and jerked, his jaw clenching with a long groan, his eyes screwed shut as you felt hot liquid rush inside you, stuffing you full. Even as he pressed his hips tightly against yours, still grinding at the pleasure, you were a moaning mess. 

When he finished, he let out a soft sigh. Still sitting inside you, he prepped kisses all over your neck, sliding his tongue with your sweaty skin and dug his nose into it. You felt him mumble some words, but you paid no attention. 

Slowly pulling back, making sure to not overwhelm you, he let you back on the ground. Simon had his hands on your waist, ensuring you were still there - almost as if he loosened his grip, even by a grain of salt, you’d disappear. 

“That was…” You went to say something, but with dopamine and adrenaline still coursing through your veins, your brain was left blank - possibly melting. 

Simon chuckled, leaning over to kiss your forehead before looking you directly in the eye. “You okay?” 

You nodded, “Jus’ tired and cold.”

He nodded, adjusting his pants and getting dressed. Belting his pants back up before crouching down to grab your clothes that were thrown on the floor. Standing back up, he handed them to you.

“You should get dressed,” He said. 

“Not in the mood to stain my clothes,” You laughed, running your fingertips over your collarbone that was stained with sweat. Simon looked down between your legs, before looking behind you as you felt your cheeks heat up. 

“You need to get dressed.” He grabbed the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it off of him as he prompted you to raise your arms. Nonetheless, Simon’s smell gave you an undying amount of comfort. Shoving your arms through the sleeves, he helped you get your head through the top hole before adjusting the bottom of the fabric, making sure it covered you whole. 

And that it did. You marvel at how large the damn hoodie is, your fingertips barely peeking at the ends of the sleeves and the end of the hoodie covering most of your thighs. It was astonishing.

“Hey, where’s my—!” Before you could finish the question about your phone, you yelped - feeling yourself get picked off the ground. You were picked up by Ghost, being rested in his arms as he held you with such care. Making sure you were comfortable before resting your head on his chest. 

You could feel his heart thumping - picking a beat at the sound of drums. Like tapping your fingers at your desk as you studied a book scenario. It was comforting.  

“Why– where are we going?” You asked, looking up at him with a face of confusion as he adjusted his mask; his eyes peering down at you from the balaclava.  

“M’ taking you home.” He stated, his hands curling more around your body. 

You blinked at him, surprised. 

“Home? You don’t even know where my apartment is. How would you—?”

“—You’re gonna stay with me,” he clarifies, ducking his head as the both of you started walking away from the alleyway. Slight embarrassment rises in your cheeks as you realized you just fucked in an alleyway. Not the first time with him.

You huffed out an annoyed sigh, you replied with a quick answer, “That’s not what I meant. Where are we going?”

There was only silence after that, and you had worried that maybe you pushed too far. Possibly angered him. After calling his name twice and no answer coming forward, you decided to quit asking. 

You slid your arms around his neck, paying no attention to your surroundings. Unintentionally, you dug your face into his shoulder, taking a deep inhale before you listened to the wind; admiring how quiet it was.

Surely, you could see a smug smirk trail against Simon’s face - but you paid no attention. You were tired. Exhausted at best.

Suddenly, you heard a car; a truck gets unlocked from behind you. You were prompted to look, but when you got sight of the black Chevy truck, suddenly the door being opened by Simon and you being placed in the passenger seat beside the driver, you slumped into the seat.

You waited for him to climb in. Hearing the backdoor to your left open and shut loudly before you heard him get in. He shuffled in his seat, reaching over to buckle in his seatbelt before looking in your direction.

“Here.”

You looked at his hand, a huge white wool blanket being handed to you. You grabbed it, the fabric practically melting into your fingers. It was so soft. And smelled like him too.

You heard Simon chuckle at your reaction before starting up the truck, turning down the radio to ensure you were comfortable. He put on the heaters - readjusting the way of direction to blow so it could puff directly at you.

“Tomorrow, we’ll stop and get your stuff. From now on, you’ll stay with me.”

You nodded. Not saying anything. But when you tucked into the blanket around your form, making sure it covered your shoulders and legs, you felt his hand move over, gripping your thigh as he squeezed three times; his way of saying, ‘I love you’. 

It made you smile. Turning your sight over to look into the side mirror, you watched as your town got further away. The lights turned into small gusts of balls as you watched the road become thinner and thinner. Before turning into nothing but a small pan of memories. 

You lay there a long time, just listening to the sound of the music and the occasional blinking of the car to signal changing lanes. It was until you found yourself slipping into sleep right after a few minutes. Turned out you’d missed the contact as much as he had. It was probably for the best, that you stayed with him for a while. 

Not that he’d let you go.

—

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© yandere-kokeshi 2023 — Do not copy, modify, edit, repost, or use my works for ASMR readings, tiktoks, or other content.

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[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Prompt 3/9/24

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild

Prompt: Bite

Rating: G | WC: 867

Emotional hurt/comfort, Steve Harrington's parents being the worst, the best uncle Wayne Munson, supportive boyfriend Eddie Munson, the party loves Steve Harrington

Steve had given up on his dad long ago, he was never going to be the kind of man Richard Harrington had always wanted his sons to grow up and be, but he’d held out hope for his mom—hope that someday she would learn to love him the way she loved his brother.

More than ten years between them, and the fact that the Harrington’s had moved to Hawkins only after Christopher had graduated high school and gone off to college, meant no one really knew Steve had a sibling. 

The party, Robin, Eddie—especially Eddie because how could they have been dating for over a year now and him somehow still not know about this—were all stunned to learn of the existence of another young Harrington.

He hadn’t meant to tell them at all, but then Christopher and their parents made a surprise visit home so that his brother could take possession of their grandmother’s ring and pop the question to his girlfriend of a whopping 9 months. Less time than he and Eddie had been seeing each other and didn’t that get under Steve's skin to know he’d never get to propose to his boyfriend with a family heirloom, not only because gay marriage wasn’t legal, but because his parents would never dream of handing down a piece of jewelry to their least favorite son.  

Steve wound up having to make the rounds, letting everyone know movie night was canceled because his brother was in town. Naturally they all wanted explanations for why this was the first they were learning of this mysterious person, and by the time he got to Eddie’s place, Steve was a mess. 

Years of mistreatment and neglect bubbled to the surface, and not just the big things but the little sniping comments, the small injustices—inequities between the way Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spoke of their older son vs their younger—hurt feelings that he’d pushed all the way down in order to function, in order to put a fucking smile on his face and hide the fact that he was damaged goods who not even a mother could love. 

It all came spilling out of him on Eddie’s bedroom floor as his boyfriend held him, rocked him, was his rock, tethering him to the earth.

When it was all over and Steve was calm, Eddie asked him why he still spoke to them, why he still lived in their house when he and Wayne had both–on separate occasions–invited him to live with them instead.

“They’re my family.” Steve said, shrugging. “I don’t have a choice.” 

“Of course you do, Stevie. You always have a choice. If you were to decide right here and now that you never wanted to see or speak to them again, you are allowed to do that. You hold all the power here. I’ll support you in whatever you decide, but I have to say in my humble opinion, they never deserved you.”

Steve took the night to think about it, though in the instant Eddie had said the words, given Steve the power to take control of his own life, he’d known what he was going to do. It was his life, he could do with it as he wished. He was already doing that with almost every other part of it, so why was he still letting his mom and dad hold any power over him? Why did he subject himself to their passive aggressive comments and disappointed glares?

In the end he never went back, not even to get his stuff. Wayne and Eddie did it for him, leaving behind his keys and his beloved car. 

A small price to pay for freedom. 

He called the next day and left a final message on the answering machine. 

“Please leave your message after the beep.”

“Hey mom. You’re the hardest one to say goodbye to, the last member of this family I held out hope for so you’ll have to forgive me for not doing this in person. My car keys are on the table by the front door. I know the BMW is in dad’s name and I know he wouldn’t want me keeping it under the circumstances.”

“I am no longer a Harrington. I’m sure you won’t mind because you barely thought of me as one to begin with but it’s official now. I’m moving on, and moving in with my boyfriend. Yes, boyfriend, because I am nothing if not a consistent disappointment.”

“It took me longer to see it with you because I've witnessed the way you care for the people around you, most of them anyway, and what you’ve done for this community.”

“You are a good person, except when you’re not. And you were a great mom, just not to me.”

There was no bite in his words, just a sad truth finally spoken aloud.

Steve hung up the phone feeling lighter than he ever had in his whole life, and sat down to dinner with the people who really loved him. His found family, who’d all dropped whatever they were doing at a moments notice to throw him an impromptu moving-in party at his new home with Eddie and Wayne. 

Thanks to my beloved @penny00dreadful for having a look over this 🥰

#stwgdailyprompt #steddie fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington's parents #steddie fic #wayne munson my beloved #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #fanfic

[hiraeth-ink]

Could I Be Yours (Joel Miller fic)

Pairing - Joel x Married Female Reader 

Summary - You’ve been married for five years now to your long term man Marcus, but with your dwindling sex life and your marriage on the rocks, you came to an agreement. You're allowed to sleep with other men. The only rules? 1- You have to tell your husband about it. 2- No staying the night, you always leave after sex. And lastly, rule number 3, you can’t sleep with the same man more than once. These rules are in place to avoid feelings blooming, but what happens when you meet Joel, and end up breaking all of the rules? Will it break your marriage too? If faced with a choice between Joel Miller and your husband, who would you choose? 

Warnings - Infidelity/open relationship??, smut, protected p in v, choking, mentions of face slapping, degradation, reader is called a slut a few times, oral (f receiving), squirting, Joel being cocky, 

Word Count - 7.2k

a/n - this is the longest piece I’ve ever written, lmk if anyone wants more, I have plenty of ideas for this story. 

“Did you have fun, baby?” your husband asked as soon as you closed the door to your shared home. He had an excited expression on his face, and was sporting a smirk you’d seen countless times. You’d noticed that whenever you returned home from one of your escapades, he wore the same demeanour. He was calm and collected, but eager to hear your recounting of the events. He wanted to know every detail and was never jealous. This is what he wanted after all, what he suggested. He wanted to know how you got them into bed, how wet you were, how big they were, how many times they brought you to release. And you were more than happy to tell him everything. 

“So much fun, Marcus,” you said while taking a seat next to him on the sofa, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. “He was a little quiet though, you know how I want to be praised.”

Marcus lifted your hair from your neck and trailed a path of kisses from behind your ear to your collarbone and asked the question he always did, “Did he make you come?”. 

—-----------------------------------

Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, his money, and his wife. You’d met Marcus in University, he was the sweet, nerdy boy in your English Lit class that eventually asked you on a date. You were together through school and when he got a job opportunity in Austin, you packed everything and moved with him, no questions asked. At the time, you couldn’t imagine building a life with anyone but him, your youth and naivety made it so that you couldn’t imagine living without him at all. And so, after seven years of being together, 5 years of marriage, a dwindling sex life and less time spent together than ever, Marcus suggested the agreement. The agreement in which you sleep with other men and tell Marcus every last detail. The agreement that has three rules; you have to tell Marcus about whenever you sleep with a man; you can’t stay the night with another man and you can’t fuck the same man twice. Marcus claims that this agreement “saved your marriage”. While it may have saved your sex life, it certainly has not saved your marriage. Your husband was a generous man, generous with his kindness, generous with his money, even generous with his wife, but he was no longer generous with his time. You may have been having more sex, but you weren’t spending time together like you used to, you weren’t laughing like you used to, you didn't love him like you used to. 

You weren’t sure how he felt about you, if he still loved you enough to want to spend the rest of his life with you, all you knew was that nothing was how it used to be. In the past, Marcus was loud about his love, his eyes were a clear reflection of the love he held for you.  His love would make itself known, obvious, like road signs popping up constantly on a long drive, something you didn’t have to look for, his love appeared right in front of your eyes. Now you had to look for the road signs, your eyes were squinting to find them. Maybe you’d taken a wrong turn on the road. Maybe you were lost.

—----------------------------

A few days later, Marcus had to go on a work trip away for the weekend, the weekend you were hoping you could spend some quality time together. It had been so long since you’d been able to spend more than a few hours before bed together, and so you had been excited for a whole weekend to spend just the two of you, your bodies entangled together between the sheets, leaving next to no space between you in a hope to rekindle something between you. Your disappointment was evident when he’d told you and so he suggested that you get dressed up, go out and find a man to fuck you senseless for the night and tell him all about it when he got back, and while you wanted Marcus, you weren’t going to say no to that. 

You were apprehensive about the agreement at first, but you soon discovered that there was something you found so enticing about seducing other men. Feeling desired by so many was a feeling you couldn’t describe, especially when your husband was never home, or when he was he just wanted a quick fuck to calm his frustrations, he never cherished you, never took his time with you. 

The sex with Marcus was good, he knew exactly what to do by now. But, there was one more thing you felt that was missing from your sex life. For so long you had wanted him to be a little more dominant, you wanted to be told exactly what to do and when to do it, to be put in your place, be punished, even degraded a little. You’d brought this up but Marcus didn't have it in him, he’d grown nervous when you asked him to choke you, and looked terrified when you had asked him to slap you, so you didn't ask again. The men you’d enjoy one night with were more likely to do these things, but lacked the dominant energy you craved, it was difficult to believe what they were saying, difficult to submit to them in the way you wanted to submit. 

As soon as you walked into the dingy bar you felt you’d made the wrong choice. It was dark, only lit by the lights behind the bar and the small lamps on the larger tables. A country song was playing in the background and although it wasn’t too loud, the lack of people in the bar meant that you could hear every word being sung. You were undoubtedly overdressed, wearing a tight, black dress that left very little to the imagination and high heels that were quickly becoming uncomfortable to walk in. You contemplated turning around and trying another place but decided against it and approached the bar. You ordered a margarita; opting for a stronger option, hoping to feel a buzz sooner rather than later. Looking around, the choice of men in the bar was lacklustre at best. There was a trio of men at a corner booth who looked to be in their sixties at least, a group of boys who looked underage at another corner booth, and three people at the other side of the bar. Two men and one woman. One of the men was facing away from you and was mostly covered by the man next to him, who was standing up, animatedly talking to a blonde woman. The man you could see was attractive, dark hair, almost black, only looked around 30 years old, but he was clearly flirting with the woman, and she was eating it up. Her giggles filled the room, and she was twirling a strand of her long hair between her nimble fingers, no doubt flashing him eyes that screamed fuck me. 

You watched their exchange from your seat at the bar, until the man was tapping his pockets, pulling a pack of cigarettes out and passing one to the woman, leading her to the front of the bar and then outside. 

  With the attractive man and the blonde gone, you could look at the man with them for the first time, with no interruptions. He was a little older than the man who accompanied him, dark hair, tanned skin, a strong yet beautifully carved nose, strong arms and big, broad shoulders. He was gorgeous, so gorgeous that you were distracted by the way that his thick thighs were spread out on the barstool, which was dwarfed by his huge frame. Unsure just how long you’d been staring, you failed to notice that he was looking in your direction. He was looking at you, looking at him and he was smirking. His face, gorgeous and now sporting an almost too smug expression, was looking right at you, and you were momentarily stunted by the intense eye contact. You were seldom intimidated by men these days, they were always so predictable, so similar to each other that you knew what was coming each time. But this impossibly handsome man had not yet spoken a word to you, and was already affecting you in ways you weren’t sure you had ever experienced. 

Pulling yourself together as best as you could, you began your routine. You smiled at him, feigning shyness, although you were not sure if this time your shyness was completely fake, and held his eye. You had done this countless times and knew what worked with men. Smile innocently, act bashful and coy and they were soon eating out of your hand. But you could tell that this man was different, his smirk was now gone but he still looked so confident, so sure of himself. You knew you were not in control of this situation, and you welcomed the feeling. You held eye contact and wordlessly beckoned him over with a wave of your hand, you had not yet heard his voice but you were already settled comfortably under the influence of his charisma, and you wanted more. As if in an out-of-body experience, you felt as though you could see your own eyes, and your eyes were undoubtedly, just as you expected the blonde’s eyes from earlier to be; screaming fuck me. 

You watched as he grabbed his drink, his hand so big that the glass looked as if it had shrunk in his hand, brought it up to his lips and took a long sip. As if in a trance, you watched as he gulped the drink down, his Adam's apple bobbing and you couldn’t help but notice the veins in his thick neck that were slightly prominent. The man then got up from the bar stool, turned completely in your direction and walked towards you. The distance he crossed wasn’t far at all, and you found yourself wishing it was further, wishing the universe would grant you more time to take in his perfect form from the front. 

He places a hand on the barstool next to yours and, still holding intense eye contact, speaks to you for the first time. “You’re far too beautiful to be in a place like this,” his voice was heavenly, deep and velvety with a slight Texan drawl that was enough to make you squirm in your seat. The way in which his voice affected you had you floored, you were completely speechless and could only look up at him from your seat. You gestured to the barstool his hand was resting on, wordlessly telling him to take a seat beside you. He smiled and pulled out the stool slightly, showcasing his strong bicep and forearm. “Are you here alone?” he asked as he looked you up and down. His eyes, although soft and kind, held a fierce intensity that intrigued you.

You lifted your glass to your lips with your left hand, the ring finger of which still sporting your wedding band, and licked a sliver of salt from the rim, all while holding his eye, said in the most seductive voice you could muster, “I wanted a night away,” and waited for the penny to drop. You liked for the men you slept with to know that you were married, that this was their only chance, that you were never going to see them again. Some would shrink away while others would lean in. Some needed to hear about the agreement and others found it sexy, that they were fucking another man’s wife. You hoped that Joel was not the type to shrink away, to recoil with offence, as if you had slapped him, as some of them would. You could tell the exact moment he noticed the ring, his mouth, previously open as if he was ready to speak, quickly clamped shut. His eyes glanced up at your face, and then back down to your hand, which was now gently resting on the bar top. 

“You’re married? I’m sorry I must’ve read this wrong,” he drawled, and moved to stand up but you quickly interjected.

“You didn't,” the words sounded rushed when they left your mouth, your voice louder than you intended, “You didn’t read anything wrong. My husband and I…..”. This was the part you didn’t like, explaining the agreement was never easy, “...we have an agreement,” you said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t inquire further. 

“Like a…. Like an open relationship?” he asked while raising his eyebrow, and you nodded affirmatively. 

“Yeah, basically,” you said, and suddenly realised you still did not know his name, he was still only a stranger to you, a stranger who’s body you wanted to lick the entirety of. You introduced yourself, telling him your name. 

“I’m Joel, nice to meet ya darlin’,” he drawled, gruff and impossibly sexy. Joel, finally hearing his name felt as if you had been waiting to hear it for years, you returned his sentiment and tried his name on your tongue, tasting it as you said it.

“I like your voice, like the way you say my name,” he smirked once again, and his confident aura reappeared. “Your husban’ must be crazy, if you were mine I’d damn near kill anyone else wantin’ to get involved.” 

“Do you want to get involved?” you asked, keeping your voice sounding as demure as you could while softly placing a hand above his knee, slowly tracing aimless patterns on his thigh, not so innocently creating a pattern with your fingertips, tracing higher and higher towards the apex of his thighs. 

“Isn’t it obvious what I want?” he drawled, looking you up and down, his eyes flitting from your hand on his thigh and up to your face, “if that's what you want, maybe I should take you home, wouldn’t want a woman like you all alone,” he said in a coy like statement, with almost a hint of sarcasm in his voice, his eyebrows raising with his speech. 

“That’s exactly what I want, Joel,” you responded, you didn't have to try and sound innocent anymore, you were desperate for anything he would give you, and he was not transparent with his desires. His confident air was enough to make your panties soak with desire, the weeping wetness that occurred between your legs was enough to make you agree to his suggestion, to agree to any suggestion or action he ordered. 

He stood up and, holding out his hand to you, led you outside of the bar, his hands, rough and calloused and so much bigger than yours, made your head spin with anticipation. Outside, the man Joel was with earlier was kissing the blonde but pulled away just in time to catch Joel opening a taxi door for you to climb into and said nothing, but lifted up both his hands in a thumbs up, and smirked. 

Joel’s house, promised to only be only a short taxi ride away, was a cosy home, and was adorned with pictures of a child, or teenager, one you were not sure you should ask the story of. His bedroom however, was typical of a man’s, although tidier than many, was plain, but for a few pictures which populated the otherwise bare walls. But before you got a chance to properly observe his bedroom he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, impossibly close. His hands travelled to your neck, gently wrapping his hands around it without applying any pressure. He was kissing you with fervour, his lips, while soft and supple, were aggressive in the way they claimed your mouth, he was possessive in his want, his touch, his need. His kiss, although distracting, was not distracting enough to divert your attention from the large hand that was trailing from your neck, to your collarbone and slowly to the low line of your dress, his soft caress of your breast quickly turned rough when he pinched your nipple, earning him a whimper from your lips. 

You were almost gasping for breath while his hands continued their assault on your chest, almost missing the whisper he let out against your mouth, asking, “are you sure you want this?” to which you quickly nodded your head. Although he smirked, he was clearly unsatisfied with your wordless reply, and placed his thumb and forefinger underneath your chin to lift your head to face him and upon meeting your eyes he uttered the words, “I need words, sweetheart” and you could have melted on the spot. Any other man calling you sweetheart would not have had the same affect, your cheeks would not have heated up as soon as his low drawl reached your ears, you would not have felt the urge to press your thighs together in search of friction, and you certainly would not have grown wetter from hearing the word. “Sweetheart,” from another man’s lips would have made you cringe, maybe uncomfortable, it might even have repulsed you. But not from Joel’s mouth, not from Joel’s plush, kissable lips, not in his deep voice with the Texan accent that left you craving more.   

Dazed, almost forgetting that what he’d said was a question, and warranted an answer, he smirked at you, again. His confidence had not wavered once, he knew you wanted him, and why not lean into it even more?

