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trafltr · 1 year

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SHE’S MY COLLAR. eren jaeger

── eren knows you, he can deal with you; but sometimes, your obsessions can be too much, even for him.

content contains : nerdy!eren x dumb!gf so real, reader is needy and obsessed with eren, nsfw, unprotected sex, riding, dumbification, ‘just the tip’ moment, size kink kinda, slight cervix kissing, dick drunk reader & pussydrunk eren, creampie. wc: 2.2k. minors do not interact thanks <3

god, you’re annoying sometimes.

unfortunately, you can never seem to realize that your boyfriend is a busy person—or anyone, really, for that matter. it’s like you believe everyone is just as carefree as you; leaving things up to the ‘fate of the universe’ and ditching responsibilities to constantly hang out with eren, essentially leaving him to deal with your eccentricity and fixations.

and it comes as no surprise to learn that he just happens to be the latest one.

it’s different from your other ones—they were much easier. because he could simply just take you to the nearest parlour and buy you scoops and tubs of your favourite ice cream, or spend his latest internship check on your wardrobe and be done with it for a favourable amount of time. but with this? you’ve been as insatiable as they come.

eren can count on two hands how many times you’ve begged him, with tears clumping your dark lashes and patchy mascara, to get away from assignments, studying, classes—even work—just to come see you in the past week. and of course, they all ended the same way; with swollen lips, limbs sore from how you held your legs to your torso as he rutted his hips into the fat of your ass, your messy cunt full of his cum, and both his face and sheets stained with your juices. he doesn’t doubt he’s been shooting blanks for the last few times, too.

but still, the worst part about it all is the fact that he just can’t bring himself to say no to you—despite all of his damned efforts to do so.

“‘ren, you should pay attention to your girlfriend.” you groan, neck curling backwards as you crane your head up to look at him. you’re planted near his left leg as he works away at the desk in his bedroom, completely ignoring your words while pages of code reflect on his glasses. “i don’t wanna sit down here anymore.”

‘i’ve been paying attention to you all week’, he wants to say—but would rather opt for the regular ‘im busy’ rather than anything else that could potentially hurt your feelings. and eren knows you’re immune to it, how if you had a dollar for every time those words left his mouth, you’d be fucking millionaire most likely—but he does it anyways.

it’s laughable, how you offered to sit there yourself as opposed to his lap because he said you would distract him if you did. yet here you were still doing the same thing; looking up at him with that subtle pout and eyes full of adoration of some sort—the kind that has his dick swelling at an embarrassingly quick rate.

“can you take a break? i miss you s’much it hurts.”

eren recognizes the drag in your voice in almost a second. as if uttering a silent prayer, he keeps his breath in the tunnel of his throat when you lazily hug him, hardened nipples brushing against his bare leg through the thin fabric of your tank top. he knows he’s taking you for granted. shit...just how many guys would pay money for this sight; the prettiest girl he’s ever laid eyes on asking him for attention. in all honesty, you’re not the best influence, but it’s gruelling trying not to give in to you.

“fine.” the four letter word is all you need as an invitation to jump from the seat near his chair and into his legs, which widen just a teeny bit for your comfort as you straddle him.

the feeling of your arms wrapped around Eren’s slender waist whilst burying your head in his chest burns through his clothing and into his skin. instead of focusing on how your acrylics gently rake up and down his back, he chooses to open up his phone, mindlessly swiping between different page screens and periodically opening up the ‘settings’ which seem to be so important.

honestly, you just needed to be close to him; close enough to bunch his shirt in your hands while you get a whiff of his body soap and cologne—the same one lingering in your apartment, your clothes, everything. but ugh, his scent alone isn’t capable of grant your contentment; you need him inside of you—his muddled moans flowing into your mouth as you tangle your fingers within his hair, the way his brows pull together when he frantically rubs and your clit, desperate to get you crying for him.

the thought of him alone is more than enough to get you off, and just for a moment you forget eren’s there. too stuck in your head and up in the clouds, you fail to notice the way your body subconsciously rocks itself on his lap, arms tightening in the embrace as you tense from the slight stimulation to your cunt.

and eren. . .he watches with wide eyes full of surprise, his phone falling to the floor with a thud. there’s no other way to describe the sight other than pretty—your eyes are squeezed shut with fickle breaths and lips jutted out into a pout; the same pout you give when it’s just not hitting right. but he can feel all of you rubbing against his crotch, even the damp spot forming on the centre point of his grey sweatshorts.

fuck, he concludes that you must not be wearing anything under the satin shorts hugging your legs. sooner or later, you’d be the death of him.

eren jaeger: death by pussy.

doesn’t sound too bad, considering what he knows he’s in for.

“i need it eren, can’t cum without it.” you ramble the same words that you’ve been saying for the last week, eyes glossed over when you look up at his flushed face. when he tries to speak, you’re quick to cut him off, “just the tip, promise—i promise…”

eren’s almost unsure how he finds himself mindlessly nodding along, as if your whines and pleas are like a coercive drug, “just the tip…”

you repeat those three words over—like it’s more of a mantra to yourself rather than a word of reassurance to your boyfriend—as you clumsily pull one leg out of the confinement of your shorts, giving him the perfect view of your sheened over pussy. just the tip, you mumble, drooling at the sight of eren tugging his pants further down his legs to free his dick, all achey and upright, standing against his torso as he breathes heavily.

your cunt throbs when you line yourself over him, dragging his leaky tip across your folds and sensitive clit. it’s easily one of the best reliefs you could ask for, eyes flitting around in the back of your head as you lean into his shoulder. poor eren could probably cum straight like this, seeing you use him like a damned fuck toy—seeing how horny you are for only him.

his moans only add fuel to the fire, pushing you to try your luck at sliding down his bulbous head before stopping right where it ends. he’s just so big, stretching out your hole with just the tip alone—leaving you to mutter a string of jumbled up curses as your body leans forward into him.

“does it feel good, baby?” the hoarseness in his voice is difficult to miss, it’s as if his throat is closing up with every passing moment. you’ve never tried this before, but the vice grip your cunt has on the most sensitive part of him has him wishing you’d done this much sooner.

“yeah—yeah, it feels really-”

your last word comes out in choked whine, breath hitching when his middle and ring finger find their way to your clit, tracing feather-light circle on the bud.

you want eren to make you cum—you’re so desperate that you resort to steadily rutting yourself down on his tip, focused enough to not break your promise to him. there’s a steadily approaching burn in your thighs: it’s a burn that makes you want to cry, makes you want to beg him to make the pain go away and make you finish—but you hold your tongue.

eren’s lips can only part at your unexpected determination, showcasing the sharp bottom teeth that look so much like fangs. you don’t think when you move a hand to his flushed face, your thumb messily slipping inside his mouth and padding the surface of his canines. your other hand makes its way to his glasses, gently pushing them back up the bridge of his nose before meeting his swollen lips with your own.

the residue of the strawberry cake you fed him hours prior is still lingering on his tongue, you can at least make that out as you swirl your own in his mouth.

the voice in your head chanting ‘just the tip’ is growing fainter and quieter, as if it’s moving from the front of your brain all the way to the back of your head, alongside all of the other forgotten things that seemed to hold no importance to you anymore. you want to feel all of him, the pulse of his cock that seems to barely match his heartbeat, the prominent vein running up the length, and the delicious curve that jutted up right against your walls.

“‘ren, don’t wanna hold out anymore.” relentless is what you’re becoming, tired of the way that your pussy grows achey with every passing moment—it’s not enough.

“you said just the t-tip.”

“i don’t fucking want just the tip!” the tears brimming your eyes are growing more apparent, to the point where eren can’t just simply ignore them. “gotta—you gotta let me have it all!”

eren feels like he’s lost his mind: you’re already driving yourself onto his dick, a silent scream falling from your lips as you split yourself open with his sheer thickness. your hands reach to grab whatever they can, one on the back of his searing nape, and the other on top of his own.

the sought out feeling of being full makes your head almost go haywire, stumbling over words as he bottoms out, tip feathering kisses to your cervix, “i’m sososo obsessed with you eren.”

and as much as he hates to admit it, he’s sososo obsessed with you too. despite all of his complaints, there’s still a longing to give you everything you want—need, even. he can’t help but sigh when your walls start to flutter around him, as if your pussy is welcoming him like it always has.

with your guidance, he moves a hand up your shirt and towards to chest, taking your puffy nipples in hand, rolling and prodding at it before messily taking one into his mouth.

“just…right there—”

your words are less than coherent—too busy slamming yourself back down onto him to make any sense to your boyfriend, who looks at you with his brows pulled together. it’s the same look he gives when he wants to say how ditzy you can be sometimes, but you just can’t help it!

there’s a thickening ring of cream near his base, and the squelching sounds of your cunt fucking him dumb overpowers any other sounds in the room. you sniffle and whine as your pace falters, legs giving out from your sporadic bouncing as you fall into eren. it’s almost a wonder how ‘just the tip’ turned into his tip and much more, but you don’t care enough, too eager to grind your hips along his pelvis, barely moving on his length as you play with your clit.

“you can’t do that...” he finds himself mumbling out. how is it fair for you to do all of this to him, making his dick a fucking mess just to finish it all by your self; without him. “c’mon baby, that’s so unfair” he continues to mumble about how ‘unfair’ it is as he grabs a vice hold of your hips, steadying them in place for a moment and lifting you off of him, just to slam you back down with a pace more fervent than before—one that knocks the fucking wind out of your lungs and roughly brings you back down to earth.

and the trip back down hits as hard as his thrusts. the pace is unforgiving, one that you almost didn’t know he had—barring your body to his chest to easily make you meet him halfway as he fucks up into you with low remorse. his eagerness has dick slipping out of your hole and sliding up against your swollen clit, involuntary spreading the mix of your slick and his pre everywhere between the two of you.

“feel’s so good—yeahyeahyeah—don’t stop ‘ren…” you babble run on sentences that would’ve made zero sense had eren not known you. but he does: he knows the way your brain seemed to shut down while fucking you, and how your velvety walls essentially have been warped by his cock pummelling into you at any given moment.

the arch in your back is irregular, dipped beautifully for eren to hesitantly trace lines up and down the expanse of bare skin. your pussy is the best (and only) one he’s ever had, and there’s nothing that’ll ever change that fact.

because who else’s moans will sound like a god-gifted symphony from heaven? who else’s cunt will tighten around him like so the way you do when you’re cumming, translucent white slick dragging down all over and down to pants? who else will whine and cry his name the way you do? who else will make him happily empty his balls inside of them just because they begged and asked?

nobody.

after all, you’re one of a kind.

#eren x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #eren smut #eren x black reader #eren jaeger x black reader #aot x black reader #snk smut

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appashi · 2 years

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the Morning Fat Melter

Most Mind-Blowing Of All, This Weight Loss Combination…

Odd Herb Mix Melts 72Lbs In 4 Months

Last week, while at a nutrition seminar in Boston, I met Dawn Sterrit.

She had become a minor celebrity in the health world because after she lost 72 pounds in just 4 months at the age of 53...

She started sharing her method on social media, and over 20,000 women over the age of 50 have reached their ideal weight by following it…

Her speech was so good, that when it was over, I decided to introduce myself to her…

We spent over 20 minutes talking, and after we became friends, she offered to share her secrets with my email subscribers, which made me so happy!

Dawn had to go through a heart attack to get the wake-up call she needed to discover an odd herb mix that is so efficient that even her - a lazy mom - was able to lose 2 pounds every 72 hours.

She dropped 72 pounds in just 4 months, was promoted as the head of the HR department at the company she was working, and her new boyfriend recently proposed to her!

If you want to lose over 20 pounds in just 30 days and keep them off for good, I recommend to watch Dawn's story on the page below...

Go To This Page To Discover The Little-Known Herbs Mixture That Melts 6Lbs/Peek!https://bit.ly/3tl35yy

#fat burning potential #10 metabolism-boosting #Weight loss #reduces cellulite.

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reality-detective · 14 days

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MORE ABOUT THIS↙️

Do you Love making natural remedies?

Did you know that you can easily make this powerful remedy at home?

you will only need :

• 1 orange 🍊

• 1 Lime 💚

• 1 Lemon 🍋

• Onion skin (From 1 🧅)

• Big chunk of ginger 💛

• 5 willow leaves 🍃

• 1/2 tsp Turmeric 🧡

• Pinch of black pepper 🖤 (to activate Turmeric)

• More than pinch of Chilli pepper 🌶

1. Drop them all into a pot

2. Pour in water so all ingredients are under water

3. Steep for 15-20 mins

And you done ✅

Drink 1-2 cups daily

Good in fridge for up to a week+

Benefits of :

Orange 🍊 :

The vitamin C in it can help :

• Protect your cells from damage

• Helps your body make collagen.

Lime 💚 & Lemon 🍋:

• Consuming limes or drinking the juice may improve immunity

• Reduce heart disease risk factors

• Prevent kidney stones

Onion skin 🧅 :

• The skins of onion provides an excellent source of vitamins A, C, E, and numerous antioxidants.

• They're also a rich source of flavonoids, and anti-inflammatory properties.

Ginger 💛 :

• Has powerful components that lower blood sugar levels and prevent heart disease

• Eating ginger every day can regulate the production of insulin in patients with diabetes.

Willow bark 🍃 :

• Has been used throughout the centuries in China and Europe, and continues to be used today for the treatment of pain (particularly low back pain and osteoarthritis), headache, and inflammatory conditions, such as bursitis and tendinitis.

Turmeric 🧡 :

• Its most active compound, curcumin, has many scientifically proven health benefits, such as the potential to improve heart health

• Prevent against Alzheimer's and cancer.

Chilli pepper 🌶 :

• Helps Protect Your Heart.

• Can Help You Burn Fat and Lose Weight.

• Help Soothe Intestinal Diseases.

U can sure use fewer ingredients then shown, if u are sick just use those witch are needed at that time. 🤔

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orchidsangel · 4 months

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PERFECT DUET (JASON TODD)

notes/cw ~ GN!reader, angst !!!, childhood friends to lovers set up, (1.7k wc)

You remember the day Red Hood came rolling into town, news stations spoke of a masked man, slinging guns and antagonizing Batman while simultaneously lowering Gotham City’s crime rates. He was a force to be reckoned with, his brutality leaving criminals and civilians both cowering in fear day in and day out. Men and women alike debated whether or not petty crimes were worth committing if it meant a potential run-in with Red; but soon enough, the city of Gotham, New Jersey, would realize that he didn’t waste his time with small-time shoplifters and carjackers. No, he had an agenda. An agenda that included the crime lords of Gotham and you.

Even though you had never and would never commit a crime, you constantly felt like you were being watched as if you were on a most wanted list. Months, you spent looking over your shoulder, wondering if you might have caught the eye of a crazy person, wondering if one day you’d come home to find security cameras installed in places where privacy was sacred. To you, this never coincided with the Red Hood's arrival in Gotham; and yet you did come home one day, but not to cameras, to Jason. Red helmet in hand, with a singular flower, and an apology on the tip of his tongue.

Yeah, he looked different. He was bigger, taller, and more muscular than when you’d last seen him. His face had matured, baby fat you used to pinch, replaced with hollow cheeks and a sharp jawline. He looked different, but you could tell without a doubt that it was him. The color of his eyes, albeit a little more green than you remembered, had the familiarity of a childhood stuffed animal; of an object that had meant something to you in a past life. You knew it was him, and yet he had died, and a part of you died with him. You had seen his cold, lifeless body in that velvet-lined coffin, traces of the boy you once loved under thick layers of waxy funeral makeup. He had died, and yet here he was, in front of you and holding a flower in place of an olive branch.

The following days felt like months, a reminder of the agonizingly slow aftermath of his death. You had learned throughout life how to compose yourself when your emotions were starting to get the best of you. This time was no different. Instead of a normal reaction like an onslaught of questions spilling from your mouth, breaking down into tears on the floor of your apartment, or even an awkward hug; you had given him a little more than a once over—just enough to take in his appearance—and then locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night. You could feel Jason's eyes burning a hole through the door, could swear he was on the other side watching and waiting for you to come back, to jump into his arms like you used to under the guise of friendship. But when you woke up the next morning he was gone, no trace of him being there to begin with, and you almost thought you had dreamed it. When you finally stepped outside the next morning, for the first time in ages, you didn’t feel you were being watched, and you knew then that it wasn’t a crazy person whose interest you’d piqued, it was Jason's.

Months passed before you saw him again. The disassociation had been getting worse by the minute since that night. You’d been living life on autopilot, a ghost of the person you’d grown into. Layers of armor built up after the night Alfred rang your home phone, gone. Leaving you raw and exposed to memories you’d thought better left in the past. You never wanted to forget him, but the agony that was growing without him by your side left your brain choosing self-preservation over anything else. You had chosen it then, on the day before junior year when you locked away every physical memento you had of him in a box and put it in the attic of your childhood home, and you’d chosen it again now when you pushed the recent events of his reentry into your life, to the back of your mind.

An unpredicted rainstorm vetoed your decision, leaving you stuck in some cafe in the diamond district. The combined smell of imported beans and high-end perfumes left you sick to your stomach; but not nearly as sick as when you locked eyes with Jason, sitting in the corner of the establishment, book in hand, but clearly not reading. You had been acutely aware of his presence the entire time; you couldn’t not be. It made the room spin, knowing what you knew about him in such a public place. It made you queasy and faint, like the entire world would soon turn black and you’d end up on the cold tiled floor waiting for someone to hold coffee beans under your nose in an attempt to wake you up. You almost made a run for it out the door; but the heavy sheets of water sliding down the glass windows, blurred the outside world into more of a watercolor painting than your reality, and you deluded yourself into thinking none of it was real, and anything said inside those four walls would cease to exist when the rain stopped.

A few steps taken towards him and you were ready to turn back around, but the clarity you felt, the fog that had incapacitated your brain for so long, was gone in that moment; and you knew if you stepped out into that rain, it would come right back. You remember his face when you sat down across from him, even after your moment of rejection, he still looked at you so fondly. “I always knew I’d see you again.” He had said with so much certainty. And you would come to find that all of the tears for him that you had held in would be shed anyway in the coming years.

Picking up where you left off proved to be impossible, and resuming a years-old friendship with a years-long break wasn’t something either of you could do. Not with both of your hearts tucked away with the other for so long. Not when you had spent years stealing glances at him in class when you were supposed to be working on labs and taking pencils from him from the opposite end to avoid touching his hand in fear that he’d feel the heat radiating off of you. Not when you were green with envy when he got his first girlfriend and rearranged his schedule to spend more time with her, leaving you feeling hopeless for a couple of months. Not when you practically jumped for joy when he came to you mopey and sad because she’d broken up with him to get with a star athlete, not knowing he was jumping from buildings and doing backflips in his spare time. Not when you’d taken him down to the pier, treating him to funnel cake and cotton candy with babysitting money you’d been saving up for a rainy day. And not when the two of you sat at the top of the Ferris wheel, feet dangling over Gotham and wind blowing in your face. His lovelorn eyes, bluer back then, peered over the bar that kept you from falling. He sat back with a sigh, his boyish features had sorrow written all over them. “I’d never hurt you like that.” is what you wanted to say that night, but instead all you could manage was an, “I’m sorry.” followed by, “Do you want to come over for dinner?”

Not when a month later, your mom shook you awake in the middle of the night, calling your name with the same tone of voice she saved for when a close relative passed. Vision blurred and heartbeat quickening, “Is grandma okay?” you asked, rubbing sleep out of your bleary eyes. Pale, that's what her face was when she said, “No- yes. Grandma's fine.” she pursed her lips, trying to keep her composure but the lack of color in her complexion told you something bad had happened. “It’s…” You were alert by then, waiting patiently to hear whose funeral you’d be attending soon. “It’s Jason.”

