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beyondthesefourwalls · 8 months

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And You Will Find Me

Summary: The last thing Bradley expected when he was assigned to the unofficial “singles without a plus one” table at an old friend’s wedding was to meet who he thinks might just be the love of his life. But that’s exactly what happened.

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader (no use of y/n) (can be read as Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin from RYEWID, but not necessary to read that first)

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: Language, fluff, love at first sight.

Notes: Written for @roosterforme's ‘80s Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge, and as part of The Forgotten Moments Collection, but can very much be read by itself. Song selection is Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper.

The Forgetful Boy and Pumpkin first meeting one shot that I’ve been wanting to write since I referenced it in part three of RYEWID. The fact that I could do it for a challenge for one of my favorite people makes it even more exciting for me.

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Bradley Bradshaw: Table Four

He grabbed the gold trimmed cardstock with his name on it, sipping on a glass of bourbon as he made his way into the reception hall. It didn’t take long to find his placement with the elaborate centerpieces displaying calligraphic numbers.

There were only two open seats left at the table, which was occupied by a group of people who were all staring down at their phones. He glanced around the rest of the venue, seeing all of the other tables bustling with conversation and laughter. He raised his eyebrows in surprise at the awkward silence that seemed to hang over this one in particular. No one seemed to know each other, and it didn’t look like they planned to make any effort to change that.

He groaned to himself and wondered, not for the first time, why he had thought attending this wedding was a good idea.

He hadn’t seen Sean in years, and had never even met Lucy. The two had been roommates for two years at UVA and had somewhat kept up with each other over the years, if only barely. They had always joked about how on the off chance either of them got married, they’d make each other's guest list. Bradley had laughed when he got the invite in the mail. He had waited until the last minute to send in the RSVP, but had ultimately decided why not? He wouldn’t know anyone there, and hadn’t managed to find a date in time, but he hadn’t been to Philly in way too long. He’d make a quick weekend out of it and see an old friend.

He hadn’t realized until he got into town how awkward going to a wedding on his own would be.

He sat in one of the empty seats, nodding to the guy on his right who forced a smile that looked just as awkward as it felt before turning his attention back to his phone.

Bradley was glad he had thought to refill his drink before cocktail hour ended.

He was scrolling through his phone when he saw a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye at the same time the seat next to him was pulled back.

He glanced up briefly to offer a quick smile to the new arrival and looked back down at his emails, only to do the quickest double take of his life. His breath caught in his throat and he swore his heart stopped, only to start again three times faster.

Holy hell.

“Is anyone sitting here?” you asked, and Bradley had to blink a few times before he realized you were talking to him, because your voice was mesmerizing.

“All yours,” he managed to say. He would have winced at how his voice cracked if he wasn’t trying to remember how to breathe. You offered a warm smile as you gracefully sat down. You were a vision in a long sleeve, burnt orange dress that looked like it would be silky to the touch. When he glanced down, he had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop from groaning when he saw the slit going up the side and the nude heels on your feet. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and you were sitting beside him fiddling awkwardly with your place card as he stared at you.

“I’m Bradley,” he finally managed to introduce himself, extending a hand out. You looked at him in surprise.

“Oh! Hi.” You took his hand with a soft, gentle grip, your eyes locking onto his as a spark went through his whole body. Your eyes widened a fraction and he wondered if you felt it, too. He almost didn’t catch your name when you said it because he was so distracted by the feeling. “So, bride or groom?”

“What?”

You laughed softly, and he worried about going into cardiac arrest at the sound. “Are you here for the bride, or for the groom? I assume since you’re at this table it’s either one or the other and not both.”

“This table?”

You glanced around at your other tablemates, still busy with doing everything they could not to make eye contact with anyone else. Then you leaned closer to him, and he couldn’t help but do the same. You whispered to him like you were sharing something salacious. “The singles table. The ones who came alone and who wouldn’t know anyone else, and who they’re kind of surprised RSVP’d ‘yes’ to begin with.”

Bradley let out a loud laugh, and you giggled right along with him. The sound was like music. It earned you both curious and maybe even annoyed looks from all those at your table. He hadn’t considered that before, but now that he thought about it, you were absolutely right.

“Groom,” He replied, “College roommates. You?”

“Bride,” you told him. “Ironically, also college roommates.”

“Well would you look at that,” Bradley smirked, and he knew the amusement that sparkled in your eye was mirrored in his.

He was interrupted from saying anything else from the DJ tapping on the microphone to formally start the reception. As the bridal party danced their way into the room to Celine Dion, he kept stealing glances at you. To his pleasure, you were stealing them right back. By the time Sean and Lucy were seated at the front table and the DJ announced that dinner would be served momentarily, Bradley could barely look away. There was a smile on your face that indicated you didn’t mind at all.

It continued that way through the meal that was eventually placed on the table. You didn’t speak much as you ate, both of you feeling like you were disrupting the other six people spread out on either side. But you kept catching each other’s eyes and smiling before you looked away, and his cheeks were nearly hurting at how big his smile was.

Fuck.

Bradley barely even knew your name, and he was already down bad.

You leaned over to him during the speeches that started immediately after dinner, and he caught another whiff of your perfume. He tried his best not to noticeably take a deep breath of the scent. “Do we think the best man is already drunk?”

“Oh, he absolutely is,” he confirmed. The man in question was laughing hysterically at a joke he just told, already swaying on his feet. “I saw him throwing back an entire flask right before the ceremony.”

Your nose scrunched up in the most adorable cringe he had ever seen. “Yikes. I don’t really blame him though. The maid of honor is his ex-fiance. I’m pretty sure she left him for groomsman number three, but I can’t confirm.”

He looked at you with wide, curious eyes. “Did Lucy tell you that?”

“No,” you laughed, mindful of keeping your voice down to not draw any attention to yourselves as the slurred speeches continued. “I drove up last night and then was bored before the ceremony today. Social media is very informative, you know.”

Bradley choked out a laugh, absolutely amazed at you. “Are you a private investigator or something?” he asked, genuinely curious.

You picked up your wine glass with a smirk, and you winked at him before you took a sip. “A journalist, actually. But close enough.”

A journalist. Bradley filed that information away in a new folder in his brain that had your name on it.

Clapping drew his gaze away from you, and he realized he had completely shut out the rest of the speech. He cleared his throat and joined in, and the two of you watched as the bride and groom did their first dance. It felt like it lasted forever, but that was probably because he was itching for it all to be over so that he could talk to you again. He wanted to know more about you. In fact, he found that he wanted to know everything about you.

Everyone clapped again when the dance came to an end, and Bradley was turning to you before the DJ even finished announcing the beginning of the party.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, and he thought the look you gave him was a mix between delighted and amused. Your eyes cut to your mostly empty wine glass where he could very much see exactly what you had been sipping on. He felt heat creep up his cheeks in embarrassment.

“White wine,” you said anyway. “What are you drinking?”

He fought the grin that was threatening to take over his face. You were keeping him on his toes, and he found he quite liked it. “Bourbon.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m about due for a refill.”

“Is that so?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. You glanced around the table where the other occupants were back to scrolling through their phones or focusing on anything that wasn’t another human being. He almost laughed at the look on your face when you turned back to him. You grabbed your clutch from the table and the two of you rose out of your seats at the same time without even having to say anything.

“After you,” he grinned, and your smile made him dizzy. He ordered another whiskey while you got Pinot Grigio. He laughed when you told him you weren’t allowed another glass, because too much white wine apparently made for a very interesting night. He filed that little tidbit away, too.

With fresh drinks in hand, you turned to walk back to your assigned seating. The lights had dimmed and the music had turned to something upbeat and very cliche, and the majority of the attendees had converged on the dancefloor. You navigated around them carefully. His hand hovered over your lower back, not quite touching, but wanting to. You drew to a stop when you were only a few feet from the table, your head tilted to the side.

“I hate being seated at these tables,” you muttered. “Always makes me feel like maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

Bradley had been thinking the same thing until you had sat down beside him and shook his hand. He couldn’t help but flex his fingers as he remembered how his skin had buzzed at your touch. He glanced around the whole venue again, not quite knowing what he was looking for until he caught sight of the patio through the large windows.

“Do you want to ditch and go outside with me?” he found himself asking before he could stop himself. He held his breath when your eyes snapped to his, slightly wide in surprise. But they softened quickly, and you nodded, tucking some of your hair behind your ear with your free hand.

He held out an arm, and after only a moment of hesitation, you slipped yours into it. He almost felt like he was floating as he guided the two of you toward the open doors.