 “Please,” was the word that left your mouth. The only word. It was desperate and almost pathetic, but that’s exactly how you felt; desperate to feel his hands on you, desperate to feel his mouth on you, and desperate to feel his cock inside of you. His smirk only grew hearing the want in your plea, the need. He kissed you, slowly and unhurriedly, before walking you backwards until your calves hit the bed and you fell onto it. 

Before you could comprehend what was happening, Joel’s strong, calloused hands were grabbing your ankles, and roughly pulling you towards the end of the bed, towards him. 

Your excitement grew at his rough treatment, which only made you more shocked when he placed soft kisses where his hands were only a second ago, containing you in a harsh grasp. 

He kissed a trail up your legs, your core was almost buzzing in anticipation when he impatiently pushed your dress up so that it was bunched up around your waist and, wasting no time, pulled your underwear to the side, exposing your dripping heat. He admired the newfound view for a second, before licking a hot stripe from your hole to your clit, eliciting a deep groan from both of you. Joel continues to lap at your folds messily, he was letting out groans of appreciation which only added to your pleasure. You were a moaning mess already, writhing on the bed as he continued his assault on your pussy. Joel’s arms grabbed your ankles once again and lifted them so that your legs fell over his shoulder, opening you up for him even more and allowing him to wrap his arms around your thighs, his hands splayed out on your stomach, holding you down as you struggled to keep still the closer you got to coming. As if he could tell you were close, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard, while simultaneously slipping two fingers into your soaking wet heat, thrusting them in and out a few times before curling them, his hands that were on your stomach pressing down and adding more pressure. You could no longer comprehend a thing, you were no longer in that room, in that house, it hardly felt like you were in your own body. Joel’s incessant movements had pushed you further than you had ever been pushed before and you were floating, hardly realising that you had completely soaked his sheets. When you came down and regained your senses, you lifted your head to look at him, only to find him already looking at you, the lower half of his face covered in your juices, dripping from his chin, and that damned smirk on his face. 

“You taste amazing, sweetheart,” he swiped his chin with the back of his hand as he spoke, the lewd action bringing heat to your cheeks. Placing his palms flat on the bed, he lifted himself up, climbing up your body until you were face to face. He kissed you roughly, his mouth still wet with your own essence, allowing you to taste yourself as he pushed his tongue into your mouth. Still reeling off the fact that this man, who you had only met tonight, had made you squirt, something no other man had ever done, not even Marcus, you broke off the kiss and quickly mumbled, “No one’s ever done that before,” into his mouth. He pulled away and, where you expected to see his signature smirk, you saw a shocked expression. 

“Really?” he questioned, his voice sounded genuine and almost concerned. “That’s a damn shame, sweetheart,” he continued while taking off his jeans and boxers, allowing you with your first view of his cock. Your eyes trailed down from his face, passing his broad shoulders and lean chest, soft belly, the trail of hair that led to his cock. You gasped involuntarily upon seeing it for the first time. It was without a doubt the biggest you had ever seen in front of you, and although you were desperate to feel him inside of you, his size made you nervous. 

“Well, let's see if we can make you squirt again, darlin’,” he said while slowly pumping his cock, and, sensing your nerves, he lowered his face to yours and kissed you before whispering, “We can stop anytime you want to ok? Just say ‘red’ if you want to stop.” You nodded with complete enthusiasm, his reassurance completely erased your nerves and you felt more than ready to take him. 

He ran his hand through your folds, collecting your wetness and spread it all over his cock before asking, “You want me t’ open you up a little more, baby?”, to which you burst out a loud ‘no’ before realising your lips were moving. Your want for him had seemed to reach its peak, and you couldn’t wait any longer. He smiled at you and tapped his tip against your clit once, twice, three times, making you whine and grind your hips, chasing his cock. 

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were a slut, baby,” he accused while lining himself up with your entrance, without pushing inside. 

Your breathing was growing heavier from his teasing and all you could manage was a small, “Please,” while you stared up at him, silently begging for him to just put it in. 

He granted your silent request and pushed in, slowly letting you feel all of him filling you up, but not before chuckling softly and breathing out a low, “I fuckin’ knew it,”. You had never been called a slut during sex before, but his degrading words mixed with the slight burn of his cock stretching you out was making your pussy drip on the sheets. He slowly filled you up to the brim, his tip lightly kissing your cervix as he bottomed out, he stayed there, unmoving and looked at you intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. 

Before he could ask if you were ok, if he could move, you started grinding your hips into him, desperate to feel any sort of friction. His feeling of his cock stretching you out was delicious, but it didn’t satisfy you, it only made you needy for more. Joel, realising that you were ok and wanted more, let out a low chuckle and withdrew his hips, leaving only his tip resting inside you, and then pushed all the way inside again, letting out a low groan. He repeated these movements, a slow in and out until you were a complete mess, moaning and groaning, writhing and squirming, unable to contain your reaction to the devastation his cock was causing your body. But you still needed more, you needed him to be fast and rough with you, to fuck you like his life depended on it, like it was the last thing he would do. So, you did the only thing you knew how to do at that moment, you begged. “Please, Joel, please go faster,” you interrupted yourself with a whimper as his cocked brushed against that spot that made your eyes flutter closed involuntarily. “Please, I can take it, I want it harder,” you looked up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth and your hands gripping the sheets.

Joel seemed to lose control momentarily, he threw your legs over his broad shoulders, which made his cock feel deeper than you thought possible, the angle making you moan loudly. His hands then flew to your neck, and they were nowhere near as gentle as they were  when he softly held your neck earlier, his grip was harsh this time, restricting your breathing slightly as he sped up his thrusts, holding his face close to yours and letting out a low growl. 

“I knew you were a slut as soon as I saw ya’.” He grunted with a surprising amount of control in his voice as he continued to fuck you with full strokes, completely emptying you before filling you again. “Actin’ all shy, but I saw through that. You’re just a dirty. Little. Slut.” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust. You had never been fucked like this in your life. The only way you thought to describe the whole experience was feral. The way Joel was fucking you was feral. The way you reacted to it was feral. The way you craved more was feral. You craved his cock as soon as it left you, and were quickly satisfied once again only to be craving more seconds later. 

“Oh God, Joel,” you cried out in a high pitched whine, his words, combined with his quick, hard thrusts, were pushing you towards the edge for the second time that night. This was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you've been craving for so long and to have it given to you by a random man you met in a bar shocked you. You barely had to ask for what you wanted, Joel gave it to you happily, he seemed to enjoy this just as much as you did. 

“Oh you like that, huh? You like bein’ called a slut?” his face was so close to yours that you could feel his breath on your face as he spat out the words. You could only whimper and nod your head, you were already completely fucked out, wrecked from the way he was using your pussy. Your eyes were beginning to close when he ordered you to look at him and when you did he called another order, “Open your mouth,” he commanded, and you didn't even have to think before you obeyed him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out. His spit landed perfectly in the middle of your tongue, and you were so shocked from watching his lips pucker, and spit into your mouth that you swallowed immediately, the sight, the action and the feeling of him spitting in your mouth was something you had never experienced. And you loved it. 

Joel grabbed your chin roughly and forced your mouth open, seeing that you had swallowed every drop of spit that he gave you, he growled out a low, “good girl,” which made you moan loudly, a harsh, guttural sound that you were sure you had never made before. It was an accidental reaction that brought the smirk back to Joel’s face as he forced two of his fingers into your mouth and trailed them down your body. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he travelled down to just above where his cock was sliding into your cunt and swiped your clit in slow, firm circles that made your head spin. 

“I want you to come for me,” although his voice was starting to sound breathless, his command was still strong, it was not a suggestion, you were going to come for him. “Be a good girl, and come on my cock,” his fingers circling your clit sped up, sending you rushing towards your peak. Your moans grew louder and louder, until you were almost screaming, your head moving to the side to try and muffle the noise. As Joel continued his movements, his grunts were getting louder as he began to grow close. This was only intensified when you tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you came with a loud moan, gasping for breath. 

“Good girl,” Joel said through gritted teeth as he picked up his pace, fucking you harder and faster as he chased his high. “You're such a good girl for me, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice sounding more and more strained the more he spoke. 

“Oh fuck, baby,” the lewd sound of your skin slapping together and your wetness accompanied his strained voice, and all you could do as you took his cock over and over again, was listen to the pornographic sounds. “You’re gonna make me come,” he confessed, speeding up his thrusts even more, making you let out a squeal of surprise. 

“You’re my new little slut.” His fingers returned to circle your clit, forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. This new amount of pleasure was a shock to you, Joel was already testing your limits, pushing the boundaries of your body and you were loving every second of it. 

“I don’t care if you got a ring on your finger, you're my slut now,” he claimed you again through gritted teeth and you couldn't help but let out a moan at this. You wanted to be his, and you weren't even the slightest bit ashamed. 

“Now be a good little slut and cum for me again,” his fingers sped up on your clit, and just when you thought you couldn't come again, your mouth was open in a silent scream as your whole body tensed up. Your walls caved in on Joel’s cock until he came inside the condom with a loud groan, continuing to thrust softly inside you before pulling out and throwing the full condom in the bin. Your mind was completely blank, so blank that you barely registered that you had no energy to get up, that you barely registered Joel softly wiping your pussy and legs with a warm cloth, or Joel finally taking off the dress that you had kept on due to impatience, pulling the covers over your body, and bringing you close to him before kissing your forehead. 

----------------------

You woke with a start, immediately realising you were not at home. You were in a foreign room, in a foreign bed, wrapped in foreign arms. You slowly got out of bed, gently unwrapped yourself from Joel's arms and crept to the bathroom. You take a look in the mirror and see a liar. You haven’t lied yet, but you know you will. Staring at yourself, you realise that you broke a rule last night by staying at Joel’s. You had one of the best nights of your life, undoubtedly the best sex of your life but you broke a rule, a rule your husband had set, a rule you had agreed to, a rule to avoid feelings getting involved, to avoid getting too close. Unsure what to do, you headed back into the bedroom with a vague plan of getting your clothes and leaving before Joel woke up. The plan was ruined as soon as you entered the bedroom and saw Joel awake, looking at you in all your naked glory. He smiles at you and beckons you towards him. You walk towards him, feeling as though your feet are moving of their accord, with no help from your brain and he pulls you back into bed, kissing your cheek before whispering in your ear, “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

Before you could help yourself, you answer honestly, “Same here,” you said, maybe a little too honestly. He kisses you in response, it was full of passion and reminded you of the night before, how he’d claimed you as his, despite the ring on your finger. His hand trailed to your neck, and down your collarbone before softly caressing your breasts and asking, “Can I touch you, baby? I didn't get enough last night.” His voice was in your ear and was even more deep and gruff after a full night's rest. You knew that you should have put an end to it there, should have gathered your things and left, you should have resisted him. But you couldn't. There was something about him that you wanted, that you needed, that you craved. 

So, you nodded your head and whispered a soft yes which was met with a teasing pinch to your nipple before he kissed you again. He continued pinching and rubbing your nipples before trailing his hand lower, moving to rub your clit slowly. Your moans and whimpers were interrupted by a question from Joel, “I promised to make you squirt again last night, you didn't think I'd let you go home before staying true to my word did ya’ sweetheart?” He doubled his efforts, sliding two fingers into your core before curling them, just like he did last night, only this morning, he used his thumb to rub quick but firm and controlled circles on your clit, stimulating you just right, and sending you towards your peak. His other hand was splayed over your stomach, lightly pushing down to add more pressure and soon you were chanting his name over and over, praying that he didn't stop. 

“C’mon baby, soak me,” he grunted just as your orgasm hit you, buzzing through your body, making you feel light and airy, and you soon felt the wetness grow on the sheets, a sure sign he had made you squirt, again. 

“Oh my God,” your voice sounded breathless and all you could do was fight for breath and lie back on the bed. Joel lay down beside you and, turning your head to face him, smiled cockily at you. You smiled back at him and made a move to grab his cock, ready to return the favour but he shook his head and said, “That was about you, darlin, you don’t have to do anything,”. Before you could protest and say that you wanted to, because fuck did you want to feel him in your mouth, his features turned from cocky to nervous. You locked eyes with him as his mouth opened and closed, as if he was trying to force the words out but something stopped him each time. 

Eventually, he spoke, “Can I erm…. Can I see you again sometime?” His question had you swooning, you tried to stop yourself, you really did, but the apprehension in his voice, something you had not encountered in him since you met only added to your desire to see him again. And so, you said yes and gave him your phone number, before telling him you had to go.  

“At least let me make ya’ some breakfast before ya’ run off, sweetheart,” his words had you quickly feeling hungry, having not even thought about food this morning, you nodded your head, and he jerked his head towards the hallway. You put on last night's dress and followed him downstairs. On the way to the kitchen you took more notice of the pictures scattered around the house, there were some of Joel and the man you’d seen at the bar last night, and some of the girl you’d noticed on the way in last night. She looked a beautiful girl and you wanted to ask who she was, and who she was to Joel especially, but he was already asking you a question.

“How do you take your coffee?” He was straining his neck to look behind him at you as he asked the question. 

“Just two sugars, please,” you answered as you sat behind him on the island as he made your coffee, appreciating his naked back as he busied himself. His toned shoulders, the muscles in his back tensing as he moved. 

He turned around and placed your coffee in front of you, you smiled in thanks, which he readily returned. 

“So what do you do? we kind of skipped over the small talk last night” he said with a chuckle, his cheeks turning slightly red, “But i wanna know more about you.”

“I work in publishing,” you answered after taking a small sip of your too hot coffee, “so I read a lot of manuscripts, decide if they’re likely to sell, I could be editing the book, or I could be promoting books.” 

“Why’d you decide to go into that?” he asked with genuine interest, while turning

around to turn on the stove. “You good with scrambled eggs?”

“Yeah scrambled’s good,” you grinned at how easy this felt, you were only getting to know each other the morning after, but it felt good to sit here with him and just talk. “I’ve always loved reading and just books in general, so I got my degree in English Literature and then I didn’t know what to do, so I did a masters in publishing.”

“If you love books so much why don’t you just write one?” he asked as if it was the easiest thing in the world, turning around to give you a look that said, “duh”, before returning to cracking the eggs. 

“well……I don’t really think I'm good enough to actually write a book. I know when a book is good and when it’ll sell but, I don’t know if i could write a good book” you asked with slight insecurity. Marcus had never asked this, never suggested you do what you really wished to do, what you’ve always wanted to do. 

“That sounds like bullshit to me, you should try it,” you laughed at his nonchalance,  you liked how he thought you should do something no matter how unrealistic it sounded.

“We’ll see,” you answered with a chuckle before returning his question, “what do you do?”

“I’m a contractor, me and my brother, the guy I was with last night, have our own

Company,” he explained while quickly whisking the eggs, his muscles working overtime and giving you an amazing view of his back tensing. “I started  when I was young, right out of school.”

“Do you enjoy it?” He only shrugged in response at first, before turning around to face you.

“Pays the bills,” he said before serving up your breakfast and sitting next to you with his own. 

“So what would you enjoy doing?” you asked, since he was so adamant that you do what you want, no matter your insecurities.

“Well..” he started, and while scratching the back of his neck, seemed to contemplate whether this was something he actually wanted to say. “I always wanted to be a singer, every since I got my first guitar.”

You couldn't help but grin at the thought of the man next to you singing with a guitar in  his lap. “Well, you’ll have to sing for me sometime,” you suggested, unable to contain your grin as you spoke. 

“If you’re lucky, sweetheart, now eat your food.” He tapped your plate as he spoke, “‘M sure ya need your energy after last night.”

You both enjoyed your food in silence, you caught him looking at you while you chewed a particularly big mouthful of food, and he only chuckled when you stared back at his obnoxiously big bites. You thanked him for the food and tried to do the dishes yourself, but he looked at you as if you were a lunatic and did them himself, leaving you to do nothing but admire him again. 

You were ready to call a taxi to pick you up and, asking if he had any numbers you could call, but he didn't gratify your question with an answer, he instead looked at you with a dumbfounded look on his face and said, “I’ll drive ya sweetheart,”. He didn't listen to your protests, ran upstairs to put a shirt on and picked up his keys, led you outside, opened the passenger door of the truck for you before running to the other side and jumping in. You gave him the name of your street and he started the car, grumbling about it only being a 5 or so minute drive and drove. His arms were almost bulging out his shirt, his broadness creating the impression his clothes were bursting at the seams. 

He looked over at you, caught you staring and looked you up and down before saying, “That dress looks even better on you this morning than it did last night, especially with your hair all messed up,” he smiled as he spoke, looking ahead at the road but stealing glances at you every now and then. 

You smiled and made a humming noise, as if you were thinking hard and responded, “You looked better last night,” and smiled teasingly at him. He in fact, did not look better last night, his hair, messy and dishevelled made him look adorable and seeing him in comfier clothes than last night was incredibly sexy. 

He let out a chuckle and smiled at you again. Every smile he threw your way felt so genuine, and never failed to melt you into a puddle. As the car came to a stop outside your house, Joel leaned over to kiss your cheek and quietly asked, “So I’ll text you?” to which you nodded, thanked him for the ride and moved to get out of the car. But he interrupted your move with another question, “And you're sure your hubby’ll be all good with that?” You had no idea how to respond and in your shock all you gave was a timid mhm as you rushed out of the car and onto the driveway of yours and your husbands shared home.

He shouted a “see ya, sweetheart,” as you walked and you prayed none of your neighbours heard and walked into your home feeling guiltier than ever. 

Upon your arrival home, you showered immediately, desperately needing some time to think. But thinking only added to your guilt. You had broken the second rule of your agreement last night by staying the night. You’d let him touch you again this morning, and you enjoyed it, you loved it. You’d agreed to see him again, and you didn’t regret agreeing, worst of all you wanted to see him again, but that would be another rule broken. Another lie. Another betrayal. As guilty as you felt, there was a voice in your head, you imagined it to be the devil on your shoulder, whispering in your ear that maybe, just maybe, Joel Miller was worth it. 

Read part 2 here !!!

#pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader smut #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #Joel Miller infidelity fic #Joel Miller fluff #Pedro Pascal smut #Pedro Pascal fluff #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #Joel Miller imagine #hiraeth-ink

[amatchinwater]

I Know What You Want From Me / Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: Song fic of 18 by Anarbor, your parents kick you out when you tell them you can't be with Jason because you're already dating Eddie...except that you aren't. So now you have to go to Eddie after not speaking for years and ask to not only live with him, but pretend to date you too. What could possibly go wrong there?

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, semi-public sex (they're in the woods), squirting, unprotected sex (reader on pill, but not stated until after), cream pie, choking, spanking, protective reader (Jason gets his shit rocked), angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective Eddie, reader's parents are awful

Words: 9746 (oops?)

a/n: I feel like I've been working on this forever and a day. With the finale, I had to stop because angst wasn't something I could handle just yet. But the fluff and ending makes the angst worth it. Requests are still open.

Master list

Part 2

Not my gif!! Credit to the lovely @msmischief101

It’s been a long time since you’ve pulled into Forest Hills Trailer Park. A really long fucking time. Part of you wants to turn around, just get on the highway and never look back at this godforsaken town and their prejudiced beliefs. That having money and a pristine lifestyle makes you worth something. It’s bullshit. And you fucking hate it. And you want out. Hell, your bags are already packed in the backseat behind you.

You’re eighteen, legally, if you really wanted to, you could run. Run as far away from not only Hawkins, but Indiana in general. Now that you’re eighteen, you have a sizable trust fund. Your father wanted to rescind your rights to it. Change it to where you’d only see a penny once you were twenty-one. Or worse; married. Somehow your mother convinced him not to do that, that you’d be able to use the money for college. 

You’re not even sure you want to do that either. 

But there was one person in your life who told you that no matter what you did, they’d always stick beside you. While that statement hasn’t held true these last six years or so, it was far from it being his fault. No, you shamefully hold that crown. 

Once you started to rise up the social ladder in school and your father got a big time promotion at work, your parents forced the social debutant bullshit on you. You hated every single second of it. Every one of those dumb parties they dragged you to. The dinners and get-togethers. They all sucked. And everyone there was so vapid and full of themselves, you wanted to scream. 

Now that you’re eighteen and “supposed” to be looking at prestigious colleges for some job you’ll never want, your parents did the worst thing imaginable. They tried to set you up. Quite literally wanted to give you an arranged marriage. God, the look your father gave you like it was supposed to be some wonderful gift you should be grateful for. As if being pawned off to someone like Jason Carver is to be coveted. 

Fuck that. 

So you did something really stupid. Like, really stupid. You told them that you couldn’t be with Jason because you were already with someone else. You’d hoped it would just be enough to make them drop the issue. It wasn’t. They poked and prodded until you gave them a name. You told them the only person in Hawkins you could even remotely think of. 

Eddie Munson. 

The conversation with your parents was pretty short after that. Being told to pack your bags and not come back if you wanted to align yourself with “someone like him.” That if you were grown up enough to make your choices, to go live with him and see how long it lasts, and not to come crying to them when you wind up pregnant. 

You did exactly that. Grabbed everything you felt couldn’t be replaced and left. But for some reason, instead of just driving towards the town limit and getting the fuck out of dodge, you found yourself on your way to the trailer you used to spend a good chunk of your childhood in. 

Because you grew up there. You were once neighbors- something your parents try very hard to forget- and childhood best friends. You used to be on a first name basis with Wayne. And despite what everyone says about him, that he’s a freak or the satanist propaganda, you know Eddie. Knew Eddie. So maybe there was some small part of you that hoped Eddie was still that sweet kid at heart and would let you crash for a few months until graduation and then you could leave Hawkins for good. 

It was a stupid idea from the start. One not fully formulated or even properly processed. 