Lovesick. Sick with love. Sick with something. Whatever it was, it kept you from moving past the depression stage of grief for ages. Denial, anger, bargaining, they all came and went rather quickly; but the depression never left, not even when you had seemingly slipped into the acceptance stage. Your family watched you go back to your normal routines, continuing life the way it had been before. You got up in the morning, went to school, and came home exactly as you’d done when he was still alive. Of course, they didn’t see how you struggled to breathe when you saw his seat empty in homeroom, they didn’t see the way people stared at you walking the hallways alone for the first time in years, the boy typically beside you, now six feet under. They didn’t see how you cried yourself to sleep on his birthday that year, and how you subsequently cried yourself to sleep every year after that. No, they didn’t see any of it, and truthfully, they didn’t want to; you couldn’t blame them, not even you did.

Lovesick. Sick with love. Sick with something. Sick with, “how long were you dead?”

“Six months.”

Six years of grief for only six months of death. If you were still fifteen you would’ve jumped for joy, thrown a party, and invited your friends and families. You would’ve laughed yourself silly at how absurd it was that he was back with you so soon, how everything was normal again, and how this would just be a funny story you’d tell as an adult. In your early 20’s it was no longer so soon, it was no longer something to throw a party over, you wouldn’t invite friends or family, you wouldn’t even know how to explain any of it to them, and you certainly wouldn’t be laughing about it. All you could do was nod silently, taking the occasional sip from the cup of chamomile tea in your hands, trying your best to let him explain before anger got the best of you.

ro's first time writing angst, how do we feel ?? wrote this in the midst of a BAD case of writers block but fuck it we ball yk, inspired by perfect duet by ed sheeran and beyoncé but if you listen to it and wonder where the happy lovey dovey stuff is plz know i intend to write a pt 2 (key word, intend. i'm not great on follow ups), also if someone wants to give me a lesson a grammar and punctuation plz do bc it's kicking my ass !!

#divider by benkeibear #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd angst #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood angst #red hood fic #red hood imagine #jason todd i’ll love you forever

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saintship · 8 months

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Could I request a fic for konig (and/or anyone in the 141) (whoever you think fits the best).

One where the reader has an eating disorder that she's been hiding for a while and the team is starting to notice.

Eventually they confront her and she tries to defend herself but only makes it worse. Saying stuff like she knows her limits now and explaining how it doesn't really hurt that bad to purge since she figured it out.

Like she's trying to comfort them but is only making it so much worse. I need my angst + comfort

I decided on Ghost because there’s a lot of König’s big ass on my blog

WARNING: potentially triggering content for people suffering from restrictive/bulimic eating disorders

This hits close to home, and v accurate to how a confrontation like this can go, I hope you’re alright ml

You’re not fine - Simon Riley x Reader, 141 & Reader

You had a love-hate relationship with little celebrations like these; you liked talking with everyone, and you also liked that it was held at the base, so you didn’t have to worry yourself watching your back. But with celebrations, there will be alcohol, and then food, and then inebriated recruits spewing whatever comes to their mind. One in particular you were sat near was especially vocal, swinging his glass in arcs as he grumbled on and on. Many of his words were nonsense, their only repercussion being the drunk giggles of his friends.

You sat up a bit straighter when he leaned closer.

“Oi, I hate these, you want it?” He murmured, gesturing to the cherry adorning his drink. You looked away a bit, shaking your head.

“Why? You was eatin’ them before..”

“I had enough.”

He only grinned. “What, you think a cherry will make you fat or something?”

Your silence only amused him more.

“Aw, you starve yourself, lovie?” He laughed loud and bright, like what he’d suggested was the most amusing thing he’d ever thought of. His friends didn’t miss it either, now cooing comments and non-questions in your direction that made your head spin.

It wasn’t until you pushed yourself to your feet and made a break for the door that you clocked the eyes behind Simon’s mask, following you carefully. The embarrassment flashed through your mind, but you continued, leaning against the outside wall where people came to smoke or grope each other in the lamplight. You felt the cherry on your tongue, your stomach beginning to flip before you gathered yourself. You were in control. A sharp pain sliced through your gut. You’d been able to walk the line of hiding your self torture until now; if someone walked up to you, there was no way you’d play it off. You were in control. Everything is under..control.

You thought about going back inside, just eating the stupid cherry and getting rid of it in the common room bathroom. But you were tired, and the only 141 member inside seemed to have a habit of burning holes in your back, so what was the point? Going back to your barracks seemed best. Walking by the front entrance again, Ghost pushed open the door simultaneously.

“Oi.”

You stopped and turned; Ghost rarely incited conversation. He approached you, scanning around the grounds as he walked. He seemed to be searching for the right words, a quiet grunt escaping him before he spoke.

“What’s wrong with you? You’re acting..” he gestured with his hand vaguely, his eyes glowering with suspicion.

“Acting what?”

He dropped his hand. “Off.”

When you didn’t reply, he sighed. “Look, I’m not good with this shit, yeah? If something’s wrong, I’ll only catch it once. So what is it?”

Your heart ached. You wished so badly there was a way to brush him off and reinforce his compassion at the same time. But there wasn’t.

“I’m okay, really.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sergeant.”

His reply made you blink, but your head still shook for the negative. “I’m fine.”

“You-"

“Goodnight, Ghost.”

Your tone only registered in your mind when you’d walked ten paces away from him. Simon Riley had just mustered up the courage to show a bit of concern, and you’d fucked it up. It would take a miracle for him to show vulnerability like that again. Your exhaustion urged hot tears to run down your cheeks, your skin heating up with shame and embarrassment. You didn’t get a wink of sleep.

The next morning it was pouring rain, and your walk to the med bay left you completely soaked by the time you opened the door to your office. The cold and discomfort of wet clothes were dull in your mind; all that played in your head was the encounter from the night before. The unit was empty other than resident patients, the rest of the staff likely at the mess hall. By noon, you were dry and warm, but every knock at your door made you jump. Just as you tried to convince yourself that you were being paranoid, your pager buzzed. Price’s voice rang clear.

“My office. Now, unless someone’s dying.”

Another day, you would have huffed a small laugh at his bluntness, but now, your anticipation weighed heavy on your chest.

Jogging through the rain again to the main building, scenario after scenario ran through your mind. Ghost outranked you, and you’d brushed him off without a glance behind you. You’d never had a charge of insubordination, ever. You admired and cared for your superiors in a way you hadn’t expected, and with that, there was never a time mouthing off even crossed your mind.

You lowered the hood of your rain jacket carefully as you eased Price’s door open, seeing it was already ajar.

Your heart sank through the floor when you saw Price’s expression, and then further some when you looked around the room. Soap, Gaz.. and Ghost.

“Is this an intervention?”

Your joke was met with a downcast silence, as Price rose from his desk chair. “Sit.”

He walked past you to shut the door gently, leaning on its surface. You obeyed his request, settling into a chair near his desk.

“Sergeant..you know that you’re cared for here, right?”

You blinked, glancing at Gaz and Soap. The two of them were so rarely serious that their concerned expressions were distracting.

“Uh..yes. Yes, sir.” You murmured.

“Since we care for you, we notice when you’re not all there. Isn’t that right?” The squad nodded, and you wished for a sinkhole to pull you into the center of the earth.

“Ghost. Why don’t you explain why we’re here?”

You couldn’t look at him, but you felt his eyes.

“You ran off last night. And I know it wasn’t cause of that daft recruit.”

The wood panels of Price’s floor were faded with a worn path of heavy boots. Gaz stepped a bit closer.

“We just don’t want you to be doing anything that’ll hurt you, love.”

You didn’t look up.

“Why would you think that?”

The sound of shifting weight was all that answered at first. Soap’s gentle voice filled the small space.

“You’re not eating, lass.”

Your eyes finally found their way upward out of surprise. “That’s what this is about?” You look around; no one’s expression had shifted. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve skipped every weigh in the last three months.” Price folded his arms.

“I’m a medic, I was busy! I think I would know if I had a problem.”

“So why do you drink your calories? Why do you work through mealtimes?” Ghost’s tone became a bit firmer.

“We’re just a tad worried-"

“There is nothing to worry about!” You interrupted Soap, making Gaz back up a pace. “I know my limits, I know how to do it right. I don’t need a lot.”

Price’s head tilted. “Sergeant..”

“I know how to do it right.” You repeated, a trembling hang raking through your hair.

“Do what right?” Gaz’s question hung heavy in the air.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, I-I figured out how to..you know, purge. Correctly.”

“What?” Price pushed off the door, standing closer.

“It’s fine!” Tears pricked at your eyes.

“No, it’s not.” Gaz’s voice was low with emotion, his eyes following you as you got to your feet.

“I’m fucking fine!”

“Sergeant, lower your voice.” Price’s order silenced you, a tear escaping down your face.

“It’s—I have it under control..” your voice wavered.

Soap sighed. “That’s not how it works-"

You wiped your tears angrily, irritating the skin that was already warm with embarrassment.

“What do I have to do to convince you that I am fi-"

Ghost’s arms were around you. The rest of the room was silent. Your eyes were closed. You cried into his vest. He smelled like smoke.

“You’re not fine.” His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

“I’m sorry..I’m sorry..”

“Oh, love..” Gaz hand was warm on you shoulder.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Soap assured. Ghost’s gloved palm stroked your back.

A different hand laid on your other shoulder, and you turned you head to see Price lean to your level.

“You’re not alone, soldier.”

That night, the entire team accompanied you to dinner. They made sure to tell you that even if you couldn’t stomach anything, just being there made them proud. Proud that you could face this disease that would follow your every step, and that you trusted them to walk alongside you. Ghost excused himself for a smoke, and you followed him out where he stood in the night air. The cicadas were chittering incessantly, but the breeze was nice. You stood by his side for a few moments before speaking.

“You called the meeting.”

He held his balaclava away from his face slightly with a thumb, exhaling a breath of smoke.

“I did.”

Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Thought you’d be angry with me for brushing you off like that.”

His head shook slowly. “No.” He breathed a sigh of the fresh air. “You’re not the snippy type. Something was off. So I went to the people who deal with that sort of thing better than I can.”

You eyed him. “Why do you always end with that?”

He glanced back, but continued to toe at the gravel.

“What do you mean?”

“You say you’re not good with this sort of thing. But you are.”

His brow furrowed. “M’not.”

“When I walked away from you, you could have just decided I was a dick and moved on, but you didn’t.”

His head shook again. “I had to get backup.”

“You knew who to put in that room.”

“Because I couldn’t do it alone.”

“You hugged me.”

Your shoes turn toward him, the glow of the entrance light glancing off the woven fabric covering his face.

“When I was freaking out, you steadied me. It really helped..” your admission suddenly embarrassed you, and you looked at your feet the moment he brought his eyes forward.

“Doesn’t mean I’m good at this.”

“You’re good to me.”

He blinked. “Am I?”

“You’re good to the team. Good to your trainees.” Looking up into his eyes, the apprehension there was gut wrenching. “I’ll tell you every day if that’s what it takes for you to believe it..”

“Sergeant..”

“It’s true. You make me want to be better.”

Ghost shifted on his feet. “I just want you alive.”

You cracked your first smile in weeks. “You make me want to be that, too.”

He gazed at you a bit longer before outstretching an arm, pulling you into his chest while taking another drag with his other hand. Your smile stayed as you leaned into his coat, the warmth radiating from him making your heart swell. The gratitude you felt that Simon Riley was letting you be so close to him was exhilarating. He rubbed your back as he’d done in the office, but out here, where it was just you, Simon, and the cicadas, it was just better.

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon riley x reader #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley #ghost x gn reader #ghost x reader

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nsharks · 1 year

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part five —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.5k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. lowkey cannibalism implication. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I’m really going for the slow burn sorry

The days are difficult to keep track of.

You don’t have a calendar. Instead, you begin making mental markers of events in your head. 29 days since you left your old camp. 22 days since Ghost nearly killed you. 10 days since your face became the potential meal for another human.

10 days since Blue disobeyed her skull-faced father.

He hasn’t sent you away yet. You figure the two of you are in the clear. Still, you have found yourself avoiding his dark stare even more than before.

“Don’t worry,” Blue had told you the second night she came to gently anoint your arm. “I was careful about it. I memorized the way the tube was in the kit, and I’m putting it back exaaaactly the same. I used to sneak some extra Nutella from our storage and Ghost only caught me in the beginning. I’ve gotten better at sneaking past him, okay?”

All you could do was cling to the little piece of trust you shared with her. Ten days later, the memory of it has now congealed into a thick, baby-pink scar, just like the one beneath your ribs. The pain has softened to tenderness. You used your knife to clip off the stitches.

This morning, the usual soft-tailed alarm wakes you up. A bright grin hovers above your head.

“Special day today,” Blue announces. Lazily, you rub your eyes. Yesterday was the first day you managed to kill a deer. You hung the meat up over a fire to smoke it for preservation. For once, the feeling of a stuffed stomach sang you into a deep sleep.

“What?” you ask, blinking away your slumber as you touch a hand over your abdomen. You can still feel where last night’s dinner is nestled.

“It’s my birthday,” she says. Grim flutters over your arm as she sits down beside you. Naturally, your legs move over to allow just the right amount of space for her. You’ve grown used to this guest in your shed.

“Your birthday?” You sit up. “What day is it today?”

“February 19th,” she recites. Of course. Ghost probably keeps track.

Then, her hand slips something into your palm. Something small, hard, and wrapped in plastic. You flicker your gaze to the smuggled good— a little sweet. When you look back at her, she sheepishly reveals to you the other three she has in her pocket.

“I’m only allowed to have four on my birthday,” she explains. “Thought you would want one to celebrate.”

“Thanks.” Your lips etch up at the corner. “Happy birthday.”

Even tiny offerings like this can make you nervous. They aren’t nearly as lucrative or important as antiseptic. In the hall where their bedroom doors and the bathroom are, you’ve spotted a fourth door at the end where they dip in and out for stored food. They have nonperishables. Their rabbits will always breed. Ghost can always hunt. But pharmacies won’t restock their shelves.

Still, you instinctively crane your head forward to peek out the door of your shed, searching for her father’s shadow.

Blue notices.

“He’s making breakfast. Don’t worry.” Then, under her breath, she adds: “Besides... it is mine to give if I want to."

You pop it in your mouth.

“Fuck— wow,” you sputter, and Blue giggles. The sugary taste is even stranger than the fullness in your gut. You can’t remember the last time you ate anything that wasn’t stale, foraged, or killed.

Here in the small shed, the two of you suck on your candies for a quiet moment before breakfast. The pretty snow outside has melted, but the Northern air remains cold and bleak. Bare soil and scattered twigs lay under your boots when you finally head to the cabin.

Despite your fat dinner from the night before, you indulge in an equally heavy breakfast of smoked venison. Your body still has some catching up to do. Ghost and Blue’s breakfast consists of Grim’s sister, apparently. She gives at least three apologies to him for it.

You’re not sure what Ghost manages for Blue’s birthday. You can’t recall how you celebrated that last birthday of yours - the one before the world ended. You never bothered celebrating anymore of them after that even though Paul used to keep his own calendar going. It seemed pointless. When your nephew was still alive, you tried putting effort into his. You’d find a twig for each of his years and stick them in the ground for him to blow the flames off of. You would make a little crown for him out of flowers. It was enough to make his eyes light up, even if only for a day.

But he died at age seven. Then, there were no more birthdays celebrated.

To your surprise, Ghost fishes something out of his pocket after breakfast. Metal that clanks and sings. Car keys.

So it really is a vehicle back there?

“C’mon, kid. Get your coat.”

“She’s coming, too, right?” Blue’s eyes flicker to you as she stands from the table.

Come where?

The masked joints of Ghost’s jaw clench with a spark of irritation. Avoiding him has been easy. He usually doesn’t talk to you, anyway. Your interactions have been kept to asking him for rags and soap to bathe with and him watching you braid Blue’s hair.

But now he gives you a brief stare and mumbles plainly, “Thought we might just put her in the trench while we’re gone.”

An audible, sharp breath floods your ribs.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Blue is quick to assure you with an uneasy smile before she gives him a pointed look. “It is my birthday and I am inviting her, okay?”

This is one where Ghost doesn’t put up a fight.

So it is today that you see what resides under the tarp behind their cabin. Ghost lifts it back to reveal a faded-black pickup truck. Your irritation from the sight only swells when you see that there is a kayak in the truck bed. Another part of his emergency plan, maybe? What doesn't he have?

Ghost opens the door, lowers the front seat, and sends you to the back. Blue gets the passenger side.

As her father wraps around the hood to get in, Blue looks over the seat and chimes, “Cool, huh?” You nod. “It’s only for emergencies, you know. But we go for little drives sometimes so it doesn’t stop working. Right, Ghost?”

He hums a low response as he sits in front of the wheel.

You touch your hands over the cracked leather seat beneath you. The inside smells like faded bourbon and ash. You notice an old cigarette tray in the front. This feels like a snapshot of Ghost’s old life, perhaps the one outside of the military. Maybe whatever version of him used to drive this car actually used his real name and wore an exposed face. Maybe he used to put an infant-version of Blue in a carseat in the back. For the first time, a small wonder of who else could have sat in here with the two of them - the parent that is missing - touches your brain, but you are quick to swallow it. That history isn’t worth the risk that could come from asking about it.

The engine awakens with a few coughs and you notice that the reader on the dash indicates that the fuel is just below full. What you are finally willing to pry about forms as a question under your breath.

“How did you get all this?”

Dark eyes flick to meet your gaze in the rear-view mirror. Swallowing, you hold his stare for only a moment before Blue is the one to answer you.

“Ghost knew about everything before the rest of the world,” she explains, furrowing her brows. “I thought I told you that already.”

“What?”

“You know,” she waves a hand around, “Military? Special Air Service? He knew.”

You didn’t even think of that. The rest of you knew nothing and suffered. Ghost knew ahead of time and could prepare.

He stops her from continuing by giving a gentle nudge to her shoulder. “Gonna pick out the music or am I doing it?”

You shake away the thoughts. Your ears perk up. Music?

“No.” Blue instantly flies her hands to the glove compartment where a small stash of CDs slips out. “I’m picking! It’s my birthday.”

It is almost dizzying, how unfamiliar this is to you. Adrenaline, hunger, grief— you understand these well. Listening to the CD that Blue pops in the tray as Ghost starts driving? This is weird. You don’t know what it is you feel. Loud drums and sharp guitars fill your ears along with the hum of the truck. The tires slowly snap over twigs on the ground. Blue merrily sings - screams, even - along to the song. Can you remember it? You search through the crevices of your brain. Of course. Nirvana.

It is a short drive.

Ghost’s gloved hand lazily steers the wheel through a routine path in the trees. He must follow the same one every time they do this. Blue rolls down the window and sticks her head out so the light wind can dance with her hair.

She feels safer to look at. She always does. She is the one who wants you here; he probably brought you only because he doesn’t trust you alone at their camp. So your eyes settle on Blue. Your fingers thoughtlessly slip under the sleeve of your shirt and pick at the healed scar on your arm. You watch her beam and act like the child she is. You listen to the music. You don’t know when you will ever get the chance to again.

The drive only lasts two songs. Ghost may have to get the car going a bit, but he is not willing to waste precious fuel. He goes in a few circles before driving to the pond. He helps Blue out. He almost forgets to lower the seat for you. Blue has to remind him with a hissed "Dad" and a tug on his hand.