The patio was decorated beautifully. It stretched almost the entire length of the building, and twinkle lights lined the ceiling and the pillars holding it up. Smaller tables and furniture were spread out amongst the concrete and the two of you settled into the soft cushions of one of the outdoor coaches.

It was a mild night, even for early February in Philadelphia, and the heat coming from the fire pit in the middle of the table in front of you was enough for it to be comfortable. You sat in silence for a beat, but it wasn’t awkward. Your fingers danced over the rim of your wine glass and Bradley’s gaze followed as you brought it to your lips. You caught his eye as you swallowed, and he felt the heat creep onto his cheeks at being caught staring at you again.

He cleared his throat, taking a sip of his own drink to gather himself. “So. A journalist. What do you write about?”

“The hypocrisy of old men, mostly,” you shrugged, and Bradley’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You laughed at his expression. “I cover politics,” you explained. Your joke registered with the context and he chuckled.

“So just how hypocritical are the old men of Philadelphia?” he asked, and you seemed delighted that he was going along with it.

“Eh,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Very, I’m sure. But I cover Washington, which is definitely worse. I live in DC.”

Bradley’s breath caught in his throat. Excited disbelief had his eyes widening. There was no way. In the back of his mind he had admittedly already been thinking of how often he could feasibly make the drive from Andrews to Philly, because he knew he had to see you again. Tonight couldn’t be the only time, not with how he was feeling and how he was pretty sure you were, too.

“Small world,” he finally managed, trying to keep his voice steady despite his racing heart, and now your eyes were widening back. The happiness in them was hard to miss, and, holy shit, you were excited about this. He felt the urge to pinch himself.

“You live in DC?”

“I’m at Naval Air Facility Washington doing extended training at Joint Base Andrews,” he told you, still in a bit of disbelief, but feeling giddy.

“Ah. Navy man, huh?”

It took a moment for Bradley to realize his cheeks were red again. He doesn’t think anyone has ever made him blush before, or at least not as many times as you had tonight already.

“Naval Aviator,” he elaborated.

You smiled, and it felt like the whole world disappeared except for the two of you as you held out your glass. He raised his to tap against it in cheers. “Here’s to small worlds, then.”

“And to college roommates,” he added, and your laugh took his breath away.

The two of you sat there with your drinks in hand, and the conversation flowed effortlessly, talking about everything and anything. He found himself hanging onto your every word. He couldn't help but be drawn in by every single thing about you. He learned that you grew up here in Philadelphia and, like him, you were an only child. You got your undergrad in journalism and then a masters in political science and moved to DC before the ink was even dry. You were a little bit addicted to coffee and true crime podcasts, and you were a huge Philadelphia Eagles fan. He told you about growing up in Virginia and being in the Navy, and about his love of the 80s and playing piano.

But you talked about more than just the surface level stuff, too. As the occasional sound of laughter drifted outside from the dancefloor and the fire pit glowed in front of you, you told him how sometimes, you wondered if you were really cut out for your career, because the nature of what you had to cover drove you absolutely crazy, and you felt like people focused on the wrong things. You tended to have a self-imposed terrible work/life balance and your anxiety crept up on you because you’d ignore it for too long. You weren’t close with your parents, and your bucket list was full of things you were scared you’d never be able to do.

In return, he let you in on the reason he wanted to join the Navy in the first place, and growing up with a single mother and what it was like when she got sick. He confided how he had a bad habit of hesitating both in and out of the air, and how he didn’t really have any connections or relationships outside of the Navy that went more than just skin deep or a memory of what used to be.

He shared more with you than he had with anyone else, and somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. It was like he had always known you, or at least like he was meant to now.

You were so caught up in each other that neither of you realized just how much time had passed. Before you knew it, the music from inside was starting to soften and the lights were turned back on, and the servers came outside to start collecting empty glasses and trash.

“Oh wow,” you breathed in surprise, “We missed the whole reception.”

You stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then at the same time, you burst into laughter.

“Can I walk you back to your hotel?” he asked you once you had calmed down. You had mentioned how you were staying just a few blocks away, and the thought of you walking alone or getting a car this late at night didn’t sit right with him. It was strange, how he already felt the urge to protect and care for you.

Plus, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, much to his relief.

The bride and groom were inside wishing everyone goodbye, and you both took a moment to speak to your respective reasonings for being there. Neither of you lingered for long, and the balmy night air greeted you again when you exited the building after collecting your coats.

You didn’t hesitate to link your arm with his when he held it out this time. He felt warm all over with you this close to him. Despite the late hour, the city was still alive with people out and about and laughter and conversation spilling out onto the sidewalk from every business you passed. He held onto you a little tighter when you walked by some decidedly way too drunk people, but you didn’t seem to mind. You kept the conversation going just as easily as it was when you were sitting on the patio, swapping embarrassing stories from your college days. You were walking through the park, nearly at your hotel, and it was when you mentioned something about dancing on a table at a frat party after too many shots of Fireball that he came to an alarming realization. He stopped so abruptly that you were slightly yanked back into his body, and you looked at him in concern. Before you could ask what was wrong, he was blurting the words out.

“I never asked you to dance.”

You gave him a confused look and then snorted in amusement. “I suppose you didn’t.”

“Oh my god,” he groaned, tilting his head back and slapping his palm to his forehead. “I had the perfect opportunity to dance with you and I never asked.”

You were still laughing, your feelings clearly not hurt at his lack of consideration. But he was already digging his phone out of his pocket and swiping open his music app. He held it out in your direction. “Pick a song,” he told you.

“What?” you laughed. “Bradley!”

“I’m serious! Pick a song.”

He pushed his phone a little closer, and with an amused look, you finally took it. You bit your lip as you thought for a moment before you started typing, and then the soft sounds of Time After Time were floating in the air.

“You said you loved the 80s,” you said almost shyly. But Bradley smiled, taking the phone back and slipping it into his jacket pocket. The music was muffled now, but you could both still hear it.

“It’s perfect,” he told you. He held out a hand for you to take, and once you slipped your palm into his, he pulled you close. You rested your head on his shoulder as you began to sway. The night was quiet and serene as you danced, and he didn’t know what he did for his night to turn out this way, but he was so glad that it did.

When the song came to an end, you stopped moving, but didn’t separate. You picked your head up and looked at him, your eyes locking together. You didn’t say anything at first, but eventually, you sighed and a soft, reluctant smile tugged at your lips.

“I should probably get back,” you whispered.

“Are you sure?” he asked, desperate to stay in your presence for as long as possible. You had entered his life so unexpectedly, and he was wishing with everything in him that you wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon. “You aren’t going to turn into a pumpkin once the clock strikes midnight, right?”

You shook your head at his joke, giving him a playful wink in return. “I don’t know. This does feel a bit like a fairytale.”

Your words made him grow a little more serious, and he swallowed thickly as a charged energy seemed to settle over both of you. You bit your lip as you stared, your gaze wide and saying a million things at once. You had the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. He wanted to look at them forever.

"You know," he said, his voice lower now, like he was afraid to disrupt the moment by being too loud. He brought a hand up to your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “This is not how I anticipated my night going.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, his hand still lingering near your cheek. Then, in a move that felt natural and inevitable, he leaned in, and you met him halfway. Your lips touched softly, a spark of electricity passing between you. It was a kiss filled with promise, a taste of what could be. It was as if time stood still, the world around you fading away until it was just the two of you.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were left breathless. Bradley looked at you with a mixture of desire and genuine affection that should have scared him, but it didn’t.

"Wow," you whispered, your lips curving into a shy smile. He knew exactly what you were feeling with that one word, because he felt it too.

He brushed his nose against yours, breathing you in. “Tell me I can see you again when we get back to DC,” he begged.

You let your hand rest against his chest, and he was sure you could feel the pounding of his heart. “I was hoping so,” you said, and he breathed out a happy laugh of relief before kissing you again.

Standing there under the soft glow of the lampposts, Bradley thought he might love you already.

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Masterlist

Notes: I hope y'all loved this one as much as I did! I miss these two so much.

Special thanks to Mak and Em for all of their help, and to Mak for the banner!