But here you are, pulling up to the familiar, yet foreign trailer with Eddie’s van parked right out front. And of course it’s pouring rain. The day your life goes to shit wouldn’t be a nice, calm evening. No. When have you ever been that lucky? When is anyone that lucky? 

Turning the engine off, you sit and listen to the rain patter against the roof of your car. Contemplating leaving again. Maybe the real reason you came here was so that you would be convinced to stay. Eddie has never been one to run from his problems. The bloody nose he gave Jason a year ago for taking a swing on him is proof of that. So maybe you really want someone to tell you to man the fuck up and grab life by the balls or some shit. 

Just some strange words that manage to sound inspiring because they’re coming from Eddie’s goofy grin. 

“Fuck it,” you grind your teeth, shoving your door open and stepping out into the storm, wincing when the freezing water sinks into your skin. “Shit, shit, shit,” you jog up to his front door, thankful for the awning over the porch. Not letting yourself be talked out of this, you pound on the door to be heard over Shout at the Devil being blasted from Eddie’s room. 

“Henderson, I already told you-” Eddie’s yelling as he yanks open the front door, “-you’re not Henderson.” 

“No,” you shiver, hands rubbing your arms. How did you possibly get drenched in the ten steps it took you to get from the car to his door? Eddie’s features are guarded and you can’t help but shiver again. From the cold or his stare, you’re not really sure. Maybe you should just leave. The highway is sounding more and more tempting. “I should just-” you trail off, gesturing back towards your car.

Eddie finally takes a look at your state and his eyes widen, furrowed eyebrows losing their tension, “no, come in,” he opens the door further. “I-I’ll get you a towel,” Eddie runs off. 

Shaky bones carry you over the threshold, goosebumps only getting angrier at the warmth of the trailer. It looks exactly like it did the last time you were here. Except maybe a few more hats have joined the collection on the wall. Eddie comes back with two towels, placing one on the couch and offering you the other. “Thanks,” you take it, toweling your hair before wrapping it around your shoulders, sitting on the one he’d set down for you. “I’m sorry to just barge in like this,” your eyes begin to burn with tears. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” Eddie sits beside you and you can practically feel his warmth radiating off of him. That's how cold you are. 

“I did something really stupid,” you admit, shaking your head, wanting to curl up in a hole. “My parents want to hand me over to Jason. Pretty bow and everything,” you choke out a laugh. “Like I’m some prized trophy wife or some shit.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie nearly shouts. You laugh sarcastically, nodding your head. His face twists, “but hang on, that’s a stupid thing they did. What stupid thing did you do?”

You fiddle with the fraying corner of the towel, dropping your gaze to your lap, “I told them that I couldn’t be with Jason.”

“That doesn’t seem stu-”

“Because I’m in a relationship with you,” you pull your head back up, meeting deer in the headlight brown eyes and a slack jaw. Nerves make your tongue ramble, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I told them that. You were the first person that came to mind when they wouldn’t stop asking me who could be more important than Jason. And I just- I didn’t know what to do. So I just thought- I don’t know what I thought. But w-we used to be best friends once, I-”

“Yeah, once,” Eddie tongue in cheek scoffs, “then you got popular and I didn’t matter anymore. So, what? You thought you would just come here and I would live up to this fantasy relationship? Because it’s you?”

Your head drops again, “they told me if I wanted to be with you that badly that I should go live with you. That they didn’t recognize their daughter anymore. They kicked me out, or maybe I just ran. I don’t know, Eddie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” Tears spill from your eyes, when you look back up at him, “I’ll just get back in the car and leave town like I should’ve done in the first place. I’m sorry,” you take the towel off your shoulders and place it in his lap, getting up off the couch. 

You make it all of three steps until Eddie’s hand wraps around your wrist, “wait.” He sighs as you turn to face him. “Let me get this straight, you told your parents you were dating me because I was the only person you could think of that was better than Jason?” 

Rolling your eyes, you scoff, “well, duh.” It might have been instinct that made you say it, doesn’t make it any less true. Jason doesn’t hold a candle to Eddie in any situation. Not to you. Years of separation be damned. 

“And you now have nowhere to live?” You shake your head no. Eddie sighs again, “I’ll do it.” 

“W-what?” You ask. Because surely you heard him wrong. Eddie doesn’t owe you a fucking thing. “What do you mean you’ll do it?” 

“I’ll help you keep this facade that we’re dating for the sake of your parents and Jason,” he sneers at the name. “Move in here with me, Wayne won’t mind. He still asks about you from time to time, I’m sure he’d love the idea. And then, when you graduate, you’re free to do whatever you want.”

Blinking rapidly, you nearly stumble backwards. Shocked that Eddie would do this. “Why?”

“Your parents are assholes,” Eddie laughs and you do too. He’s far from wrong. “Pissing them off by pretending to date you and giving you a safe place to live? Fuck yeah, I’ll do it. Besides, I’m sure if they told you about it, Jason already knows. Which means I get to make that asshole jealous. It’s a win-win.” He laughs again, softer this time along with his smile. “And you’re right. We were best friends once, maybe we could be again.” 

“I really don’t give a fuck what Jason or my parents think, Eddie. I’m just sick of them thinking that they can control me,” you tell him. “But if giving them the finger is enough incentive for you, then I appreciate it. For what it’s worth, I really miss having you as my best friend.” 

“Me too,” he smiles, pulling you into a hug. “How about you go take a shower and I’ll make you some hot chocolate. Booze free this time,” Eddie chuckles.

You laugh, remembering when you were younger and neither of you thought Wayne would notice the vodka two twelve year olds put in their drinks. “Honestly, I probably wouldn’t mind it this time around,” you pull away. 

“Comin' right up,” Eddie grins, heading into the kitchen while you go down the hallway. 

Stopping at the bathroom you poke your head around the corner, “hey, Eds.” He stops humming, milk hoovering the pot, quirking an eyebrow at you. “Thank you,” you smile, tucking into the bathroom to shower off before he can answer. 

—

At school the next day, you’re not really sure what to expect. Eddie drove you in his van and you were given more than a few looks from people you don’t even know. Which were thankfully easy enough to ignore. Somehow you’re also lucky enough that all of your classes before lunch didn’t have a single one of your “friends” either. Friends meaning Jason’s friends who were nice to you because you had money and a pretty face. 

But your actual lunch period? Practically the entire basketball team shared the same block as you. And the second you walk out of the lunch line, Jason immediately finds you. You’re wearing darker clothes and have certainly kept your head down. How the fuck did he find you so fast? 

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he smiles with too much teeth. Voice so sweet it’s sickening. 

“Should’ve hid better,” you mumble, clutching your tray to your chest to keep a barrier between the two of you. “Did you need something?” You ask, eyes scanning the room to find literally anyone you could run to to save you from this. You find Eddie’s friends from Hellfire all around the table, but no sign of Eddie himself. You know their names thanks to Eddie telling you about them last night. But you don’t really think you can just go up to them for help. 

“Well, I was talking to your parents the other day,” he pushes his hands farther into his letterman jacket pockets, ducking his head to appear coy. “I was hoping you’d like to go on a date with-”

An arm snakes around your waist and you nearly jump out of your skin, until you hear, “there you are, babe.” Eddie curls you close to him, kissing the side of your head, “you ready to go sit?” 

You turn to him with a grateful smile, ready to answer, but someone else’s words come out. 

“What the fuck is this?” Jason snaps. 

“I’m sure you know Eddie,” you smile sweetly, fighting the eye roll at the jock before you. “My boyfriend,” you state, loving the way Jason’s eyes are ready to bulge out of his head. Eddie chuckles smugly beside you, his grip tightening only just. You’re actually glad he’s getting something out of this too. Even if it’s just shoving it in Jason’s face. Makes it feel like you’re not using him.

“I thought they were joking!” Jason seethes, “you’re seriously with this freak? You chose him over me? A freak?” 

“Eds, could you hold this please?” You extend your tray towards him, which he takes with a confused expression. “Thanks,” you kiss his cheek, turning your attention back to the blonde. “One, no, it’s not a fucking joke. Two, he’s not a freak. And three,” you slap Jason right across the cheek with a resounding crack, silencing the cafeteria. “If I hear you say some shit like that about him again, you’ll be lucky a slap is all you get. Fuck off, Jason.” 

“Holy shit,” Eddie sputters a laugh, “that was fucking awesome!” Wrapping an arm around your shoulder, Eddie walks you towards the Hellfire table, neither of you caring about the grumbling jock behind you. Or the hushed chatter that’s fallen over the cafeteria. “And here I thought I was the one coming to your rescue,” he teases, placing your tray on the table surrounded by his wide eyed friends. “Come here,” Eddie sits down, his arms locking around your waist to pull you into his lap. “Thank you.”

“I’m your girlfriend, Eddie,” you remind him. Though it’s just for show, it doesn't mean that you’re not going to act the way a proper girlfriend should. Defending your boyfriend from an asshole definitely fits the bill. “I’m not going to stand by and let someone talk about you like that.” 

“So I definitely heard that right?” Dustin, if you remember correctly, stares at you two. “You two are dating? Since when?” He shrieks. 

You freeze for a second, you hadn’t thought that through. 

“For a few months now,” Eddie offers, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles on your waist. “Her parents are pretty strict," he rests his chin on your shoulder, humming in contemplation, "so we’ve been keeping it quiet for a bit. But, she was ready to go public with it.” 

“Slapping Carver in front of the whole cafeteria is pretty public,” Jeff laughs, “and pretty sick!” He offers his fist to you. 

You can’t help but laugh, feeling welcome at their table as you reciprocate the fist bump. It’s actually really nice. 

“My girl doesn’t mess around,” Eddie turns, kissing your neck. 

Maybe you two should’ve gone over some boundaries. Because that felt a lot better than it should’ve and you two aren’t even technically together. But then you remember that everyone is supposed to believe this so that Jason and your parents leave you alone. If even anyone suspects it’s not and word gets out that this isn’t real- you shiver at the very thought. And the way Eddie said ‘my girl’ sent a whole different kind of tremor down your spine. 

What have you gotten yourself into?

—

Somehow you managed to survive the first two weeks of publicly “dating” Eddie. Jason for the most part has left you alone and you haven’t seen or heard from your parents either. It’s so freeing. It makes you wish that you had stuck to your guns when you guys had moved out of the trailer park and kept Eddie in your life. Even listening to them and doing everything they wanted, they still turned around and did the worst thing imaginable. So what else could they have really done if you’d stuck by Eddie’s side the whole time? 

It’s too late to know now, but at least you can make up for the lost time by being here now. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it. The dinners you share while Wayne is at work. The hasty breakfasts the three of you share in the mornings before school. The weekends though, the weekends are your favorite. Because unless Corroded Coffin has a gig, you and Eddie just hang out at the trailer together. 

“What did you wanna do today?” You ask, flopping down on the couch beside Eddie and throwing your legs on his lap. 

Rubbing your exposed calves, he purses his lips, “I was thinking I should probably take you on a date.” Eddie leans his head on the backrest of the couch to look at you. “You’ve been living here for two weeks now. While it’s all good and well that we’ve been annoying the living hell out of Jason at school, you know how people in this town love to gossip.” 

“Okay,” you draw out the word, furrowing your brows. Not really understanding why Eddie is willingly wanting to be with you romantically outside of school. That would make this feel real. You’d definitely feel like you were using him if you did that. 

“If people see us walking around town together, I’m sure word would get back to your parents.” Eddie pats your leg, “Jason isn’t the only one we’re supposed to be convincing, right?” 

He’s got a point. If your parents get a whiff of this relationship’s fallacies, they’ll drag you back home kicking and screaming. “What’d you have in mind?” You ask, warming up to the idea quickly. 

“There’s a double-feature of Nightmare on Elm Street at the theater tonight,” he shrugs, tracing shapeless designs on your skin. “We could do that and then walk around town with ice cream or some shit. That’s a couple-y thing to do, right?” 

You smile brightly, basking in his shyness. “That sounds really nice, Eds,’ you nudge him with your foot. “Most girls would swoon over a date like that. Well, they’d fight for some romantic movie. But I’m so down for Freddy. When does it start?” 

“About an hour.” 

“I’ll go get ready!” You hop up from the couch, practically running out of the living room, leaving Eddie chuckling on the couch. 

“Thank you,” you hear Eddie say, grabbing your ice cream cones from the girl behind the window of the cute little ice cream shop in town. “M’Lady,” he offers you your chocolate peanut butter scoops, holding his now free hand out for you to hold while you walk back to the van. He’d left it parked by the theater so you could have the whole ‘experience’ of a date. Eddie is just as serious as you are about making this seem real.

He’d even apologized to you for the neck kiss and you sitting in his lap. Explaining to you that he’s a pretty tactile person, that he’s only acting how he would if he was actually dating someone. He was adamant in you telling him if he makes you uncomfortable- he doesn't. Your heart throbbed painfully in your chest that you’re keeping some girl from being in an amazing relationship with such a sweet guy. Even more so when there’s an even worse pang at the thought that you don’t have this for real for yourself either. That this thing you have going with Eddie is fake. 

There’s this small part of you wondering if this could be real. 

“Thanks,” you smile, taking his hand, licking the creamy goodness. Eddie laughs a little at you while you’re walking and eating your desserts. “What?” You ask, licking your lips. 

“You got a little-” Eddie gestures towards your face. A group of girls walk past you arm in arm and Eddie smiles, “here, let me.” He leans in and kisses you, tongue brushing along your bottom lip for the smallest of seconds. Enough to send a shiver down your spine that certainly can’t be explained by the ice cream when his mouth is so warm. “Better,” he grins again, dragging his thumb from the corner of your mouth. 

There’s a blush violently burning your cheeks as you blink rapidly. You don’t even know what to say, so you turn your head, biting away a smile and reclaiming his hand to walk down the road again. “Thank you for tonight,” you say, tossing your napkin in the trash as you pass it. “It-” you pause, thinking you heard someone call your name. Shaking it off you try again, “it was really nice. So, thank you.” 

“Of course,” he drops your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side. Kissing the side of your head, Eddie says, “I’m glad you had a good time. Enough people are out tonight so-”

“Y/N!” 

You definitely heard it that time. Eddie did too. Whipping around, you see your parents stalking their way towards the two of you. Speak of the devil, right? “Fuck,” you curse under your breath, anxiety stowing only just at the protective way Eddie tightens his hold around you. 

“Say the word and we run, okay?” He whispers in your ear, "I've got you." 

All you can do is nod as your parents come to a halt in front of you. Your father barely even looking at you, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Your mom on the other hand can’t decide who to set her daggers for eyes on, you or Eddie. 

“Mrs-”

“Don’t.” Your mother holds her finger up at him, “you don’t get to talk.”

“Excuse me?” You sputter out.

“And you,” she sets her fury on you now, “it’s time for you to come home young lady. Enough playing house with him,” you mom can’t even say his name, yet the word holds the same amount of venom. “This isn’t you. Please, just come home and all will be forgiven.” 

Anger boils inside of you. Not asking how you are or caring if you’re happy. Just more of them telling you that you’re ‘not yourself’ and you’re so over it. “Fuck that,” you snap. “I’m not going anywhere with you. My home is with Eddie. Yeah, he has a name, mom,” you lace the word with as much disdain as she’d offered him. Shocking her to her core not only from your language, but your behavior. Good. You finally feel like yourself.

“Then we’ll cut you off,” your dad’s stern voice cuts in. “See how long it takes you to come crawling back with no money.” 

“First of all,” you square your shoulders, “both Eddie and Wayne make money. Second,” you chuckle dryly, “you’re really going to love this. I went to the bank. I’m eighteen now in case you forgot. I transferred everything into my own account. That money is mine. But if it means more to you than your own daughter, I’ll gladly give it back. I can very easily get a job. I don’t need anything from you.” 

Your father puffs his chest, “listen here-”

“No, I think it’s time you listen,” Eddie cuts him off. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with her or how she chooses to live her life. She is fucking incredible! And there's definitely no thanks to you fucking assholes. She’s an adult and capable of making her own decisions. And unlike you, I’d never hurt her or force her to do something she doesn’t want to. You want to stay with me, right?” He looks over at you.

It’s rhetorical, you're almost certain. But you answer it anyway, “absolutely.” 

“There is it,” Eddie grins widely, opening his arms at your parents. “She’s made her choice.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you pull gently on Eddie’s jacket, trying to coax him away. Eddie death glares at your father, but starts moving with you, only turning once you’ve yanked a little harder. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Your father snaps, his hand grabbing your arm tight enough to hurt. 

You whip your head around to face him, seething, “let go of me.” Eddie looks furious, ready to punch him in the face and honestly, you’d probably let him. But that’s more of a scene than you’re willing to cause right now. You won’t let Eddie get in trouble over you. When your dad makes no move to let go of you, you say, “let me go or I’ll scream.” 

He drops your arm as though it’d burned him, whispering your name with hurt eyes. 

“Come on, princess,” Eddie’s arm curls back around your shoulders, keeping you close. No longer face to face with your parents, your chest tightens and your eyes burn. Not because you miss them, but all of your emotions have boiled over, demanding release through tears. “Wait just a minute more,” Eddie rubs his nose in your hair, “don’t give them the satisfaction.” He opens the passenger door for you and you crawl inside. 

The second he’s settled in his seat, the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry they said that to you,” you sob, chest constricting. 

“Why are you apologizing to me?” He stares at you wide eyed, speaking softly. “I should’ve punched him in the face for what he said to you, are you kidding?” Eddie reaches over, cupping your face and wiping your tears with his thumbs. “No one should talk about you like that. Especially not your parents.” 

“Can we just go home please?” You ask, hoping sheer willpower will make your tears cease. Your eyes already feel sore. 

“Of course,” he rubs your cheeks again, leaning closer to kiss your forehead. “Here,” Eddie pulls his leather jacket off, handing it to you, “you’re shaking.” 

You smile softly, sliding your arms through the sleeves, the scent of Eddie so close calming you down enough that the tears well up, but don’t fall. It’s one thing to defend Eddie from some dickhead jock like Jason. Watching him stand up for you to your own parents, treating you vastly better than they ever have? Heartwarming doesn’t even come close.

—

“Do you need anything?” Eddie asks after you’ve showered and are just sitting up in bed, he’s changed into sweats now and a faded Metallica shirt. 

“Not unless you have something that can make my mind be quiet long enough to let me sleep,” you answer, curling your legs to your chest and holding them. 

Eddie purses his lips, “I could roll us a joint,” he offers. “I usually smoke before going to sleep. It could help. Only if you want to.” 

“I’ve never smoked before,” you whisper, embarrassed by the fact that you’re ‘dating’ a drug dealer, yet have never done any yourself. “But I trust you,” you try to smile, but it falls flat. Still a little too upset over earlier. “I’m willing to try if you think it will help.” 

“Best sleep you’ve had in a while,” Eddie smiles, walking over to his dresser, grabbing a wooden box from the drawer. “Are you sure?” He asks one more time, sitting down beside you, “I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you or anything.” 

“You’re not,” your smile is genuine this time, “I’m sure.” You stare at his fingers while Eddie pinches the weed into the thin paper. If you weren’t so upset, your brain would probably short circuit at the way his tongue glides along the edge. That shouldn’t be allowed to look like that. 

After he takes two puffs of his own, he hands the joint to you, blowing the smoke out. “You might want to take small hits,” Eddie suggests when you bring the rolled paper to your lips. “Small hits,” he repeats, hopping up from the bed, “I’m gonna get us a drink real quick. Small,” Eddie enunciates. 

You don’t really know what’s considered a small hit, so you inhale maybe halfway, doing your best to hold the smoke in your lungs before letting it out. A cough bubbles in your chest that burns nearly as much as the weed. Eddie comes back just in time with a can of soda for you. Cracking it open with a fond smile on his lips, he tosses some snacks on the bed beside you. “Not as bad as I thought,” you say after taking a sip. You take another hit, handing it back to Eddie once he’s seated. 

“Are you going to be okay?” He asks, squinting around the smoke trying to go in his eyes. 

With a heavy sigh, you prop yourself on the wall beside the bed, “I think so? I’m not even sure why I cried to be honest. They suck and I don’t know why I expected them to react any differently than that. I’m more angry about the way they treated you.” You take the joint back from him, Eddie scooting over until your thighs and arms are pressed together. Pulling the smoke into your lungs, you appreciate it not burning as badly as the first time around. Enough to take a bigger hit, “this is definitely helping. So are you,” you whisper. 

Eddie nudges you with his arm, “happy to help. You’re my best friend and I’m always going to be here to take care of you. Until you get sick of me that is,” he teases.

Laughter bubbles in your chest, your cheeks hurting from how much you're smiling. Whether that’s the weed or just Eddie in general doesn’t really matter to you. “Aww,” you coo, absolutely certain that your newfound confidence is from the drug, “I don’t think I could get sick of you, Eddie.” You tell him, playing with a lock of his hair, surprised when he doesn’t tell you to stop. “I’m really grateful for everything you’re doing. And I meant it, I don’t expect you and Wayne to take care of me for free. I’ll get a job if it comes down to it.” 

“Please,” he snickers, handing the roach to you to finish off, “Wayne is overjoyed that you’re here.” Eddie wraps his arm around your shoulder and you tuck your head into his neck. “If there was mention of you leaving, he’d probably pay you to stay. He really did miss having you around. I think he secretly always wanted a daughter.” He takes the almost burnt paper and places it in the ashtray by the bed. 

“But he got the metal head outcast with a heart of gold instead,” you smile though he can’t see it. “Just-” you huff a small breath, “thank you, Eddie. For everything.” 

Eddie kisses the side of your head, “of course, princess.” Too high to care, you giggle at the name shooting warmth throughout your system, but it’s broken off with a loud yawn. “Looks like I’ve done my job,” he chuckles softly, “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

You lay down on the pillow, pulling the blanket over you, but when Eddie tries to get up, you reach out and grab his hand. “Eddie?” 