The pond is quiet and all liquid now. There hasn’t been another growling visitor here since the one Ghost killed. You’re not sure what he did with the corpse of the man, but it was gone shortly after that day.

Ghost lifts Blue up into the truck bed, right next to the kayak. You find a tree stump to sit on a few paces away. He slips out two cans from his pockets— you squint and make out tuna and peaches. They must be favorites of hers saved for her birthday because she eats them all by herself.

“Eleven, huh?” Ghost leans against the side of the truck as she snacks. He pretends you aren’t there. He ruffles her hair. “Big year, kid. Feel different?”

“Not yet,” she says with her mouth full. Her porcelain cheeks flush as she looks at him. “Did you feel different at eleven?”

“Can’t remember,” Ghost mutters lowly, but you can hear him. You try not to look. “Long time ago.”

"Soooo long ago, huh?" she smirks. "Old man."

"Come off it," he says, but amusement hides under the gravel of his voice. "Don't call me that."

"Why?" she pokes further. There is room for it here. He is not scolding. Her voice turns hushed. "Do I have to respect my elders?"

"Bloody fuckin' hell," he groans.

He makes a move to take away her canned peaches. Blue holds it up and scoots away. Ghost could still get it if he wanted. He's not really trying.

You decide to look at the dirt before either of them catches your staring, but when their bickering ceases, Blue points a question in your direction.

“Hey... Do you remember being eleven?”

You lift your head up, suddenly thrown off. You feel two sets of eyes on you now as your brain searches for some answer, knowing well that it is one Ghost will hear.

You can barely remember what Nirvana sounds like. Age eleven? The memories are stored in fragments under all the mud. Your old school. Your sister. Your friends. That house in Norbury. The yard where you stopped playing in the dirt because you suddenly grew interested in boys, instead. You try to fit all the pieces together, but it doesn't feel like you who lived through it all.

“I remember…” you rub one hand over the dry knuckles of the other and fight the brief moisture that threatens your eyes. You are not willing for Ghost to see a tear slip.

“I do remember feeling different.”

That is all you say.

After some more of their banter and the quick drive back to camp, Blue stands up against the tree she likes to play in. You never noticed until now, but there are little knife marks in the bark— five of them. Ghost adds another. It is quite a bit higher than the previous year’s.

Along with her dinner that night, she sucks on the last two of her candies. You try to be present as she talks about the memories from her past five birthdays— all basically the same as today. She doesn’t mention any of the ones from her previous life.

But your mind drifts as you listen.

You keep thinking about Ghost’s truck. You think of all he has— their medicine, changes of clothes, guns and ammo. You don’t have these things. At your old camp, you had the bare necessities. Paul managed to get the most commonly-used antibiotics and some alcohol to clean wounds. But you didn’t have time to grab any of it during your escape.

You don’t know how long you will be here and you don’t know what the future looks like for you, but you know you can’t risk Blue sneaking you more medicine. Ghost might not notice a little ointment missing from a tube, but too much and he will. God forbid you ever need antibiotics. Taking pills from a bottle? He definitely has the exact numbers memorized.

It is not until his cockney accent rumbles low that you are grounded back in the present.

“Want your gift now?”

When Blue eagerly nods, he stands from the table and leaves, only to return with something in his hand covered in a scrap of cloth. Another bout of curiosity finds you. What could he possibly gift her? You watch Blue lift up the cloth to reveal a handmade, wooden figurine.

She exhales a smile. She doesn’t seem too surprised by it but is still elated, taking the gift in her hands and smoothing her finger over the whittled shape.

It’s a squirrel. You can see it better as she looks over it. A squirrel with two circles carved around the eyes. A pair of glasses?

“He’s perfect,” she tells her behemoth of a father, who bends down to her level and strokes her hair.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just how I imagined him.”

This is the final tradition you learn about today. The wooden squirrel is part of a collection, she explains. You’ve never been inside Blue’s bedroom. You are not allowed, of course. But she shyly admits that she has her own village going on in there and that more wooden residents are added on each birthday and holiday. She seems hesitant to tell you too much about them in the same way she was hesitant for you to hear Ghost call her Baby Blue.

The eleven-year-old brave enough to rebel nibbles her lip as she speaks, clutching her gift.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you find yourself quietly saying, looking between her and Ghost. “We all have things we like to keep to ourselves. You don't have to tell me, you know."

You feel his thick presence, the way he seems to stifle the room even in the lull of these moments where the reality of your stay here can be ignored. You give a small smile, just for her, anyway.

“It sounds cool, though," you add.

She blushes and slips away to put the squirrel in her room.

And then the last piece of Blue’s birthday is not a tradition. Instead, it is all you have to offer to this girl who has your back.

You do her hair.

You try for something a little different this time.

Half-up with two smaller braids that join together.

As usual, dark eyes watch from the couch.

That whole deer feeds you for more than just a week.

Despite this, you decide to go out into the forest and practice your aim. You recall how your failed shot at that man’s head resulted in snarling teeth snapping at your flesh - you want to get better. Each day, a new tree stands victim to your practicing arrows. You have to carve some more of them with the knife Ghost gave you to replace the ones that break from penetrating the tough bark.

You feel like you own more strength now.

A pillow to sleep on, bountiful protein, and properly healed wounds have offered some back to you. You don’t feel so fatigued. Your thoughts seem easier to find. You have a new marker to make the days feel less blurred together— Blue's birthday.

It must be March 1st today, then.

When you decide your practice is done for the afternoon, you make it back to camp. You ask Ghost for a wash rag to clear your skin of the cold sweat that has collected. He is preoccupied with a game of Monopoly with Blue but begrudgingly retrieves one for you. Though, it is thoughtlessly tossed to your face. Blue apologizes on his behalf.

You don’t have it in you to care.

Because today is the first day your gaze doesn't pry away when it finds your reflection in the mirror. The face that stares back at you - the one he threw the rag at - is one you think you can recognize. The cheekbones do not stand as angular and lean. Your lips have some color and fat to them. Not as much as Blue’s rosy pink ones, but some.

It is also the first day that an old friend returns to you. When you glide the damp rag between your thighs, blood collects. Except for this time, it is not incited by a caltrop or knife. You don’t panic with the thought of how it will be patched up and stitched and kept clean. Rather, you almost groan with the realization of what you need to ask of Ghost.

The hunger and stress of fleeing led you to almost forget about it. Your period is definitely weeks late, but now it is here again. Perhaps, another piece of health your body has been given back.

With wet hair and your dirty clothes shucked back on, you find the two of them still on the rug. They have moved on to Battleship.

“Ghost.”

Both of them look at you. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you dig your nails into your palms.

“I need another rag.”

“What for?” His voice arrives in an edged drawl. “Just bathed, didn’t you?”

“Are you okay?” chimes Blue, frowning. She sits up.

“I’m fine,” you say slowly. “I just need another one.” You meet the clouded eyes you prefer to renounce, set behind the more frightening skull this time. “A dry one.”

Although Blue’s nose remains scrunched in confusion, he seems to understand.

Wordlessly, Ghost finds you another. This rag is not offered to your face. Instead, he murmurs a “here” under his breath and gives it to your hands. In this brief exchange, you detect the familiar heat that is emitted from his brawny form. It is so different from the bucket of cold water you just bathed with.

Despite the enigma and tension, there is some of Ghost you understand. He is willing to give you small things. A rag for your period. A little bit of thread for your stitches. An outdoor shed to sleep in. A pillow and blanket they don’t even use.

What he is not willing to give is anything that he deems too valuable, and anything he decides poses a risk. His trust included.

This is why you must find a way to take care of yourself. So it is today, with your body showing you signs of its regained health, that you decide you finally need to figure out the journey to get supplies of your own.

taglist: @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09 @spikespiegell @littlezarp @rebel-soldat @4headkissess @mckenzieriley69 @moxxiestar @palomaxaxaxa @msjaeger @galacticstxrdust @anubiseqq @l-0-v-3-r-z @kakashiislut @a-queen-blr @random0lover @hehatesmati @ghost-with-a-teacup @konigbabe

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #fanfiction #zombies

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strangerhottotties · 10 months

Text

Mad Sounds - E.M.

Summary: Eddie has ADHD and reader has a touch of the 'tism. Her ways of helping Eddie are... questionable... but effective.

Warnings: Ya'll already know this some horny shit. Minors fuck off. Surprisingly angsty.

A/N: I rise briefly from the dark with some cool rocks as an offering to my faithful followers. I sprinkle some moss at their feet and grunt randomly before shuffling back into my caverns of dwelling to recover from the minute amount of energy that I exerted. Unfortunately, this little goblin has metaphoric asthma and got out of breath from the short journey.

As Eddie's self appointed tutor, there was plenty of frustration. He wasn't stupid. That you reminded him constantly. "There is a difference between doing something stupid and being stupid," you have sighed heavily at him countless times.

He resisted it at first. It nearly ruined your friendship a few times, but you could see it. It wasn't like he didn't just not want to do the work. But he'd forget his textbooks or his homework in his locker.

You spent twice a week helping him organize his locker so he could spend less time during the school day retrieving his books. You'd gone as far as to pester the principal into switching your locker with Shelby Phillips so you could have the locker right next to his. (Eddie accused you of going to far with this, but the morning snacks you insisted on bringing him when he was still blinking sleep from his eyes seemed to make up for.)

Your methodology may be unconventional, but it proved effected after the first week when Eddie brought home two C's and a D+ on the end of the weeks' tests.

So he begrudgingly allowed you to continue to forcefully tutor him. And then two weeks in he started ditching. Unfortunately, Eddie for got your ridiculous stubborn streak. He hadn't seen the full potential of how painfully unyielding your resolve could be when the right scenario emerged.

"Nah, can't make it tonight, gotta do band practice." "Sorry, we're playing a gig." "Can't Hellfire's tonight." "No way, I need a night off."

Each day, frustration bled more and more into your week until Friday rolled up and Eddie had a big, fat 'F' smacked down on his desk in O'Donnell's class and he blew you off again. "Whatever," he scoffed as he dumped his books into his locker.

"You skipped every chance to study this week, Eddie," your tell him with a hard edge to your voice. It's a mix of frustration, hurt and genuine anger.

He shoots you an irritated look, slams his locker shut and leans into your face. You can smell him, almost like wet dog, in your face. The reek of cigarettes familiar and clinging to the shirt that should get washed soon. You think he wore it to bed because the scent curls around you - deep and musky and natural. Not like how boys smelled when they worked out and sweat. Somehow it doesn't smell bad.

You shift closer and from the right angle it might look romantic. But your eyes are burning into his with steel resistance. You aren't crumbling over the fact that he is way closer than comfortable. You aren't wavering under his intensity.

(Not that he'd ever tell you but it drove him crazy. Normally, people would shrink and squirm away under the right pressure. It usually brought him amusement that people feared him. That he could creep up their spines and over their skin. He preened at the idea that he left stick residue. He felt like poison, ruining everything he touched but it gave him space to do as he pleased. Until you. It was like you never even noticed that he was too close or touching you. He grabbed your thigh once, digging his finger tips in around the top of your knee, just to see you even smack his hand off of you... and you'd reacted as if he'd simply nudged you to get your attention.)

If you wanted to get to the other side of the mountain, you were going to go directly there. You were always dead set on yielding the mountain to you. You would drive through the mountain, and Eddie was insisting on flowing down stream instead of listening to you!

"What am I even supposed to do!" He snarls lowly at your furrowed brow and set jaw. You either never even looked at him, or burned through him with an intensity that nearly buckled his resolve. This time, you weren't even blinking. It was eerie how slow you were breathing. Deep and even. "Study every moment of everyday?"

"I'm not asking that of you!" You snap back. "I'm just asking for you to work with me! It's not just gonna fall in your lap! I'm trying to help!"

"I didn't ask for it." He states and feels like he's bashing his head into the wall. His hand rises into his hair line and he gives it a tug. "I'm done," he ends after a beat of silence when you said nothing. He turns and heads

"After school were cleaning your locker!"

"Done! D-O-N-E! Done!" He wanders off.

.....

Half an hour after school ended, you heaved a sigh and dropped you back pack down beside his locker. It was shut. He was no where in sight. You waited and then finally check the parking lot. His van was gone.

You could do better, you think. There's got to be some way, you think as you step up to the locker. 15-84-04. His locker swings open with a low whine. It was fine, you tell yourself when you question the morality behind breaking into his locker.

It's not like you were doing it to steal. Just to help your friend. You weren't hurting anything. It's a mess. Papers are crumbled and folded beneath textbooks. There's graffiti at the back of it.

You shuffle through it. Pluck out the half destroyed text books in a pile at the bottom of his locker and set them to the side. Papers are torn. There's mystery stains on some of his old papers from the beginning of the week. Uncompleted assignments, rubrics handed out for projects, crumpled notebooks.

He took nothing home for the weekend. A wave of shared defeat fills you. He gave up. You'd been there, crushed beneath its weight when you hadn't made many friends. People thought you were being mean when you were just being direct. You wanted to make friends, but you just never knew what to say.

It's why you wanted to help Eddie so much. Because he didn't care that you were the 'mean' valedictorian that only cared about grades. He was your friend. And you wanted to help him in any way possible.

You were nervous the whole way up until Wayne opened the door to the trailer. You blink up at him with the stack of text books in you arms. A bag of oranges on top. Wayne frowns in confusion.

"I think you have the wrong place, sweetheart." He called you by the same thing Eddie usually did, in the same way. It gave a warm stir to your chest.

With a deep breath, you begin, "Is Eddie home?" His eyebrows shoot up high on his face.

"Yeah, he is."

"He had a tough day and I'm his tutor. I wanted to bring by his homework for this weekend. We had a fight and I came to apologize." Wayne passes you a smile and motions for you to come in.

"The infamous tutor," he hums, chuckling.

"Eddie's talked about me?" You question. Wayne passes you an amused smile as you step across the threshold. Infamous was bad. He must really be mad at you.

"You bet." You steel your face as Wayne leads you across their living room to a hallway on the left. You feel like crying all of a sudden. He knocks on Eddie's door. His metal is muffled by the door.

"I've got pants on." With that, Wayne swings the door open as you second guess coming here briefly. Your lips and fingers are starting to tremble from the bubbling regret in your throat.

"Got a visitor, Kid." There's a shuffle of papers and Wayne gives you the space to slide through.

"Thanks," but your voice sounds small as you step in. Wayne gives you a warm smile as you pass him. Eddie's confusion sours as he sees you and it makes you want to vomit.

The room is pure chaos around him. "You've got to be kidding me." He heaves as the door shuts. "What the hell are you doing here?" Those words make your lip wobbles hard, beyond your control.

"I... I..." you drop your gaze to the carpet as the words come out in a whisper. "I brought everything you'd need for your weekend... homework." Your taking deep breaths to try to stop the cry but those tears are clouding your vision still.

"Woah, woah, woah," Eddie calls and scrambles of the chaos of papers, DnD books and other random items. He stops in front of you as you start to lose your nerve. "Are you gonna cry?" He asks. You shake your head furiously, trying to squeeze your eyes shut to stop the tears but it only makes them run over your cheeks. "Shit." He stops stiffly in front of you, regarding the entirety of you. "Why?" He manages to squeak. His face is wild with fear and confusion.

You sniff, whiping at your cheeks. "I sh-shouldn't have come here." You take your time so it doesn't come out a jumbled mess. His face crumbles and he steps forward to take the stack of books out of your hand and set it on a bunch of papers on the bed. The crinkling drives you crazy.

"I'm really not good with tears, okay?" He offers.

"Me either," you pipe back, still whipping at the ever flowing tears coming from your eyes with the heels of your hands.

'You gotta tell me why your upset."

"You're not really my friend, are you?" You manage through that wobbling look. Eddie looks devastated by your nasally question.

"What? Of course we're friends!"

"You're uncle says you've talked about me," you say and he goes ghost white. "He called me your infamous tutor. That's a bad thing, Eddie." Eddie's hand rakes through his hair, getting increasingly more stress "you don't actually like me do you?"

"That's what your worried about? If I like you?" Jesus," he grunts out and then throws his arms up. "I'm just pissed off about this tutoring thing. You're pushy about it, okay? We're friends still." You fold into him immediately, burying your face against his neck. He's rigid beneath you cling to him hard.

"I don't have a lot of friends," you whimper. "I know, I can be a lot but I'm really trying to be a good friend because you've been a really good friend to me." His edges soften for you and then all at once you're being crushed to his chest in a way that takes the anxiety right away. It rushes out of you as he hold you. His cheek pressing to the top of you head.

"We're friends." He affirms, hands brushing across your back. "And here I thought you didn't actually like me." You sniffle into his neck as he sways you both and it's almost hypnotic in it's effect. You find yourself pushing in to nuzzle his neck as he swallows.

"You give good hugs," you hum up to him.

"Hah, thanks," he grunts awkwardly and pats your shoulder until you pull back. You wipe your cheeks. "Now, did you just come here to bring me textbooks and cry?"

"No, I came to apologize, bring your homework and maybe come up with a plan."

"A plan? Fuck." He sighs. "Start with the apology first." You nod in affirmation, clearing your throat to tell him clearly. He heads to his bed and brushes enough papers away to sit on the edge of it to face you.

"Eddie, I'm sorry. I know you have other important things that you want. I can't expect you to conform to the ways I do things." His face flutters into a hard, unreadable look. You step forward kneeling and taking his hand like your mom always did when she was trying to make something up to you. "Too much change at once can overwhelm me so why wouldn't it overwhelm you. I just wanted to be as effective as I could but most people don't operate how I operate. I'm sorry for being pushy." Eddie looks really uncertain as he stays quiet for a moment. His gaze flickering between your hand and you.

"Wow." He reaches over and drags a pillow into his lap a moment later. "Cool. Great apology."

"Really? Or are you being sarcastic. I can't tell."

"Not sarcasm." He states. "Just tell me your plan?" You start to rise and he holds out his other hand to stop you. "Stay there. Tell me your plan."

"I wanted to brainstorm ways that might work for you. Maybe set aside a couple days a week you might be able to study. A schedule so you still have free time?" He sighs and glances down at his pillow before tossing it off to the side.

"Great. Sure." A smile breaks out on your face, eager to shift back onto your heels. "Are you free tomorrow?"

He arches an eyebrow.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes, I have a few ideas."

"Like what?" He asks, threading his fingers into yours. It feels nice, holding his hand.

"Well, tonight I figure we switch roles."

"Excuse me?" He demands.

"You teach me something."

"Teach you what? You already are valedictorian."

"I was thinking maybe D'n'D?" His brows shoot into his hairline. "That or guitar?" Eddie blinks. "Obviously a rudimentary part of those things."

"I don't understand the motive behind this."

"If I tell you I fear you'll skew the data."

"Okay, robo-tutor." He sees the hurt flash on your face and knows that wasn't a nice thing to say. He sees it in the way your body slumps. "Sorry, I said something that upset you." He thins his lips.

You cast your eyes away. "No," you deny.

"Hey, you're a shit liar." Part of you sings in approval that he grumbles it quietly. He reminded you often of a moody German Shepard. Always barking at his friends with his short fuse, but he reluctantly allowed you to get away with things with minimal complaining.

"No," you repeat. You had a monstrous crush on him, it made you just as soft as him. And kneeling in front of him was submissive. You were reminded of it when he'd encouraged you to stay where you were. Your mind presenting you with a the desire to lay your head right between his legs. Thankfully, you had impulse control.