Tag List: @roosterforme @mak-32 @wildxwidow @gretagerwigsmuse @lilyevanswhore @too-fangirl-to-fuction @fav-fanficssss @notroosterbradshaw @teacupsandtopgun @sometimesanalice @sunflowersteves @littlezee80 @je-suis-prest-rachel @khaylin27 @infamous-reindeer @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @yanna-banana @avengersfan25 @wkndwlff @sylviebell @lt-spork @indynerdgirl @greatszu

@mssleepy876b @kassieesworld @mizzzpink @a-serene-place-to-be @sexualparkour @sadpetalsstuff @almostgenerallyalways @alilstressyandlotdepressy @ccbb2222 @taytaylala12 @shelbycillian @mavrellover91 @vici111 @lunamooncole @blackwidownat2814 @pisupsala @bellaireland1981 @jynxmirage @shanimallina87 @na-ta-sh-aa @callsign-magnolia @chaoticassidy

*I do not give permission to copy/steal, translate, or publish elsewhere*

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he-calls-me-kitten · 5 months

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Playlist Drabbles #01

Writing random smut drabbles based on songs from my playlist (Solomon, Asmodeus, Mammon)

"We don't gotta be in love, no,

I don't gotta be the one, no,

I just want to be one of your girls tonight."

(One of your girls - Weekend ft. Jennie, Lily-Rose Depp)

Solomon is just happy you're here with him right now. Wrapped up only in his bedsheets and his arms. He can't sleep, no it would be a waste. He needs to cherish this - he won't have it for very long.

When you're both back home, you'll be surrounded by everyone again. He will never be your only one - not with those brothers in the competition. But he is one of the many that gets to feel your warmth and affection and for now, this is all he needs. It's more than he can hope for.

"MC? You're still awake aren't you?" He coos softly knowing you're not asleep yet either.

"Yes, just like you." You say, tracing the bags underneath his eyes with your pretty fingers. He can feel his heart melting. What a lovely apprentice he has.

"Can we go...one more time?" Slowly, his hand traces your curves, so you can refute him anytime. But you clench your thighs around his waist and kiss him on the mouth, smiling.

"I'd like that." You say coyly. His eyes darken in desire as he climbs on top of you, positioning himself between your legs. He's not the only one that does this to you - but it's just been you and him every night since you came here. He'll have to give that up soon - but atleast not yet. Atleast not tonight.

"Please tell me I'm your one and only,

Or lie and say atleast tonight,

I've got a brand new cure for lonely,

And if you give me what I want,

I'll give you what you like."

(Give you what you like - Avril Lavigne)

Asmo doesn't always like using his powers. Why did he always have to use them to make people like him? Wasn't he enough just as he was? Wasn't he beautiful?

Who else can answer him, if not the only person who doesn't get affected by his charm. "MC..." He barges into your room, desperate to be held. To be loved.

"Asmo...you're so perfect." You cradle his face as you ride him. Tears pool at the corner of his eyes, out of joy, out of reassurance along with the obvious pleasure of your walls clamping down on him.

"MC...You really mean that?" Like a wounded puppy he tilts his head to the side, intertwing his fingers with yours. He bucks up his hips upward, deeper inside you. You moan and struggle to balance yourself.

"Of course, Asmo..." He doesn't care even if you're lying at this point. It just feels good to even hear you say that. He feels so loved and ethereal as you gently press kisses on his neck and shoulders so you don't blemish his flawless skin. And he impatiently flips you around to return the favor.

"With all the lights off,

Everything is wrong, but it's alright,

You're the only good thing in my life."

(You're the only good thing in my life - Cigarettes after Sex)

Mammon feels like shit some days. With his sin taking over, Lucifer's overbearing rage, his brothers' disappointment - it's all too much for him. Sick of being holed up in his room, he decides to get out of house to clear his head.

You are late that day, and he's already disgruntled about it. Maybe he'll go out and fetch you himself. Some attendant you are. They should increase your hours at HOL.

But lo and behold, there you are standing right at the door. "Hey Mammon, going somewhere?" He takes you by the hand and leaves the house. "Oi, you know Devildom like the back of your hand, don't ya? Take me somewhere new." He asks.

You take him to a hotel with a shimmering pool. He's never been here before, but he feels an odd sense of familiarity with it. Especially when he kisses you fervently, his hands practically ripping your clothes off you. He feels so much better once he's inside you.

"The Great Mammon likes this place. Bring me back here again soon." He says as he keeps driving with one hand on your thigh. His life might be a hot mess but atleast you're here. And that makes everything so much better.

#obey me #obey me solomon #obey me smut #obey me solomon x reader #obey me asmo #obey me asmo x reader #obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #mammon smut #asmo smut #solomon smut

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darylbrainrot · 3 months

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CHAPTER 01: WIP

AIYGIWGWY || GOJO X READER

How would you—a part time guitarist and streamer, react when an upcoming streamer known as gojo admitted to liking your music and streams?

As he sat down on his chair with it dipping with his added weight, he reached to his PC to start it up. He was about 20 minutes early to stream so he had to get his streaming apps ready. He wanted to keep this stream chill, he was probably some background music playing to make his stream calming (as calming as possible with his screams from playing fortnite.) As he made the sudden decision to play music on his stream, he opened Spotify as soon as his computer turned on.

He opened one of his designated playlists for streaming, some relaxing music ranging from different artists. He made sure this playlist wasn't going to get him flagged on his Twitch, something he didn't want to happen again.

He finally had his necessities opened, his discord and Spotify opened on his first monitor, his Twitch ready to stream on his third monitor, and finally his main monitor with his game loading up. When he looked at the time, he had around 6 minutes to spare before starting up his stream. With his extra time, he decided to go out of his room to his shared dorm with suguru to grab some snacks.

As he made his way to the shared kitchen, he just decided to grab a Gatorade and some random candies he had stored for when he was craving them. As he was going to retreat back to his room, he heard his fellow roommate's door open.

"Suguru, you should join my stream please." He said, dragging out the please for dramatic effect.

"Hell nah, ima go to sleep anyway." The black-haired man says with a blank stare, passing Satoru as he makes a b line towards the restroom.

"What the flip man." Sighing as he made it back to his room to start up his stream.

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"BROO, no fucking way he got me. He literally only got me for 50 shield." He said, falling back in his chair as his 2nd place ranking got displayed on his screen. His hands now going through his face, raking through his white hair. The soft melodies of 'Cologne' by Beabadoobee fill the stream when he is quiet. The song finished up when one of your songs replaced the quietness, it was a cover you made of 'Paul' by Big Theif.

This is when his chat started flooding with new messages, ranging from questions asking him if he liked your music to how long he's been listening to you. As his arms finally fell from his hair, he looked at his chat when he saw the flood of new texts.

"I didn't know you listened to y/n's music... of course, I listen to their music, she's like one of my favorite artists." He said after reading some questions in his chat. Snickering at his chats surprised reaction, "I'm surprised some of you guys didn't know this, I follow them on twitter and on insta and I know some of you guys stalk my following and shit" He said as he was going back to the home screen of his game, deciding that it was enough of fortnite for him after playing around 10 rounds.

“Have you seen shes working on a new song? She posted about it on her twitter” he mumbled, reading one of the texts that caught his eye. “Yeah I saw her post, hopefully she posts a clip of her song. I know it’s gonna be good though.” He grins, exited that one of his favorite artist might release a song soon.

"Anyways, ima stopping the stream here, I'm done with fortnite for today. I might stream again in the weekend though, I'll tweet about it if I do." Waving at his face cam as he ended the stream, making sure to double-check it was off. He closed off any extra tabs he had open before shutting down his PC. Once he was finally done with his computer, he stood up and went to scroll on his phone on his bed, finally relieving the ache in his back due to his bad posture.

< prev || masterlist || next >

Interact with this post to be a part of my taglist.

this isnt proof read so lmk if theres any mistakes D:

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TAGLIST: OPEN

@bakananya, @lysaray, @reagan707, @cccccccccccleo, @samutoru, @sunaluvrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, @sur-i-ki, @rybunnie, @ramchu,

#gojosatoru #gojo #satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smau #jjk x reader #jjk smau #jujutsu kaisen #smau #jujutsu kaisen smau #jjk text #jjk tweets #jujutsu kaisen posts #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk ff #jujutsu kaisen ff

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elliesbelle · 9 months

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nobody compares to you

chapter 9

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of and allusions to physical altercations and violence, descriptions of alcohol, dealer!ellie, more loser!ellie, mentions of smoking and marijuana, ellie's POV, minors do not interact

word count: 3.7k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

featuring the song “it might be you” by stephen bishop:

Four Days Ago

“Ellie, what the fuck! Oh, shit!”

“The fuck! Th-the fuck…is your problem!”

“Shit! Ellie!”

“Chang, get…this–fuck!–cunt…off of me!”

“El–ow! Ellie!”

“I heard what you fucking said to my girl!”

“What are–shit…motherfucker!”

“Ellie, stop!”

“You..fucking…cunt!”

“Yo, bro, get the fuck off of her!”

“Is that…all…you…can do?!”