“Yeah?” He whispers, soft eyes looking over your tired face. 

“Could you-” you swallow the barrier in your throat in the form of nerves. “Will you stay with me? I don’t really want to be alone right now,” your voice barely above a whisper. 

Eddie smiles softly, his thumb brushing along your knuckles, “yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” He lets go of your hand so you can move over to give him some room to lay down beside you. The moment his back touches the bed, you curl up to him, resting your head on his chest. A contented sigh sounding off listening to his heartbeat in your ear, along with a dopey smile on your face. “Better?” He teases, though his arms wrap around you, one hand rubbing your back while the other plays with your hair. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, already falling asleep. 

—

Controlling your emotions seems to get harder and harder the longer this plays out. Having Eddie back in your life is honestly the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And you couldn’t be more grateful for him. Not just for having him as your best friend again. But over the last month and half, your heart thought it would be a really good idea to evacuate your chest and take home inside his. Graduation was supposed to be the light at the end of the tunnel. Now it just seems like an ominous deadline.

The day you lose Eddie. 

You’re far from ready for that. In fact, being with Eddie, actually being with Eddie, doesn’t seem like all that bad of an idea. But this was supposed to be temporary, even for him. How in the hell are you supposed to propose that? It’s not like Eddie has shown you any hint that he’d want this to be anything but an act. At home, he’s just your friend. Aside from getting high together, he sleeps on the couch so that you can have the bed. 

What you should be focusing on is the book in your hands while the group plays through their session. But your eyes keep trailing back to the head of the table. Eddie, Dungeon Master himself, sitting on his throne while having the time of his life. He truly is a novelty to watch like this. Carefree and enjoying himself. It’s amazing. 

“NO!” Dustin yells, startling Pet Semetery right out of your hands. 

Usually you’re better at not jumping from their antics, but the teen does not sound happy. Meanwhile Eddie is cackling and knocks a piece off the board. Flicking your eyes around the table, you notice it was the last piece standing aside from the one indicating the monster the group had been fighting. They lost. 

“Another ruthless, unbeatable campaign?” You muse, looking at your thrilled ‘boyfriend’ while everyone gathers their things to leave.

“Always, princess,” Eddie bounds over to you, leaning on the armrests of your chair, “always.” The doors close, leaving you two alone. “Don’t act like you didn’t help.” 

Narrowing your eyes playfully, you look up at him, “yeah, I thought they’d at least have a chance though.” 

“You’re far too devious for anyone to stand a chance,” Eddie closes the distance and kisses you. 

Instinct and pure want for him, you kiss back for a moment. Pulling away with immense effort, speaking with a small voice, “no one’s here, Eds,” you whisper. “You don’t have to act like you want to kiss me,” you say, trying to gauge how he might feel about the situation. He just kissed you after you both heard the doors close. But you also don’t want to get your hopes up too high either. That there could be a reality where Eddie wants to be with you for real too. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat, his face unreadable, “you’re right. Sorry,” he clears his throat again, “let’s go home.” 

When you grab your book and stand up, Eddie heads for the door, keeping a step or two of distance between you. Is this just how he would act if you guys weren’t pretending to be together? Because when you’re alone, he’s not this cold. Silent. Or did what you say upset him?

Even when you make it to his van and he opens the door for you and you mutter, “thanks,” all Eddie does is offer a pinched smile. 

His silence continues the entire drive home. Eddie doesn’t even sing along to the music he plays. Nor does he drum his hands on the steering wheel. It’s putting you on edge and you want to say something so badly. But you also don’t want to risk actually pissing him off either. So, you follow his lead. Not saying a word while he drives you both home. 

Things don’t get much brighter from then on either. Eddie follows you into the bedroom, grabs his acoustic guitar, and goes right back into the living room. You are absolutely not going to sit in bed and cry about change in behavior. Not at all. You’re going to do it in the shower so there’s no chance of Eddie hearing you, like a smart person. 

Smart, right. 

If you were so smart you’d tell Eddie how you really feel. 

—

“Are you coming to band practice today?” Eddie asks you while you’re putting some mascara on in the bathroom. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” he scratches the back of his head, “the guys do love it when you come though.” 

“Just the guys?” The teased question spills from your lips before you’d even had a chance to filter them out. But it’s out in the air now.

Eddie grins for the smallest of seconds, “I like when you watch us too. You actually give us honest opinions. Will you come?” 

“Can you give me two more minutes?” You ask, waving the mascara brush around, “I’m almost done.” 

“Take your time,” he smiles, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll be out in the van.” 

Quickly, you finish your makeup and go back into the room to get your shoes on. Not wanting to wear a bra, you find one of Eddie’s hoodies and throw it on over your thin shirt. You’ve never seen him wear it, but his spicy cologne rests on the fabric. You allow yourself a moment to bring to sleeves that barely let your fingers peek out of it to your nose to breathe him in. The cologne, the smoke, the very essence of Eddie. Pretending that his arms are wrapped around you instead of his clothes. 

Not wanting to take too long, you snatch the book off the bed and run out the trailer to meet Eddie in the van. 

You sit through the covers of Iron Maiden and Motley Crue while you read your book. They’re actually really good and you do enjoy listening to them. It’s always nice to see Eddie in his element. Happy and perfectly himself. It isn’t until he mentions something about playing a new one that you start to pay attention a little more. It’s different from what they usually play, and has to be an original because you don’t recognize it either and can’t imagine any other voice than Eddie’s singing it. 

Then the chorus hits, and they have your full attention.

“So if you wanna piss off your parents, date me to scare them, show them you’re all grown up,” Eddie sings, his words the night you ran to him echoing in your head alongside the lyrics. “If long hair and tattoos are what attract you, baby, then you’re in luck.” 

Eddie wrote a song about you. Eddie wrote a fucking song about you! But your eyebrows furrow, because it doesn’t sound all that nice, to be honest. Like he’s letting his frustration out through it. You told him you didn’t care about what your parents thought, assuming that was just the incentive for him going through with this.

“You know, I’m broke, so you pulled out your Daddy’s card,” he continues with the song. The memory of you two grocery shopping together flickering in your brain. 

You had wanted to make dinner for him one night as a thank you, but couldn’t find much in his kitchen. He’d told you Wayne didn’t get paid until the weekend and that all his money from dealing went to take out. You promptly dragged him to the store and bought enough food to stock the entire kitchen. Yes, you even made sure he- and you when you chose to partake- had plenty of munchies around too. 

“Should’ve seen this coming from a mile away,” Eddie hasn’t looked at you once the entire time he sings. The rest of the guys just seem to be jamming out. Except Gareth, his face starts to twist, something mixed with confusion and understanding, his drumsticks almost falter. “I’ll play your game. I know what you want from me.” 

But this- this isn’t a game to you. Eddie isn’t a game to you. In its bones, it’s a great song. But your eyes are burning. Blurring with tears as the song goes on. Every lyric a knife to your heart. 

“And I know it’s just a phase, you’re not in love with me,” Eddie finally looks at you as a tear falls from your eye. You quickly wipe it away, seeing the same pain reflected in his big, brown eyes. “And I know it’s just a phase, you’re not in love with me. You wanna piss off your parents, baby. Piss off your parents, that’s alright with me.” 

The song ends and you hastily wipe the rest of your tears away, ducking your head back into your book so the rest of the guys don’t notice them. It’s bad enough that Eddie saw them. You knew you should’ve said something to him last night when he kissed you. You fucking knew it. And now you’ve hurt him. Hurt Eddie enough that he wrote a song to express himself. You feel like the biggest jerk there is. 

—

Something told you that you needed to drive yourself to school today. Eddie didn’t question it. You guys had another silent night at home. Didn’t talk about the song or confess your love to him. But you did decide that you will be doing that today. You just needed to have a moment to sort the words in your head into cohesive sentences. 

Then lunch rolled around and Eddie mentioned he’d be meeting Jason in the woods after school to sell to him. That sounded really fucking weird to you, he just waved off your concerns. But you also heard about Chrissy buying from Eddie too, so you didn’t think anything of it if he didn’t either. It wasn’t until you were walking to your last class that you happened to pass Jason in the halls talking to his friends about how they were going to jump Eddie when they met up that it all made sense. 

Why you wanted to bring your car. Why the whole concept of Jason buying drugs didn’t sit right with you. You skipped your last class to wait near the spot they’d meet. Your baseball bat sitting in your passenger seat. You’re not about to just let Jason hurt Eddie. But you’re also not an idiot. You watch from your hiding spot while Eddie sits on the bench waiting for the unknown threat to show up. 

He can take care of himself against Jason, that’s been proven. But you don’t want to see what would happen if it was three or more guys. When Jason first shows up with three other guys whose names you could care less to remember, your nerves light up. Eddie’s too because he rises from the picnic bench with his arms raised. Grabbing your bat, you get out of the car, careful to stay out of view. 

Inching closer, Jason’s voice finally makes it through, “she’d never actually want to be with a freak like you. No way. She wants to be with me, just like her parents want her to. Maybe if you let her go, we won’t hurt you.” 

Yeah, fuck that. Clenching your hand around the bat, you step into view, “back off, Carver,” you command. Swaying the wood back and forth. “I warned you once already.” 

“Princess,” Eddie warns, but you don’t want to hear it. He might have pieced together why Jason is here, but you’re not backing down. Never again. Not since the moment you stepped foot in his trailer what feels like ages ago.

“Can’t you see he’s corrupting you? Just come with me so that I can take care of you,” Jason yells back, looking honest to god perplexed. “This isn’t you. He’s messing with your head.” 

“He’s letting me live!” You shout, tired of everyone trying to tell you what’s best for you. Like you’re incapable of figuring that out for yourself. One thing’s for certain, it isn’t fucking Jason. And it isn’t your fucking parents either. “He takes care of me better than anyone else ever has! Eddie makes me happy!” 

“Aww, princess,” Eddie coos softly, making your heart swell. 

“Don’t make me say it again, Carver,” you swing the back at your side again.

“Grab him!” Jason snaps and two of the guys grab each of Eddie’s arms, pinning them behind his back. You hadn’t even noticed they were getting closer to him, you were so focused on making sure Jason didn’t do something stupid. Eddie struggles in their grip, loosening their hold, only to be forced still. 

Looks like Jason did do something stupid afterall. “I warned you, Jason,” you spit, swinging the bat, hitting him in the face with a satisfying thwack. He stumbles to the dirt, clutching his split, bleeding cheek. The remaining jock, not holding Eddie, helps Jason to his feet. Whipping your head to the others, “let. Him. Go,” you growl while Eddie stares at you with literal heart eyes. The boys keep their hold, flicking their gaze to their captain who's whining. Good. “Fine,” you huff, swinging the bat again, connecting with one of their legs. 

Eddie stumbles as they release him, the one you’d hit falling to the forest floor, yelling in pain. His partner in crime helps him up and you aim your bat again, a crystal clear warning. One that even Jason pays attention to and all four jocks limp away. Once they’re out of view, the bat thumps to the ground and you face Eddie. 

“Are you crazy?” He asks, pulling you close, staring in your eyes waiting for an answer.

“Don’t ever tell me again that I don’t love you, Eddie Munson, do you understand me,” you rush out, crashing your lips to his. A soft moan combined with an absolute sigh of relief pushes past your lips when he holds you tighter, pulls you even closer, and returns the kiss. 

“Why would you do that?” He breaks the kiss, holding you by the small of your back. “Where did you even get a bat from?” 

“That dick led you out here just to jump you. I heard him in the halls. I wasn’t going to just let him,” you roll your eyes, brushing his bangs from his eyes. “I told you it felt weird.” 

“And the bat?” Eddie repeats, looking where it's laying on the ground. 

“I’m a girl in a small town,” you state like it should be obvious. “It’s called self defense.” 

He snorts, “hot.” You playfully punch his chest, making him laugh. He quickly grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss our knuckles. “So, I make you happy, huh?” Eddie grins slyly, cocking an eyebrow at you. 

“Very,” you smile back, leaning in to kiss him again. Hard. Pressing into him until he’s backed against a tree, groaning into your mouth. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for weeks,” you admit, pulling at his bottom lip with your teeth. Lovingly swiping it with your tongue at his hiss from the action. 

Suddenly your back is against the tree and Eddie’s hips are digging into yours, the bulge in his jeans leaving nothing to the imagination as to whether or not he’s believing and enjoying your words. “I told you I wanted to marry you when we were kids,” he rasps in the small space between your mouths. “You coming to me soaked and asking for help, even as a ploy I’d accept it if it meant you being in my life again. I never stopped wanting you, princess. Ever.” 

“Good,” you reply, claiming his mouth again, Eddie’s hands gripping your hips. You moan when he kisses down your neck, biting at the crook and your eyes roll back. “Eddie,” you whine, trying to spread your legs for more friction. He shifts, his thigh pressing between your legs, rubbing beautifully against your clothed pussy. It’s not enough and you whine again, “Eddie, please.” Every pent up feeling you’ve had for the last month ready to burst at the seams. 

He chuckles against what’s surely a purple mark on your neck, “right here?” Eddie teases, licking your abused flesh, nipping his way back up. “Can’t let me take you home first?”

“No,” you say once his blown, brown eyes fall on your face, “I can’t. I need you, Eddie, please,” you gasp. Breathing becomes harder the longer his thigh digs into you, sparking flames deep in your core. 

“Right here in the woods, huh?” He asks, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. “Maybe Jason was right,” Eddie chuckles, cupping you where it aches, “maybe I did corrupt you.” 

“Good,” you moan, grinding against his hand, “I’m yours to corrupt, Eddie.”

Eddie’s eyes darken further, pupils widening and getting hazy, “that’s my girl.” His fingers undo your button and zipper before yanking you to him, pulling you back towards the picnic table. Pushing you down face first onto the wooden surface, he drags your pants and underwear down in one swift motion. “Look at you,” he tries to coo, but it’s so full of lust that it’s raspy and thick, “so wet for me already, princess.” Eddie kisses your spine, making you shiver, “last chance,” his hands rub your ass. 

“Please,” you croak, eyes burning, needing him inside of you right now. Groaning a guttural, “fuck,” when his tongue dips inside your dripping cunt. “Eddie,” you gasp, him eating you out better than you’ve ever felt before. The long licks and the way he pushes his tongue as far as it will go to tease at your clit. It’s intoxicating and before you can beg for more, two fingers push inside you and you keen. Hips bucking at the pressure against the bundle of nerves deep inside. 

Your moans turn to a mewl, Eddie nipping at the back of your thighs, his hand cracking over your ass. The sting shoots white hot jolts of electricity through you, an orgasm beginning to warm you from the inside out at a startling rate. Kissing your ass, you feel Eddie smile, “you taste so fucking good princess. So fucking good. God,” he groans, “and you’re all fucking mine. Aren’t you?” His fingers move faster and all you can do is moan and nod, thighs shaking with the need to come. “Aren’t you?” Eddie repeats with another slap to your ass, wanting an actual answer. 

Like he isn’t taking away your ability to form proper thoughts let alone understandable words. Huffing your breath, trying desperately to speak, “y-yes, yours,” your gasp, his tongue joining his fingers, flying you over the edge. Wave after beautiful wave slamming into you in quick succession. Had Eddie not had his fingers inside of you, you’d have slumped right off the table. “I’m yours, Eddie,” you groan when he removes his fingers, half hearing him undo his own belt and the slide of his pants. 

“Good girl,” he soothes the spot he’d smacked with loving strokes of his palm, spitting into his other hand. A whine escapes your lips feeling the head of his cock glide against your pussy. “Ready, princess?” Eddie asks, tapping your cunt with his dick. You think you say yes, you’re almost certain the word came out of your mouth. All you really care about is that Eddie heard your consent and his dick slams into you completely. “Fuck, you’re so tight, baby.” 

A groan shifts to a whine when he slowly drags himself out of you to the tip, sliding back at the same pace. “Eddie,” you whine again, trying to push your hips back to make him move faster. The heat in your core burns at a dizzying rate from the surprising intensity of the leisurely roll of his hips. But his grip on you is sure, you’re completely at his mercy.

“Look at that,” he gasps out, doing it over and over. You can only imagine that he’s just watching himself disappear inside of you and enjoying it immensely. “So pretty,” Eddie moans, thrusting harder, but only just. Still pulling out till just the tip of his cock is left inside you and ramming himself forward. The pace punches moans from your chest and has your eyes roll back with every deliberate jab to that sweet spot. 

“Ed- fuck!” You cry out, his control of teasing you or keeping up with his own pleasure snaps along with his hips. Eddie holds your hips hard and rails into you harder. Thrusting with abandon and the coil inside of you winds tightly. Threatening to break at any given moment. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moan repeatedly, eyes blurring with lust. 

Eddie fists his hand in the back of your hair, yanking you up to his chest, “that’s right, let it all out, princess.” He wraps a hand around your middle, trailing his fingers down to circle around your clit. “I wanna hear how good I make you feel,” Eddie bites at your neck, sucking what has to be a constellation of marks on your skin, his thrusts not once faltering. “Come for me, pretty girl.” 

His words, his hands, his cock, him. Eddie flies you right over the edge of your orgasm. The coil snapping so hard you feel your pussy spasm around him and do something it’s never done before, even when you’ve played with yourself. You cry out, screaming a moaned, “Eddie,” as your cunt gushes around him. A tear falls from your eye, overwhelmed with sensation but Eddie holds you close, keeping you grounded with an orgasm infused smile on your face. 

He doesn’t gentle you through it, his fingers never ceasing their toying with your clit, “you’re gonna come for me again,” Eddie moans in your ear. You’re nearly overstimulated, but oh so addicted to the feeling of his dick inside of you that you couldn’t care less. You’d come as many times as he’d get you to. “Then I’m gonna come inside my pussy, understand?” 

“Please, please Eddie, fuck,” you moan, your cunt clenching around him with a vice grip. You want to meet his thrusts, but you’re too lost in the perfect pace he’s set that you hadn’t even noticed the all too familiar tingle creeping up on you. Thighs shaking, you hold his arm, the hand in your hair snaking around to a light hold on your throat. Another grunted moan in your ear from Eddie is all it took for you to fall apart again. A breathless scream as your pussy squirts around his cock once more. 

“That’s my girl,” Eddie’s grip tightens around your throat. His fingers finally leave your sensitive clit alone to hold you steady, thrusting a few more times until he shoves himself inside. Eddie lets out a moan, spilling himself deep inside, warming you from the inside out. “Fucking hell, I love you,” he pants, peppering your neck with sweet kisses. He carefully helps you back onto the table top, your hands propping you because your legs are far from stable. 

Your mind is blissfully quiet, only caring about being in the moment with Eddie. You’ll deal with the thought of doing this in the middle of the woods later. Right now, you just want him. Eddie pulls out from your sore pussy as gently as he can and gingerly pulls your pants back up. Kind of pointless considering they’re pretty much instantly soaked from his come leaking out of you. But that’s okay too, you like the feeling. You turn to face him, finding he’s already got his pants pulled up too. 

Reaching out to hug him, Eddie does you one better, scooping you up into his arms in a bridal carry. “You okay, princess?” He asks, kissing the top of your head when you tuck into his neck. 

“I’m okay. Some water would be great right now though,” you mumble, the pure scent of Eddie mixing with the woods around you is better than any aromatherapy out there. “And food. God, and a bath.” 

Eddie chuckles, bending to grab your bat from the ground, “good thing I have a cooler and some snacks in the van. Think that’ll be enough till we get home and I can make you something?” 

“‘S perfect, Eds,” you smile against his skin, curling your fingers in the ends of his hair as he carries you to his van. “Will my car be okay?” 

“I’ll have Gareth or Jeff come get it for you.” Eddie stops in his tracks, “uh,” he chuckles. “Do we need to stop at the pharmacy?” 

Lifting your tired head, you ask, ”why,” heavy lidded eyes barely focusing on him. 

“We didn’t use a condom,” he states, “and I definitely didn’t pull out.” 

You laugh, thumping your head back into his neck, “Eddie, my parents controlled every aspect of my life, you really think they wouldn’t put me on the pill?” You resume playing with his hair and he begins walking again. “I would’ve stopped you otherwise,” tugging his hair lightly you giggle, “it’s more than okay, Eddie. Just get me home so we can eat and take a bath together.”

“Coming right up, princess,” his smile is evident in his tone and he kisses your hair again. 

Part 2

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #stranger things 4 #stranger things #Match Writes

[chaoticloving]

idk if you write smut so if you’re uncomfortable totally ignore this!!! but!!! imagine y/n and recently fiance!harry and him fingering you with his ring finger talking abt marriage and shit 🫣🫣

future husband

Harry styles x reader (masterlist)

summary: Harry proposes and it leads to sex

warnings: smut

a/n: IM SORRY THIS TOOK TOO LONG I JUST NEEDED TO BE IN THE RIGHT MOOD TO WRITE SMUT AND THEN TUMBLR DIDNT PUT IT IN THE TAGS AHHH

Harry's ring obsession started when he was in his early twenties.

He rarely wore any type of a jewelry or anything flamboyant when he was younger. He painted his nails on occasion, something to relax himself with or whenever Y/n was doing hers, but nothing too grand.

But a simple silver chain given by his one and only changed that.

He started getting a little more into jewelry, necklaces, earrings, and his favorite, rings. He liked the intricate designs that rings ment; they could be loud and a stable piece, or they could be a subtle addition to the outfit.

They could also symbolize love.

After dating Y/n for three months, he knew he was certain that he wanted to stay forever with her, he just didn't allow himself to think of marriage this early into a relationship--at least not until his mother asked when he was going to propose after meeting her around their six-moth anniversary.

Finally though, after just under two years, he popped the question. He got a beautiful engagement ring, a band with beautiful engravings throughout, and of course, a huge fucking rock.