The softened rasp he saved just for you made you feel special like the hormonal young woman. Christ, it felt ridiculous how badly you hoped he felt back. Even when he was calling you out, it thrilled you, like knowing he wasn't actually mad at you.

You blame the morbid curiosity that the scientific part of your brain fanned the flames. Biological need. Basic instinct. Purely Phermones. Especially when he leans forward over you. "Hey, look at me," he snaps. It's meant to intimidate, but you were truly blown away by the swell of bodily reactions that stirrs. Especially when it made your pussy feel like lava.

Your eyes obey without your discretion. He notices, eyes flickering narrow for a second. Any flicker of the nerve he'd struck is swept up by the increased circulation to your face due to the intimacy you were feeling with him.

Your ears burn, but only because you've never been surrounded by this much Eddie. "Okay," he hums.

That's it.

He stands, snatching up the campaign he seemed to be constructing. He messing dumped them in a corner (you mentally begin to clean his room) before he strides to the mirror across the room and plucks it off the wall like it was gospel. And then you wonder if that's how he'd treat a girl. Tonight you'll certainly imagine him treating you as tenderly as he holds the instrument.

"Guitar," he grunts out. "I'll teach you, come on."

"I had another suggestion," you admit as you take his outstretched hand to help you up.

"You don't want to learn? I thought-"

"Oh no! I meant to help you! We need to find motivation for you. A... a reward system?" He tilts his head as you climb to your feet.

"Reward system? Like I get a reward?" He chirps.

"Mhmm." You agree as he slowly shuffles closer to his bed.

"I'm listening."

"And this is up for negotiation," you preface as he takes a seat again at the edge of the mattress. "But I was thinking for every 'C' you get, I could give you a-a... little thing, like guitar picks or like... snacks or something." Eddie breaks out into a grin.

"For every assignment?"

"Yeah and like... if you get a C- it'll be like one pick or a fruit snack but the higher the score the more snacks."

"Give me an example."

"If you get a 'C-', you get a guitar pick. If you get a 'C', I bring you snacks the next morning. If you get a C+, I'll buy your lunch or something." He ponders this, eyes narrowing firmly as he regards you rocking on your feet in the middle of his bedroom.

"How about for a 'C+', you bring me some of those cookies you made for halloween?" He requests.

"The pumpkin ones?"

"Yeah, you made them look like bats." You grin at him. He'd raved about them at the time but you're pleseantly surprised he remembered them.

"Deal. I'll give you a whole batch of pumpkin cookies if you earn a 'C+'." He grins triumphantly through his successful negotiations.

"What if i manage a 'B'?" You shrug, moving to sit beside him on his bed. You're aware of the smokey smell of him heavy in the room and it made you're head spin. The room turns warmer, like someone was cranking the thermostat.

"We'll I've been think about that, ya know?" You feel your cheeks start to heat up. Eddie regards you carefully and your acutely aware of his watchful eyes. Eddie was uncannily observant most of the time and as thrilling as it tended to be under his scrutiny, it was equally nervewracking... Especially when your explination begins to bubble out.

"And it's been a tough thought. So I was thinking about what motivates boys. And sports was out of the question. And you like guitar stuff, but I don't know enough about it, same with D'n'D... so I thought... what else?"

The last two words sink heavily between you both. Eddie blinks a couple times at you trailing off. Your cheeks are burning hot enough one could probably feel it without touching you. He's cheeks darken as well as he swallows and clears his throat, he wets his lips before he rumbles:

"Are you referring to sex?"

"Not quite." You pipe quickly.

"What do I get if I get a 'B'?" He repeats, much more serious, eyes burning into yours with nearly the same fire as when he was snapping at you but this time it carries and electricity that climbs through you.

"Spank bank material?" You offer sheepishly. His jaw drops open.

"Like porn? You're gonna get me porn?" Eddie demands as his alabaster cheeks darken a couple shades. It's hard to tell with his voice and frozen facial features if he actually likes that idea.

"Actually, I was thinking more like... if you get a 'B-', I'll show you my boobs but if youd rather have actual porn...." you trail off.

His eyes couldn't get wider, you think. They're enormous and for once, Eddie has been stunned into silence. You watch those big eyes dart down to the front of your sweater.

When he does speak, his voice is raspy, "No, no, I like you're idea better, Honey." The nickname jolts you a bit and you smile in relief that he'd finally made an indication of some kind on how he felt.

"If you get a 'B' you can have a picture of them." Eddie is sliding the guitar off to the side then, scooting to the edge of the bed eagerly and it makes your chest loosen and explode with butterflies.

"I want to take the picture." He reports, eyes drifting back up to yours and you're suddenly wishing he'd look back at the vague form of your tits. This was the most intense conversation you'd ever had, offering your body up to the guy you'd admired from a far for most of high school.

This pitch. It felt like a snowball and as good as that sounded, you didn't want to overstep boundaries you'd had yet to discover. After all, you were eighteen and just because you hadn't kissed a boy doesn't mean that you didn't know anything about things like this.

"We'll see."

"Then I want one of your bras for the 'B+'."

"Those are expensive. No way." You frown and try the next best suggestion. "You can feel me up, how bout that?" Eddie chuckles breathlessly at your protest.

"Really breaking my heart here, sweetheart." His eyes are glittering in a way you only saw when he doing something taboo. "If I get an A+ can I fuck you?" He asks abruptly. It steals your breath for a second and you quickly cover for it, slowly shaking your head.

He doesn't look disappointed when you do this, just tilts his head a little.

Truthfully, you didn't want Eddie to fuck you as a reward for his good behavior. You wanted you're first time to be simply because it felt right. Because you both wanted to have sex and to just feel good. You were already pimping yourself out to him to some degree.

"I'll give you an orgasm for every 'A+'?" Eddie's breath hitches. "With like my hands o-or... mouth?" He's pulling the pillow back in his lap very suddenly. A theory bubbled in your mind at that.

"And... can I for my 'A-', I want to borrow your panties?"

"Borrow?" You demand in confusion.

"Yeah... after you've worn 'em. More spank bank material." Spank bank. He wanted to use your worn panties for spank bank material? For the life of you, there was no understanding behind this request. He really want your dirty underwear.

"I guess if that's what you want, what do you want for 'A's, though?"

"Would I be able to touch you, too? Like... an orgasm for you." Your throat feels suddenly dry. You swallow against the thickness.

"M-e?" You manage to squeak, cheeks burning. He shifts closer on the mattress, eyes glittering. He slinks so smoothly across the surface of his trashed sheets. It feels like very predatory, like a big cat stalking you but entirely too thrilling at the same time. "That's not a reward."

Eddie cocks his head at you, the corner of his plump lips tilting up. "Are you saying it's not something you're willing to give me? Or are you saying it's not a reward I'd like?" The room is so warm all of a sudden, but the tingles have started between your legs. Your body betraying you to him.

You're unsure of how to answer, entirely uncertain about which it happened to be. Your emotions a muddle of overwhelm. And so your next words fall out of your mouth breathlessly.

"I don't know, Eddie." His lips slowly stretch into a deep grin. He hums your name like a prayer.

"Make no mistake, I'd pay money, I'd commit crimes, and I'll study with you as much as I can to be able to eat your pussy."

You jump for some reason. Your feet are scrambling and you find yourself looking around as you refuse to make eye contact with him. He chuckles as you scurry across his room, away from him.

"What are you looking for?" He questions as he rises, leaving his guitar on his bed to stroll closer. You take a deep breath, fully aware that you had no idea what you were looking for. Maybe a hidden camera.

"Where you got the audacity, to start." Eddie throws his head back to laugh a belly laugh at you. He stops his steps in front of you and grins down at you in utter amusement.

"I never get under your skin. Did I hit a nerve? What's got you so squirrely, Honey?" He lifts a hand to casually tuck some hair behind your ear.

"These are supposed to be your rewards... wouldn't that be weird?" You ask and it sobers his expression some.

"It would be a reward." He states. "So I guess that means the question is, will it be my reward? I promise you, I'm really good with my hands. I'll show you, come here." He holds out his hand for you. You can't help the nervous, hiccuping sigh that escapes you at his offer. He grins, knowing full-well what you were imagining.

"The guitar, sweetheart," he purrs, smile twisting maliciously. "Unless you want me to play with your pussy?" Your ridged spine jolts and you find that your breath is coming very fast.

Eddie had seriously just asked to touch you? What was the world coming too. This couldn't actually be real.

"Only if you get an 'A'," you agree with awhisper. There's a moment of hesitantly skirting your fingers across his hand as if he'd burn you. Something about his face is downright sinful. He clasps his hand around yours and drags you towards his bed to clear it off from everything quickly with one hand.

The way he's holding you're hand, as if you'll dart away, makes you smile with his back turned. When he's satisfied with that, Eddie drops onto the bed and pulls you between his legs. You shiver at the warm body pressing into your back.

"Here," he hums into your ear and lifts his guitar, with one hand he guides it across your hips. "It's going to rest across your lap just like this." You let him use you as a puppet.

You have to remind yourself that there is purpose to this experiment. He's going to teach you using the way he'd prefer to learn so you actually have to fight to pay attention to something other than how his calloused fingertips feel to direct you.

"Mercy," you mumble to yourself.

"What's that, Honey?"

"Nothing, didn't mean to interrupt." His mouth brushes by your ear.

A knock at the door has you jumping. "Pants are still on," Eddie calls and the door creaks open. His uncle grins in the door way as you turn a little redder.

"I'm off to work, Eddie, please... study hard." You can hear the grin in Eddie's voice.

"Don't worry, we'll study." Eddie promises, which makes Wayne arch an eyebrow as he studies the way his nephew is draped across your back.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Munson." You offer which makes Wayne give you a sweet smile. When the door seals shut,

I've lost track of my taglist so this will remain untagged for now. I seldom post due to ease of burnout so hit the follow and turn on notifications or follow me on AO3 at @dinthehottotty which is conveniently also one of my other blogs.

Part 2

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fics

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plutoswritingplanet · 2 years

Text

White Rabbit (Peter Ballard x Female!Reader)

PART 2

a/n: how close can i get to writing monsterfricking before being called a monsterfricker?

Warnings: NON-CON (nothing too explicit, but still, be warned, be safe), bathroom-donging (once again), extensive use of a 80′s rock song as a plot device

Summary: Vecna’s Curse finally comes to take what’s his. Only thing is, he doesn’t look like the monster your friends described.

Edit: Y'all are actually insane for giving this fic so many notes. There will be part two, most certainly, after the finale comes out. I will tag everyone in notes and in my askbox. With peace and love, what the fuck

There is a clock, ticking inside your head. It's sound filling every crevice of your brain, seeping into every fiber of your being, rattling every bone in your body until you're unable to move. You know what it means, you've seen what comes after it. The mutilated corpses of a cheerleader and that press kid are burned into your consciousness. Then, Max, floating above the graveyard, her blue eyes rolled grotesquely into the back of her head.

You haven't told anyone, as the team runs around Hawkins, looking for any clues that could help them stop Vecna's Curse.

Speaking of which, you are yet to see the abomination causing your imminent demise. It terrifies you to your very core, but under that overbearing feeling, there is another one. Curiosity. Danger feels heavy on your shoulders, and you love it, the thrill it gives you. Besides, shall things go south, you have a recorder by your side, "White Rabbit" by Jefferson's Airplane recorded on a small cassette, ready for trouble. "You can do this", is a mantra you've been telling yourself for hours now, you can survive.

The Wheeler house is lively with worried chatter, parents lamenting over their kids, in trouble again, and with the Hawkins Police nonetheless. You're sitting in the living room, head hanging low, fingers pulling at the hem of your shirt, which is currently covered in stains of various origin. Moss, mud, some blood, although you don't know where it came from. All the fault will undoubtedly fall on your shoulders. Being the only adult on scene, the only one getting caught. You curse under your breath, thinking of your friends, old and new, currently stuck in the Upside Down. Leaving you to handle everything else on the surface.

It has been a hassle, the interrogation. You got put into a stuffy room with Officer Calahan, who was strangely excited at the prospect of potentially locking up a bunch of kids, for whatever reason. It won't happen, obviously, but you're not here to break his bubble. He asks you questions with an aura of sarcastic authority, giving you patronizing nods, whenever you answer. You want to punch him, not only because your friends are currently in mortal danger, and you could do so much more to help them, if he'd just let you out. There is also the sound of a ticking clock, coming from behind his back, and the suspense drives you insane.

And a spider. Fat and dangerous, it traverses the expanse of the man's shoulder, but when you blink, it's gone.

- Can I use the bathroom? - you ask, voice barely containing all the emotions you were feeling.

The Officer looks at you, startled, as you had just interrupted another one of the monologues. He blinks, as you turn your head, and blinks again, processing your words.

- Yeah - he sounds dumbfounded.

Before the man can say anything more, you bolt out of the room, to the corridor basked in warm light of the ornate chandelier. The ticking is louder here, seemingly just a smidge away from your ear, and slowly, as if not to startle the hallucination, you turn your head left. There, on a cream wall, where normally a lovely family photo of the Wheeler's would hang, you find a round face of a grandfather's clock, staring back at you. One hand comes to life, lazily sliding from one minute to the other, a rusty clank of the mechanism filling your ears. There is a sinking feeling in your stomach, as you force your eyes away from the clock.

The world spins around you, as you fall through the bathroom door, closing it behind you. Your hands shake, as you reach for the recorder, fingers fumbling around the headphones you hastily pull over your ears. One click later, and a familiar base enters your brain, the sound of the clock barely recognizable beneath the drums.

- One pill makes you larger - you mutter under your breath, leaning heavily on the sink.

You try to control your breathing, focus on the steady rise and fall of your chest, still muttering the lyrics, like a prayer. The feeling persists, however, and you begin to sway in your place. The mirror shows your disheveled reflection in an almost mocking manner. Hair is sticking to your sweaty face, there are tears framing your eyes, and you're ghastly pale, worryingly so. Unable to focus, you close your eyes, shutting your eyelids tight. trying to block out everything but the music. Specks of light dance beneath your eyelids, and you try to follow their irregular paths, anything to bring you back.

Yet, that ticking sound is persistent, almost impatient. Waiting for the song to end. And with a click of finality, it does. Your heart jumps to your chest, as silence finally engulfs you. Your right hand flies to the Cassette player, fingers immediately finding the rewind button. Your eyes stay shut, as you listen to the whirling of the tape. And the ticking, always the ticking. Finally, it stops. A breath of relief shakes you.

- Don't play it again.

Your eyes fly open, as you give a startled gasp. The bathroom is empty, only your wracked figure reflected in the mirror. But something is wrong, you can feel it at the base of your neck, where the hairs stand up on guard. It doesn't feel like the Upside Down, doesn't look like it too, and yet, you can't shake the ever present sensation of indescribable dread.

Slowly, your fingers skim the play button, the plastic ridges dig into your skin, as you press down.

Then, something catches your hand. Delicately, like it's holding a flower.

You nearly scream, thrashing in the bathroom, turning harshly towards the shower, nails digging into the porcelain edge of the sink. Empty. Nothing.

Your heart stammers out of your chest, blood rushing through your ears in a suffocating display of panic. And the clock keeps ticking.

You're terrified now, properly. Screw all feelings of curiosity from earlier, you're pretty sure you can live without knowing. And so, even more feverishly, you fumble with the recorder, finally hitting the play button so hard, you nearly break your finger. The drums start again, and as the base joins it, you fall to your knees onto the floor, breathing heavily with relief.

- God - you sigh - Why me?

- Why you, indeed...

His voice is barely audible through the music, but you still feel it crushing through your skull. Your body freezes, as you glance up from the floor. There, just centimeters from you, stands a pair of white shoes. At least you think they're white, as the image keeps flickering in and out of existence, like a glitch on a homemade videotape. Your eyes drag up, over slender legs clad in white pants, white shirt tucked into them. Then, you finally see him. An angelic face looking at you from above. Beautiful, blue eyes, sharp features and lovely lips, all surrounded by a halo of blonde waves. An angel, truly.

You blink, and his image shifts out of existence just for a second.

- Who are you? - your voice sounds foreign in your ears, barely recognizable over the music

The man smiles a gentle smile, before kneeling down in front of you. His hands slowly creep towards yours, cradling them in a hold that is so warm and comforting, you want to melt into it without question. His eyes are so incredibly blue, it takes your breath away. And yet, despite the whirlwind of emotions, you can't stop staring into them. The man lifts your joined hands towards his lips. There isn't even a ghost of a breath, fanning your knuckles, as he places a kiss onto the bone. His image shifts again, violently, and a new feeling of slow dread creeps up your spine.

Then, a shadow passes through him, the kind facade falling into something much darker, much more sinister.

- I'm your worst nightmare - he smiles, teeth on full display, sharp and pointy.

You try to free your hands with a yank, but he holds them close with little to no force, eyes leaving your face in favor of studying the way veins move beneath your skin.

- I have many names - he says, his voice is calm and melodic - Henry - his lips brush the outside of your left wrist - Peter - a swift kiss is placed onto the tips of your finger - One...

He lingers for a bit at the juncture between your thumb and your pointer, and you still feel no breath coming from him.

- Although, the name your friends have given me has a nice ring to it - he looks up, capturing you again with those blue eyes of his.

- Vecna - your voice comes out as a mere whisper, one you can't even hear amongst the song, slowly, but without stopping, coming to an end.

Suddenly, the man stands up, and you feel yourself being pulled up to your feet as well. It's not gentle at all, and you nearly trip, before finding your balance. Faster than you can comprehend, the man turns you around, so you're facing the mirror. You can see him fully now. He's almost a head taller than you, slender and elegant. Not at all the monster you have imagined, not the one Max told you about. He peers at your reflection, towering over you in his clean, white clothes.

- My name means very little to me now - he says again, hand coming up to tuck your hair behind, exposing your neck to him - I am very particular about the names of my victims, however - another smile has you shaking, as his wondering hands press slightly on your pulse.

You can't move, your legs feel heavy, like someone tied them down with rocks. Your heart is beating so fast, you can feel it in your throat, where his fingers drum delicately over your skin, to the beat of the song still keeping you alive.

- Chrissy - he hisses into your hair - Sounds sweet like candy, and in a way, that's how she tasted.

A shiver wrecks your body, as images of the Cheerleader's body flood your mind. Her eyes, sucked into her skull, her limbs in disarray.

- Fred - you can feel his hands on the insides of your arms, fingers dragging over your veins - Intelligent, although slightly tart, like unripe apples.

Your head starts to spin, breaths escaping you in quick puffs. They found Fred in the middle of the road, alone, abandoned, mutilated.

- Patrick - he dips his head into the crook of your shoulder, nose sliding up, towards your ear - Stern, but full of life, reminded me of walnuts.

"When logic and proportion, have fallen sloppy dead" the singer wails, and you know, your time is coming to an end. A small whimper escapes you, as slender arms encircle your frame, pushing your back into his body.

- Max - there is a spark of rage at the mention of your friends name, one, he catches in your reflection with a raised eyebrow - Strong, youthful, like mint. When I heard your name amongst thousands, I knew, you'd taste wonderful.

Your entire body starts to writhe, as the man gives your neck a long lick of his tongue, starting from your shoulder, up to the back of your ear.

- Oooh - he laughs to himself, as you watch him in the mirror, still unable to move - There is some kick to you, I can tell. Like hot peppers.

He dives down again, placing open-mouthed kisses to your feverish skin, teeth just barely scraping your pulse point.

- A name like this should be savored. This guilt you feel should be savored.