“Alright, fuck! Enough! Stop!”

Two Days Ago

Ellie had been walking around campus with her hood over her head and eyes to the ground all day. She’d been ignoring calls & texts from her friends and clients and, to her growing annoyance, Daniela. She’d attended all her classes, but she’d sit as far back as possible and avoid any interactions or eye contact. During her breaks, she’d find some remote spot behind a building or in a secluded stairwell to smoke in private.

It was late afternoon now and Ellie’d just dashed out of her last class of the day. She didn’t want to go home to her apartment where she’d get ambushed by Jesse and, most likely as well, Dina. But she had nowhere else to loiter where she’d be able to sulk and smoke in peace, and her phone was also dying.

The walk to her and Jesse’s apartment was barely ten minutes from campus, but Ellie made sure to stretch it out to almost twenty. She walked four flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator like she usually would. She couldn’t even hear the jingling of her keys over the deafening sounds of Kendrick Lamar blasting in her earphones as she unlocked the front door.

The previous evening felt completely surreal. Ellie would have assumed it was just some rage-induced nightmare if it weren’t for the throbbing pain in her black eye and bruised right hand. After Jesse was able to pry Frat Guy Adam off of her before he could do any real damage and hastily convince him that she was probably tripping off of this strong new strain she got, Ellie immediately shut herself in her bedroom for the rest of the night. The only thing Jesse could get out of her before she disappeared behind her door was, “I seriously can’t fucking believe she’s letting her fuck her again.”

As Ellie crossed the doorway of the apartment, the second verse of “HUMBLE.” was abruptly yanked out of her ears by Dina’s quick fingers.

“Jesus fuck—Dina!” Ellie fussed, irritated as she attempted to grab her earphones back.

Dina said nothing as she balled them up and shoved them into her back pocket.

“How the fuck did you even know I was coming?” Ellie grumbled, knowing full well that she, Dina, and Jesse all indefinitely shared their respective locations with each other on their phones.

“Let’s talk, El.” Dina merely sighed.

Ellie scoffed in response and held out her hand.

“Can I have my earphones back?” She asked.

“No.”

“Seriously?”

“Ellie, we need to talk!”

Ellie didn’t reply as she stomped off towards her bedroom. She was about to slam the door in Dina’s face when she was met with Jesse’s back turned to her with sandpaper in one hand and a paint scraper in the other.

“Uhh, what the fuck, dude?” Ellie asked, dropping her backpack on top of her desk.

“I knew you’d leave your knife in here for the next two months or so if I didn’t do anything about it.” Jesse replied, sanding down the area where the knife once was lodged into the wall.

Dina leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Told him that you were too attached to that thing to not yank it out yourself, but he insisted on doing it and cleaning up your mess. As per usual.” Dina said, motioning to the small bucket of white plaster by Jesse’s feet.

“Yeah, I’m not cleaning all that up, though.” Jesse said, gesturing to all the dust now covering a portion of the bedroom floor.

Ellie shrugged off her hoodie and hung it on the back of a chair. She spotted her now-unstuck switchblade on top of some books on her desk and quickly pocketed it.

“Okay, well, can you guys maybe get out of my room now?” Ellie huffed, collapsing lazily onto her bed before grabbing a comic book on her bedside table that she had previously been reading the night before.

“We can,” Dina replied. “But we’re not going to.”

Ellie rolled her eyes and flipped a page.

Jesse and Dina shared a collective look and a heavy sigh.

“Dude, we gotta talk about yesterday.” Jesse insisted. “You seriously can’t keep ignoring this.”

“What the fuck even happened, really?” Dina asked.

“What, this one didn’t tell you?” Ellie replied, nodding towards Jesse’s direction without looking up from her comic book.

“All he told me is that you got your shit rocked by some frat guy trying to buy from you.”

“Hey!” Ellie said, sitting up and throwing her hands up in the air in indignation. “I fucked him up!”

“Then why do you have a black eye?” Dina questioned.

Ellie grumbled something unintelligible and sat back down to return to reading. Dina rolled her eyes.

“All I did was introduce him to her and she just suddenly wailed on him.” Jesse explained to Dina.

“I already knew who the fuck he was.” Ellie said behind her comic book.

“Oh shit, yeah,” Jesse recalled. “She did say she remembered him, and then she went nuts.”

“Who was this again?” Dina asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“Adam Patterson from Sigma Eta.” Jesse replied.

“Yeah, I have no idea who that is.” Dina admitted.

“He came with our group to the diner the other night after the party,” Jesse said at the same time that Ellie said, “He was at Sterling’s with us.”

Dina’s knitted eyebrows straightened out in recognition.

“Oh, wait, was he that douchebag that sat next to—”

“Yes.” Ellie interrupted angrily.

Jesse and Dina immediately shared a look.

“Does this have anything to do with Abby Anderson?” Dina asked Ellie.

“Wait, what about Anderson?” Jesse questioned, eyebrows furrowing.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me wh—“ Jesse started but was cut off when his phone started buzzing furiously.

He took out his phone from his back pocket and frowned.

“Ah shit,” He muttered. “I gotta help Sidney set up with the open mic.”

“Now?” Dina asked.

“It’s every other Tuesday and I promised her.” Jesse shrugged.

He walked over to Dina to give her a quick peck on the lips before turning towards Ellie, pointing at her sharply.

“When I get back, I want to hear why the hell you’ve lost your goddamn mind.” He demanded of her before leaving the room. A few seconds passed before they heard the front door close behind him.

Dina sighed, uncrossed her arms, and strolled over to sit at the foot of Ellie’s bed. She unconcernedly shoved Ellie’s dirty Converse to the side, earning her a kick from Ellie which she easily dodged.

“Can you stop assaulting every single person you come across, Williams?” Dina said after slapping the foot that tried to punt her.

“Can you get out of my room?” Ellie asked, ignoring her question.

“Did you really try to beat the shit out of that Adam guy ‘cause of—“

“Why are we still talking about this?” Ellie immediately interjected.

“Because you’re out here attacking innocent people because of her!”

Ellie remained quiet as she sat up straight and placed her comic book back on her nightstand before replying.

“He called her a fucking queer, D.”

Dina blinked and stared at her.

“He did what?”

“When we were at Sterling’s the other night.”

“Oh, shit.” Dina whispered. “Okay, well, maybe not so innocent then.”

“No, he’s fucking not.” Ellie seethed, fists clenching.

“Okay, but it’s not really helping anyone if you get kicked out of school ‘cause you’re out here beating the shit out of some grade-A douchebag who most definitely deserved it,” Dina added, seeing that Ellie was about to interrupt. “Are you really that pissed off that she’s seeing Abby Anderson?”

“She can see whoever the fuck she wants. It’s really none of my business.” Ellie replied stubbornly.

“Ellie, c’mon, when are you going to face your fucking feelings for her for once?” Dina said. “You couldn’t man the fuck up when you were together, and now you don’t even speak to each other and you still won’t admit it.”

“Sorry that I’m too emotionally constipated for you.”

Dina rolled her eyes but then suddenly giggled.

“What?” Ellie asked.

“That’s probably the first time that you haven’t corrected me on the fact that you were together.”

Ellie kicked her softly.

“Oh, shut up.” Ellie retorted.

Yesterday

“You need to wrap that shit up better, El.” Dina said, gesturing to Ellie’s poorly bandaged right hand.

The sun was beginning to set, and Dina and Ellie’s shadows glided alongside each other on the brick pathway. Pink rays of light peeking from the sky hit Ellie’s freckles so beautifully that it almost distracted from her bruised eye.

“What? It’s fine.” Ellie shrugged.

“The wraps are already coming off, dumbass.” Dina noted.

“My bad, I’m not studying to be a doctor, unlike some people.” Ellie said, quickly murmuring the last part.

Dina merely rolled her eyes at this, refusing to engage further in Ellie’s growing vendetta against Abby Anderson.

They walked for about another ten minutes to reach the diner, chatting nonsensically about their classes and friends and some new asshole clients that Ellie had recently acquired.

Ellie had Dina laughing about her secretly charging some senior jock douchebags twice as much as usual for shamelessly hitting on her when they walked through the doors of Sterling’s. Ellie suddenly felt a strange ache in her stomach as they entered the restaurant. When she felt wary eyes on her, her discomfort was immediately explained.

Her gaze unintentionally met yours, her ocean green eyes widening in shock. The expression on your face mirrored her thoughts as her freckles turned bright pink. You both turned to your friends simultaneously in panic.

“Dina, what the fuck!” Ellie hissed.

“What?” Dina said, not realizing the situation they’d walked into.