"Harry." Y/n sniffled, seeing Harry on his knee, ring in hand. "Of course, yes!"

A lovely proposal in a quiet and quant cottage away from civilization was perfect and exactly what they needed, not only for their privacy but for the ability to have sex in the middle of the woods. Harry bought this property not too long ago and waited for the right moment to take Y/n there, a proposal seemed like the best time.

The kissing of course led to more, how could it not? Harry was always a passionate lover, always eager to please, so it was honestly no surprise when the soft kiss turned more sensual.

"Fuck, I'm so glad you finally asked." Y/n mumbled softly as their lips kept touching, coming back for more. "Can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you as my husband."

Harry moved onto her neck, biting softly as he went down. "It's all I've ever wanted." He groaned as Y/n's hand trailed down to his pants, she teased him slightly, earning a moan from him. "And to please you again. Lay down."

Y/n made herself comfortable on the blue and white picnic blanket. Harry moved the basket and wine bottles out of the way. He pulled flipped her dress up, revealing her lacy set on panties.

"Planning to seduce me today?" He asked with a raised brow.

"I had a hunch you might be asking me to marry you." She shrugged her shoulders, biting her lip to hide, poorly, a cheeky smile.

"How?" Harry gasped, his fingers tracing the band of her underwear. "It was top secret!"

"Oh come on, H." She giggled, her hand coming up to stroke his cheek. "You take me on a surprise getaway, no one around, to a cottage that is darling... It's the most romantic thing you have ever done."

Harry blushed. The midday sun gleaming perfectly on his skin, twinkling his green eyes and highlighting the freckles that scattered his slightly tanned skin. Y/n couldn't help but feel so lucky. This beautiful man, inside and out, is now her fiancé; she started to tear up, which, of course, caused Harry to tear up as well.

"No don't start baby." She told him. "We need to focus so we can have sex. No tears now."

She wiped her tears then Harry's. "You started it." He mumbled, smiling as he finally pulled her panties down. "We just love each other too much."

"I guess so-" Y/n gasped as Harry entered a figure into her. The familiar feeling was welcomed as the subtle feeling of pleasure began to buble up inside of her. "Fuck that feels so good."

Harry was leaning half on and half off of her, his right hand fingering. her while his other held him up so he could kiss by her ear.

"Don't get one of your rings stuck in me." She warned, looking sternly at her love. Harry shook his head and kissed her softly.

"I would never."

Harry had on a simple band, one similar to the new one adorned on Y/n's finger. He figured while he was buying the engagement ring he could buy a matching one for himself.

"I can't wait to marry you." He spoke softly, creating a new hickey just under her ear lobe. "Gonna wanna fuck you again when I see you in that dress, don't know if I could wait till the honeymoon."

He added a finger, adding to the pleasure.

"And seeing you with that ring...It's going to be as sexy as your lingerie. Just knowing you're mine and I'm the only one that can ever see you like this."

"Fuck, H. Gonna come."

"I'm the only one who will get to see my wife like this. And everyone will know I can only to this do you...I'm the only one capable." Harry's words were possessive yet reassuring, the constant validation that he was the only one for her pushed her over the edge, leaving a gasp from her mouth.

"Har I need you inside." She yanked him fully on-top of her, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down after Harry quickly pulled his fingers out of her, but not before a little taste.

He helped her strip himself, knowing she is just as possessive as him but just doesn't always vocalize it, but her actions speak louder than her lack of words.

Harry entered Y/n, the euphoric feeling washing over him as he let out a loud moan, mentally thanking himself for buying the isolated land. "Feel so good."

"You stretch me out so much." She gasped. "My future husband."

Harry thrusted, a reflex from her words in her sexy, faint, voice. "Don't say that or else I'm going to come in less then a minute." He paused, staring into his loves eyes. "Want to impress my future wife."

"You impress me every day. Every time I see you I have something new I love about you." Y/n leaned in a kissed him, it was mainly teeth, but still perfect nonetheless. "Today it's your cock."

Harry stopped thrusting briefly. "You mean it hasn't impressed your before today?"

"It's the first time I've been impress by my fiancé's cock, I was already impressed when he was my boyfriend." She assured. Harry rolled his eyes and got back to thrusting, moving his ring finger down to her core and rubbing soft circles on her clit, making her jolt slightly.

"I'm gonna cum again, H."

"Me too."

They both moaned as they climaxed at the same time. Harry collapsed onto Y/n's chest, arms exhausted from keeping himself up. They stayed like that for no more then five minutes, Harry's cock softening inside of her as they relaxed.

"I can't believe you're going to be my wife." Harry thought out loud. "Never thought I'd work up the courage."

"Why? You knew I'd say yes."

"I dunno, just all the what-if's got inside my head. You know how that is." Harry mumbled, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck. He kissed over her blooming hickeys too, soft contrast between his sexual and romantic desire for her.

"Well your next biggest concern is finding were to go for our honeymoon." Y/n said. "Might have to go all over."

"I'll pay for every penny of it."

"Most defiantly. You know I have expensive taste." Y/n joked. "The wedding is going to cost half a fortune on its own."

Harry smiled, kissing her cheek then her lips. "I'd spend all the money in the world to make you happy. I'd go broke to see you smile."

"Stop, you're going to make me cry again." She whispered, tears starting to form.

"I'll just kiss them away, my love." He sighed. "It's my job as your future husband."

#harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one direction #bf!harry styles #husband!harry #husband!harry styles #harry styles fic #fiance!harry #fiance!harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles x fem!reader

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Three. Four. Five. || Toxic!Husband!Price

For @glitterypirateduck's “O, Captain!” writing challenge! I used prompts:

30. "I hate you but if anything happened to you I'd burn the world" vibe.;

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years;

78. Give us a "That's my Wife!" moment.

Rating: E Words: 3.3K cw: toxic couple, VERY toxic, insults, death wishes, smut fade to black, pregnancy. Tags: f!reader, you/your pronouns but no Y/N, miilitary/court martial inaccuracies, very bad family dynamics?, dark humour??. Summary: John and Reader are in the worst fucking marriage ever. A collection of moments, dialogues and scenes from their terrible relationship. a/n: They are SO fucking toxic and dumb, I cannot- This is also very different from the stuff I usually write. This is ALSO not particularly angsty, more so dark humour.

There was a time when you loved John Price.

With all your heart, all your soul (and all your pussy).

That time was when you were young.

Ages 14 to 21, you loved him. He was your first kiss, your first time. High school sweethearts, you supported him through the academy, he supported you when you went to university. 

You stayed together through his first and second deployments. It was like an old-timey WW2 romance. 

So many letters exchanged back and forth. All lovey-dovey, with faint pen ink and smudged blotches on the pages as you made plans for the future.

Phone calls with spotty service and loads of static, only five minutes per soldier, 5 minutes which he’d spend only ever spend talking to you, asking you to relay any other messages to his mum, dad, siblings so he wouldn’t have to hang up with you. 

Polaroids clipped on the inside of envelopes which he would then slip into the breast pocket of his shirt, keeping you over his heart… one he’d often pull out and look at during transpo, thumbs tracing your eternal smile.

Polaroids of yours, a bit more risqué, which he would keep tucked into a journal under his pillow, for his eyes only.

John would walk around overseas with a smile on his lips after getting a letter or a call from you, brag to his teammates about his “bird back home”, never going out to bars to find one night stands like they did…

But sometime after his second deployment and joining the SAS, the puppy love that had lasted for years started to dwindle. 

Slowly but surely, you found that you were both growing distant.

You assumed you were both growing a bit ‘comfortable’, perhaps complacent… like all relationships tend to get after a while. 

By that time, John and you had already moved in together and you were no longer consistently alone for months at a time waiting for him to return from deployment. You blamed it on that. Plus, you’d been together for years by then!

But it felt different. There was distance, emotional and physical. Whenever he cuddled up to you, you felt cold and so did he. The kisses to your forehead were meaningless, the dinners at home eerily silent.

And between the distance and the inability to make proper plans, proper dates, celebrate milestones together, forgotten anniversaries, overlooked birthdays… It turned into arguments. 

And one argument turned to three, to five, to seven… hundred.

You found yourself growing bitter, angry, hateful.

It wasn’t a sudden shift or anything.

Not like you woke up one day and the one thought in your head was “I hate him”...

But you remember hating him longer than you ever loved him.

You tried breaking up. And failed. 

Some… bastardised feeling of guilt came to the forefront of both your minds at the idea of throwing away 5 6 7 8 9 10 years together, and giving up on your first love… and maybe even fear of having to start anew with someone else.

So, you simply continued going through the motions. You got engaged, big shiny rock on your finger, all big smile, but no tears came when he proposed. Your families were ecstatic, not quite able to see through the thinly veiled deceit.

For the wedding, you pulled out all the stops, stressed yourself out preparing the ceremony and reception with the women in your family (and his! His mother and sister were so happy that John was getting married!), going wedding dress shopping…

You had a beautiful ceremony, John wearing his full dress suit, army green, with the beige SAS beret. You were both 27, and together for 13 years.

Then, came the honeymoon, which was cut short. Not that it was a true honeymoon. Just three days in a coastal town in Northern France, having to be within a day's drive of Hereford lest he get called out for a sudden mission, which he was.

Not that you expected any different from him. So the distance continued growing, as did the arguments.

You hated him. He hated you.

Then came the predictable “So, when can we expect some grandkids?”. You put it off for a couple more years, blaming it on your high-priority careers, the law and the military, so similar and so different; his lack of time at home and how regrettable it’d be for you to be alone through the pregnancy; the want to be ‘more present’ for the future kids, needing to wait for things to settle down a bit more…

You’d been together for so long at that point, 15 years under your belt, starkly aware that neither of you is going anywhere. The world keeps spinning and your relationship hasn't ended. Fuck it, might as well go for it.

And now here you are.

It’s been eighteen years since you met. Aged 32, you no longer have arguments, you have throwdowns. You pull out every weapon in your arsenal. Neither of you plays nice.

Insults are traded often. Death wishes even more so. And, more often than not, they’re delivered with such a deadpan nonchalance that you’re sure people would think you both psychopaths.

“Going on a mission. ‘ll be back in a few days.”

“‘Kay, hope you die.”

“So do I.”

-

“Just had a fender bender with a stupid bloke. The car’s at the shop. Taking an uber to the base to get your car.”

“Okay. Shame you didn’t die a fiery death.”

“Don’t remind me, already cried about it.”

-

"I'm getting discharged."

"Why?"

"Shot."

"And it couldn't have killed you?"

-

“Can you get out of the damn toilet? I’m bleeding.”

“Period, accident, or just part of your satanic rituals?”

“Period.”

“Tough luck. Hope you bleed out.”

It never gets physical, never violent. John would rather die than lay a hand on you and you’d never DARE lay one on him. It’s just a lot of yelling, a lot of insulting, a lot of throwing things around, and, especially, a lot of revenge plans being executed to drive each other crazy.

Like recently. You found out John had gotten a grey-haired wig about the same length and texture as your hair, and has been snipping off a few hairs at a time, planting them around the house to blame you for leaving your hair everywhere, while simultaneously making you feel like you’re going grey. So, you put grey hair box dye in his shampoo and beard oil, to make him think he’s going grey.

Or three months ago, when you replaced all your lightbulbs with dimmer ones and lowered the brightness on all electronics, to make him think his eyesight was starting to go bad. You drove him so mad that he had voluntarily signed up for sniper assessments because he was worried he’d become a liability for the team.

Or eight months ago, when John had to return home in the middle of the day wearing a ruined uniform and just about ready to blow smoke out of his ears, having ripped holes in the uniform midway through a meeting all because 2 or so weeks prior you had painstakingly undone part of the stitching on it after an argument, and that had resulted in him baring his hairy thighs and armpits to a boardroom full of officers.

It’s bad. Very bad. You’ve had your windows and doors insulated to make sure the neighbors don’t hear your screaming matches and call the cops on the “domestic violence” happening next door. 

You probably shouldn’t have kids with this man. And yet-

He drives you insane.

And you’ve TRIED to fix it! You did. Marriage counseling, rage rooms, axe-throwing, paintball matches, yoga, meditation.… Nothing worked! In fact, it only infuriated you more because:

“You’ve got a tactical advantage, you need to play with a handicap!”

“Tough luck, sweetheart. Get good or get shot!”.

-

“You can throw harder than that.”

“Oh, I’ll show ya throwing hard, you gobshite!”

“Okay, when are you planning to start?”

-

“My back hurts-”

“Because you’re getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. Face it, John, if the downward dog hurts your back, then you’re old.”

-

“Can you breathe any louder?”

“Yes, I can. Wanna see?”

“Just shut up. I can’t hear myself think.”

“Not much to hear either way, pretty hollow in there.”

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetness.”

There are only three occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats. Other, then, of course, when John’s working, especially when he’s overseas. You can’t fight if he’s both a) not home and b) unreachable via calls or texts or e-mails.

When you need a favor from the other, something you can’t quite do, or that falls in the other’s ‘jurisdiction’ in house chores.

“The washing machine’s leaking.”

“Turn off the water main, I’ll go check in a sec.”

“Mkay.”

-

“Here. Popped a button.”

“I don’t have any more army green thread.”

“Then use brown or black or whatever.”

-

“Where are your car keys?”

“What for?”

“Going to get it washed and detailed.”

“My purse.”

-

“You’re not gonna wear that, are you?”

“Why?”

“Besides the fact that it’s wrinkly? That’s a ‘house’ shirt, not a ‘going out’ shirt. Wear this one instead.”

2. When you’re both complaining or dealing with an outside force, a 3rd party, together.

"Excuse me, hi, I'm sending this back it's not cooked the way I asked."

"Ma'am that's exactly what you-"

"Are you calling my wife a liar?"

-

“Oh, fuck no. Why the fuck is he winning the Great British Bake Off?"

"Hm? Oh- oh! Yeah, why the fuck is he winning?"

“Bloody hell, he rolled his pastry too thin and had watery pie filling-”

“Wankers. This is not fair.”

-

“John. John!”

“What?”

“Look-”

“Blood hell, he’s back early-”

“Yeah and her boytoy’s car still there. They’re definitely still going at it.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun.”

-

“Excuse me! Hey, excuse me! Pick up after your bloody dog! NO, don’t you start with me, you keep leaving your dog’s shite right by our garden, don’t you see the sign my husband’s posted up?! Pick it up or I’ll do it and then drop it in your garden.”

3. During sex.

Marching into the bedroom after breakfast, you find John combing through his hair in the bathroom mirror. The room is steamy from the hot shower he just took. 

“Take your trousers off. I’m ovulating.” You warn him as you wave your phone in the air, showing off the period tracking app.

“I literally just showered.” John replies as you’re already shrugging off your robe and pajamas.

“Well, believe or not, I don’t control my ovaries, John.” You reply. “Now take your trousers off.”

“Already on it.” He replies as he already starts taking off his shirt and sweatpants, leaving them on a pile on the floor, before his boxer briefs follow suit.

His hand palms his cock as you’re getting comfortable on the bed, tugging on it lightly as he watches your fingers do the same between your legs. 

“Can we try to enjoy it this time?” He asks you in earnest.

“Sure.” You reply simply. “Been a while since we’ve had proper sex and not…”

“Not a breeding session?” He quips as he kneels on the bed between your parted thighs. His hand replaces yours and he starts rubbing your clit for you.

“Shut it…” You quip, while your own hand wraps around his cock, stroking it slowly. John lowers himself onto you and his lips slowly brush against yours before he kisses you.

No, as it turns out… There are actually four occasions when you’re not actively at each other’s throats:

4. The Kid

In a day like any other, you’re lying in bed, reading a book. It’s a lazy Sunday morning, your big, round belly feeling particularly heavy. You’ve stolen every other pillow in the house to try and find some comfort, which you fail remarkably at.

“I think I’m going grey.” John states to no one in particular.

He’s in the en-suite bathroom, applying beard oil across his mutton chops like he tends to do, about three times a week.

“You are.” You remark in a bored, dismissive tone as you read a book in bed.

“That’s not funny. I’m not that old.”

“You’re getting up there.”

“Look who’s talking, we’re the same age.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Jonathan?”

“It means you’re there yourself, darling.”

Raising your eyes from the book in your hands, the bottom of which rests atop your pregnant belly, you cock a brow at your ‘beloved’ husband.

“And this is coming from Santa Claus?” You retort swiftly.

John peeks his head out of the bathroom door to look at you. “You think you’ve got a leg to stand on, you crone?”

Grunting under your breath, you glare at him, and he glares at you, complete silence in the bedroom. 

There’s something in that face of his, the look in his eyes, those STUPID fucking mutton chops that you’ve told him to shave and he refuses…

Grabbing your book and rolling it into a cylinder, you hurl it at him, putting as much force behind your arm as you possibly can. It misses the mark, but only because he had the presence of mind to duck. 

“You’re such a fuckin’ knobhead!” You insult him, tongue dripping with bitterness.

“Wel, not like I can be anything else, really, when I’m married to such a raging cunt.” He retorts.

“OH FUCK YOU!” You retort.

“ALREADY AM MORE THAN FUCKED, SPENDING THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU.”

“OH, PLEASE, YOU’RE MORE MARRIED TO YOUR BLOODY GUN THAN YOU ARE TO ME!”

“YEAH CAUSE AT LEAST MY GUN DOESN’T DRIVE ME FUCKING MENTAL!”

“OH PISS OFF!” You shout, your face twisting with a scowl.

“You know, you really shouldn’t be stressing yourself out like this. It’s not good for your blood pressure. Or for John Junior.”

“First of all, it’s not gonna be a boy. Secondly, even if it is a boy, we’re not naming him after you. And thirdly, how about you die, then I won’t get stressed.”

“And why would I do that, when I can stay right here, perfectly alive and healthy, and watch you give birth to John Junior, and have the pleasure of rubbing a ‘I told you so’ right in your face?”

“Oh fuck you. It’s not going to happen.” You sulk and cross your arms over your chest, leaning back against your mountain of pillows.

“Someone doesn’t like the idea of having a son that takes after me, hm??” John teases as he comes up to the bed, a brow cocked.

You trail him with your eyes as he sits next to you on the bed. “Absolutely not. I wanna have a child I actually am able to love, and not one that I have to lie to.”

“A mother’s love knows no bounds, huh? What a load of crap.” John quips.

“Oh, that’s 100% true. I love this baby to bits already, but if it takes after you… I’ll probably die.”

“Good.” John remarks, causing you to roll your eyss. “Much better than if our child takes after you. Spawn of Satan, he would be.” John’s hand slides up your leg and slowly cups your swollen stomach.

“I should probably address the fact you just called our child ‘Satan’s spawn’, but I’m more concerned over the fact you keep calling the baby a ‘son’.” You murmur as you uncross your arms and watch him caress your skin.

“I feel like it’s a boy, I don’t know what to tell you.” He replies as his calloused fingers drag over the stretch marks and linea nigra on your stomach.

“What if it’s a girl?”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen enough men online getting pissy over havin’ a daughter.” You quip and cock a brow up, looking him in the eyes.

John’s eyes lock onto yours. “Not me.” Then they return to the belly as he continues rubbing you. “Would love a little girl too.”

“Hm.” You remark and slowly, your hand rubs over the belly on the opposite side, where John’s hand isn’t. “We’ve gotta promise not to yell or argue in front of the baby.”

“Kind of hard to do that when I’m married to the Devil.” John quips, causing you to look up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve gotta promise. We’ve gotta promise.” You murmur as you look at him.

For a moment, his usually grumpy face softens and he nods. “I promise.”

Nodding as well, you echo the sentiment. “I promise.”

No, wait, five:

5. When you have his back.

“General, that is not what I asked you. I would ask that you stop beating around the bush, feeding me, the jury, and the people watching at home, fabricated information and embellished words in a sorry attempt to save your credibility. Stick to the questions being asked and stop wasting our times.” You warned the man as you paced the space in front of the stand.

“Me and everyone else in this room are looking for nothing but the truth, or must I remind you that you are under oath and also live on television?” You ask outloud as you turn to look at him.

“No, counselor.” The General, a heavy-set, older, mustachioed man replies, through gritted teeth, his face showing a polite expression while the man himself was seething on the inside.

“Very well, then, I’ll repeat the question. Were you or were you not aware of the aforementioned, unsactioned operations being conducted in the Al-Mazarah and Urzikstan border, involving CIA and MI6 operatives?” You asked, eyes glaring into the man’s eyes as you leaned into the stand near him.

“Well, as with most operations...”

“A yes or no is enough, General.” You told him sternly.

“Yes.” The man grits out.

“And did you, or did you not, give permission for these CIA and MI6 operatives, working under the guise of NATO, and I quote, from the transcript: “Authority to use any means necessary” on the enemy forces?” You confronted him.

“Well-”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“And did you do that while being aware that the teams involved would interpret such command as permission to execute an operation in which they’d use ‘extreme physical persuasion’ or, in other words, torture to achieve their goals?”

“I-”

“Did you or did you not, General?”

“Yes, but-”

“And did you, or did you not, not only demand the censoring of the clear and transparent reports received in the aftermath of that operation but also sign off on them yourself, to circumvent the proper channels of evaluation, which would force an internal audit to be conducted?”

“Yes-”

“So, in short, you just confirmed that you authorized your troops to, essentially, wipe their asses with the Geneva convention and comit war crimes on the POWs under their care?”

“Counselor-” One of the judges called out.

“Withdrawn. No further questions, Mr. Chairman.” You told the Chairman and the jury panel that sat above you, as you swiftly turned around and marched up to your table, high heels clacking on the polished floors of the court room.

Your eyes locked onto John’s as he sat in the back of the room, wearing his full regalia, his eyes locked onto yours with a strange shine to them… Almost like he’s proud of you.