"Feed your head" the woman sings, the song swelling in your ears, so close to the end, you start to shake. As if on cue, the man slowly reaches up, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair, as he pushes them under your headphones. It takes one move, for the plastic to fall from your head, clattering to the ground.

Your eyes meet in the mirror as sudden silence engulfs the both of you. There is a victorious smirk playing around on his lips, as his right hands starts to twirl your hair around his finger. He rubs the strands, like he's sampling a fabric, bafore bringing them closer to his nose, and taking a long whiff of air.

- ...Or maybe cinnamon - me sighs, eyebrows scrunching together.

- Are you going to kill me now?

Again, images of broken bones and mutilated corpses fill your mind, you can almost imagine the wet cracking.

The man laughs, stepping away from your trembling body for just an inch, the loss of his body behind you makes you sway in place. There's this weird flickering glitch running over his figure, intensifying for a moment. He takes a long breath, you can see muscles work under any visible sliver of skin, and as he relaxes again, his form stabilizes.

That is when you realize, what you're looking at isn't real. He isn't real. This angelic, terrifying boy is just an illusion, a hallucination, meant to lull you into a false sense of security. And it almost works. Almost, because as you focus more on his eyes, they seem to become less blue, and more milky and veiny. More like a monster.

- Guilt is a fickle thing - his voice is lower, more raspy than before.

His head dips down behind you, and he plants a wet kiss to the base of you neck, teeth scraping against your skin in a way, that wrenches a whine out of your lips.

Your stomach churns with a feeling sitting too close to arousal, as his large hands begin to explore your body further.

- It never leaves, not truly. And you have so much of it. - a hand digs itself into your hip, then slides up, leasing the edge of your shirt.

- Stop.

He doesn't, fingers creeping under the fabric, squeezing the soft tissue there.

- You're supposed to protect your brother, but he keeps getting hurt on your watch. How many bones does he have to break? How many times have you failed him?

Tears spring to life in the corners of your eyes, as you try to turn away from your reflection. He's faster though, and grabs your chin, forcing you to look back to the mirror. Then, he cranes your chin to the side, forcefully, so that your face is closer to him.

- Those kids you've taken under your wing, I will devour them all, and you'll watch - he seems unmoved by your sobs, whispering the words into your wet cheek - Your father, poor father, never had the chance of seeing how much of a disappointment you really are.

His lips are soft as he kisses your tears away, tasting the saltiness with a grin. Like a chef, proud of his most delicious meal.

- I see it all, sweetness - the hand digging into your stomach climbs up, over your ribs, stopping just short of the underside of your breast.

- Please... - a choked sob escapes you, as your body tries to free itself from his iron hold.

- Shhh - he shushes you, you can't feel his breath on your lips, when he gives you a chaste kiss.

For that matter, you can't feel anything, that would suggest you're being held by a living being. There is no rise and fall to his chest, no smell, no heartbeat.

His form starts to flicker yet again, and suddenly, you feel something definitely not human sliding and swirling behind you. A constantly moving mass holds you in place and instinctively, you screw your eyes shut. You don't want to know how he looks like in reality, mind focusing back on the angelic man from before. Now, you can feel him breath, a low rumble starts in his gut everytime he inhales, like a beast ready to pounce.

- It takes - the voice coming from behind you is gruff and monstrous - A considerable amount of strength to keep this image in place.

Slowly, with every word, the man's voice comes back to the normal, melodic tone. The shifting mass on your back seizes its movements, and slowly, you allow yourself to crack an eye open.

Blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a halo of blonde hair stare back at you in the mirror's reflection. He gives out a small chuckle, shakes his head slightly, and bends down to take another long sniff of your hair.

- There's no need for you to see my real form - he mutters into the crown of your head - After all, it's not your fear I'm after.

His hands move with unexpected speed, as the both slide upwards, under your shirt, to cup roughly at your breasts. The sound you give out is pathetic at best, as this sliver of friction sets your whole body ablaze.

- It's your guilt - he forces out through his teeth, giving your breasts another sharp squeeze.

Before you have the time to actually understand the implications behind his words, you body is being pressed forwards. The ceramic edge of the sing digs painfully into the meat of your thighs, but the feeling is swallowed completely by a slender hand worming it's way into your pants.

Your entire body rocks back and forth, as the man, Peter, Vecna, plunges two long digits into you without warning.

You feel a raw whine climb out of your throat, as you clench around his fingers, hands flailing at your sides, looking for any sort of purchase. He lets you lean on him completely, one hand massaging your breast, before abandoning it in favor of gripping your pulse.

He works you steadily and greedily, pulling sounds out of you, you'd have never imagined were possible. It feels sick, your stomach tightens into a growing coil, as the rythmic pumping shakes you to your bones.

- I...please - your words come out slurred, as your vision swims around your head.

He chuckles, seemingly unaffected, and presses his thumb down on your pulsing bundle of nerves. The sudden jolt of pleasure wrenches a scream out of you, one, he swallows, forcefully craning his neck, and pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss hurts, plain and simple. His lips, despite being pillowy soft, bite into yours with force you've never experienced in your life. Then, teeth appear, raking abused flesh, tongue forcing it's way into your mouth. It's too much, the whole thing starts to feel less like a nightmare, and more like an execution.

Your lungs scream for more oxygen, the tightening in your stomach accompanied by the sharp pain in your chest. And just when you truly think, this is how you are going to die, something entirely unexpected happens.

"One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small"

The song enters your brain like a dose of adrenaline, waking you from your stupor. Immediately, the hand toying with your insides, retracts, leaving you unfulfilled and disappointed. The emptiness carries, as his mouth detach from yours. You can't open your eyes, you refuse to do so, too overwhelmed to see.

- Remember this - the man says into your ear, his words slowly being drowned out by music - Remember this feeling, when I come for you again.

With that, you're being released, your limp body falling down onto the floor, where you're met with gentle hands of your friends cradling you.

- Jesus, we though you were a goner! - Lucas nearly screams in your face, as you try your best to focus on the kid's features.

- Yeah! You were flying under the ceiling - Dustin shoves a finger up, and your glazed eyes follow, looking at an unidentified spot above your head.

- Why didn't you tell us? - Max is gripping your shoulders so hard, you're sure it will leave a mark.

The kids, your kids, look at you with terrified faces, as you try to stand up, bones heavy, muscles trembling with unresolved tension.

- Didn't want to worry you guys...

It's a weak excuse, and right now you're not even sure if it's true. Dustin mutters something about you being an adult idiot, and in your heart you can't disagree with him.

- Just - Max slowly let's go of your arm - Keep the headphones on.

With that, the gang makes their way out of the bathroom, you following right after them. The coil in your stomach dies down, and with it, new, overbearing feeling arises in your chest.

Guilt. Crushing guilt of wanting something so wrong you can never recover from it.

And beneath the familiar drums, and the voice, and the guitar, you hear a gentle sound of a ticking clock.

#peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #stranger things #vecna x reader #vecna stranger things #001 x reader #henry creel x reader #001 stranger things #henry creel #my writing #tw: dark fic #monster #i dont support child murder but i do support men being pretty so here you guys go

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monsterfuckerconfessions · 6 months

Note

Part 2 of the minotaur and his chubby wife! :3

Eventually, my husband, my great big beastly husband, will see the fruits of his labors. Those long hours of folding me onto counters, of fingering cum into me in bathtubs, of stopping mid thrust to grab my breasts with hands that could crush me, and savor that they will eventually hold milk. His wishes win.

Someday, he can smell it on me, his nose buried between my legs during a loving session of licking my release out of me, he halts. He sniffs again, he licks once more, and with a grunt, he knows.

What better way to celebrate than to fuck it into me again?

Knowing I'm pregnant and he was the one who put it there unleashes a whole new monster on my body. A kind, loving, and heated monster. He can't help himself. The very thought of knowing what he's done to me has him rock hard each time, and despite the fact that I insist, he worries of hurting me by going too harshly.

I grow a bump quickly, and his beautiful big hands cradle it every chance he gets. His favorite way of doing so is while making sweet love to me. Emphasis on the sweet. His thrusting is nowhere near as feral as before, carefully and tenderly sating a fire in my gut by holding my hips up, hoping to keep me from aching too much as I carry his child(ren). Such a perfect husband of mine, soon he's worshipping everything I do as his 'perfect little wife' and 'perfect mother' for his spawn.

It's barely a few weeks after I give birth to our beautiful sons that he's counting down the days until he can savagely fuck me again.

And that he does.

When I'm healthy and able, he holds my legs apart, ass in the air, as he jerks his fat bull cock against my puffy pussy, watching in my gaped hole, overfucked and overfilled, drinks in the endless cum he pushes in. If it doesn't go in fast enough, If there's not a chance I'm going to bear him more, he tickles at my clit, massaging the lips until I'm quaking. He wants it to take, he's desperate. He needs that pregnant pussy again.

Now that he knows we can make children despite our different species, he wants to populate the world with them.

The moment he comes home, the moment the children are put to bed, and he's certain it's a good moment, he grabs my ankles and pulls them to his shoulders, grinding the flared tip into me with barely any prep. He can't wait. He needs it.

My sweet husband wants it so bad. He wants me to swell, to make more breastmilk, to bear more children, to suck up his cum like a sponge. If he ever thought I'd see an ounce of cum drip out of me again, he'll be eager to replace it with more until he's drained dry.

My poor womb is so full after, I look like he's dumped a bucket into me, bulged out like I'm with child once more.

Only, this time, he doesn't tenderly wash it out of me, he pushes in a plug, somehow wider than his own cock. It burns in my poor little pussy, and I can't get enough of it.

As soon as he's done pumping me, plugging me, filling me, he shoves his fingers against my folds again, searching for my clit as he rubs out painfully overstimulated orgasms out of me. He's read once that an orgasm from the potential mother increases chance of pregnancy, and the sweet feral thing thinks the more orgasms I have, the more babies we'll make.

#monsterfucker confessions

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willyoubemycherryy · 22 days

Text

𖣔𝕋𝕚𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕩 𝕞𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕙 𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕀 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕪 𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕀 𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕜 𝕚𝕥😂

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤꥟🜚❣︎ 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐯𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭 𝐤!𝐧𝐤, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬😭, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭😭😭𝐓𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐅𝐑

“𝑾𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒘𝒂𝒚 155 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒔𝒉…”

✫. •🜸. * .ミ★

You were cuddling on the couch when you got distracted by his side profile, specifically his lips.

Tiger was so pretty that the words slipped out before you could process their potential repercussions.

“Spit in my mouth Tig.”

Snapping his head down, he raises an eyebrow in amusement, pupils dilating as he looks at you.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head yes and whine at him, pouting because he was taking too long to give you what you want.

“You’re something else”, he whispers as his hands splay down your back to your ass. Grabbing and massaging, his strong hands send heat pulsing all through your cunt and unable to fight it anymore, you moan a desperate “please” against his lips.

And he kisses you. Hard.

Sucking on your plump lips, Tiger groans at your taste, letting the fat of your ass fill his palms as he roughly spreads your cheeks.

Your body is like livewire, your moans muffled as Tiger’s big tongue fills your mouth, nearly fucking your throat as your lips touch; determined to reach as deep as possible. Through your watering eyes that have rolled into the back of your skull and broken moans, your clit throbs nonstop in your ruined panties and you realize dazedly that you could cum like this.

Depraved of oxygen, lewd noises fill the room with the sounds of your kiss.

Tiger is completely hard, nestled snug right between your sticky pussy lips, shorts soaked through. You jerk violently when Tiger suddenly tongues the roof of your mouth before reaching up to squeeze your throat; mouths still fused together, more slick squirts out of you. Lightheaded as fuck, you rake your nails down his stomach and Seongjoon rips off of your mouth with a groan.

“Fuck”, he hisses, you gasp for air and whine needily at him, cunt throbbing. Tiger looks at you in your ruined state….before he’s grabbing you by your throat and pulling you to his mouth again. Whining like a little fucked out slut, you grind on him, absolutely melting in pleasure.

Both of your lips are sleek with shared saliva but you don’t care. Not when you’re this wet. Tiger’s tongue laves over yours, making your clit throb more before sucking harshly on your bottom lip, releasing it with a slick ‘pop’.

Head spinning as he takes over you, bathing you in pleasure. He’s such a good fucking kisser, you think dazedly, gasping sharply when you suddenly feel his hand clap down on your ass, the sting felt right in your swollen clit. Tiger spanks your ass again and you almost scream because he’s so heavy handed but it hurt so good.

“Open your mouth princess”, he orders softly against your lips and knowing what he’s about to do gets your heart pounding while you go dumb with how turned on you are as you comply.

Tongue lolling out, you open your mouth as Tiger leans down and spits in it. The second the warmth of his saliva hits the back of your throat, you swear you’re going to cum.

The sound that comes out of you is debauched and wrecked as Tiger licks into your mouth right after, sucking his spit off your tongue and spitting in back in.

That’s all it took for that throbbing, burning heat to consume you.

Sloppy wet kissing, groans, and moans is all you hear as you cum so violently it gives you a headache. Engorged clit being battered by Tiger’s big fat cock nestled between your wet pussy lips, messily sliding you back and forth on his thick cock groaning with you, mouths wet. Fuck he looked so good. So big, so tall, and his face.

Tiger’s saying the dirtiest shit about how he’s gonna fuck your sexy little ass up, how pretty you are, how you act proper but in reality you’re just a nasty little slut who’s fuckhole cums from getting your mouth spit in…

Though truthfully, he was hard the minute you looked up at him with that look you got when you wanted something just to tell him to spit in your mouth but he was more than happy to. Watching you twitch and moan as your eyes rolled into your skull with your mouth wet, humping his cock drenched in your juices felt so good to him that he couldn’t help but cum with you, groaning at your debauched expression.

His little slut was in heaven.

All of it goes straight through you and he doesn’t stop. The warmth of his cum all over your sopping twat is the nail in the coffin as you squirt, walls clenching around nothing while gushing.

Wailing as Tiger overstimulates you, wreaking havoc on your mouth, swallowing up your whines and cries, even your screams of pleasure, big hands spreading your asscheeks apart and fucking up into your clit.

Braindead and boneless, eyes white as you squirt all over him. So gone, you don’t even register him pulling your cotton shorts down and shoving 3 of his thick fingers deep, stretching you out so deliciously and nailing your spot to get you squirting again, convulsing as you do. Tiger hisses in pleasure while you cry out his name. He stops and takes the same fingers that were just inside of you, out; leaving you gaping then sucking your cum off his hand and you moan weakly at the sight. Tiger leans down kissing you again, this time sweetly, and pulls away.

“What else you wanna try?”

#I can’t live with my shame💀#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner smut #tiger x reader #the green room #slashers x reader #horror #smut #fluff #masters of the air #mota #x reader

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sluttywonwoo · 11 months

Text

too close (i might just burn you whole) || c.hv

summary: you’ve got your crush on your friend vernon under control… that is until he shows up for a costume party dressed like your favorite superhero

pairing: vernon x fem reader

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, smut (18+ ; mdni) additional warnings under the cut

word count: 8.6k

a/n: a late birthday present for @fuckvernon <3

additional warnings: fingering, fat cock!vernon, unintentional cockwarming, praise, dacyrphilia, kink discovery, m + f orgasms, implied round two so no aftercare (but it does happen off the page)

“Are you going to tell her tonight?”

Vernon cocks his head to the side and takes a sip of his beer, feigning disinterest. “Who?”

“You’re looking right at her.”

“What am I going to tell her?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Vernon finally yanks his gaze away from you to glare at Joshua, who had taken the barstool beside him.

“Haven’t we been over this?”

“We have, and we’ll keep going over it until you come to your senses.”

“There are no senses to come to,” Vernon argues. “I don’t want-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit about not ruining your friendship with her.”

“I don’t!”

“You really think she’s the kind of person that’ll stop being friends with someone just because she doesn’t return their feelings?”

“Well, no,” Vernon admits. “But it will definitely change our dynamic.”

Joshua rolls his eyes. “You’re just using that as an excuse to be a coward.”

Vernon clenches his jaw and brings the bottle to his lips again. “I don’t feel like talking about this right now.”

“I can tell,” Joshua mutters.

Chan joins them at the bar a moment later and orders a lemon drop.

“What’d he say?” he asks Joshua.

“That he’s a pussy,” Shua answers.

“Did you tell everyone about this?” Vernon cries, cringing at the whine he hears in his voice.

“No one had to tell me,” Chan corrects him. “You’re super obvious about it.”

“Who else knows?”

“Who doesn’t?” Joshua and Chan say in unison.

Vernon groans and drops his head to the bartop.

“Don’t worry, no one’s going to say anything to her.”

“They might, if you don’t man up and tell her yourself,” Joshua amends.

“He’s kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Chan chuckles nervously and gives Vernon a reassuring pat on the back.

“If you don’t tell her tonight you should at least tell her at Soonyoung’s party.”

“I’m not telling her, period! I’m good with being friends, you guys.”

They side-eye each other.

“So you’re good with her dating other people?”

Vernon lifts his head again. “What?”

“I mean if you’re not going to ask her out, someone else is going to,” Joshua points out, holding his hands up in surrender when Vernon glares at him. “I’m not saying that to be an asshole! I’m saying it because...” he trails off, looking at Chan who unsubtly signals Joshua to stop talking.

“What? What is it?”

“Well, because we heard Kun is going to ask her out at Soonyoung’s party on Friday.”

“Qian Kun?”

Chan nods hesitantly. “But it’s not like it’s a sure thing! It’s just a rumor, after all.”

“It’s a sure thing,” Joshua counters. “I overheard him talking to Minghao about it.”

“We don’t know if she’ll say yes, though,” Chan offers, desperately trying to keep his friend from spiraling.

“That’s true,” Joshua agrees. Finally. “He’s a good-looking guy, though.”

“Joshua!”

“What? It’s the truth!”

“Can I have a word with you over here?”

They shuffle over to the side, leaving Vernon to sulk as they bicker. He can vaguely hear Joshua muttering but he tunes out the words, not needing to hear any more about your potential prospects and his lack thereof.

The thing is, Vernon could have plenty of said potential prospects if he put himself out there. But unfortunately, he only has eyes for you. And he’s a coward.

He hadn’t always had feelings for you, that he was aware of. You were Seungkwan’s friend first. He introduced you to the group later and you’d fit right in. Seungkwan wasn’t surprised but he was a bit protective over you, constantly reminding everyone that you were his first. That didn’t bother Vernon- until it did.

He knew Seungkwan was mostly joking but after a while, he assumed you’d been a part of the group for long enough that you were everyone’s friend. The hierarchy of who knew you best or longest shouldn’t matter. Unless Vernon was at the top of it.

These thoughts never even occurred to Vernon until he started hanging out with you one-on-one. You were always fun to have around but he hadn’t realized just how much he liked spending time with you. You were funny, you liked a lot of the same things he liked, you were pretty— that wasn’t a thought you should be having about a friend. God damn it. God damn it.

That’s when he knew he was fucked. He tried to deny it to himself. He didn’t have feelings for you. That would be ridiculous. He was just confused.

He assumed it would pass. He tried to avoid you, only seeing you at group events. That didn’t last long.

You managed to corner him at a brunch thing and confronted him about why he had been ignoring you. He made up some excuse about how he’s been busy lately, lying straight to your face as he told you he hadn’t been ignoring you.

Vernon had learned to live with his feelings, peksy as they were. He just suppressed them. The healthy thing to do.

But now he was forced to make a choice. He had to either tell you how he felt and potentially ruin your friendship, or let someone else beat him to it.

“We can get ready together at my place around four and then pregame a little bit,” you suggest, your voice sounding muffled through the speaker.