“Did you do this shit on purpose?” Ellie demanded of her.

“What the hell are you going on about?” Dina asked, still clueless as she was busy looking around for the diner’s hostess.

“Can you please use your eyes for one second?”

“Wh—” Dina began but stopped suddenly when she saw what had caught Ellie’s rapt attention.

“Goddamn it,” Dina muttered. “Alright, hang on.”

Ellie watched as Dina marched over to the small table where you and Jesse were having dinner. Her eyes fell on you once more, remembering the last time she saw you with Abby Anderson. She suddenly felt a pang of guilt wash over her when she thought about the last conversation you’d had in the bathroom of this same diner, her eyes tearing away from your figure to stare at her old Converse.

God, I’m such a fucking dickhead.

She teetered back and forth on her feet as she felt shame seeping through her bones. She didn’t look back up until the diner’s hostess approached her.

“Hi, how many in your party?” She asked.

“Oh, uh, no. I’m here for pick-up?” Ellie replied.

“Oh gotcha, what’s the name?”

“It should be under Dina Woodward.”

“Okay! One second, ma’am.”

Ellie watched as the hostess headed to the back as Dina made her way back towards her.

“What the hell, D?” Ellie hissed.

“Seriously, I didn’t know!” Dina replied, throwing her hands up defensively.

“This isn’t funny!”

“El, I swear to god, I really had no idea they were gonna be meeting here.”

“You didn’t tell me that Jesse was hanging out with her tonight!”

“That didn’t seem like information relevant to you.” Dina said, crossing her arms.

“How is it not—”

“She’s not your fucking girlfriend, Ellie.” Dina pointed out.

Ellie looked taken aback as the hostess reappeared before them.

“Order for Dina Woodward?” She said, holding out a plastic bag.

“Yes?” Dina replied, but before she could reach for the food, Ellie had already grabbed it with her left hand and angrily shoved the entrance door open with her right.

She stomped away from the diner several feet away before Dina could catch up to her, far away enough for Dina not to catch the tears that she struggled to keep from falling.

Present Day

Ellie lays on her sheets, head at the foot of her bed and dinosaur sock-covered feet propped up on one of her pillows. She was senselessly and poorly strumming on her guitar. It was Friday evening and she was bored and all alone in the apartment, Jesse and Dina having gone out together on a movie date. She had contemplated going to the gym as she usually did whenever she was in a mood, but Dina had reprimanded her about her injured state enough that Ellie relented on spending a lonely night in. She strums lousily on the guitar with her injured hand, ignoring the throbbing of her wounded knuckles.

She’d finally texted Daniela back earlier that day, apologizing spiritlessly for not replying back sooner. She humoured Daniela’s flirty texts for a while until Ellie asked for Joel’s old jacket back, to which Daniela offered to come over to her apartment tonight to return. Feeling her intent, Ellie put her off by saying she had plans to meet up with several new clients all night and offered to meet up with her the next day instead. Ellie’d groaned when Daniela quickly responded with a text saying “it’s a date ;)” and immediately regretted the situation she’d pulled herself into.

Her fingers begin mindlessly plucking a succession of concordant chords, and it isn’t until a few moments later that she realizes she’d started to play an old love song that she remembers you’d liked so much.

It was an old 80s song called “It Might Be You” by Stephen Bishop. She’d often hear you thoughtlessly humming it to yourself or singing along to it when you’d put on your nearly ten-hour 80s playlist. She’d subsequently learned how to play it on the guitar to possibly serenade you with it eventually, only to never have the courage to do so when you were together.

Ellie exhales woefully, setting her guitar down next to her.

Why is she still everywhere?

She sits up to properly lay herself on her bed, flopping her head down onto her pillow before reaching for her phone that was charging on her nightstand.

Time to be a loser as usual again, Williams.

She sighs pathetically as she opens up Instagram once more, switching from her main account back over to br!ck_master2013. Even though Instagram already showed her recent searches (consisting only of you), she feels a pathetic sense of fulfillment typing out your entire username herself. Ellie taps on that same mirror selfie of yours which leads her to your profile.

You still have no new posts from the last time she checked, but she sees that you’d added something to your story sometime within the past day. She ignores the uneasiness in her stomach as she taps on the orange and purple circle to view what you’d posted.

You’d shared a few mutual aid posts earlier this morning (to which Ellie promptly saves to later donate to after her slight stalking), a picture that some of your old high school friends had posted of an up-and-coming band they were currently in, and a couple of new stories that causes Ellie to abruptly shoot up from her bed and promptly unplugging her phone from the wall.

“What the fuck?” She mutters out loud to herself, not in reference to the unceremonious way she stopped charging her phone, but to the Instagram stories that you were posting in real time.

Ellie taps furiously as she realizes that you were out tonight at the lesbian bar by campus, the Bow and Arrow. With Abby Anderson.

She makes a wild guess that you were likely drunk at the moment, judging by the silliness of your story captions. Your first bar-related story is a selfie you’d taken of yourself with the caption, “me going out to a bar to get smacked instead of being an old lady at home? quick, someone call the pope.” Despite the low lights of your environment, Ellie recognizes the shade of dark red lipstick you’re wearing.

That’s the lipstick she was wearing when—

Her thoughts are interrupted by her app automatically jumping to the next story, which was of you toasting your half-empty plastic cup with others that were being held up by faceless hands with the caption, “liquor, i hardly know her.” Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle out loud at your stupid joke. She would have bet her Jeep, her whole stash of weed, her beloved switchblade, and her entire precious comic book collection that the drink you had in your hand was a vodka cranberry.

Your next Instagram story drops a cast steel anvil down Ellie’s stomach.

It was a shaky picture of Abby Anderson making a mockingly pouty face towards the camera, holding out a credit card in one of her hands. It looked as if she and you were sitting at the bar, waiting to be served by a bartender. Your caption read, “hey siri, how do you beat up a buff, jacked lesbian who lives at the gym and won’t stop paying for your drinks all night.”

Ellie notices that you’d tagged Abby’s Instagram handle on the side and she promptly taps on it with trembling fingers. She huffs at her phone when she’s brought to Abby’s profile and sees that it’s set to private. She falls back onto her pillow and sighs.

“Ellie!!” You yelled after her as she stomped out of the Bow and Arrow.

She said nothing as she exited the bar and veered left into an empty backstreet lit only by the moonlight and a dim streetlamp.

Ellie walked further into the alleyway until she was a safe distance from any passersby. She took out a metal tin from one of her jacket’s front pockets and pulled out a tightly-wrapped joint. She tucked it between her teeth as she reached into a front pocket in her jeans for a lighter, promptly lighting the tip of the joint. She inhaled for a few seconds, letting the drug seep throughout her enraged body, then released an exhale towards the starry night sky.

She heard the agitated clicking of high heels and glanced down towards the main street to inspect whoever was approaching her. You were rubbing your hands up and down your arms, your favourite black boots nearly skipping down the alleyway to desperately generate heat in the frigid, unforgiving December air. You followed the familiar scent of lavender-laced marijuana into the dark street, spotting Ellie smoking alone.

Ellie watched as your shivering figure walked towards her, your despondent eyes eventually reaching her furious green ones.

“Smoking one of my js without me?” You teased.

“Your js?” Ellie asked, chuckling despite herself.

“Well, it’s my recipe.” You said, yanking the joint from her fingertips to place it between your lips which were painted with a dark shade of red.

“Oh, please, all you do is add buds of crushed lavender into them.” Ellie scoffed as the tip of the joint lit up once more from you taking a hit of it.

“Lavender buds are a key ingredient to creating these primo joints. It’s an intricate part of the process; ergo it is a recipe.” You insisted after blowing the residual smoke to the side.

“Besides,” You added. “You talk a whole lot of smack for someone who seems to copy my recipe all the time now, both for her clients and for herself.”

Ellie would have usually bantered with a witty retort, but she instead settled for an indignant huff.

After a few more hits, you handed the joint back to her.

“You done?” She asked you.

“Mhmm.”

She nodded, putting out the joint on the wall she was leaning against and placing what was left of it back in her metal tin. You stared at her as she did this, noticing that she was purposely refusing to make eye contact with you.

“Els.” You said.

“Mm?”

“Show me your hand.” You sigh.

“No.”

“El, babe, come on.” You insisted.

She exhaled and relented when her cheeks blushed at the term of endearment, holding out her right hand to you.

You took it in between both of yours, attempting to examine it under the dull yellowish light of the streetlamp. Your fingertips softly brush against her knuckles.

“Okay, not so bruised thankfully.” You murmured. “Does it hurt?”