As soon as you sit on the chair and the Chairman once again takes over, addressing the room, the General, calling other witnesses, your phone’s screen lights up on the chair next to you.

Picking it up quietly, you spot a message of John’s:

John: that’s my girl. knew you could do it. you: you owe me big time. John: i do. saved my arse there. you: of course. it’s what I’m here for.  John: almost making it sound like you love me. you: no but I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. you: no way in hell you’re leaving me alone with 3 children. John: i see. selfish woman. you: shut up.  you: and try not torturing POWs next time. John: yes, ma’am.

Five occasions seem to be enough to keep a 23-year marriage afloat.

a/n: Big thanks to my beloved @crashtestbunny for helping draft/plot all these interactiions and just the general toxicity! And also @mothymunson your beloved Toxic!Price is here!

[ O, Captain! Masterlist ] || [ My Masterlist ]

#ikea writes 💚 #ocaptainchallenge #cod x reader #cod fanfic #masterlist #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #call of duty #cod fandom #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain price mw2 #price mw2 #price

[elexaria]

religious!johnny mactavish x afab! reader smut bc i said so

ONE LAST POST I SWEAR and then i will sleep except not rlly bc its 8am and i have to get ready for a virtual meeting RRR

ANYWAYS.

cw — afab! reader, nothing too spicy, foreplay, pnv, religious corruption ig?? idk, johnny is just too damn horny for his own good and hes a good christian boy n all but…. pussy go brr

johnny had always been devoted to his faith, going to church with his wee grandma ever since he could walk n talk. swears to himself and the big man in the sky when he came of age that he’d wait for the one, he’d save himself for marriage as god intended him to do.

you were agnostic at best, but that was fine to him. you respected his faith, you even attended church with him when he occasionally goes! a loving, supportive partner — that’s all he could ever ask for.

well, not really.

see, you’re so damn pretty. such a pretty thing, all snuggled up in the crook of his arm as you two lay in bed, watching a movie before you’ll eventually go to sleep. he told you from day one that he wants to wait until marriage, it’s important to him. and you respect that! you do occasionally find yourself pouting whenever your friends gloat about their sex lives, and you just kinda have to go “ahahaha yep, still haven’t gotten fucked by johnny yet. still ain’t married—“ awkwardly, and they playfully tease you about it but they don’t care. you’re in the most healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, they love him!

but i digress. his fingers gently stroke along the length of your arm, as they always do. he’s a bit of a fidgety fella, it’s the ol’ adhd, he tells you. so his fingers dance around the fabric of your tshirt, the texture is satisfying to the pads of his fingertips. the movie continues on, and you giggle at a snarky quip someone makes. it makes his lips twitch up into a small grin, the sound of your giggle. his fingers are still absentmindedly touching around, and that’s when he accidentally grazes your boob.

and oh my god.

wait, what? it’s nothing like he’d ever felt before— he slyly looks down at you, to see if you’ve caught on. and with another sneaky swipe, that confirms it. his blood is running hot, and my god he can no longer concentrate. two fingers run across the swell of your breast from underneath your tshirt, you shiver as you look up at him. and god, you had never seen him look like that before. flared nostrils as his breathing grows heavy, his jaw clenched. “johnny—“ you mutter as he now begins to slowly paw at your soft breast, and it makes you whine at how good it feels to be touched like this.

"it's no like we're daein' anything serious here, aye? just some light pettin'." johnny justifies to himself as he mumbles into the crook of your neck as his hand darts under your shirt, groaning at the soft mounds of fat that jiggle with each grope. how much you whine and gasp as he pinches a peaked bud between his fingers. his cock is rock hard, screaming for attention. but he stops, borderline panting as he looks down at you. he looks guilty, but he has to restrain himself. he’s saving himself for marriage, remember?

you shyly scuttle off to the bathroom to finish yourself off, the tap running to hide the obscene squeals you make as you sit on the bathroom floor, one hand pressed over your mouth while the other rubs intricately tight circles around your throbbing clit. meanwhile, johnny’s stroking his cock just from the thought of what had just happened, groaning as he spills himself into a tissue.

he swore he would keep his virginity in tact for when you two finally got married.

"i'm savin' masel' for marriage, ye ken." he mutters as his fingers stroke the glistening folds of your puffy cunt, sucking the air through his teeth as his fingers coax every last tantalising moan from you as he fingers you, your hands wrapped around his cock as you mutually pleasure one another.

“it’s no sex,” he justifies to himself as you suck his cock, eyes half-lidded as one hand cups the base of his shaft, the other cupping his swollen, full balls with a wanton gaze in your eyes. “fuck, ye have no idea whit yer daein’ tae me.” he growls, fucking into your mouth slowly as his cross pendant thumps against his hairy chest with each buck of his hips.

“it’s just the tip, yeah?” as his heart races, his swollen tip rubbing into your clit, and you swear you’re fit to burst when just the tip, like he promises, slowly sinks into your pussy. he grips onto the pillows besides your head, his eyes glossed over as he tries so hard not to cum right then and there. his breathing is rugged, his pupils narrow as he slowly sinks himself deeper inside you. you both moan together, sweat glossed foreheads pressed against one another as you two join in a debauched union.

“fuck me— ye feel fuckin’ divine.” he growls as he pulls out, slamming his hips right into you with a snarl. “gonnae cum so fuckin’ fast, baby girl. fuck, look at ye.” he says between rugged breaths, eyes bearing right down at you as you tighten and pulse around his cock, eyes fluttering as you cum right then and there. fuck, the wait— or lack there of it — was worth it. with a couple of lazy, sporadic thrusts, johnny spills himself inside you with a primal roar, his knuckles white as he grips the sheets while your velvety vice of a pussy milks him of every last drop of the thick ropes of cum churned from his now drained balls.

in the haze of it all, johnny groans as he pulls out, his eyes fixated on the sight of his cum dripping out of your puffy cunt. his fingers crook up into you, gently pumping his essence right back inside of you. “better have a wee chat with the big man upstairs about this. fuck, no that i could resist this. christ, look at the sight of ye.” he chuckles, his thumb grazing against your swollen clit with an affectionate smile.

“i mean, fuck me, am gonnae marry ye so fast if it means i get tae do this all the time.”

#elexaria writes #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap smut #soap x reader #soap mw2 #soap cod #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x reader

[ohhiimweird]

The Traffic Light Trio Except they Simp for You

AKA MK, Mei, and Redson crush headcanons

Characters: MK, Redson, Mei

Reader: Gender Neutral

Relationship: Romantic

Content Warnings: None! :)

------------------------------------

MK

bro is a simp. he would be a simp. look at this boy and tell me he is not

Mei is his wingman, obviously. and she does her best

AKA, she has brought up the idea of throwing rocks at your window, MK serenading you while Mei carries the boombox

Whenever you enter Pigsy's shop, MK will be all "Guys! Guys! Be cool! It's them." and he's the only one losing his shit

the gang is surprised that you're the only one who doesn't know about MK's crush on you

he'll sometimes draw you and write your name with a bunch of hearts around it or himself protecting you from a demon

he gushes about you almost constantly. it can be about any interaction he had with you. he will talk to the nearest person about it

Wukong supports it but he's mostly confused but that's fine

father figure approves

will try to show off his powers in front of you

if he ends up admitting his feelings, he's got a flower that reminds him of you and y'all are meeting somewhere so he can do the thing. Mei is probably watching in case everything goes wrong

when you accept, he's so fucking happy and it takes everything in him not to kiss you the second you say yes

Mei

much like how she'd be MK's wingman, MK is her wingman

She'll show you off to her chat if she's streaming. they'll make a few simp comments about her crush but she acts cool and brushes it off

on the inside, she is worried you might find out and is surprised that you don't

she'll take you for rides on her little dragon bike around the city

you have to go to work? there she is! need a ride to the grocery store? mei knows your location

NOOO it's not because she likes the feeling of your arms wrapped around her while she's driving you around

she's a little bit more upfront about her feelings, but she still has her and MK go through stupid shenanigans to get your attention

she's a little worried about her parents not being approving of you because dragon clan stuff

but I think because of the episode with the dragon sword, her parents would come around

when she wants to tell you, Mei would try to disguise it as you two hanging out as friends

MK and Sandy are following you two around while you're both having fun

Then, Mei takes you somewhere a little more remote and admits her feelings. When you say yes, she throws herself onto you and is the happiest Dragon Horse Girl in the world

Redson

this motherfucker is a tsundere through and through

This time, they have two wingmen, MK and Mei. but she doesn't like it

he'll try to shoo them away every time they make a comment about him making a move on you

Redson will bring you the finest jewelry in the world if you wear it

if you don't he'll make little trinkets for you

either way, he's giving you gifts since I see that as his love language

each gift redson gives you has a seal on it, showing anyone that tries anything with you that you're under the demon bull family's protection

If you notice something, cue the flames

she will deny everything that has to do with their crush on you

Once he confesses, that's when he'll ask MK and Mei for any kind of help, and they're on thin fucking ice already

She brings you another piece of jewelry, however, this one is a bit grander than the others. He treats it like a marriage proposal even though they're reminded several times that you have to date someone first before you marry them

You accept it though, and that's all that matters to him

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk x reader #monkie kid x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #redson #redson x reader #lmk redson x reader #lmk mk #mk x reader #lmk mk x reader #lmk mei #lmk mei x reader #mei x reader

[radioisntdead]

I have an idea.

Mom susan and daughter are reader

How about the reader tries to introduce her husband to her mother??

Good evening my dear! I wanted to see a Susan and Alastor in-law showdown and I wrote a drabble and then some headcanons, so I hope you don't mind, but if you do just let me know and I can replace Alastor with another requested character or an oc or something,

The mother in-law

Susan & daughter reader, Alastor x female reader

Warnings!!

Cannibalism, violent elderly, implied Violence AGAINST the elderly in the headcanons mostly, Susan invading boundaries, Alastor gets insulted by Susan, Reader needs a drink, poorly drawn Cat Alastor in a suit, OOC characters, not proofread, does anyone know a replacement for Grammerly??

Alastor made the most of falling to eternal damnation, seeing it as a new opportunity,

He become an overlord, a cannibal, the feared Radio demon,

It was shocking enough to him that he had met you, and while it did take awhile and a long long friendship he did end up realizing he had feelings for you, a sweetheart of a cannibal, who worked with his dear friend Rosie and asked to court you in the gentlemenly way, with a bouquet of seven roses and a kiss on your hand, He was the happiest lil' deer in all of hell.

He'd take you dancing, you'd do something like reading or taking a nap as he did his radio broadcast, the two of you would go on walks,

It was bliss

Unfortunately or fortunately depending how you look at it, Alastor disappeared for seven years taking you with him, much to the distain of your mother.

During the time away you were wed, it was a small ceremony, only the two of you and the fucked up cat thing that looked strikingly like Alastor you adopted as your witness.

Anyways with the sudden seven year disappearance and marriage, he never got to formally meet his mother in law that you've told him so much about,

So once everything was settled and you got to visit your dear mama a couple of times, you decided to finally introduce them,

Unfortunately they already knew each other.

Oh no.

Alastor wore his best suit, he even put that evil radio cat into a suit, you wore a lovely dress that matched the aesthetics of cannibal town [Or an exact copy of Alastor's regular suit if you wanna give Susan a heart attack]

He walked arm in arm with you to the cannibal town home your mother lived in, and from the moment the door was opened there was only one thought on his mind.

Oh shit it was Susan, you were the daughter of the Ornery old bitch,

How was someone like YOU related to SUSAN??

Were you adopted? You had to be, he refused to believe that old lady had spawned you in any type of way, maybe she picked you up off the street?

Susan grabbed your hand pulling you in and looking over you, not bothering to greet the radio demon beside you,

"Where have you been I thought you died, Why are you with the guy with the shitty haircut that looks like someone went at him with a fucking hedge trimmer"

"Mama I visited you last week,"

Susan questioned immediately as you laughed nervously, barely two seconds in and she had already insulted Alastor,

you look over to Alastor who stood awkwardly in the door way, waiting to be invited in, the cursed cat in a suit standing by him also waiting to be invited in.

"And apparently you already know my Alasto-"

you were cut off swiftly by Susan squinting at Alastor

"You married the fucking embodiment of red-40?"

Alastor blinked, "Excuse me?"

"You're excused." Susan moved to shut the door in Alastor's face but was stopped by you stopping her

"Ma, please, Alastor come on in"

You said gesturing for your husband and the thing to enter, Susan scoffed mumbling about something as she turned around and sped into the kitchen.

Alastor leaned into you, hooking his arm with yours as the messed up cat clone moved around immediately crawling upon Susan's rocking chair.

"My dear it's not too late to leave and dine elsewhere''

"Alastor please, It's just one dinner with my Ma''

"Who's an ornery old-"

"ALASTOR."

It's a very very awkward dinner, Alastor tried to compliment Susan's meatloaf? He got bullied, you did step in to shut that behavior down but that didn't do much, Alastor tried to help wash the dishes after supper? Susan stood over him watching as he washed every plate and each piece of cutlery, judging him.

Susan did not fear the overlord, and you were concerned.

After dinner was finished and dessert was eaten Susan stared both you and Alastor down as you sat on her couch.

"How long have you been married?"

"Six years."

"Where are my grandchildren then?!"

You hold up the mini Alastor, it's tail wagged slowly as Susan looked upon it with a look of disapproval,

"That's a shitty looking rat, is your husband dysfunctional?"

"Ma, can you not- NO, Alastor put away the tentacles she will RIP THEM OFF-''

AND HEADCANON TIME BECAUSE I am not the best at writing action.

You poor soul.

They can't kill each other because you exist,

It's like stopping two toddlers from fighting except one's well over a century old and your married to the other one,

You're an unpaid babysitter I'm so sorry

Alastor was raised to respect woman and the elderly but he is very close to attacking Susan

He can't do much because he doesn't want to get into trouble with Rosie because attacking one of her cannibals no matter who it is, was a whole can of worms he rather not open, and also she was unfortunately your mother,

He's questioning that, like after this dinner expect him to sit you down and just start throwing questions, like how?

He liked Susan's meatloaf well enough, he could live without it though,

Susan runs into him randomly on the street? She asks if she has a grandchild yet, no? He's getting attacked with the cane and asked if he cannot perform properly Violence on the ace deer

She tries to convince you to leave him and tried introducing you to a random cannibal she pulled off the street, but she stopped after you got upset at her.

Assuming you live at the Hazbin hotel with Alastor Susan visits, she somehow got a key to the room you and Alastor shared so you could be sleeping and Susan pops in swinging her cane, dropping lore

Alastor lives in mild fear, he's changed the locks, he's put Niffty outside the door as security,

Susan always GETS IN.

You have boundaries with her but she breaks them and your working on getting her to stop,

It becomes a hotel wide situation of getting Susan to not break in

She oddly enough likes Angel dust and you use him as a distraction whenever she appears without warning,

You owe Angel several favors.

You are in debt.

Susan eventually grows a fondness for the freak grandchild, she gets clothes, dresses him up and calls him sonny,

Alastor's not the most pleased but it's better then getting asked if he suffers from certain conditions

They sometimes fight over your time, like he's taking you out on a date and Susan pops in and drags whisks you away for tea or something,

They can't do much aside from verbal Insults and glares, but they did get into a physical fight, Alastor got hit with a chair, Susan almost got eaten, Alastor sent Niffty on her and she almost got stabbed

You threatened to tell Rosie and they both stopped, thankfully

Susan keeps divorce papers on hand just in case you ever change your mind, she's not afraid to attack an overlord, this woman is down below for a reason and she is FERAL.

If she catches Alastor chompin' down on your arm he's getting whooped with a cane and the both of you are getting a full lecture on if he's doing anything he's not supposed too, and if he is, he needs to go.

Alastor is very adamant that he would never intentionally harm you apparently the BITING DOESN'T COUNT AS HARM???

Dude has a fear of becoming like his father.

They have issues but they agree on things like this,

There's eventually a group meeting about Susan breaking into the hotel and while she's welcome she needs to stop popping in at late hours of the night or at the crack of dawn,

There's a Susan security system set up now.

Susan's never going to fully approve because you'll always be that small child she found on the side of the streets long ago to her and no man, woman or whatever is going to be good enough for her little girl, but she'll put up with it, she knows that while Alastor isn't the best person it could be worse.

She eventually respects your boundaries, yay!

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in! I hope you liked whatever this was, I'm slowly working though requests! Now it's 3 am and I'm tired, goodnight! Have a cursed cat Alastor in a suit that I drew with my fingers

He looks like a tatortot

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #susan & reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Heavenly Kind of State of Mind - Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

summary: Bradley takes you out to thank you for taking care of him when he broke his nose. He didn't expect dinner to turn into something else.

pairing: baseball!Bradley x reader (Angel)

warnings/content: depictions of broken nose, Bradley being a manwh*re, sexual references, fluff, awkward first date.

word count: 2.3k

taglist (also tagging those who were interested in Take One For The Team since it's a similar vibe and explains the lack of updates lol): @avengersfan25, @jessicab1991, @atarmychick007, @b-bradshaw, @nouis-bum, @mamachasesmayhem, @floydsmuse, @kmc1989, @dckweed, @katfanfic, @nerdgirljen, @whatislovevavy, @mrsevans90, @averyhotchner, @yuckosworld, @tgmreader, @allepaula, @lourd-ita, @mariaenchanted @sorchathered, @sarahsmi13s, @hangmansgbaby, @djs8891 @primroseluna @silversprings-mp3 @drxgxnslxyer @gardenavenue @seitmai @unhinged-bitch @mattyskies

Bradley wasn’t the dating type.

At least, that’s what he told himself on the drive over to the San Diego pier. 

As Bradley crossed the bridge from quiet, serene Coronado into the bustling downtown core, he tapped his hand against the steering wheel, nervously drumming the beat to a classic rock song. He pulled up into a parking space, looking around the parking lot for your obnoxious little car with its pink interior that he’d been thinking about since you took him to get his nose checked out. The break had healed nicely, unable to tell that two weeks prior, his nose had met with the fist of a grown man. Bradley sighed as he realized you weren’t here yet, adjusting his sunglasses in his rearview mirror. 

He didn’t date. 

It wasn’t his thing. 

The awkward small talk. The painful silences. The uncomfortable stage where you waited to see how the other person wanted to proceed, all for it to fall apart in the end anyway. He knew dates were just a stop gap to heartbreak. He was the expert, in fact. In the years since his marriage fell apart, he’d skipped dating all-together, resolving himself to one night stands and quick hookups as a means of bypassing the inevitable heartache he’d be faced with if he’d gone the dating route. 

After his marriage, he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d wanted kids, he thought, but then again, kids meant his career got less focus. Kids meant he’d have one of two choices — retire and become a picture-perfect dad, working a normal career and being the doting husband and father he knew he’d want to be, or, stay playing baseball, continue his dedication to his career, and always feel guilty for not being home, fielding the upset accusations of his wife, telling him he was doing it as an escape, running from his responsibilities. 

Being alone gave him freedom. It gave him the ability to further his career and focus his attention on whatever the fuck he wanted. And he liked it that way. 

However, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop you from occupy every thought that he had over the past two weeks. Being unable to play didn’t help — doctor’s orders had him benched for two weeks until his nose had healed. 

He’d attended practices, worked out at the gym a few extra times for good measure, and even took a guest spot in the commentator booth for a game over the past fourteen days to keep himself busy, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you. 

Every time he thought he was comfortably distracted, focused on something else, his brain would circle back around, coming back to you each and every time.

It was exhausting.

He tried so hard to push it off. Too hard, in fact. As he sat in his Bronco, hands still drumming on the steering wheel as he listened to the radio, now blaring The Beach Boys through his car, he hummed along to the familiar tune, hoping that it would provide him a little reprieve from the all-encompassing thoughts of you. 

Just as he closed his eyes, letting his imagination take him to the beach, walking across the warm sand, cool waves lapping at his feet as he stepped towards the ocean, he heard a gentle tapping on his window. Snapping back to reality, his eyelids fluttered, eyes opening wide as he spotted you gently tapping your knuckles against the window. 

He turned the car off, pulling the keys out of the ignition and stuffing them into his pocket as he hopped out of the driver’s seat. Your warm, friendly smile was enough to make him weak in the knees and he could barely keep himself together when he saw you standing there in that sweet, pretty little sundress you were wearing. He just hoped that his light-washed denim jeans didn’t betray him and give away how tight they were getting.

“Thanks for inviting me out,” you smiled as you looked at Bradley, hand raised to gesture at his healing nose, “Looks like you healed up nicely, Bradshaw.” 

“Not having baseballs flying at my face for the last two weeks might have helped. Stayed out of bars too, wasn’t about to risk having another drunken baseball fan taking swings at me.”

“You just didn’t want to lose another bar fight, did you?” you teased, pursing your lips as you looked around at the pier. 

“There’s like four different restaurants here, I figured I’d let you take your pick. Reservations aren’t an issue,” Bradley explained calmly, giving his head a gentle nod as he surveyed the parking lot. 

“Wow, you have that much influence here? Aren’t they used to pro-athletes?”

“That’s not what I meant. I made reservations at all four. Just in case.”

“Wow, never had you pegged as a people pleaser, Bradley. I’m impressed.”

“I’m not,” he replied stubbornly, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want to pick something and find out you were deathly allergic to seafood or something. Killing you with a food allergy didn’t seem like an appropriate way to thank you for helping me the other night.”

“You’re right, unexpectedly poisoning me doesn’t sound like a good thank you. You’re in luck though, no food allergies.”

Bradley let out a sigh and looked around again, looking more vulnerable than ever. He looked uncomfortable, nervous even, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Steak?” You hummed, raising an eyebrow as you tried to break any tension between you. “I could go for steak.”

“Steak works,” he grumbled, nodding his head. He leaned in towards you, his lips just milimeters from your ear as he whispered softly, trying to be as quiet as possible before being spotted. 