Vernon’s got his phone balanced between his ear and his shoulder which makes it even harder to hear you. He’s trying to straighten up his and Seokmin’s apartment before some of the guys come over for DND but it isn’t going very well. He can’t figure out where Seokmin put the fucking Swiffer Wet Jet.

“Who else is going to be there?” he asks.

“Oh, just the two of us.”

He freezes. “What? Why?”

“Everyone else is pregaming at Mingyu’s,” you explain, and suddenly it all makes sense. “We’ll be so late if we try to get ready there. There’ll be too much going on.”

“You’re right,” Vernon agrees. “That’s a good idea.”

“Are you sure? You can go with them if you want.”

“No!” he exclaims, maybe a little too quickly. “No, um, I’d rather do what you said.”

“Okay!”

He hates that he can hear the smile in your voice, hates that he can picture the exact scrunch of your nose and crinkle of your eyes, hates that he knows just how cute you look right now.

“I know I said four, but you can come over whenever,” you continue. “And we can listen to our music while we get ready. No one else has good taste like we do.”

“Mingyu’s probably going to play trap remixes of Disney songs the whole night,” Vernon sighs.

“Either that or Justin Bieber’s entire discography,” you laugh.

“Yeah, we’re definitely making the right choice.”

Friday rolls around way too fast. Vernon spent the whole week panicking over what to say to you and he still hasn’t decided. He doesn’t even know if he’ll work up the courage to tell you at all, even if Kun is going to ask you out. Sure, he’ll beat himself up forever if that happens, but at least he’d save himself the embarrassment of rejection.

He shows up to your apartment in his street clothes, having packed his outfit for tonight in his backpack.

You answer the door with your makeup half-done, ushering him in before any of your neighbors could see you in your pajamas.

The door to your bedroom is open, faint music spilling out into the foyer.

“My roommate’s out,” you explain as he follows you inside. “She’s flying home to visit her parents so we have the place to ourselves.”

For some reason, Vernon’s heart skips a beat when you say that. You don’t mean it like that but his mind goes there automatically and he has to clear his throat awkwardly to shake the thought.

You lead him to your room and tell him he can sit on the bed while you finish your makeup, and he does so very gingerly. It’s not like he’s never been in your room or sat on your bed before so there’s no reason for him to be acting so weird (aside from the big fat crush he’s had on you for months). He hopes you don’t notice his strange behavior. Or if you do, he hopes you chalk it up to him just being Vernon.

“I was listening to our combined playlist but you can change it to whatever you want,” you offer, throwing him your phone.

It lands next to him on the mattress.

“No, this is good,” he says but picks up your phone anyway. “Can I scroll through your Twitter, though?”

“Go ahead.”

He makes a noise of contentment and settles more comfortably on your bed. He grabs your stuffed Appa and holds it close to his chest as he scrolls down your timeline, humming along to the song that’s playing on your PC.

You’re silent as you apply the rest of your makeup. Vernon doesn’t know the first thing about makeup but he knows that you’re good at it. You always look so pretty. One time you had made your eyeliner look like the wings of a monarch butterfly. He remembers being so transfixed by your eyes that you had to keep asking why he was staring.

Today, your eyeliner looks like little clouds to go with your angel outfit. You’d done it in white with a touch of glitter to make them shimmer.

“I can’t believe Soonyoung picked a costume party,” you grumble.

“I can. How much do you want to bet he’s going to be Tony the Tiger again?”

“You never know, maybe he’ll be Raja from Aladdin. Or that tiger from The Jungle Book? I don’t remember that one’s name, though.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Vernon muses, not looking up from your phone.

“I guess we will.”

He’s reading the replies to a tweet about one of your favorite animes when you get a text. He’d ignored all of the other notifications you’d received while he was in control of your phone thus far but it’s impossible to ignore this one.

Qian Kun: can’t wait to see u tn!

Vernon nearly chokes, knuckles turning white as he grips the phone tighter.

So Joshua hadn’t been fucking with him. He hadn’t just used Kun as an excuse to kick Vernon’s ass into gear. He was actually serious and was trying to help him. Go figure.

Vernon stands from your bed abruptly, drawing your attention to him.

“You got a text,” is all he can mutter as he thrusts your phone out to you. You give him a weird look as you take it but before you can say anything about it he’s grabbing his backpack and telling you that he’s going to go change.

“O-okay.”

He makes his way to your bathroom and shuts the door behind him, slumping against it as he tells himsef to get it together. He splashes some cold water on his face and runs a still-wet hand through his hair in an attempt to style it. The water does little to cool him down but he starts taking off his clothes anyway. If he’s gone for too long you’ll begin to wonder if something’s wrong but he’s still sweating and his costume is made entirely out of spandex.

He manages to wrestle the material onto his body and get the zipper up. He takes another look at himself in the mirror and grimaces. It didn’t look bad on him, but it was defintely tight and left little to the imagination.

And now he had to go back out and face you like this. Tonight was already going so well.

You’re not in your room when he comes out of the bathroom. He searches the hallway briefly before finding you in the kitchen. You’re bent over with your head in the fridge, looking for... something, but all Vernon can focus on is the way your legs look in the white tights you’re wearing. He averts his eyes as soon as he catches himself staring at your calves, cheeks burning with what can only be a mixture of shame and embarrassment.

“Do you need help?” he asks, startling you.

You jolt up, nearly bumping your head on the freezer door.

“Sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Can’t help it, it’s part of my spidey powers.”

Your eyes light up in recognition as soon as he says that. He tries not to feel too self-conscious as your eyes take in his costume, your gaze traveling down his body and then back up to his face.

“Your costume!”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it!” you exclaim, taking him by the shoulders. “I can’t believe you kept this a secret from me!” You know how much I love Peter Parker!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Vernon mumbles, trying to hide a smile.

“God, you look incredible! Do you have the mask?”

“I do, should I wear it?”

“Keep it off,” you decide. “Your face is too pretty to be hidden.”

“Wh-what?”

“You heard me,” you double down, smirking.

You’re teasing him, but Vernon can’t tell if it’s in a flirty way or a joking way. He hopes it’s the first way but he’s also too scared to confront what that would mean if it was.

“Maybe you can put it on for the group picture or something, but you should leave it off for the party, that way people can find you.”

“Good idea,” Vernon agrees. “So, what were you looking for?”

You seem to remember you’re still standing in the middle of your kitchen with your refrigerator open at that very moment.

“Oh, right. I was looking for stuff for us to drink before we go over to Soonyoung’s but I couldn’t find what I wanted. I bought strawberry soju for us tonight but my friend’s boyfriend drank it all so we only have regular.”

Vernon knits his eyesbrows together in confusion. “Joshua drank all your soju?”

“No, different friend. You don’t know her. I would’ve just said Joshua drank all my soju’ if it was him.”

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“I thought I had lemonade we could use as a mixer but I can’t find it.”

“We can just do shots,” Vernon suggests, laughing when you make a face. “Fine, fine, here let me help.”

You trade places with him and watch as he looks through the same shelves you had just been looking through. He is also unable to find the lemonade.

“You have gingerale,” he points out.

“Do you think that would be good?”

“Only one way to find out.”

It was, in fact, not good. But you powered through it together, neither of you willing to show up to Soonyoung’s sober.

“I’ll call an Uber,” you shout from you room where you had gone to grab your purse. “By the way, do you want me to do any makeup on you real quick? I think some dark circles under your eyes or some black eyeliner would look really good.”

“Sure,” Vernon agrees before really thinking about it. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

That’s how you end up straddling him on your bed, your face mere inches from his as you apply... eyeliner? Eyeshadow? Some sort of makeup to his eyes.

Vernon holds his breath, putting every ounce of concentration he has into not getting hard. You’re sitting right on top of him and as previously established, the Spider-Man suit is very, very thin.

Your costume doesn’t offer a lot of coverage either, something Vernon tries not to think about while you’ve got your thighs on either side of his waist. You’re warm, so warm. He can feel the heat of your skin through your tights, can feel the seam of your leotard underneath your tutu, and if he shifts even just a little bit he’d be able to feel-

“There, done!” you announce and climb off of him.

Vernon breathes a sigh of relief and takes a moment to recover before sitting back up. He’s a little stiff, both in body and in spirit, but he hopes you didn’t notice.

“Hey, the Uber’s here, but take a look at yourself first to make sure you like it.”

You hand him a compact mirror and wait patiently as Vernon checks out your handiwork. You didn’t do much but it had made a big difference. He looks exhausted. His eyes appear sunken, the dark circles you’d drawn underneath somehow making them look sharper.

“Oh my god, I look just like him,” he whispers.

“Right? I thought that would tie it all together! Very Peter Parker-esque.”

“You’re incredible, thank you.”

You laugh and stare down at the floor, seeming shy all of a sudden. “It was easy. Anyone could have done it.”

Then, your phone vibrates on your desk. You grab it immediately like you’re thankful for the interruption. Vernon purses his lips but tries not to come off as deflated.

“Shit, we shouldn’t keep him waiting,” you say.

“You’re right. Let’s go.”

You sling the strap of your purse over your shoulder and make for the front door but Vernon calls out after you before you can reach it.

“Wait! Don’t forget your halo, angel.”

He grabs the headband off of your dresser and brings it to you, smiling to himself when you bend down automatically so that he can put it on for you.

“Okay, now we’re ready,” he amends.

The drive to Soonyoung and Jihoon’s apartment doesn’t usually take long but your Uber got lost on the way so you were a few minutes late. Thankfully, you weren’t the last to arrive. That honor went to Boo Seungkwan and Yoon Jeonghan who trailed in together a whole thirty minutes after you and Vernon, much to Soonyoung’s displeasure.

He greets you at the door with Jihoon in tow, clearly already drunk.

“You made it!” he screeches, throwing his arms around the two of you.

“Of course we made it, idiot,” you tease, pushing his shoulder playfully.

Vernon pretends not to notice and he also pretends it doesn’t bother him.

“Who are you supposed to be, Soonie?” you ask.

“Tony the Tiger,” he says, sounding a little offended that you didn’t guess right away.

“Again?”

“You can’t go wrong with a classic,” Soonyoung mutters. “Right, Jihoon?”

“Right,” his best friend parrots obediently, rolling his eyes behind his back.

“Wait, what are you supposed to be?” Vernon asks, directing the question at Jihoon this time.

“I’m the box of Frosted Flakes,” he grumbles, so low Vernon almost doesn’t catch it.

“Wow, you guys are so creative,” you gush. “Nonnie and I both took the easy way out.”

The affectionate nickname catches Vernon off guard and he can’t help but crack a smile, ignoring the knowing glance from Jihoon.

“Well you guys look great,” Soonyoung assures you. “Especially you, Vernon! Since when is Peter Parker so sexy?”

“Since always,” Vernon scoffs. “Have you seen the movies?”

Soonyoung opens his mouth to respond but Jihoon nudges him in the side before he can. Headlights flash in the windows, distracting all four of you from what you’re talking about.

“Oh, I think some more people just pulled up. I should be a good host and say hello to them too. Help yourselves to drinks or whatever. You know where everything is.”

Vernon nods and claps Soonyoung on the back as he passes him. “Thanks, Hosh, we’ll catch you later.”

You follow Vernon into the kitchen, saying hi to the people you know on the way. It was quieter in the kitchen, even though Mingyu and Chan were arguing over something undoubtedly unimportant by the sink.

They stop only briefly to acknowledge you both before jumping right back into it.

“What do you want to drink?” Vernon asks you.

“What do they have?”

“All the usual stuff, and it looks like Joshua brought some nice whiskey.”

“Of course he did,” you chuckle. “Um, I’ll just have whatever you’re having. I usually like what you like.”

It’s true, you have so much in common, Vernon thinks to himself happily.

“Why are you smiling like that?”

Vernon freezes. “Huh?”

“You’re like grinning to yourself about something. What is it? Are you laughing at me?”

“No, no, I’m not laughing at you. I just… like that you trust me to make something that will taste good.”

“I mean it’s not like you have to cook it,” you joke. “If that were the case I might feel differently.”

“Very funny.”

“I know, thank you.”

You watch Vernon pour a shot of vodka into each cup, balancing your chin in your hands, elbows resting on the countertop. He finds a half-empty bottle of lemonade in the fridge and mixes it with the vodka, topping the drinks off with some ice from a cooler on the ground.

“Aren’t you supposed to add the ice first?” you ask.

“Oh, so you are going to judge my bartending skills? I thought that was reserved for my cooking.”

“I am first and foremost a hater. You should know that by now. No one is safe, not even you.”

Not even him... did that mean he was getting special treatment otherwise? Was it because you saw him as more than a friend? Or was it that you didn’t feel close enough to him to roast him unabashedly?

You had procured a butter knife from one of the drawers while Vernon was lost in thought and were now using it to mix the drinks he’s made.

You throw the knife in the sink, the clattering disrupting Chan and Mingyu’s arguing once again.

“Cheers,” you say, offering him one of the cups.

He takes it and clinks it against yours.

“Cheers.”

“If Soonyoung plays one more Justin Bieber song I’m going to lose it,” you mutter, making Vernon chuckle into his vodka lemonade.

“I’ll see if I can talk Jihoon into hijacking the playlist.”

“No, don’t do that, you know he’ll only play Bruno Mars!”

But Vernon’s already walking away to find him, saying something about ‘the lesser of two evils’.

You watch him go, unable to stop yourself from glancing at his ass and noting how good it looks in the Spider-man suit. When he’d appeared in your kitchen wearing it you thought you might melt through the floor.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to rip it off of him or jump him while he was still wearing it. You did neither of those things, of course, but it was all you’d been able to think about all night.

Peter Parker was your favorite comic book character. You couldn’t believe that was the costume he chose.

You were delusional to think you were getting over your crush on him in the first place but all of the supposed progress you had made on that went out the window as soon as he had called you angel earlier.

The other guys seemed to think your attraction was mutual but Vernon was so goddamn hard to read that it was really anyone’s guess.

Was he awkward around everyone, or was it just you? Sometimes you think there’s something there, on those rare nights you spend alone together, watching movies at your apartment or playing a card game you only kind of know the rules to. On nights like those, when you’re more touchy with each other than usual, when his gaze lingers on your lips a little too long, it’s easy to think that maybe everyone is right. Maybe the feelings are mutual.

But then he’ll start acting weird, like he was tonight, and you don’t know how to take it. Are your feelings for him that obvious that he can see right through them? Do your attempts at flirting make him uncomfortable? Sometimes he flirts back though which is why it’s all so confusing.

“I need another drink,” you say to no one in particular before turning around and trekking back to the kitchen.

You’re gone when Vernon returns to where he’d left you. It had taken him a while to track down Woozi and plead his case, longer than he expected, but he didn’t think it was that long.

Jihoon was more than happy to change the music but he told Vernon that he’d have to go distract Soonyoung in order to do so. It was like a series of side quests he had to complete to move to the next level and by the time he was finished you had disappeared.

It’s not a big place but there are a lot of people in attendance which makes it so he has to push through the crowds in his search for you. There are people inside and on the deck and in the yard so he has his work cut out for him.

“Want another drink?” It’s Joshua with two cups in his hand. Vernon takes a glance at his empty solo cup and shrugs, trading for the full one.

“Thanks. What is it?”

“Beer.”

“Cool.”

“Where’s your date?” Joshua asks, looking around.

“She’s not my date, and I don’t know,” he admits. “I left her right there and she’s gone.”

“Dude, you left her alone in the middle of a party and expected her to just sit there and wait for you?”

“I wasn’t gone for that long!”

“Did you tell her you were coming back?” Vernon purses his lips. “How long were you gone for?”

“Just a few minutes...” he mumbles.

Joshua sighs. Vernon knows he’d be pinching the bridge of his nose if he could but his hands are full.

“Go find her.”

“That’s what I was doing before you walked up to me!”

“Don’t waste time by arguing with me, just go.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Vernon nods sullenly before brushing past his friend into the next room.

He finds you in the dining room talking to someone else. He relaxes until he realizes that ‘someone else’ is Kun. Qian Kun. Can’t wait to see u tn! Kun. You’re leaning against the wall, laughing at something he’s saying and Vernon’s blood runs cold.

Before he can fully process what’s happening in front of him, he’s downing the rest of his beer and approaching you both.

“Y/n, I was just looking for you,” he exclaims and throws an arm around your shoulders. The gesture is a bit possessive for his taste, but knowing what he knows about what the guy’s going to tell you tonight, he can’t help it.

Kun gives Vernon a look, sizing him up as he takes a sip from his own drink. Vernon nearly scoffs.

“Sorry, I went looking for you but I didn’t know where you’d gone off to,” you explain apologetically.

“Jihoon made me keep Soonyoung busy so that he could change the music.” He points at the ceiling as if to prove his point, even though the music was coming from speakers on the walls. You all stop to listen to the Silk Sonic song filtering in from the other room. Vernon turns to you. “Anyway, I don’t mean to interrupt, but could I talk to you for a second?”

Kun can’t even hide the look of annoyance on his face. “We were kind of in the middle of something-”

“Yeah, sure- oh...” you trail off awkwardly. You had spoken at the same time, unintentionally contradicting each other. Vernon has to fight to suppress his smile. “I’ll be right back, Kun,” you say, taking Vernon by the hand to drag him away. “This shouldn’t take long.”

She won’t be back, Vernon thinks to himself as he follows you through the house. Unless you reject him, then you probably will be.

He almost runs into you when you stop in front of Soonyoung’s bedroom door. “Is here good or do we need somewhere more private?”

“Um, it’s still kind of loud out here, do you think we could go in there?”

“Yeah, I’m sure Soonyoung won’t mind.”

The room is unlocked, because of course it is, and you let yourselves inside. Vernon’s surprised to see Soonyoung’s bed is made, but he figures that he must have straightened up because company was coming over.

You take a seat on the floor in front of the bed instead of on it and Vernon joins you, groaning as he struggles to cross his legs.

“So, what’d you need to tell me?” you ask.

He blinks and swallows hard. He wasn’t prepared for this at all. He hadn’t even thought about what to say or how to say it... he honestly thought he would chicken out and let the night play its course without intervening. He had been acting on instinct when he saw you with Kun. Zero thoughts, just action. And now he had you alone and you were looking at him so expectantly and-

“Vernon?”

“Hm?”

“Why’d you want to talk to me? Or were you just trying to be a good friend and get me away from that guy, because I know him and he’s cool. You didn’t have to do that.”

“No, actually I did want to tell you something,” he confesses. “I’m just a little nervous.”

“Oh, is everything okay?”

Vernon takes a deep breath and stares at the floor. “Yeah, um, everything’s fine. Kind of.” He pauses again, hating the way his voice sounds. His words are coming out shaky and uncertain (because they are) and this was not how he pictured this moment going. He sneaks a glance at you and sees your expression soften.

“Take your time,” you whisper, placing your hand over his.

“I just don’t want you to look at me differently,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to... ruin our friendship- god, that sounds so corny.”

“Vernon,” you say his name again, firmer this time to get him to look at you. “I think I know what you’re trying to say.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “You do?”

You nod. “But I still want to hear you say it.”

Vernon groans into his hands. “Why! Do you want me to humiliate myself even more?”

“No, dummy, because I think I deserve to hear it. Don’t you?”

He can’t disagree with that. Even if it means risking the possibility of ruining everything.

“I think you’re really pretty,” he says stupidly, as if that encompasses everything he’s been feeling and thinking about you these past few months.

You blink. “Is that it?”