Ellie merely shrugged in response.

“Els…” You whined at her stubbornness.

“I’m fine.”

You stared at her serious expression, still unable to get her to look at you.

“You dummy.” You chuckled lightly.

Ellie huffed.

You stroked her hand a couple more times before lightly placing a kiss on her slightly injured knuckles.

Despite the frigid winter air, Ellie immediately felt every part of her go up in flames. The only chilly part of her body was her hand which you’d brushed your cold lips against just moments before.

“Here,” She said, pulling her hand away from you so she could shrug off Joel’s old motorcycle jacket from her shoulders and place it on yours. “Baby, you’re fucking freezing.”

“El—”

“You’re freezing.” She repeated.

You smiled slightly before caving in to say, “Maybe a little bit.” Ellie chuckled.

“Elliie…” You began. “You didn’t have to do all that—”

“I know.”

“But—”

“I know.”

You tried to decipher her unreadable expression, your heart ready to burst as it beat rapidly in your chest.

“Why, Ellie? Why’d you have to take it to that extreme?”

Ellie’s ocean-green eyes were fierce and resolved. She brings her mildly bruised hand up to your face to intimately caress your cheek.

“You know why.” She whispers, finally meeting your gaze.

“I—”

The memory of staring into your eyes causes Ellie’s own to shoot open.

She’s still in her room, laying on her bed all alone with her phone on her chest and guitar on her side. The images of you in the alleyway of the Bow and Arrow replay alongside those of you and Abby so boldly displayed on your Instagram story tonight.

Ellie remains so engrossed in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice all the hot tears rapidly streaming down her face. She grips her sheets and sighs.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” She whispers to no one.

Maybe she’ll forgive me one day.

author’s notes:

so sorry for taking so long to write this! life has been hectic and messy lately, plus y’all know i’m a bit insecure about writing ellie.

thank me by liking and reblogging this because tumblr is acting tf up on my laptop and i had to do the majority of this on my phone

adam's name originally was a reference to a background character in tlou2, but his last name is loosely inspired by some asshole dude i dated once back in college named adam (who i kind of also home-wrecked but i really don't regret doing so lol)

anyway, while you’re here, go check out the new smau series i’m working on called “almost like we knew” ♡︎

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn

@uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam

@elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan, @emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez

@libr4sonsa, @17luv, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk

@awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog, @anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y

@elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @cass00x, @liabadoobee, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @tfuuka

@elliewilliamsmissingfingerss, @sagestuffing, @ewwitsbella, @igoferalforelliewilliams, @miaelliesgfxoxo, @saturnvalentine, @elysiagyaru, @asteroidzzzn, @gay4jinx, @97cityy

@joliettes, @p1llowthoughtss, @ellieslegalwife

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #Spotify #audio #belle speaks #belle writes

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doobea · 9 months

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BLLK - Relationship HCs + Songs That Describes It PT. 2

contents: gn!reader, super fluffy, sfw, established relationships, kinda proofread characters mentioned: sae, shidou, barou, oliver, yukimiya, karasu a/n: hehe part 2 c: (this ended up being WAY longer than the first one) also wanted to try my chance at writing for both yukimiya and karasu bc i feel like they're underrated

sae - ride by hybs

not the biggest fan of PDA but will steal moments to hold your hand for just a second, giving it a little squeeze. for more physical reassurance, he loves taking his thumb and rubbing it across your palms and thighs.

he's hyper-aware of your surroundings whether you know it or not. if you're bending down to reach for something, one of his hands usually hovers over your head to make sure you don't hurt yourself on the way up. if he catches you shivering or sneezing for just a second then the next minute you're presented with a cup of tea and his demand for cuddles. you get the gist!

following up on the last point - whenever you get up from any surface, he always checks and dusts off anything that might cling to your bottoms or back.

sae is always out traveling and attending games, so phone calls are endless with him. even if the conversation has ended, there's something comforting about being on the line with him versus being in complete silence.

shidou - see you again by tyler, the creator

he is incredibly great with animals and that’s why you guys foster dogs together! it's no surprise for your neighbors to see the two of you walking an army of chihuahuas and german shepherds around the block every morning. it's also no surprise to everyone when he ends up adopting four of them; he claims no one can take care of them better than he can.

when it comes to washing dishes with shidou, he likes to make shapes out of the bubbles and blow them your way. this always ends up in a bubble-blowing battle that leaves the dishes to be washed the day after.

not really an extreme prankster, but what harm would an innocent sticky note on your back do? he likes to write jokes on them before sending you off to get errands.

gets abnormally invested in the drama in your social life. you tell him that one of your friends had just gone through a breakup? he's getting a bag of popcorn and already listing off questions pertaining to who's at fault.

barou - come inside of my heart by iv of spades

if you ever need to move he'll be there to help in a heartbeat. not only does he have the muscles to help you secure all the furniture, but he has the brains to let you know how to stack the items and what equipment you need to keep them pristine and in one piece.

even if he claims it’s a bother, it’s not! he’s the type to fix your messy cable management and will replace anything that looks like it needs “fixing” in your house. examples include buying you new sponges for the kitchen, restocking your fridge if you’re running low on essentials, and folding your laundry if you’re the type to leave it in the dryer after it’s done.

he hates having his photo taken but knows that you absolutely adore showing him off to your friends. when you first got yourself a camera, all the film was practically barou, barou and you, and shirtless barou. it took a while for him to warm up to the idea but when you came home with developed photos in hand, he can't help but litter the fridge with his favorite moments with you.

definitely listens to cheesy boy bands when he's tidying up the place. he gets easily embarrassed about it so he usually waits to clean up the area when you're out before turning the music up to max volume. there was a rare moment when you returned early and a flustered barou claimed that he didn't know how 'boyfriend' by big time rush came up in his playlist.

oliver - somebody by keshi

surprisingly one of the best people to go to IKEA with - and no it's not because of the fact that he's part Swedish. he'll be the type to get into character whenever you guys go into a showroom, acting as if it's an apartment that you guys share. he’s cute but be careful, he’s the type to sneak items into the cart when you’re not looking!

gets excited whenever pull him into the living room knowing that you'll be announcing a fashion show from your recent mall run. he'll play along and hype you up, taking photos and telling you to give him 360 spins.

a chronic blanket hogger! he complains about needing a bigger bed because his feet keep dangling off the edges and that he needs the blanket the most. if you offer to sleep on the couch so that he can get more space, oliver will just pout and join you wherever you end up sleeping.

when you guys were touring for apartments, it was your job to keep the leasing agent occupied with questions while he was in the other rooms subtly scratching the walls with his nails to see if the paint would hold up.

yukimiya - home by luke chiang

never forgets to bring the mail in. a majority of the time, yukimiya will throw away the useless magazines and ads, but on slow days he likes to sit down and sort through coupons and tries his attempt with the weekly crossword puzzles with you.

there's always a different scented candle in every room you guys share. when they're running low, the two of you typically go to the store and spend at least an hour trying out all the different smells that they have to offer. a new seasonal and two of the regular scents are the final items he settles for.

he'll drive to your workplace to bring you lunch if you've forgotten it for the day. most of the meals he ends up buying for you are typically way healthier and out of your budget than what you would usually make for yourself.

keeps your side of the bed warm for you after you come back from a long day! yukimiya believes it's bad luck to get in a cold bed so he's doing his job as a good boyfriend.

karasu - summer by brockhampton

expect a lot of late-night food runs with karasu and they're all unplanned. you guys could literally be driving back from a date night in the city and he’ll just be like “I want McDonald’s” and just pull in a drive-through. sometimes he’ll do it if he wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep.

is a very good listener but not a good comforter (he's trying to do better in the long run). due to his usual snarky personality, he's worried that he might say the wrong things and usually says little to nothing. when you're crying, the best he offers is back rubs and a long cuddle session afterward.

working out together with karasu is like having your dad help you with math homework. he's critical of how your form should look, always saying that you might hurt yourself in the long run if you're not placing your feet or shoulders at the correct angle.

it's canon that he's afraid of the ocean and can't swim that's why whenever you guys are at a pool, he requires you to hold onto his hand - claiming that he doesn't want you to float away.