“Photographers are over there, they’re gonna want to snap a few photos of us. Are you ok with that? We can either play it up or downplay it. Up to you. I can always walk in ahead of you if you don’t want the attention.”

You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he whispered into your ear, the hairs on the back of your neck standing at full attention. Craning your neck to look above his shoulder, you spotted a white Escalade with a short, weasel of a man sitting in the front seat, camera poised and ready to capture a shot. Your eyes flitted back to Bradley as you nodded your head. 

“Give them a show,” you nodded, granting him permission to play up the dinner, “Maybe it’ll help stop people from watching you for a reaction now that your ex’s upcoming nuptials are plastered over every glossy magazine there is. I can’t even read Cosmo without seeing her—” 

Bradley grumbled something at you, interrupting your ramble. He took you by the hand and nodded his head, looking back over his shoulder towards the camera before his gaze landed on you once again. Before a word was spoken between the two of you, Bradley’s large hand was on the small of your back, pulling your body in against his. Lips pressed together, you felt your body melt back into his hand. 

Although you’d never admit it to his face, you’d thought about kissing Bradley Bradshaw’s lips over and over and over again since you met him two weeks ago. You’d thought a lot about Bradley, more than you’d care to admit. You thought about those large hands of his, picturing his rough, calloused palms cupping at your tits, feeling their weight as he gently squeezed at them. You’d pictured his lips on your skin, soft and slow, pressing hot kisses over every inch of exposed flesh, unable to keep his hands and mouth off of your body. 

Bradley Bradshaw had you tangled up in a crush that rivalled the ones you’d held in high school. And weirdly — you found yourself refusing to give it up. Since that night you dropped him off to get his nose examined, bloodied and battered and vulnerable in the passenger seat of your car - you’d been completely head over heels for him, whether you liked it or not. 

As Bradley’s calloused hand held yours, enveloping it in his large fingers, his expression softened, lips forming into a gentle smile. The two of you walked hand in hand towards the restaurant, with Bradley giving his name to the hostess as he approached. He gave another glance towards the photographer behind him, furiously snapping photographs from the seat of his car, headlines practically writing themselves in his eyes as he watched Bradley closely.

Bradley didn’t want to admit it, but you agreeing to give the press a little show was helping his career more than anything - appearing to be on a genuine date would help quell the rumours about his long-storied sexual escapades since his highly publicized divorce. 

When his marriage crumbled, he went through a series of bad decisions. His temper was already the stuff of legends in the game, with stories about locker room fights and fines for unsportsmanlike conduct, but those rumours proved true when his life began to fall apart around him. He’d been caught, on more than one occasion, with a pretty blonde in a compromising position with him. Dancing in bars, drunken stumbles in hotel lobbies, walks of shame the following morning. He’d earned the nickname Bradley “Hit-It-And-Quit-It” Bradshaw for crying out loud, and while it wasn’t something he was proud of, it sure wasn’t something he chose to dispute either. 

As Bradley tucked your chair in, he leaned down to whisper in your ear once again, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he spoke. 

“Let me know if this gets uncomfortable for you,” he nodded slowly.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, shivers running up and down your spine. 

Bradley took the seat across from you, smiling politely at the waitress as she took your drink orders. Moments later, his hand wrapped around his beer glass, raising it to his lips as he took a long sip, the frothy head brushing against his mustache as the liquid passed his lips. He watched as you looked out at the pier, eyes gazing at the sunset over the horizon, the sky painted shades of pink and orange. 

“It’s nice view sitting here, isn’t it?” Bradley nodded in agreement as he spoke. “It’s my favourite. I haven’t come in a while though.”

An awkward silence washed over you both. 

The kind of silence that reminded Bradley why he hated dating.

An uncomfortable pause later, Bradley cleared his throat, nodding his head towards you as he forced an uneasy smile. You looked back at him, sensing his discomfort and wanting to smooth the tension as best as you could, you said the only thing that came to mind as a safe topic of discussion.

“Are you ready for the game tomorrow?” 

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah,” he nodded casually, sipping his drink. “I’m excited to be back on the roster. Did you hear the excuse they came up with for how I broke my nose? PR said a bar brawl wasn’t a good look, so they said I did it during practice.” He scoffed, laughing softly. 

“Practice? What’s the story they came up with?”

“Mhmm, said I missed a rogue line drive, caught it with my nose instead of my glove.”

You shook your head and laughed, cocking a manicured eyebrow up at Bradley as he spoke. Another awkward pause hung in the air as you took a sip from your wine glass. Your eyes drifted back to Bradley, sensing his nerves.

“Alright, enough of this,” you laughed, shaking your head, “Why do they call you Rooster?”

Bradley’s eyes went wide as he set his drink glass down on the table. His dark brown eyebrows raised in surprise as he looked at you. A strained laugh escaped his parted lips, his dark brown curls moving as he shook his head. 

“It’s not exactly dinner conversation,” he said simply.

“What—you’re joking,” you retorted with an incredulous laugh. “There’s no way.”

“‘Fraid so. Rooster Bradshaw. It’s not because I’m up early for practice every day.”

“It’s because you’ve got a big—”

“Not at dinner,” Bradley warned, shaking his head.

“So, the whole, you know,” you frowned slightly as you thought over how to word your inquiry, your voice dropping down to a whisper, “Bradley-hit-it-and-quit-it-Bradshaw thing, that’s connected to it?”

“Unfortunately,” Bradley grumbled, shaking his head, “It’s not something I’m proud of.”

Another awkward moment passed, the clinging of silverware against a dish was the only sound emitted from the two of you as you sat there. Between bites of steak and sips of wine, the odd question would slip out, basic small talk that no one enjoyed on dates, facts about the two of you that weren’t important to anyone. You had to remind yourself at several points that this was never a date - it was never intended to be. It was a thank-you. A half-hearted gesture of kindness from Bradley in exchange for you not running to the papers about his bar-room brawl and his broken nose. A gesture of thanks for not fuelling the already tainted reputation he had for himself. 

Between the breakdown of Bradley’s marriage, his subesquent outbursts that he was prone to devolve into at any time on and off the field, the heated locker room exchanges that got him traded between teams, and the now infamous, and probably over-dramatized accounts of his sexual conquests, his life was falling apart around him. You keeping his broken nose a secret was the first kind-hearted gesture anyone had made towards him in he didn’t know how long. 

All Bradley knew was, despite the clumsy awkwardness, the silences and pauses, the uncomfortable pressure he was putting on himself despite reminding himself it wasn’t a date. Bradley was left wondering. 

Maybe he wished it was. 

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw au #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x y/n #rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw au #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x y/n #top gun maverick au fic #baseball au

[danistartt]

Homesick- Jamie Tartt

pairings: jamie tartt x reader, roy kent, ted lasso warnings: none. ithink other than language about: request!! jamie tartt is homesick

Jamie has rarely been hesitant to leave for a game.

But there’s something sick at the pit of his stomach when he has to say goodbye to you today, even when you assure him that it’s for so, so little time that it won’t matter. That he won’t miss you with all the excitement of a match. You set your palms against his cheeks and urge his attention to you, tired determination widening your droopy eyes when you tell him that you’re proud of him, sadness angling your features as you apologize for not being able to be there in person to cheer him on.

He smiles and thinks that he believes you.

There’s a painful tug at his heart when he has to leave for real this time, treasuring the warm line your marriage finger grazes along the lobe of his ear. He kisses you, opening his eyes too soon when he pulls away and catching a glimpse of you at your sweetest: still half-submerged in his affection, face softer than he’s seen it.

You are raw in the morning, still a little rumpled from your bed and an inch away from sleep. You got up early for him today. Let your forehead bounce against the passenger window so you could say your farewells face-to-face. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a person care about him like that. Sacrifice even the little things with great pleasure because it’s him.

“You guys’re gonna do great,” you murmur, arms tight around his neck. You squeeze once more before pulling back, giving him a happy, sleepy smile that he takes with him. “I’ll have a celebration ready when you lot get back.”

“Can’t wait,” he tells you with a cheeky wink, watching the amusement in your eyes wake a little bit more.

“Roy’s giving me the stink eye.”

“That’s just how he looks, babe,” he defends. “‘Nd if he’s lookin’ at anyone, it’s me.”

“No,” you say. “He likes you now, Jamie.” The way you say his name is so lovely. All curved and soft and smooth with love. You stifle a yawn and pull him in again. “I’ll see you soon. Behave, okay? I promise I’ll be watching the game on the telly.”

“I always do,” he defends.

“Roy’ll tell me,” you remind playfully. “I think he might write complaints down when you get a little too cocky.”

“I promise,” he gives in.

“You’re going to do amazing,” you tell him again, fully believing it.

“You know it.” He pecks the skin below your eye, finally walking toward the bus.

Roy grunts at you in greeting once Jamie’s gone inside, arms crossed in front of his chest. Ted yells a hello. Beard nods. You wave, continuing to stand in the parking lot until the bus is gone.

-

Jamie worries he’s ill an hour before the game.

You’re busy with the seminar you couldn’t miss and he doesn’t want to tell anybody, but he doesn’t have to with the team he has.

“Jamie, wanna come on over and have a chat?” Ted asks him, smiling.

Jamie shrugs, feeling like lead weighs him down when he stands.

Ted leads him into a hallway and rocks on his heels expectantly. “Y’wanna tell me what’s wrong, or do you want me to guess?”

Jamie scrubs a rough hand down his face. “I dunno, coach.” Ted furrows his brows. “I’ve never…” He sighs frustratedly. “I dunno what it is.”

“Do you not feel well?”

“I feel off.” Jamie shrugs, frustrated. “Like I forgot to do something. I’m all tingly and shit.”

Ted hums. “You a little homesick? I felt a helluva lot like that the first few months I came here. Still feel it when I get into a car on the wrong side.”

“I’ve never missed it before. What’s there to miss? I’ve a bed at me hotel. I like leavin’ and seein’ all the sights.”

Ted scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe you don’t miss your house, Jamie.”

Jamie shakes his head in confusion. “I’m sorry, coach, what?”

“Home ain’t always a building, Jamie,” Ted explains, squeezing his shoulder before heading back inside the locker room.

Jamie stands, perplexed. “The fuck?”

“He’s fucking sayin’ you miss Y/N,” Roy barks out of nowhere. “You’ve never been at a game away from her. You miss her,” he explains. “It happens.”

“Why didn’t he just say that, then?” Jamie complains.

“Substance. Too obvious,” Roy shrugs. “Call her. Stop being fuckin’ ‘tingly,’ Tartt.”

Jamie is left alone once again, processing.

Ted called him homesick, which Jamie opposes. He couldn’t care less about the place where he lived. Everything in it was chosen by another person years ago, and the space is bland otherwise, with only one framed picture of the both of you hanging up on the living room wall.

Still, he damn well yearned to be back among his stupid, minimalistic furniture and monochromatic aesthetic. Why?

Roy said it was you and Jamie is inclined to agree. When he pictures his living room with his dumb couch, you’re laying on it. Your trinkets and colorful items allay impersonal corners. You’re making a wonderful mess in his kitchen. You’re softening clinical sheet edges. You’re the only warm thing that decorates his walls.

He misses you. He’s homesick for you.

He hates it when Roy is right (but he’s getting used to it), especially when it’s concerning something Jamie didn’t expect, something unfamiliar.

His phone pings, lighting up with your contact picture and a text message asking how he is.

He’s never had a home to miss, he thinks. He’s a little happy to have one. He’s elated it’s you.

#jamie tartt #ted lasso #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jaime tartt #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt reader insert #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt request #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt imagine

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Band AU: Hazbin Hotel

Because there's always a band AU.

-666 News Broadcast Theme Plays through the dive bar cafe from the small, flickering TV in the corner-

Katie Killjoy: Breaking News in the Pop industry today! Our sunshine and rainbows, Mandy Moore wannabe, and Princess of Hell, Charlotte Morningstar, has come out with a new music video to help promote a brand new album that appears to have been conjured up seemingly overnight.

Angel: Hey, Vagina! (Elbows Vaggie) Ain't that your girl crush from the open band night down at Husk's Casino two months ago?

Vaggie: (chokes on her coffee) What?! Turn it up, Jackass!

Angel: (steals the remote from across the bartop and turns up the TV)

Tom Trench: And, boy howdy, this makeover is on par with most Disney child stars diving off the deep end!

Katie Killjoy: (spears a pen through Tom's hand) No one gives a shit Tom.

Tom Trench: MY HAND!!!

Katie Killjoy: Spectators and fans of our usually diabetically sweet princess feel that this sudden shift is caused by her breakup with Seviathan Von Eldritch just last month, ending the royal arranged engagement, after he mentioned how she refused to "put out" before marriage in an interview with Hell's High Class Weekly.

Vaggie: (bristles) The douchebag....

Katie Killjoy: Let's watch as our lovely princess makes her breakdown public.

-Screen shifts to Charlie holding a mic in one hand while picking a guitar in another, wearing 2000's Avril Lavigne glam rock attire (hot pink, baggy cargo pants, black leather studded belt, rainbow converse, black leather wrist bands, grey tank top with two black goats faced just the right way so their curved horns make a heart and tied together with a rainbow knot, and a black and red stripped tie) Razzle and Dazzle are playing drums and bass-

Charlie: Don't you know that IIIIIIIII- (flips off the camera and sticks out her tongue while mouthing "Fuck you, Seviathan" as the song reaches its climax) I don't give a daaaaaaaamn about you!!! I won't give it up, not for you!!! I'm not gonna cry about some stupid guy. A guy who thinks he's all that!

Vaggie: Whoa! (Big smiles like when Adam got stabbed) Get it, Charlie!

Katie Killjoy: (as the screen returns to normal) Other songs on the album include "Behind These Crimson Eyes", "The Dick Who Blocked His Own Shot", "Smack a Bitch", "Since U Been Gone", and the gay community's rabid favorite "Dear Vaggie"-

Angel: (sucking down his third popsicle for breakfast) What now?

Vaggie: WHAT?!?!?!?!

Katie Killjoy: -The obviously plagiarized parody of "Cool for the Summer" by Demi Lovato has unsubtle lesbian and bisexual overtones that specifically mentions Vaggie "the Steel Vagina". The lead singer and guitarist of the Power/Grunge Metal band, Fallen Angels

Angel: (wheezes as he laughs breathlessly and falls off his stool)

Vaggie: (steaming) Angel!!! ¡Eres un chupapollas, hijo de puta! Why would you tell the news that was my name?!

Angel: (ugly walrus gasps and giggles) Because it's better than I ever dreamed!!!!

Katie Killjoy: Fans of both artists are absolutely frothing at the mouth to see what Vaggie's response will be.

Tom Trench: Frothing at the mouth and other orifices, if you catch my drift. (Gets a pen slammed into his balls) GaaAhaHaaaaHaha!

Katie Killjoy: More on this story tonight at eleven.

Vaggie:

Angel: Soooooo~ Whatcha wanna doooooo~?

Vaggie: We're going to Tune Town, getting a copy of that album-

Angel: Ooooooooh-hohohoooooh~ I can visit dat nice glory hole they got there.

Vaggie: -THEN!!! We are going back to the apartment and making a response single.

Angel: Do you know what you even want to put in it?

Vaggie: (slipping on her jacket) I'll figure it out after listening to the album!

#hazbin hotel #incorrect hazbin hotel quotes #band au #pop star charlie #metal band vaggie #metal drummer angel #chaggie #seviathan von eldritch #charlie morningstar #avril lavigne 2000s fashion was peak fashion for me #I Dont Give by Avril Lavigne #vaggie #tom trench #angel dust #big brother angel #angel and vaggie are roommates and bamd members #katie killjoy #so many song references #breakup empowerment

[leclercss]

Tainted Love, Part 4 (Charles Leclerc ft Lewis Hamilton)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Masterlist

plot: in an attempt to fix your marriage, you've reluctantly agreed into being in an open relationship with your husband. so far, it's only been your husband that has taken advantage of your recent arrangement until one night out you meet a man who makes you begin to question your marriage.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: thank you guys for the love for this story so far. i'm hoping i can keep it exciting and enjoyable. pray for my creativity x

word count: it's a longer one, 6.4k

taglist: @ironmaiden1313, @ru-kru, @buendiabebeta, @flwr-quicksilver, @ravioli19, @julesandro, @hornedravenclaws, @thatobsessedreader @pinkangelavenue, @queenofshinigamis, @notleclerc, @paullinne, @bisexualbith, @strolleclercs, @cl16gf, @estapa94, @yunnie-f1, @headinthecloudssblog, @girlintheredscarf, @taylenas2

Now that you had broken a rule in your and Lewis' arrangement, you were expecting all-out warfare and destruction. So far your predictions were wrong, all you had gotten was the silent treatment.

In your short war against Lewis, your home had become so hostile that you've been working overtime the last few days to avoid being in the flat other than to sleep, shower and eat. Lewis had taken a different approach and had been going to the gym, or fucking other girls, you weren't entirely sure how he spent his time but you wouldn't be surprised by him taking up either option. Or both.

Either way, he comes home, drops his bag by the front door, plays with Roscoe and downs a protein shake before taking a shower and going to bed. All without saying a word to you.

You weren't hurt by this. Lewis had unintentionally (or intentionally, you were never sure) been ignoring you in your relationship for several months and so this wasn't going to hurt you. But what did hurt you was that even Roscoe was starting to ignore you and had been spending less time with you these last few days. He stuck by Lewis' side as your husband took every opportunity to make you feel like an outsider.

Well, I guess we know who's getting Roscoe if we were to divorce.

You had at some point used Whitney's home as a refuge, which you were secretly grateful for. She had known that you and Lewis were going through a tough time but you had never told her the exact reasons. Especially the ones that had unfolded in the last few days. You weren't ready for another round of I-told-you-so's when it came to your relationship with Lewis.

She still had no idea about your open relationship. Nor was she aware of your fling with Charles after you had left the club that night. For all she knew, you had danced with and kissed Charles in a drunken moment after a fight with your husband. No biggie.

And when you rocked up to her apartment shortly after your argument with Lewis, she seemed to be none the wiser. You were there to grab your belongings after all.

"Look at you. Making out with a hot Frenchie before having angry sex with your husband," she teased. "Told you girls night would be a good idea".

"What are you talking about?" you scoffed as you had gathered the belongings you had left behind.

Sex with Lewis? Like that was on the cards these days.

"I recognise hate sex when I see it. I mean, look at those hickeys on your neck," Whitney laughed.

Shit! You had noticed them when you left Charles’ and you were going to cover them up when you got home but then you got so lost in your argument with Lewis that you got changed as quickly as you could before you left for Whitney's.

"Oh yeah," you laugh sheepishly. "I forgot he left those on my neck".

Dammit, Charles! If Whitney had noticed them then Lewis definitely would have noticed. Great, even more ammunition for him to use against you. You pull up the collar of your shirt in a pathetic attempt to hide the markings on your neck.

"It's fine. Max always used to leave marks on me when we used to have makeup sex," Whitney tells you. "He was always up for that kind of stuff when we argued".

You laugh to yourself at the memory of Whitney's ex, Max. A sweet and funny guy until you pissed him off and then he became a hot-headed Dutchman. You were all too familiar with them from growing up in Belgium.

"How was the sex, by the way?"

"What?" You're completely out of the loop when it comes to the conversation from your brief trip down memory lane.

"The sex? With Lewis?"

"Oh!! Yeah, it was good," you lie. "Pretty hot. He got really into it".

Whitney cackles. "Well, I'm not surprised. The way you two have been arguing lately you were due a hot and heavy go at it."

You roll your eyes when she's not looking and take the first opportunity you can to move the conversation away from you and Lewis. "Enough about me. What about that guy you brought home?"

Whitney blushes as she's clearly having flashbacks. "It was good. Better than I thought, to be honest. I'm actually seeing him again this Friday," she gushes.

"Oh, do tell".

"Well, he's having a house party this Friday for his birthday and invited me. You should totally come," she sounds so excited. Before you even get a chance to respond, she's already beaten you to it.

"You need to come. I think he lives with that sexy guy with the dimples. You know, the one that you kissed?" She teases. You're tempted to throw the cushion that's beside you at her head. You loved your best friend but boy, did she never let you forget your actions.

"Whitney, don't!" you plead. You've just moved on from the Lewis conversation. You really didn't need to get into a conversation about Charles with her.

But she dismisses your pleas, "Oh, come on! It was just a kiss. One that you seemed pretty into, by the way. And besides, it's not like you fucked him."

Yeah, about that...

"Anyway, you're having a shit time at home with Lewis. Maybe you guys need to have some social time apart until things cool down. Plus, there's nothing wrong with having a sexy French guy flirting with you every now and again".

"They're Monegasque, Whitney," you whine. Charles had told you that it was one of his pet peeves when someone got his nationality wrong.

"As if there's a difference. But you're coming to that party".

-

You were slowly edging closer to Friday and as the week continued, so did the cold front you were receiving from Lewis. Before he was just blatantly ignoring you but now he was just being downright petty. He'd been constantly texting and giggling whenever he was in the same room as you. Leaving and coming back to the apartment at all hours. Speaking obnoxiously loud on the phone with his friends about going out and partying this weekend. You're pretty sure you even saw him pull a woman's thong out of his backpack at one point.

And I'm the one that's supposed to be 10 years younger than him? you had thought to yourself at the time. If you had rolled your eyes any further they'd be permanently at the back of your head.

Whatever tactic Lewis was going for you weren't sure. Was he trying to make you feel guilty? Have some regrets? Possibly even to make you jealous?

You had even started to think in the other direction.

Was he just so shocked that you finally made a ballsy move in your marriage that he didn't know how to react? Because prior to last weekend it would have been so unimaginable that you would do something without thinking how it would affect Lewis. You had spent most of your relationship being infatuated with him after all.