“NO- sorry, shit. I- that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to. I do think you’re really pretty, though. Obviously. Honestly, I think you’re fucking gorgeous. I think... I think about you in a lot of ways that a friend probably shouldn’t.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What kind of ways?”

“Are you really going to make me say it?” Vernon whines, hoping you can’t see the pink flush of his cheeks in the dark room.

“No,” you relent with a chuckle. “I was just being annoying. But for the record, I also think about you in ways that friends probably shouldn’t.”

“Wait, really?”

“Mhm, do you want to know what kinds of ways?”

Vernon finds himself nodding even though his ears have started ringing and he’s not sure he’ll be able to hear your response. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you like him back.

“Well, for one, I think you look very good in this Spider-man suit,” you say, running your fingers over the lycra.

“You do?”

“It’s been driving me crazy all night,” you admit. “I was going to touch myself to the thought of you in it when I got home tonight.”

“Y-you were?” Vernon is apparently only capable of asking questions at the present moment but you don’t seem to mind.

“I’ve been trying not to stare, but it fits you so well. You picked this on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted me to suffer because you know Spider-man is my favorite.”

“I didn’t think it would be so tight!”

“I’ll pretend to believe you,” you muse, and god, you’re so close to him...Vernon feels like he can’t breathe.

Just like before, he lets his instincts lead him. No thoughts, just action.

He closes his eyes and leans forward, meeting you where you were waiting for him. He presses his lips to yours lightly, savoring the surprised gasp you let out against his mouth. Your lips are so soft, just as soft as the rest of you.

You’re the first to part your lips, inviting Vernon to slip his tongue into your mouth. He’s happy to do so, and he’s even happier when you moan in response.

You start to lean forward, chasing the kiss even though Vernon hasn’t pulled away. It must still not be enough for you because, in the next breath, you stumble to your knees and climb onto his lap.

Vernon’s hands automatically attach themselves to your hips to keep you steady as you straddle him. He shifts you awkwardly on top of him, trying to keep you off of his-

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, freezing in place.

He can’t bring himself to look you in the eye.

Why, god why, did this suit have to be so tight? He should’ve stopped you when you climbed onto his lap. He knows the effect you have on him, of course he’d be hard the second you started kissing him. Hell, he’s been fighting a boner the entire night. Just watching you walk around in your angel outfit was doing it for him.

Sure, you were making out with him, and you’d made that dirty comment earlier, but that didn’t mean you were ready to fuck him. He would never assume that’s where the night was going but you might assume that he was assuming because you can feel how hard his fucking dick is under you...

“Why are you sorry?” you ask softly.

Vernon cringes at himself. “Because,” is all he says before you seem to get it.

“Oh, that. I’m flattered.”

“Stop,” he whines, “I really didn’t mean to. You weren’t supposed to-”

“I know, baby,” you soothe him. Vernon doesn’t get the chance to melt at the pet name you’ve just called him because he’s still mid-panic, but he files it away for later. “But don’t worry. I think it’s really hot.”

“You do?”

You nod. “And I bet if you were able to feel me under my costume too, you’d know that you aren’t alone.”

“Wait, what?” he breathes.

You lean forward again, chest pressed against his, to whisper in his ear. “I’ve been wet since you kissed me. Probably longer.”

You’re smirking when you pull back and Vernon is left to stare at you in shock.

“See for yourself,” you say, repositioning yourself on his lap so that he has access to you. “Touch me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you going to make me beg for it?” you tease. Vernon goes stiff under you again, making you chuckle. “Maybe another time, then? Just slip your fingers under my leotard. I’ve soaked through my tights already.”

“Jesus Christ, I’m going to cum if you keep saying things like that,” he warns you.

“Oh no whatever would we do?” you lament. “You can just get hard again if that happens, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Then come on, touch me. You’ve made me wait long enough.”

“I won’t waste any more time, then,” he assures you, gathering his confidence.

He frees one of his hands by releasing your hip and brings it in between your legs, fingers trailing across your thigh in a way that makes you suck in a sharp breath. He ghosts his fingers over the material of your costume first, deciding it’s only fair to tease you back, at least a little. Then, he wiggles two of them under the elastic hem of your costume, where your hip meets your thigh.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding.”

“I... told you.”

He moves his fingers experimentally, offering you a little friction. “Does that feel good?”

You push yourself into his touch and nod. “Yeah, feels so good.”

“I really want to finger you,” he admits.

“Oh, you do?”

“Is that okay? I mean, can I?”

“Totally, let me just—”

You stand and wiggle out of your tutu, leaving you in your wings, leotard, and tights. The wings go next. You toss them on Soonyoung’s bed and then slip the straps of your leotard off your shoulders. You hesitate, looking a little nervous all of the sudden.

“I’m not wearing a bra under this,” you say. “Is that okay?”

Vernon almost laughs at the perpostuous question but he doesn’t. He almost says ‘are you kidding me, I’ve only been thinking about this exact moment for months now, please take it off,’ but he doesn’t.

“Of course it’s okay,” is what he says instead, like a normal person. “But only if you feel comfortable with that.”

“I do, it’s just… I feel like after this we really won’t be able to go back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Vernon insists. “I want this. I want you.”

That seems to put you at ease. So much so, that you walk back over to where Vernon is still sitting on the floor and lean down to kiss him again.

“You know, you have to take yours off too if you want to finger me,” you point out.

Vernon wiggles his fingers inside the suit’s gloves and grins. “What, you don’t want these inside of you?”

“I don’t particularly want a yeast infection so, no. I don’t. And how are we supposed to do anything else if you’ve got that thing on anyway?”

He pretends to pout. “I thought you liked the suit.”

“I do, but I can’t fuck you in it.” Vernon chokes on his own saliva when you say that but you don’t acknowledge it. “Unless there’s like a zipper for your dick or something?”

“There’s not,” he mumbles hoarsely. “Had to take the whole thing off just to pee.”

“Then off. Unless you don’t want to-”

He’s already up and unzipping the back of the suit.

It’s almost comical, the way you’re both struggling out of your tight costumes on opposite sides of the room. Vernon was able to get the zipper down but getting himself out of the material that clung to him like a second skin is a little more difficult.

On your side, you’re tripping over your tights and shouting expletives to no one in particular.

Finally, you’re both undressed. You’re left in just your panties and Vernon only had his briefs on. He’s usually a boxers guy but the spidey suit had called for something a little more snug.

You meet him back at the foot of the bed, smiling with apprehensive excitement. Immediately, his gaze falls to your boobs. He told himself he wouldn’t stare but god damn it, he’s only human.

Once he’s done being blinded by your tits he takes in all of you. The soft lines and gentle curves of your body. The fullness of your lips. The delicate flutter of your eyelashes.

You still look like an angel in the white panties you’d chosen to wear under your costume— probably so they wouldn’t show through the other material. He could feel how wet you were before but now he can see it. The cotton is completely soaked through, making the white look translucent against you.

“Okay, I know you said you wanted to finger me, but I really want to fuck you.”

Vernon almost chokes again. “What?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

He’s the one to smirk this time, pulling you onto his lap.

“I will fuck you,” he promises, “after I finger you.”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine as he kisses your neck.

“I’ve got to prep you first, baby. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“But you felt how wet I was earlier! I can take it.”

Vernon takes your hand and places it over his bulge, making you gasp. It’s hard to think with your warm hand wrapped around him, even through his underwear, but he pushes through it.

“I’m not trying to brag or be an asshole about it, I swear. It’s just, I really don’t want to hurt you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat.

Vernon resumes kissing your neck as one of his hands travels back in between your thighs. The other rests on your stomach, holding you in place.

He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and teases you some more before finally slipping one of them inside you. You go practically limp in relief and Vernon can’t help but tease you some more.

“You were aching for it, weren’t you?” he coos. You nod. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I tried!”

“Aw, baby. I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

He adds another finger and nips lightly at a spot just beneath your jaw when you sigh happily.

“Can I leave marks?” he asks, praying you’ll say yes because he’s pretty sure that bite will turn into a small bruise.

“Yeah, do whatever you want,” you breathe. “I’ll wear turtlenecks to work. I don’t give a fuck.”

So he sucks at that same spot to make sure there will definitely be a hickey there in the morning. The idea of you walking around with visible proof of what he’s done to you makes Vernon’s cock twitch in his boxers. He sucks another hickey into your skin right below the first one, just for good measure.

“C-can you put another one in?” you plead.

How could he ever say no to you when you look so pretty and you sound so desperate?

He adds a third and finds your clit with his thumb. He tests out a few patterns to see which you like best, settling on the one that has you chanting his name like a prayer. He thinks you might be getting close with the way you’re repeatedly clenching around his fingers but you reach out to stop him just when he has you on the edge.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” you assure him. “I didn’t want to cum yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I want my first time with you to be on your cock,” you explain. “Is that dumb?”

Vernon shakes his head so hard he makes himself dizzy. “No, not at all!”

“Then can we fuck now?”

“Do you think you’re stretched enough?”

“Only one way to find out.”

You had gotten your underwear off and Vernon’s underwear off before realizing you needed a condom. Now you were both searching around Soonyoung’s room for one completely naked.

“Found them!” Vernon exclaims, holding up a handful of assorted contraceptives.

They’d been in the bedside drawer of Soonyoung’s nightstand. Go figure. He lays them out on the bed and sighs loudly.

“Doesn’t he have any normal ones?”

“What do you mean?” you ask and crane your neck to look over Vernon’s shoulder.

“These are all... either flavored or textured! And this one fucking glows in the dark.”

“That could be fun,” you giggle.

“Yeah, I bet you’d love to ride a neon green dick, you little monster fucker.”

“Hey! Now is not the time to use my kinks against me.”

“Sorry, you’re right. But I think I’ll have to indulge that side of you another time when we’re not fucking in one of our best friends’ rooms.”

“Then what about this one?”

“That’s a joke, right?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I’m not trying to kill you.”

“Who thinks of making a peanut butter and jelly flavored condom in the first place?”

“Sick people, that’s who,” you answer, going back to sifting through the pile on the bed.

“I don’t think it’d kill me,” Vernon adds. “It’d probably just make my dick swell up really big- so maybe it wouldn’t be all bad.”

“No, because then we’d have to go to the ER and explain what happened.”

“Here, this one’s probably our best bet.” Vernon holds up the package for you to see. “Do you have any qualms against strawberry?”

“Nope. But it does make me want to suck your dick to see if it actually tastes like strawberry.”

“As much as I’d love that, I definitely won’t last if you do. And I really want to fuck you right now.” You pout. “What if I promise to buy more for us so you can try it another time?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll get a variety pack so you can suck me off to any fruit you want.”

“Wow, such a romantic.”

“You know me,” he jokes.

You gather up the rest of the condoms and deposit them back in the drawer while Vernon rips open the foil and rolls the condom on. He’s still incredibly hard despite the small setback so it goes on without any trouble.

There’s a blanket folded at the end of Soonyoung’s bed that you take and lay out on the floor.

“I wouldn’t want my friends fucking on my bed,” you explain.

“I don’t think he’d care,” Vernon replies. “He’d probably be happy for us. But you’re right, it’s the respectful thing to do.”

The respectful thing to do would be to wait until you get home, but you’ve already made it this far so....

Vernon sits on the floor with his back against the bed. He motions for you do join him and you do, slowly lowering yourself onto his lap. He’s careful to hold you up when he pushes the tip of his cock inside of you. He doesn’t want you to get overwhelmed and accidentally sink all the way down, making it even harder to adjust.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

“Is it too much?”

“N-no, feels good,” you assure him. “You’re just... fucking huge.”

He tries not to smirk when you say that. He knows he isn’t the biggest out there, especially where length is concerned, but he likes to think he’s pretty well off when it comes to girth. That’s why he was so insistent on fingering you before he fucked you. Why you’re having trouble taking just the tip. It’s certainly a stroke to his ego. Although, his ego might also be shattered in a few seconds if you don’t stop clenching around the head of his cock.

“Take some deep breaths,” Vernon tries, using one of his hands to rub your back soothingly.

It’s ironic coming from him, the guy who could barely flirt with you without having an existential crisis.

But it seems to help because he feels you relax, some of the tension easing from your form. You sink down a little further, biting your lip to stifle any involuntary noises you might make. You’re so wet, so unbelievably turned on, your arousal is literally dripping down the shaft of Vernon’s cock, but you’re still struggling to fit him.

“Are you still okay? We can stop if it’s hurting.”

You shake your head stubbornly. “No, I want to keep going.”

“Okay, well take your time. We’re not in a rush.”

“You might not be,” you mutter, “but I’m impatient.”

Vernon laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, baby, just take it easy. You’re doing so good for me.”

He cranes his neck to kiss you, pulling your bottom lip from between your teeth with his own. Again, you relax a little more.

“Can you-” you start to ask, still kissing him.

He pulls away to be able to hear you. “Hm?”

“Can you rub my clit? I think that’ll help... oh, fuck.”

“There we go, angel. My angel.”

His words make you moan and arch your back which pushes your tits into his face. Instinctively, he takes one of them into his mouth, using his free hand to play with the other. He works his tongue around your nipple, feeling the other harden against his palm.

“God, Vernon,” you mumble, “can I please move?”

He releases your boobs to nod and answer you. “Fuck yes.”

He has to close his eyes as you start to bounce on his cock because it already feels too good. Seeing your face contorted in pleasure would make him lose it.

Then, there’s movement from outside the door, footsteps. Both of you freeze. Vernon’s eyes fly open to see yours wide with panic. He puts a finger to his lips and you nod in understanding.

He can’t tell how many voices are in the hall, nor can he tell what they’re talking about, but he knows they’re right outside because he can see silhouettes of their shoes blocking the light coming in from under the door.

It’s almost impossible for the two of you to stay still. You’re still so goddamn tight around his cock. And you’re still so fucking warm and wet and your cunt is pulsing around him uncontrollably-

Vernon whimpers. He fucking whimpers into your shoulder and you hear it. He can’t even focus on being mortified because he has to put all of his focus into not rutting into you and not cumming super fucking fast.

He needs whoever’s outside to leave and he needs them to leave now. Thankfully, they must hear his internal pleas- or maybe they heard his external whimper, because the voices disappear down the hall a couple of beats later.

He lets out a sigh of relief thinking he’s in the clear when he hears you sniffle, almost like you’re crying... then he jerks his head up to see that’s exactly what’s happening and panics.

“Oh my god, what’s wrong? What hurts?” He’s frantic, hands all over you.

“Nothing hurts-”

“Don’t lie to me! You’re crying! Here, lift up. I’m so sorry-”

“Vernon!” you shout.

“What!”

“I wasn’t lying.”

He cocks his head to the side, trying to understand. “But...”

“It just happens sometimes. It’s involuntary but it means I’m feeling good. I promise.”

“This has happened to you before?”

“Yeah, mostly when I’m alone.”

He wants to know more. Wants to know what it is that triggers it. But now isn’t exactly the best time so he files the questions away for later and concentrates on... making you cry harder.

It doesn’t take him long to figure out that he actually really likes watching you cry (in this context specifically). He’s never elicited such an extreme reaction from someone before.

He catches a tear on his thumb and sucks it off, making your hips stutter. You cup his face and kiss him hard. It’s messy and salty and Jesus Christ, Vernon has never been so hard in his fucking life.

“I’m close,” you warn him.

“Thank god,” he laughs, kissing you again.

He starts rubbing your clit to help you get there and you’re falling apart in a matter of seconds. You bite his shoulder to muffle a scream as you cum, sending him over the edge with you.

You’re both breathless when you finally come down from your highs. Your legs are shaky as you climb off of his lap. They’re still trembling when you collapse next to him on the blanket.

“Shit, that was good.”

“Yeah? Wanna go again?”

“Of course.”

“Give me like... ten minutes,” Vernon sighs as he lays down beside you. “Maybe fifteen.”

You laugh. “But doesn’t Spider-man have a super short refractory period?”

He gives you a look. “Not in this universe.”

happy birthday bestie i hope you enjoyed mwah <3

forever tags: @haven-cove @tantofaz123-blog @lee-hjyjn @ateez-star @baesgyus @likexaxdaydream @sunniesoobin @thefairwhitelight @pretty-thoughts @yutayoongi @hoe4wonwoo @yeostars @i-might-be-in-love-with-hao @camrenrodrigoswift1 @nichobins @bfwonu @arikimtanapon @ammcg0119 @redspider267 @fwess @horangipowerr @soobzao @kuleo26 @k00kiemonster99 @poutypoutybin @jeonghanspinkhair @jadiekinzz @yo0nspoon @djj6112 @drama-1998-girl @5xiang @yeritheloml @slut4seokjin @nc-teen @jungkookswife24069 @tannieflix @romromthedeer @urvashi435 @aurumness @sunghoonth @y00nzin0 @ksy-horanghae @haogyuslut @crushonwoo @rinshabitat @ivivz @cixrosie @princessofallthatsweird @friseealamode @candidupped @joshuahongnumbers @bxby-bloom @guavagyu @enhacolor @zhangyixingxing1 @foxdaisy @emotionalwreckkk @imonanotherlebel @vern0nsworld @cyjsfairy @jihoonliker @freakyfriedrice @yeosayang @myaerii @lenireads @itbtoblikethatsometimes @vernonburger @soonhoonietrash @tinkerbell460 @shmoooooo @tweetiebirb @junhui-recs @sluttywoozi @aishidaishi @sieunflrtz @laylasbunbunny @niyuzh @nanaspalette

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#too close #seventeen smut #svt smut #vernon smut #vernon chwe smut #hansol smut #hansol chwe smut #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #vernon x female reader #hansol x reader

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wazzi2ya · 2 months

Text

This was supposed to be short, and it turned into...lemme get a word counter here...2k+ words.

Managed to get something done from this post, so here we go. Let's hope I can keep the streak up but tbh I start work on monday so who knows lmao.

Anyway here goes:

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

The princess had invited everyone out for dinner. One of those ritzy places only Overlords and higher ranking demons like the Deadly Sins and Ars Goetia were allowed to even approach.

Husk had been to one, exactly once, when he was in his full power. He'd been invited by the Von Eldritch patriarch to talk business. He'd been impressed by Husk's main casino and wanted to invest in a new one near his own territory.

He'd never finished closing the deal, as the high of overconfidence the proposition gave him had led him to go on a betting spree. Now, he wasn't the Gambling Demon for nothing. He'd won every game that week, big or small.

Up until Alastor showed up, and the rest was history.

"Motherfucker cheated me in my own game." Husk grumbled under his breath, finishing fixing his tie in front of the mirror. He'd chosen to forgo the usual bow-tie in favor of something half the hotel wouldn't be wearing, for once. He wasn't exactly happy with it, though. The half-Windsor knot was relatively easy, but his huge paws and claws were not cooperating. It lay a bit crooked, not enough to be glaringly noticeable, but anyone experienced could see it a mile away.

Giving up, and thinking Charlie should be glad he's wearing a shirt at all with how much trouble he went through finding something that fit his wings, he opted to grab his dark grey jacket and wait for everyone else at the lobby.

On his way down, he passed by Angel's room, the bright pink hearts adorning it hurting his sensitive eyes. He tried to hurry past to avoid getting the neon shapes burned into his retina, when he heard something crashing into the floor from inside the room, followed by loud cursing and the squealing of Fat Nuggets.

Husk usually minded his own business, but knowing Angel, this could mean anything from a particularly nasty text from Valentino, to having smashed his pinky toe--did he even have toes? Angel wasn't very keen on showing anyone his feet--on a table. Both things could potentially make everyone late if Angel got caught up stewing in his anger.