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inklore · 2 years

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wild child, i want you.

part two | series masterlist

premise: coming back to hawkins for your summer vacation from college is the last thing you want to do, but you find yourself back in your hometown and it all goes to shit in a matter of weeks. thinking your summer is already a bummer, getting high with the town outcast doesn't seem like that bad of an idea.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 6.2k

warnings: eighteen+ content, blowjob (eddie’s first one, he’s a lil virgin in this sorry y’all), drug use, cheesy flirting, past crush unmentioned but there, tiny bit of praise kink, i made eddie’s van cooler than it actually is, reader is a lil self absorbed but it’s ok, mentions of past bullying, class difference, and shit family dynamics.

etc: i may write a part two for this, may turn it into a little mini series depending on the love i get on it. but um this boy is the cutest little virgin and no one can convince me otherwise ok thnx. title from the song wild child by wasp aka a song on this verysexy playlist!

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

“Shit! Fuck!”

The sounds of aggravation that erupts from your throat are anything but ladylike. The moon shining down just right in the sky to show the hunk of mud that’s now stuck on the top of your red pumps. Pumps that cost too much to be covered in dirt and grime, and yet here they were. Ruined.

All because you had stormed off from the party taking place in the backyard of your long term boyfriend—who was now your ex because fuck him, and fuck this washed up town.

You knew agreeing to come back for the summer would be absolutely detrimental to your psyche. Missing out on what would have been the summer of your life alongside college friends, a new city, on boats, planes; anywhere better than Hawkins!

But being the amazing, doting girlfriend you were, you had been easily convinced by the promise of gifts, booze, and a hell of a summer.

Two weeks in and you were miserable, had ruined Louis Vuitton’s, barely tipsy off of cheap beer, and now newly single.

“Fuck this place!” You scream to yourself, louder than you should have in a not–disturbing–the–peace way, a dog barking in the distance. You needed to catch the first bus out of this dump of a town as soon as possible.

“I completely agree,” comes a voice to the side of you. If the pumping of anger and spite wasn’t making your heart boom in your ear drums right now, or the distraction of materialistic items didn’t have you fuming: you were sure you might have seen them, whoever they are. Or at least smelled them. The heavy scent of weed lingers in the air and you can only assume it’s the weed guy your ex-boyfriend had been talking about.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anyone else tonight, let alone some stoned out stranger whose opinion you didn’t ask for, or could fake care about.

Turning in their direction you plan on telling them as much, plan on giving them your best bitchy scowl. But when your eyes adjust, actually see who it is; take in the long hair, the mix of jean and leather, the rings that gleam in the moonlight. Your expression changes from annoyance to amusement, your rude rebuttal long forgotten.

“Munson?”

“In the flesh,” his smile is still as boyish as you remember. At least from what you can remember. You graduated two years ago, he didn’t. Either year, so you've heard.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances. You had a handful of classes with him, even got partnered up with him for one biology project that neither of you truly put the effort into. But you flashed your pretty smile and batted your eyes and got the both of you passing grades—thank god for creepy male teachers.

You and Munson, Eddie, were so far off of the spectrum of being in each other’s realms. The class difference not being the only thing setting you two on two different sides of the universe, let alone Hawkins and your group of friends. The many taunts from your boyfriend and his friends coming back to your mind, and the weird snarkiness Eddie would always fight back with. Unbothered by the stupidity of high school taunts.

“Graduate yet?” You give him a playful smile, lean up against the car behind you to attempt and scrape off the mud on your shoe with your thumb nail.

“No.” He crosses his hands over his chest, “but still keeping up with expectations.” You’re barely listening to him, frowning down at the dirt now caked under your perfectly polished nails, fuck.

You huff out a breath, pull your head back to look up at the night sky. Try to do those breathing exercises you see your mother do when a bird shits on her BMW. “You here for the party?” You both know you’re joking. Know that most, if not all, the rich kids here had once—or still do—rag on him.

“My services got the invite.” He clarifies, “not me, personally, for obvious reasons.” He mumbles that last part and it makes you chuckle under your breath.

“Still the weed guy, huh?” Pulling your head upright again, you look over at him. His response being holding his hands in the air in an ‘obviously’ type motion. Nothing has changed with him, and maybe that’s just what happens when you stay in this dead end town. But something also tells you that Eddie isn’t the type to just change. What you see is what you get, unapologetically.

Must be nice to be that carefree. You could use some carefree in your life; that booming sound of your heart in your ear still pumping with materialistic and asshole boyfriend frustration.

A smile spreads across your lips as an idea pops into your head. As you make the decision to get that carefree feeling in the most synthetic way possible, while also sticking it to the aforementioned asshole in the backyard.

“How much were they going to pay you?”

“For the-”

“Yes, the weed, Munson. How much.” You roll your eyes, that old high school queen bee tone coming back. Making even your own self wince, but who knows when—or if—the smell of weed had already wafted off of Eddie and traveled to the backyard and the two of you were soon to be joined by the rest of the party.

Fuck them.

“Thirty.”

Reaching into your bra, the low cut material of your dress having the perfect swoop to showcase just enough to keep the mystery, but add to the intrigue—helping to house your money snuggly in the cup of your bra; you pull out the folded cash your father had handed to you on your way out of the door.

“I have fifty here.” You hold it out between your forefinger and middle, “it’s yours but we have to leave right now.”

He looks a little surprised, his eyes flash from your chest to the money in your hand.

“You have a car don’t you?” You look around the dead street, try to remember what hunk of junk you may have seen him driving around when you were in school.

“Is the money for the ride or the weed?”

“Both.”

Eddie hums, “seems a bit low.” He crosses his arms, scratches his cheek. Starting up a slow pace as he speaks, “I mean I am risking getting caught with a distinguished lady such as yourself. From what I hear you’re still with your Princeton lover. Don’t know if I need him thinking I’ve stolen you away.”

You think he’s half serious for a second. The look of quarry on his face, but then you see his smile. See that boyish amusement again, it makes the corners of your lips tick up in amusement; contagious. Something you remember from bombing biology together. As much as you wanted to dislike him, ignore him, or push the assignment completely onto him, he had distracted you with weird facts about his band you were not interested in—and the other random nonsense that would slip out always made you roll your eyes and hide the contagiousness of his smile that spread across your face.

But you find yourself holding onto the knowledge that he knew about you and your ex. Don’t know why it’s the only retaining thing your mind seems to keep flashing on, it didn’t matter to you who still talked about you in Hawkins. Especially when you were certain it was out of pure jealousy for you getting out and them not.

You can’t see Eddie contributing in gossip, though. Maybe that’s why you’re holding onto the knowledge that he knows, remembers. Still hates the asshole. Much like you do.

“We broke up.” You state, make clear with a wide smile that you’re more than happy about it. His lips tug up more, stops in his tracks and leans back on his heels a little as he stares at you. The two of you sharing some silent moment before you laugh, “are you going to be my kidnapper or what, Munson?”

He smirks, grabs the money still between your fingers. Nods his head back to the van at the end of the driveway—that only makes sense is his, because of course it is.

“America's Most Wanted here I come!” He hollers a little too loudly, making you laugh.

“Sorry about the mess.” Eddie maneuvers around you, picks up some of the random garbage and clothes strewn at your feet and throws them in the front.

You’re sat on the small couch he has in the back of his van. The velvet from the cushions softer than you expect it to be on the back of your bare legs. Expecting it to feel grimy at the very least, and maybe that’s not fair of you to expect—or think.

You’re surprised at how unfazed you feel about the random things contributing to the mess back here. Finding yourself actually smiling at the makeshift lights he has hung up, how they cast a red glow and illuminate the posters he has tapped with that thick grey tape you know is going to rip off the paint if he was to ever remove it.

The atmosphere oddly calming, compared to what you are used to.

He pulls out a tape from the glove compartment and slips it into the stereo, a heavy metal track playing low through the speakers, the bass deep enough to rock the van.

You’re parked behind his trailer.

When he had pulled up to it and pulled around the back you were once again reminded just how different your lives really were. Had found yourself scrunching up your nose at the drab looking mobile home. Regretting it the minute Eddie caught you and gave a pressed lipped grin, “can’t build mansions this far out. Grounds too mushy.” He joked, but it only made you feel worse.

Why, you have no idea. It wasn’t your fault you were born with a silver spoon and he was born without one. Neither was a bad thing. He seemed more than happy with his life—knowing what you did about him, that carefree way about him—than you did with your own, it would seem.

The cushions bounce from the way he plops down beside you. Pulling a metal lunchbox out of nowhere and placing it in his lap, “who knew the Princess of Hawkins, knew how to be bad.”

You make a face, “people don’t really call me that do they?”

He cocks his head to the side. “Oh how clueless the other half live.”

“I can still take back the money, you know.”

“Ooh, not twenty of it, at least.” He clicks his tongue, opens the metal box. The waft of weed stronger, making your nose burn. “Gotta keep that half for risking my life, it’s only fair.”

“You are the chattiest drug dealer I’ve ever met.”