Or, god forbid, he was genuinely hurt that you had slept with someone other than him so easily. And he was trying to process the hurt and confusion that he was feeling, even if he didn't have a leg to stand on.

Whatever his motive was - it was unclear. This was behaviour from Lewis that you had never experienced before. And so, rather than engage with him in a game you didn't have the energy or knowledge to partake in, you used it as an opportunity to explore your own thoughts and feelings.

You were still undecided about if you should go to Joris' party on Friday or not. It could be a recipe for disaster and result in further hatred from Lewis. But a part of you was still curious. Charles was most likely going to be there and you hadn't seen or spoken to him since you had left his apartment last weekend.

You were keen to see him again. The night and morning that you had spent with him almost felt surreal. Whenever you had a moment, your mind would flicker back to him and you thought about all of the things that you found attractive about him:

His accent. His scent.

Those dimples.

His adorable laugh which ranged from a light chuckle to sometimes sounding like a seal was dying.

His toned body.

The way he called you amour.

His warm breath hitting you as he moved on top of you.

His tongue slipping into your mouth.

You had to catch yourself a few times as you were finding yourself replaying the events from the weekend in your head. The more of these moments you had, the more you realised you had to settle this sense of curiosity once and for all.

And so you had texted Charles asking if you guys could meet in person. He had agreed and you had decided to meet after work on Thursday.

As you made your way to the entrance of the bar that you had agreed to meet in, you were hit with a wave of nerves. Seeing him again sans alcohol had you doubting yourself. Was this really a good idea? You were already in the doghouse.

But how much further into the doghouse could I be in right now?

Whatever sense of panic and doubt you were feeling left your body as soon as your eyes connected with Charles'. He was already sitting at a table and from the moment he noticed you walking in, his lights lit up and a bright smile immediately spread across his face.

He was stunning. And you were reminded of it each time that you saw him.

He stood up from his seat as you made your way towards him and he opened his arms for you to fall into you. You obliged and rested your head against his chest as he held you for a few moments.

"Hi," your greeting was so blunt that you could feel Charles' chest vibrate against your head as he chuckled.

"Hi, [Y/N]," he laughed.

You lifted your head from his chest so you were now looking up at him and into his eyes.

"It's good to see you again, amour," he whispers as he moves his hands from around your body to cup your face.

He examines you before placing a delicate kiss on your lips. You feel like you're about to melt into him at just the slightest touch of his lips against yours.

"Hi, Charles".

You open your eyes and see that Charles' pretty green eyes are looking into yours deeply. He's been just as curious as you have over these last few days. Especially when it comes to the thought of what it would be like to see you again. To feel you. Were you as into him as he had originally thought?

After your embrace, you take a seat opposite him and your hand immediately reached for his across the table. You've only been here for a minute but you already feel like you need to have your bodies intertwined in some way. He laces his fingers through yours and gives your hand a light squeeze.

"How have you been, amour?" he asks you gently.

God, just hearing him say amour again makes you want to launch across the table and plant another kiss on his lips.

"I've been okay," you tell him. "It's been an interesting few days since I left yours on Saturday".

Charles smiles at you sympathetically. "I can imagine".

You sense a hint of nervousness in his body language as he asks you another question, "Does your husband know?"

"He does," you sigh. "I mean, I arrived home in the clothes that I left yours in. It was pretty obvious".

"And how did he react?"

You can't help but let out a laugh, which confuses Charles a little.

"Well, let's just say he hates me right now. But honestly, I don't really care," you tell him truthfully. "He's being insanely difficult but he's a hypocrite. He's done stuff like this for so long now that he's now just throwing his toys out of the pram. I don't think he ever expected me to prioritise my own feelings for once".

You take a sip of the drink that Charles had already ordered for you before arrived before continuing, "And it only confirms that I made the right decision to stay with you".

You can't help but smile as a sense of relief washes over Charles and he smiles back at you. "So you don't regret coming home with me?"

"Charles, it was the best decision I've made in a very long time".

To reassure him, you lean over the table and place a kiss on his lips. You stay there for a moment, slightly deepening the kiss before eventually pulling away. As much as you would like to, you can't tongue him down in the middle of a bar on a late-Thursday afternoon.

"And aside from the great sex," you laugh, pausing after you see Charles look ever so slightly more smug at your comment, "I also really enjoyed getting to know you."

"I really enjoyed getting to know you too, [Y/N]," he replies. His voice is so soft and genuine that a warm feeling rushes across your entire body. "I wanted to message you after you had left on Saturday but I wanted to give you the time and space you needed. I mean, your situation from what I can see is a lot more complicated than mine".

You nod. Complicated definitely felt like an understatement these days.

"But my feelings towards you aren't complicated. And I'd like to get to know you more," his voice is soft once again. His eyes are glued to your face. He's looking at you deeply, your fingers still laced with his.

You take in a breath before you reply with,

"I'd like that a lot, Charles".

You both lean in to meet each other in another kiss, this one a little more passionate than the previous ones you had shared today.

As you both move away, he presses his forehead against yours in another sign of affection.

You and Charles continued your conversation about getting to know each other. He did have a few more questions for you about your marriage. Before today you would have tried to dodge Charles' questions but after he so openly shared his feelings and intentions towards you, you felt like you owed him some reassurance. And that you and Lewis had some sort of agreement. You also weren't just stringing him along in some shitty affair to get back at your husband but you wanted to get to know him on a deeper level.

You'd also discussed the party that Joris was hosting the next day and Charles was more than keen for you to come but he noticed you still had some hesitations.

"How many of your friends know about us?" you asked him quietly.

"Just the guys that you met, Riccardo and Hugo. Joris knows too," he tells you. "I think some of the others would have known that I kissed you but I'm pretty sure they don't know that we slept together".

You hesitate a little, "How sure is pretty sure?"

"I mean, I told the guys not to say anything. It's not really their place to run around telling everyone your business," he replies. Your hands are in his and he's stroking the back of your hands with his thumbs to soothe you. "I also didn't want them to ruin my chances of seeing you again".

You relax a little and you can't help but to smile at him. "You're too good at this," you joke.

"I'm not always this good," he sounds honest but when you look at him and take in his beauty, you wonder how he couldn't be so good at this. "But with you, amour, it feels natural".

You jokingly roll your eyes but you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You're so easy when it comes to him. And for a moment, your mind flashes back to the beginning of your relationship with Lewis and how you so easily fell for his charm.

But Lewis was much older than you and way more experienced. With Charles, it's beginning to feel more natural, more authentic.

Before you could begin to compare the two further, Charles brings you back to attention.

"Your friend..."

"Whitney".

"Whitney," he carries on, "does she know?"

You shake your head a little. "Erm, no. She doesn't. She did see us kiss and stuff on the dance floor but she still thinks that I went home that night."

Charles nods, he seems quite understanding.

"And she thinks those love bites that you left on my neck are Lewis'. Just in case it comes up," you tease.

Charles drops his head in embarrassment. His cheeks flush a little but you can see he's trying to hide a smile. "Sorry about that".

Somehow you don't think he's sorry.

You both tease each other for a few moments before you become slightly more serious again. "She doesn't know the true nature of my relationship with Lewis right now. She just knows we're having a shit time".

"So I'm going to have to drag you to a private room if I want to kiss you tomorrow?"

You giggle as Charles flashes you a cheeky grin. "I think so".

-

You pulled out your best acting skills as you and Whitney made your way to Charles and Joris' apartment for the party the following evening, pretending as if you hadn't been here just seven days before.

"What apartment number is it?" you ask as you both stand downstairs at the main entrance.

807, you reply to yourself mentally.

"Err.... 807!" Whitney replies before punching in the apartment number.

A muffled voice accompanied by some thumping music tells you to come in before the door unlocks in front of you. As you wait in the lift with Whitney, you begin to think about how you'll interact with Charles tonight and not make it obvious that just one week ago he'd been fucking you in this very apartment for five hours straight.

Especially if you have a few drinks in you. Your composure was non existent after you got a few tequilas into your system.

"I swear to god, if tonight doesn't result in sex with the birthday boy, I've lost my touch," Whitney sighs. You hold back a laugh as you remain grateful for your friend's ability to always get you to snap back into reality. Even if that was discussing whether or not she'd be giving the birthday boy her own special type of gift.

As you approached the apartment door, you were both greeted by the birthday boy, Joris, who drunkenly threw his arms around the both of you.

"Come on in, ladies," he drunkenly yells in your ear. "Time to get drunk on my birthday".

He begins to drag the two of you into the apartment and into the kitchen where you're greeted with the sound of music blasting and the smell of alcohol.

"Looks like someone has already started," Whitney teases. You feel like a third wheel as Joris whispers something into her ear and Whitney starts giggling. Unfortunately, Joris still has his arm wrapped around you as they continue to flirt with one another.

You try to free yourself as one of the other guests hands you a cup of something but Joris has you trapped as him and Whitney continue their conversation.

"I'm going to leave you two to it," you hope your attempts of freeing yourself aren't too subtle but Joris and Whitney are already too into each other for them to even remember your existence.

A few minutes have passed and you've finally freed yourself from Whitney and Joris. You haven't told Charles that you were here yet since you and Whitney had gotten ready and come to the party together, not needing an opportunity for her to spot you texting Charles. You two were going to have to play it casual tonight.

Once you've poured yourself something that doesn't want to make you throw up, you begin to make your way into the living room to find some other company. As you make your way back into the hall, you bump into none other than Charles' friend from last week. Hugo.

"Heeeyyyy... isn't it long time no see?" he yells as he jokingly throws his arms around you. "Been a while since I've seen you here".

You try not to roll your eyes as he's clearly intoxicated and lightly poking fun at you.

"Nice to see you too," you reply dryly.

"Only joking, apparently I'm not supposed to be telling anyone that you and Charles are fucking," he continues, his words are slightly slurred. What time did these guys start drinking?

"Well, you're doing a very good job at it I must say," you say sarcastically. You look up at him and he's smiling down at you.

"Thank you," your sarcasm has completely gone over his head. "I've always been good at keeping secrets". His arms are still wrapped around you in a friendly hug. Just as you've managed to free yourself from one drunken embrace you've now found yourself in another.

"I'm going to just have a quick walk around, I'll catch you later, yeah?" you tell him and manage to free yourself from Hugo's grasp. As you make your way towards the living room he calls after you, "Your boyfriend is in the living room if you're looking for him".

This is going to be a long night.

Despite his lack of composure and subtlety, you thank Hugo before making your way into the living room in your search for Charles. You have a quick look around the living room, weaving your way through plenty of people. You can't see him. As you're about to turn and make your way back into the kitchen, you feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey you".

You quickly turn around and see Charles standing behind you with a smile on his face. You return the smile and feel grateful at the fact that he's clearly not as intoxicated as the rest of his friends.

"Hey," you greet him softly.

You take in his appearance and as usual, he's looking good. His brown hair is in its usual style and he's rocking a slight tan thanks to the rare London sun. He's wearing a baby blue linen shirt that has the first three buttons undone, his toned chest peaking through. You would have leaned in to kiss him already but you remind yourself that you two need to be on your best behaviour tonight - leaving no signs that you have been involved in any way.

Not that Charles' friend are sticking to that party line.

"Nice to see you again, Charles," you tell him, slightly blushing as he's amused by your staring.

"Thank you, [Y/N]," he says before leaning down to your ear and whispering, "You look beautiful, amour".

The rosiness returns to your cheeks.

You and Charles are trying to find ways to have a normal conversation with one another without wanting to display signs of affection when you hear loud, drunken voices make their way into the living room.

"Shots!"

The voice carries towards you and you see Joris make his way through the crowd of people with a tray of liquor in his hands. He spots Charles and manages to make his way over to him without spilling any alcohol, miraculously.

"Charles, bro, take a shot!"

As Charles takes a shot glass from the tray, Joris looks over to see you standing there and a grin instantly appears on his face.

"Aw, you found your girlfriend," Joris teases and you feel like you're about to shit yourself when you see Whitney following behind.

"Joris," Charles grits through his teeth in an attempt to shut his friend up but if you and Charles are planning on having an easy night with no teasing from your friends, this was not a great start.

"Ohh... look who it is," Whitney laughs as she looks between you and Charles. "Two more of these sambucas and she might kiss you again".

"Whitney!" it was your turn now to scold your friend. Charles quickly flashes you a look of sympathy.

"Come on, it was a joke. Just take a shot," she yells at you and gives you an elbow into the side. You obey her orders and take a shot glass from the tray.

You were definitely going to need more of these if you were going to get through this night.

"3... 2... 1..."

The four of you take a shot, wincing in the process. You're still getting over the vile taste of the sambuca when you feel Whitney grab your arm.

"Come on, [Y/N}, let's go to the bathroom," she says as she begins to drag you out of the living room. "We'll catch you guys in a bit".

Before you're completely dragged away, you look at Charles one last time, mouthing "Pray for me!" which earns a chuckle from Charles.

Once you and Whitney find your way to the bathroom, she locks the door before plonking herself down on the toilet.

"You've told - what's his name again, the hot Frenchie?" Whitney asks.

"Charles". And he's Monegasque.

"You've told Charles that you're married, right?" Whitney quizzes you. Her questioning soon accompanied by the sound of her peeing.

"Yeah, I have," you reply. You hope that your expression is neutral, enough to hide the sudden stress that you're feeling inside.

"Okay good!"

"Why do you ask?" you feel like you might regret asking this one.

"Because I'm pretty sure he was giving you, I wanna fuck you eyes".

-

You had managed to escape further questioning from Whitney as you successfully moved the conversation along to how she was going to end the night with Joris again.

After you'd left the bathroom, you'd enjoyed the evening with more alcohol and talking to random people at the party. You and Charles occasionally bumped into one another. As much as you wanted to spend most of your night with him, you often had to have surface level conversations and make eye contact with him from across the room.

But right now you were the closest you had been together all night since taking shots with Joris and Whitney. You currently found yourself sitting on the sofas with a few randoms, one of Charles' friends whose name you still hadn't gotten yet and an agitated Charles who was basically eye fucking you from the other sofa. You both were evidently frustrated, it's the longest you two had been around each other without being able to touch one another.

As you were stuck listening to one of Charles' friends rambling on about something football related, you noticed Charles take out his phone and type away aggressively. Once he finished his text, he locked his phone and returned to burning his eyes into your body.

Charles' drunken friend had now moved the conversation onto why he called himself a "Smooth Operator" when you saw your phone flash in your lap. You look down and see a text from Charles:

I can't take this any more, I miss you. Meet me in my bedroom x

You close your phone and briefly look over at Charles, slightly nodding to confirm his request, before you briefly continue your conversation with the "Smooth Operator". In the corner of your eye, you see Charles excuse himself and make his way towards his bedroom. You give yourself thirty seconds before telling this guy that you needed to go to the bathroom.

You try to avoid detection by Whitney and any of Charles' friends that knew about the two of you and eventually make your way to Charles' bedroom. His door is closed and you quietly push it open. You take a quick peak inside and as you're about to take a step in, you feel a hand grab onto your arm in the dark and pull you inside, shutting the door quickly after you.

"Merde, it's about time I got you to myself tonight," Charles growls as he presses you against the door. He wastes no time and, in the dark, he presses his lips onto yours hungrily.

You've barely had a chance to breathe since Charles pulled you into his room as his hands find their way onto your body. One hand finds it's way to your ass and begins grabbing at one of your cheeks like a possessed animal.

"Mmmm!"

Charles initially ignores the noise that you've made against his lip but when you grab onto his hair and pull onto the strands at the back of his head, he slowly pulls away from the kiss.

"Sorry, amour. I got a little carried away," he pants. "I've been waiting to do that all night".

You let out a little laugh, "It's okay, Charles. I've been dying to do the same thing".

As you both recover your breath from the heated kiss, Charles' hands are firmly placed on your ass. "I've been trying my best not to get my hands on this leather skirt all evening".

You giggle, a way to let him know you wore this tight skirt on purpose and find his lips once more in the dark. You wrap your arms around his neck and push your tongue into his mouth. The kiss is a little slower this time but the passion is very much still there.

As the kiss begins to heat up once more, Charles presses his body onto yours and you feel your back press against the bedroom door once more. You can't help but smile at the hard bulge you feel that's pushing against your hip. The poor guy is already needy.

Taking the initiative, your hands run down Charles’ chest and you slowly begin to unbutton his shirt. You reach for his belt and begin to tug at it, undoing the buckle. He lets out a soft moan against your lips.

As you unzip his jeans and begin to pull them down, you decide to tease him, "Do you want me to touch you, Charles?"

He bites down on your lip in retaliation and you let out a whine.

"Fuck!"

"Don't tease me when I'm this hard for you, amour," he tells you before moving his lips to your jaw line and towards your neck.

Looks like those marks will be making a reappearance this weekend.

You ignore Charles' demands and begin to rub him over his boxer briefs, his dick is almost solid at this point. You feel him moan against your neck and one of his hands rests above your head on the door to hold himself up.

You continue to rub him, not giving him skin-to-skin contact down below.

"Baby, please," he begs.

You're trying to hold back a smile and before you get a chance to tease him further, he grabs your hand and shoves it down his boxers so your hand is on his dick.

"Fuck!"

His groan is so deep in your ear that you can feel yourself starting to get wet from it. You realise that you've teased him long enough and begin moving your hand up and down against his shaft. You rub your thumb across the tip and feel a bit of pre cum.

"Oh fuck, [Y/N}, just like that," Charles pants in your ear. You follow his demands, slightly picking up the pace with your movements. He attaches his lips to your neck in an attempt to stifle his soft moans.

Eventually, you grow bored of just having his hard cock in your hand and so you pull yourself away from him. As you get down on your knees in front of him, Charles opens his eyes to complain.

"Baby, what the-"

You silence him by taking him into your mouth.

"Merde".

You pull your mouth off of him so you can spit on his dick before moving your hand up and down his shaft once more.

"Do you like that, baby?" your voice is sickeningly sweet.

"Oui".

You smile and take him in your mouth more, placing your hands on both of his thighs to keep you upright and you begin bobbing your head up and down. His dick hitting the back of your throat. As Charles' moans get a little louder, you feel him lift up your hair and make it into a ponytail so he has better control of your movements.

As your mouth continues to move up and down against his shaft, you peer up at him through your lashes and see that he's staring down at you. His mouth is slightly open in the shape of an "o" as he watches you down below. His head resting against the back of his bedroom door.

"You look so perfect like this, amour".

You've missed him calling you that. And so as a reward, you take him out of you mouth, making a popping sound in the process so you can move down to take one of his balls into your mouth. One of your hands moves back to his cock so it doesn't get lonely from your mouth.

Charles is clearly enjoying it as you feel him tug on your hair slightly, another deep moan leaving his mouth in pleasure.

You pay attention to the other ball for a while before taking him back into your mouth once more. Charles decided it's his turn to take control and places his hands at the back of your head and begins to lightly thrust into your mouth. His dick hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

"Oh God!"

His moaning is met with the sound of you slightly gagging as he hits the back of your throat. He continues thrusting into your mouth and you feel your eyes begin to water at the sensation, spit drooling down either side of your mouth.

Once the sensation becomes a little too much, you squeeze Charles' thighs so he can pull out of your mouth and you take in a deep breath. You feel your spit run down the side of your face and Charles looks at you with so much lust.

You place his cock into your hand once more for assistance and take him into your mouth, you're a little quicker this time with the movement, wanting him to climax.

He's starting to twitch in your mouth and you know he's close. His hands are still holding your hair into a pony tail but one of his thumbs is now caressing your cheek.

"Baby, you're so good at this," he whispers.

He lightly thrusts into your mouth once more to let you know he's almost there. Just a few seconds later, he lets out a grunt and aggressively pulls his dick out of your mouth. One hand grabs onto the hair on top of your head, pulling at it lightly, while the other finds its way to his shaft. He rubs it a few times.

"Put your tongue out, baby," he pants.

You obey, tongue out, and soon after his cum begins to fall into your mouth.

A number of fuck's and merde's roll of his tongue as he shoots the last of his cum into your mouth.

He lets go of the hair that he's grabbing onto and places it against the door so he can hold himself up right and recover from the pleasure you've just given him.

As he tries to get his breathing back to normal, you place a kiss against his lower stomach and stand up. You wrap your arms around him and kiss his cheek. He lifts his head slightly so you have easier access to his lips and they meet once more in a kiss. His tongue is in your mouth and he can feel the taste of his own cum against it.

Despite the fact that he's still recovering from his climax, Charles doesn't want to leave you unsatisfied for long and begins to fiddle with the zip on your leather skirt, with you assisting him along the way.

As your skirt falls to your ankles, you open your legs slightly so Charles' hand can find its rightful place between your legs again.

"I can't wait to fuck you," he whispers against your lips as he quickly moves your underwear to the side. He pushes a finger through your folds to find itself in a pool of wetness.

He's about to stick a finger inside of you when you both suddenly become distracted by someone calling your name from the other side of the door.

It's Whitney.

Your eyes are wide open out of shock and you feel your heart begin to pound at the idea of being caught in a very compromising position with another man that isn't your husband. Especially by your best friend who has no clue about your situation.

You look into Charles' eyes out of panic. He places a finger to his lips as a gesture for you to stay quiet.

"[Y/N], are you here?" Whitney calls out.

You don't answer. You cling onto Charles and place your head into his neck.

Whitney is about to call your name out again when you hear someone else out in the corridor. You hear Joris' faint but drunken voice. You can't make out what he's saying but whatever he said, it's enough for Whitney to walk away from Charles' door and back down to the commotion and party in the rest of the flat. Once you're sure that she's gone, you look up at Charles.

"They're going to find us here," you whisper.

Charles nods. "I know. But I still need you so badly".

You both pause, allowing yourselves to think of a place for you to continue this away from any wandering partygoers.

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