Steadying himself, Husk knocked quietly on the door. Once. Twice. And waited.

The door swung open a second later, Angel standing in front of him in only a pair of black shorts and long fuzzy pink socks. He looked mad, but his frown softened a notch after seeing it was him.

"Oh, Husky, hi." Angel leaned on the door frame, arms crossing under his chest fluff to make it look bigger. Husk rolled his eyes internally. Most likely something Angel did on instinct at this point. "Can I, uh, can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can tell me what the hell is going on in there that even your pig is screaming." Husk raised an eyebrow, noticing how Angel started to flush under the fur. It was one of the things he couldn't hide with how brightly colored his fur was; the red shone right through.

"Ah, nothing to concern yourself with, don't worry." Angel cleared his throat, trying to use his taller body to block the view of his room. Unfortunately for him, he was thin as a rake and it was very easy for Husk to use his aforementioned sensitive feline eyes to see into the dimly lit room.

A lamp was on the floor, not broken thanks to the fluffy rug covering half of the room, but the bedside table it had been on was askew as well. The vanity mirror right next to it had a few bottles knocked over both on the table and the floor right below. He could see what was most likely Angel's outfit for the night hanging on the door of his closet, something flowy and shiny that he couldn't deduce the shape of just by looking.

What he could recognize was the simple corset laying on the bed, the same lilac shade as the dress.

He was no detective, but Husk could put two and two together.

"Having trouble with anything?" He nodded his chin at the mess inside. "Maybe something getting you a bit tangled up?"

Angel batted a hand at him, clicking his tongue. "Spiders don't get 'tangled up', baby." He looked back inside slowly, biting his lip in consideration. All three pairs of arms were out and crossed, all right hands tapping different rhythms on his opposing elbows. "'Though...if you don't mind lending one of them nice hands of yours..."

Husk had to laugh. "That's gotta be the first time anyone calls them 'nice'." He wiggled his fingers, showing off the dangerous claws he sported. Angel seemed entranced, following the movement closely. "But sure, show me the problem."

Angel snapped out of it, stepping to the side to let him in. Fat Nuggets was sitting on his doggie bed by the corner, but it was clean and almost new; a good sign the piglet spend more time sleeping with Angel in his bed. Whatever had spooked him earlier--likely the falling lamp--clearly wasn't bothering him anymore. He oinked excitedly and rushed to Husk, tapping at the ground with his little hoof, asking to be picked up.

Husk conceded, hanging his jacket on the door knob and quickly lifting him to drop a kiss on his snout before setting him back down on Angel's bed. He swiped the discarded corset off the sheets and turned to Angel, who was silently staring at him with shining eyes after the brief interaction with his pet. "Alright then, get over here."

Angel got there quickly, his long strides making short work of the length of the room. He sat on the velvet stool in front of the vanity, lifting his arms to allow Husk to slide the laced up corset into place. He had to pop in the two lower pairs of arms, as this specific corset didn't have an extra opening for more than the usual.

"I see." Husk chuckled. It was easier to guess now what had happened. "Not used to the lack of extra hands for this kinda job?" He asked, expertly centering the garment in a way it would fit properly when standing, while being comfortable when sitting. He started pulling at the lace in each segment, alternating the top and bottom, slowly tightening it up towards the center.

"Couldn't find a pair in this color that would fit me like that" Angel huffed, blowing at the tuft of hair falling on his face. "The lace got all knotted up and I've spent the last ten minutes setting it back right. Pulled too hard on one and my hand slipped; ended up knocking over half my shit on the floor." He fell silent as he felt the corset cinching around his waist, perfectly in place in record time. "You're good at this. Any dark past you're hiding from me, Kitty?" He teased, standing up to check himself out in the mirror.

"Had some dancing shows in my casino a few years back. Wasn't unusual that they needed help getting ready and I just happened to be near." Husk said, falling back to sit at the edge of the bed next to Fat Nuggets.

Angel hummed as he slipped the dress off the hanger. "Lucky them." He grinned, twirling his pointy finger in circles in the air. "Now, now Husky, I can't put this on with these shorts, so if you don't mind~"

Husk rolled his eyes for real this time, but complied and turned around, sitting cross-legged on the bed as he faced the back wall. Angel hummed as he got ready, and Husk could hear the swishing of the fabric as he got dressed.

"Mind helping me with this too, baby?"

Husk looked back over his shoulder, only to freeze when he found Angel sitting on the stool again, his back to him as he finished tying up the halter top behind his neck. The zipper on the back was open, and it started low enough that Angel couldn't reach it without at least his middle arms, which were hidden away due to lack of accommodating space in the attire.

Husk stood, stumbling a bit as he tripped on his own feet. His tail was swishing as he walked up to Angel, pupils considerable dilated even for the dimness of the room. He couldn't explain why, but he had no problem seeing or even touching a near naked Angel.

But to see him almost completely dressed up, with only the small detail of an unzipped dress over his half-bared back...it twisted a knot in his throat.

Angel had a long torso, so if he didn't get his clothes made to fit, then he'd adapt what he could find. The corset was off the rack, so it was too short for him and he used it mostly to accentuate his waist. It ended below his chest, leaving his upper back exposed, which worked perfectly for this specific dress. In Husk's opinion it worked way better as an eye-catcher than the usual shorter, more revealing attires Angel would wear to work or for casual days out with Cherri.

When so little was on display, it almost made him want to reach out a hand and...

"I never really wear this one." Angel spoke suddenly, making Husk jump as he was snapped out of his haze. "It's a hassle when I'm alone, even without the damn corset."

Husk hummed, placing a hand carefully on Angel's exposed bit of back to keep him sitting straight. A shiver ran down Angel's spine and made Husk chuckle. "Pity. It's a nice dress. The color suits you well."

Angel laughed breathily, shifting a bit in his seat as Husk grabbed the delicate zipper and slowly dragged it up, the dull side of his claws running up his lower back over the shiny satin. "Aw, you sayin' there's something that don't suit me, babycakes?"

"You know that won't work on me" Husk said softly, his voice low and gravelly resonating like a beating drum within Angel's rib cage, in tandem with the quickening beating of his heart. "But no, I don't think there's anything that won't suit you." He finished fastening the small clasp right above where the zipper ended, and ran the back of his hand down Angel's back to flatten the fabric in place.

Angel gasped quietly at the feeling, holding his breath for a few seconds before releasing it slowly. He stood up, the fabric of the skirt falling like water around his legs. A slit running up his left thigh to the hip showed his leg, and Husk grinned at the sight of the fuzzy pink sock he still had on, clashing completely with the rest of the outfit.

"I'll let you finish getting ready then." He pointed at the sock with his chin, smile widening when Angel realized he still had them on. Angel puffed his cheeks and moved the skirt to cover his leg. Husk laughed and was about to turn to leave, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him in place.

"Not so fast." Angel's voice called him back, and when he turned to face him, he was standing right there, bent at the hip thanks to the corset. He brought the other hand to Husk's other shoulder, dragging both together down his chest. "Lemme help ya a bit, too."

Husk felt more than saw Angel untying his tie, making quick work of fixing it into a perfect full Windsor. Or at least that's what it seemed. He was too busy noticing the subtle makeup Angel had applied before getting dressed. It was barely there, so he hadn't seen it before, but the dark eyeliner making his eyes look sharper and the hint of clear lip gloss were all he could see now.

Angel wasn't even looking at him, eyes focused on fixing his tie and straightening up his shirt, even going as far as tucking it in better in his pants. There wasn't the slightest hint of sexual intent in the gesture; it was actually strangely domestic.

"That style goes better with your shirt. You got a jacket?" Angel asked, and Husk wordlessly turned back to the door, where he'd left it hanging from the knob once he entered the room. Angel huffed and checked it for wrinkles, brushing some fuzz off the shoulders. He was about to hand it over when he paused, and quickly draped it over his own shoulders like a cape, checking himself out in his mirror and chuckling before finally giving it back. "Well, what do you know? Looks good like this too."

Husk accepted it silently, letting it hang from his forearm as he followed Angel to the door. Angel's perfume wafting from the garment and into his nose.

"Thanks, Husk." Angel smiled at him, something small and sincere, and Husk felt his heart skip a beat at the lack of any nickname for him. "I'll see you downstairs?"

"Sure." He hesitated for a moment, an aborted step to the side as he almost went on his way before catching himself. He grabbed Angel's hand and brought it to his face, kissing his knuckles quickly before hightailing it out of there, practically flying down the flights of stairs to the lobby.

Angel's hand remained where Husk had released it, hanging in midair as he stared at the spot Husk had been a second before. He brought his hand to his chest, biting his cheek to keep the stupid grin that wanted to overtake his face.

He turned back inside and closed the door. He still had to finish getting ready.

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Angel's dress is something like this but lilac, with the back starting a bit higher to cover up the corset. He's a long boy, it'd work anyway, ha.

Might post this to ao3 as well, for clout lmao.

Anyway, I'll see if I can do something more with prompts later, byeeee.

#hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #angelhusk

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 7 months

Text

Chaotic Dumbassery (Soft Yandere!Friend x Thembo!Reader)

I know I haven't been working on people's submissions, prioritizing kinktober, but I'm having a really tough time and need some light humor in my life

GN!Reader, mild manipulation, mostly fluff ❤️

Hughie was labeled as a "genius" early on in his childhood. At the age of five his parents were already discussing with the local elementary school about starting him off in a higher grade. Despite all of the praises Hughie received from adults, their compliments felt hollow, and the more they pushed him to accelerate his growth realize his potential, the further he felt isolated from the people around him. Emotionally, it was like being trapped as an exhibit in a zoo. They all smiled down at him and cooed, but he could not feel them.

Then, Hughie met (Reader).

Wasting his summer before school began, his parents inside speaking to teachers about letting Hughie skip kindergarten, no one noticed when he slipped out, wandering the empty halls to the playground, where surprisingly a child was playing in the dirt with their parent sitting nearby.

Fat little fingers were poking into the dirt beneath a tree, filling the holes with seeds. Hughie often had no problem speaking to adults, but he didn't have many opportunities to interact with other kids his own age. Nervous to the point of nausea, he approached the kid, gripping his ugly grey polo aggressively enough to stretch out the shirt.

"What are you doing?"

The kid covered in dirt wearing a pizza sauce stained Batman shirt looked up at Hughie with excitement so powerful he could physically feel it burning his face like sun beams. "Planting bird seeds!"

"Oh. Why?"

"To grow birds. Duh." They went back to poking holes and planting the seeds.

The little boy with black curly hair was shocked. He didn't know everything about reproduction, but he knew that birds came from eggs. It was the first time he had ever heard something so preposterous, and it kind of stupefied him. Crouching down to get closer to the strange little kid, Hughie felt star struck. "I don't think that's how birds are made."

"Yuh-huh! Whenever Granny throws seeds out, birds grow, and then in the morning they fly away "

"I think they eat the seeds.."

(Reader's) eyes went wide, dropping their fistful of bird food while whipping around to face Hughie. "Huh?"

"Birds come from eggs."

Standing up quickly, Hughie could see that the kid's knees were covered in bandaids, something he never really needed. They looked down at him like he just told them that Santa wasn't real. "What?!" Before he could reiterate his answer Hughie's arm was grabbed by the much stronger stranger, dragging him over towards the woman sitting on the bench. "Mom!"

"Yes?" The woman smiled with heavy, exhausted eyes.

"Do birds come from eggs?!"

"Yes? Why?"

(Reader) dropped Hughie's hand, their brain malfunctioning under the new information. Hughie started to worry that maybe he had upset them, that maybe he shouldn't have told them the truth, when they suddenly grabbed him by his shoulders, violently shaking him. "What is your name, smarty pants?!"

"Hu-Hughie!" The wild swaying of his head affecting his speech.

"I'm (Reader)! You wanna go catch crickets?"

"Sure-"

"Hughie!" His father's voice cut him off, the smartly dressed man finally finding his son and descending onto the playground. "Don't disappear like that."

"I'm sorry."

"Let's go back inside. The teachers have some questions for you." He said excitedly, motioning towards the school.

Hughie felt a sense of dread. He was smart, really smart, which meant that he knew if he passed the tests waiting for him, he wouldn't be able to be in a class with kids his own age. Which meant that he wouldn't be able to make friends.

"No."

Hughie latched onto (Reader), and decided to act his own age.

"I want to go catch crickets with (Reader)!"

"Yeah!" (Reader) replied, glaring up at the stranger as sassily as a five year old could.

Although that interaction ended with (Reader's) mother apologizing, holding back her child from kicking the man in his shins, and Hughie's father carrying him kicking and crying up to the classroom, it was ended in Hughie's favor. He purposely failed his tests, and when school started up, he was placed in the same kindergarten as (Reader).

The two became inseparable, much to his parents' dismay.

It only got worse as they got older, and even the teachers took notice of Hughie's "double life".

By the last year of middle school, Hughie already proved himself smart enough to get his GED and be enrolled in any university of his choice. But (Reader) didn't know that.

Hughie's mother sighed heavily, finding (Reader) on her doorstep. Hey disdain for the teenager wasn't concealed in the slightest, but it didn't phase (Reader).

"Mornin', Mrs. G! I'm here to pick up the H-bomb."

"I could drive you two." She grimaced. "It's dangerous for two children to walk to school."

"Oh, we won't be walking." (Reader) smiled.

Hughie rushed past his mom, smiling just as brightly as (Reader). "'Sup!"

"Please let me drive you-"

"Bye Mom!" Hughie cut her off, giving her a warning glance before bouncing back to his reflection of (Reader's) joyful attitude. "Let's go, (Reader)."

The two friends ran down to (Reader's) homemade "scooter", an extra wide plank of thin wood with wheels screwed on, painted with flames. It was made by (Reader) and their mom to have enough space for at least three teenagers to comfortably ride, four if they squish together tightly and held on for dear life. It was a hazard, and Hughie loved it.

He loved everything about (Reader), actually. Since he began purposefully fucking up his grades just enough to never get moved up, he had made a good friend group, a group a guys that were a lot of fun to get into trouble with, but his best friend was (Reader). Many people joked that the two were already an old married couple, which (Reader) leaned into, completely unaware of Hughie's feelings. It was strange. And he couldn't explain it to anyone.

(Reader) was his best friend; a sibling; a partner in crime; and someone Hughie recently found himself wanting to kiss silly.

They rode down the sidewalk at top speeds, bumping over rocks dangerously. Hughie wanted to wrap his arms around their waist but couldn't until they picked up their other buds. They stopped by Brody's house, watching him run away from his wooden spoon wielding Grandma, then at Everett's, which finally allowed Hughie the excuse of hugging (Reader). It didn't matter if Brody clung to him similarly; just as long as he was the only one holding (Reader).

The four idiots of Jackson Middle School traveled faster than any of the cooler students on skateboards, speeding recklessly with the force of four teenagers pushing the wooden beast.

Teachers and parents gave disapproving sneers as they barely stopped in time to prevent themselves from crashing into the arriving school buses. Mr. Stone especially.

(Reader) dragged the transportation over to the bicycle rack laughing with Hughie over the fear in the bus driver's eyes when they nearly collided into the side of the bus.

"I don't know why she was so mad, it's not like we were gonna damage the bus!" Brody loudly complained, arms behind his head.

No, it was because we could have gotten hurt. Hughie smiled, not voicing his thoughts out loud. (Reader) wouldn't have this kind of fun with him if they knew that this wasn't his real personality. Calm and studious, Hughie naturally didn't enjoy being outside. He was a nerd at heart, and would prefer reading in solitude to participating in sports. But he would do anything to spend more time with (Reader).

Mr. Stone appeared before the quartet, smiling tightly. "May I have a word, Mr. Gressler?"

(Reader) stuck a finger in their nose. "Huh? He's not on the clock yet."

Everett rolled back his shoulders too try to look bigger. "Yeah, we haven't had breakfast yet."

"I'll catch up with you guys." Hughie waved at them, shooing them away. They left for the cafeteria, still making snarky remarks towards their teacher.

As soon as they were out of sight Hughie's face changed, losing all of his good humor and patience. "What did you want to talk about, Mr. Stone." His teacher's name tasted bitter, so he spit it out.

"Let's go to the principal's office."

They quickly walked through the halls, irritating Hughie. He knew what this was about, and he wasn't interested in the slightest.

Once inside the office, Mr. Stone closed the door, trapping Hughie inside with the grinning older Principal Wells. "Please, have a seat, Hughie." She offered politely.

"No thanks. I need to go to breakfast, so I'd like to make this quick." His hands were in his pockets, and his body leaning on one leg, emphasizing his boredom.

Mr. Stone cleared his throat. "We've been talking about moving your classes around.."

"Why?" His cracking voice snapped.

"We've noticed that.. I believe that your friends aren't the best influence on you." Stone took a deep breath, looking to the principal for assistance.

"After speaking to your teachers I learned that you do exceptionally well when you aren't paired up with one of your friends. If it's a test, or a solo project, your work is incredible. No matter what the subject is, you exceed in every class.. but when you have a project you have to present to a class, in your classes you have with a student named (Reader), you disrupt the day by presenting very odd topics. And when you work with (Reader), you mess around the entire time or create chaos." The principal was referring to two specific instances; Hughie's presentation on how WW2 was responsible for the creation of hentai, and the science fair project he worked on with (Reader) trying to prove that Birds weren't real. Both times he chose the topics just to see (Reader's) face light up.

"Hugh, you're an incredibly bright young man. We want to see you excel." Mr. Stone pleaded.

"I'm not moving up. I'm staying in my classes. We haven't caused any major disruptions that could have interfered with other students learning, and may I remind you that we both got an A minus on that science fair project?" He turned to leave, done with dealing with adults he knew he was smarter than. "And if you move around my classes, I'll go to the superintendent, and the school board. You're discriminating against my fellow students because you believe them to be stupid."

"We never said-"

"I'm not an idiot. They're bad examples on me because we have fun? That isn't the argument you think it is."

"Mr. Gressler, come back here-"

"Unless I'm in trouble, then no. You aren't allowed to prevent me from having breakfast. And if you continue I'll call my mother." Hughie was cold, indifferent. He knew what they were saying, but it was the exact same shit he'd been hearing since he was three years old. He's special, so he's not allowed to act his age.

He left the office and stomped towards the cafeteria. He knew they wouldn't stop embarrassing themselves, but he also refused to back down.

Inside the lunch hall, (Reader) was having a battle with the boys, construction French toast sticks into action figures with pretzel sticks. The sight of (Reader) focused on the fight made Hughie feel funny, releasing an eruption of butterflies. It was okay if he continued lying to his friends, because he could continue playing with them like this.

"Dude, I got you some!" (Reader) held out a plate. They had no idea how much Hughie loved them.

His smile fell, feeling suddenly very hot.

"Dude, you okay?" Everett asked out of concern. "Did you get in trouble or something?"

Hughie couldn't answer, taking the plate silently while avoiding eye contact. Quickly shoving in pretzel crackers like nails, he constructed his own breakfast warrior. "FEEL MY WRATH, LOSERS!"

The friends instantly forgot about their worrying, watching as Hughie's creation punched (Reader's) creation's head off.

It was okay if Hughie kept pretending to be a dumbass, because it was more fun that way. He would gladly sacrifice his entire future to fuck around with (Reader) for the rest of his life. He could see himself, in the future, sharing an apartment with his three amigos, working at some dead end job, playing video games every night after work. It would be better than if he went off to some college and became a lawyer.

If only he could ignore the erratic beating of his heart.

#soft yandere #gn reader #yandere fluff #yandere x reader #bad writing #not proofread #i just need to smile

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