“You meet a lot of them, do ya?” You can see countless baggies of whatever he’s pushing to the side, a lighter, more random junk, and then he’s pulling out a small bag of weed. “You really are bad, Princess,” he smiles.

You have to look away from him, have to hide the cheesy smile that moves across your own face—because it’s annoyingly warm in here, and you are here to escape and get high not become best buds with him. “Just roll it, Munson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

This wasn’t your first time smoking. You had dabbled in weed at parties since your sophomore year. Had taken part with it at the handful of college parties you had been to. You were used to the light feeling, the cravings, the giggles. Or so you thought.

Maybe you just hadn’t been smoking the right stuff. Maybe it had been the liquor you had always paired with it, the buzz you thought you felt from what you smoked actually from the malt and not the shit weed.

Because you’ve never felt this good before. Not from weed. Liquor. Even around your friends.

You felt so good right now.

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much, can’t remember when you had dropped yourself onto the floor of Eddie’s van. Your heels kicked off and feet propped up on the cushions of the sofa—right next to Munson.

He’s not as spread out as you though, maybe a little more lax. His back slouched lower on the sofa, legs spread further apart. Jacket gone, black sleeves rolled up.

Has he always had that tattoo? Just how many rings does one guy need? Your heavy lids ache as you hyperfocus in on the bracelet on his wrist, the tattoo on his arm. Each one of his rings that don’t even budge as his fingers flex, as he uses the small pocket knife he had pulled out from his back pocket; grabbing your discarded heels to scrape the mud from them.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you giggle. “My dad will just buy me another pair.”

A smile spreads, “but you were so upset about them. Even I winced when I saw the mud pile you stepped in, nightmarish.”

He laughs along with you as you completely lose it, “how shitty is it that that is a nightmare to me? Ruined Louis Vuitton‘s.”

Eddie shakes his head, holds up the shoes. Now cleaner than before, way too clean for him to have just used the pocket knife. The bottle of water between his legs spotted upon further inspection, where did that come from?

“We all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined. Shoes, guitars, people.” He shrugs, “not shitty at all. But this clean job might be.” He chews on his lower lip.

You maneuver yourself so you’re not flashing him from the bottom of your dress, as you move your legs from the couch to sit up. Grabbing the red pumps from him to do your best look over, ignoring the burn your eyes give when you widen them.

“Munson, I think you’re in the wrong career.” You tease, smiling up at him. You’re sat in front of his open legs, have the perfect view of that boyish grin.

“Shoe shiner?” He acts bashful, swings his hand around batting the air. “I’m not that good.”

“Think once you graduate you gotta start your own business, ‘Eddie’s Spit n Shine.’” You joke, the both of you doubling over in laughter. Munson holding onto his stomach as he slaps a hand over his knee.

Once your giggles have died down and you can hold yourself up straight, you watch him. Watch the way his cheeks are redder, watch the way he moves some hair out of his face. His previous words of “but you were so upset about them” and “we all have expensive things in our lives we don’t want ruined”. If this had been anyone else, one of your friends, your boyfriend, they would of been just as grumbly about the heels as you. Would have told you to trash them and offer to take you to the strip mall the next day to help you spend more of your fathers money; no big deal.

They wouldn’t have offered to fix them. To do something as simple as what Eddie had done.

And yeah, they were just shoes, and it wasn’t that big of a deal. But something fuzzy was settling in your chest, something in your stomach fluttering like it very much was a big deal.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You ask without thinking. Set your shoes down beside the couch, lay yourself back on the cool floor of the van.

“What?” He chuckles lowly with a hint of confusion. Just as surprised as you are at the question.

“Why are you being so nice to me, Munson.” You chew the corner of your cheek, look up at him. “Not like we were friends, ever, in school. And I remember plenty of times where my friends weren’t the nicest.”

“The rich kids not being nice to anyone who doesn’t drive a Mercedes? Shocking.” He jokes, makes you laugh.

“I’m serious.” You tap his knee that’s peeking out of one of the rips in his jeans with the tip of your finger. “Why are you being so nice?”

His face grows serious, but there’s still a hint of a soft smile there as he leans over to dig in the metal lunchbox again. Pulls out the spliff he rolled earlier alongside the one the two of you already smoked. You watch as his fingers run along it, “your friends may have not been the nicest, especially that lover boy of yours.” He gives you a playful roll of the eyes at the mention, that ache in your cheeks continuing. “But, you were always nice to me.”

“I never stopped them though. From being cruel.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, grabs the lighter resting beside your feet. “You made up for it by helping me not fail biology, for once.”

Your face contorts as you laugh, “put my tits on the line for that grade.”

Eddie chokes out a howl, stops what he’s doing to double over again. “Never been more happy for the power of tits.”

Your throat hurts from how hard you’re laughing. Holding your hand up in front of him in a high-five invite, “to tits!”

“To tits!” He slaps his palm against yours as he holds up the blunt in the other one in a show of salute.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve laughed this hard. Or felt this good. This happy. This playful. This whatever-the-hell-that fluttering feeling was in your stomach. You don’t know where Munson got his stash but damn was it good.

And damn was he cute.

Wait—what?

You quickly avert your eyes from him. Look up at the roof of the van, try to focus on the posters and scattered glow in the dark stars up there. You did not find Eddie Munson cute. You were just severely high right now, and still reeling off of your incredibly fresh break up. That’s all.

You hear the flick of the lighter beside you, hear him take a long puff. Fill his lungs, hold and blow it out, before you see him hold it out for you. Taking it silently, not looking at him—you probably shouldn’t have anymore, not with how you are thinking right now. But you didn’t feel like going back to your parents house. Calling it a night right now didn’t feel right, and it’s not like Eddie was rushing you out of the van.

So you press the blunt to your lips and decide to stop thinking. Just smoke. Listen to the beat of the metal still coming from the speakers.

“Lover boy must have done something tremendously fucked, huh?” He gives you a somber smile when you turn and pass the smoke to him.

“Munson, are you trying to gossip right now? Like we are two catty friends?”

He chuckles, inhales. “Us friends?” He makes a face, smoke rolling out of his mouth. “That’s obscene.”

“Nightmarish.”

“Grotesque.” He puts a hand to his heart, “what would the moms at the country club say?”

You laugh. “I don’t think either of my parents own a gun, so you're safe there. And my mother barely notices me,” you confess. Regret it when you look over at him and see the sympathy on his expression. “Please don’t.” You groan, take your turn to smoke, holding it between your thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t?”

“Give me that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you feel bad for me.” The laugh you let out this time is anything but humorous. There’s no joy. Just a salted down wound that you don’t let anyone see—so you don’t know why you’re talking about it right now—that burns the back of your throat. “I have everything.” You mumble, “perfect life. Perfect future ahead of me, money, the car, the friends, the boyfriend. No one should feel bad for me.”

You’re staring up at the roof again as you hold out your hand to give the blunt back without looking at him. Without acknowledging your own words with anything more than woeful self pitying. Eddie wasn’t interested in hearing about a rich girls problems and you had no interest sharing them. Anymore.

A silence settles between the two of you, it’s awkward and filled with the silently passing of the smoke between you; puffs of air, breaths in. Your heart is beating in your ears again. Except this time it’s something close to embarrassment and not anger.

“It wasn’t pity.” He breaks the silence when your fingers brush against each other when it’s his turn to hit. Your eyes finally finding their way back over to him, “how could someone not notice you?” There’s a twitch in his lips.

And fuck are your eyes burning from how high you are right now or because that was teeth rottingly sweet, and your chest is feeling fuzzy again—and Eddie Munson has some pretty eyes. Fuck.

“With the hair alone,” he waves his hand around emphasizing the top of your head. “Kind of hard to miss ya.” That boyish smile coming back when you start to laugh and lean up to swat him.

“I want my money back, Munson!”

“You’ve already smoked the weed!”

“Pain and suffering!”

“Mine or yours?” He jokes and he’s putting out the rest of the blunt to hold his hands out in surrender, as you lean up on your knees to playfully swat at the side of his arm.

“And here I thought we were actually having a moment.” You scowl at him, “you can take the high school out of the boy but not the—wait—you can’t even do that.”

His jaw drops, looking fake wounded if the big grin on his face is any indication of its falsehood. “The Princess of Hawkins has some bite.”

“I’m not the Princess of Hawkins!” You roll your eyes, “I’m just me–”

“Perfect,” Eddie finishes, adds. His lips come together, he swallows. “Perfect–you.”

You make a face at him. Another childish playful insult on the tip of your tongue but swallowed down, your throat feeling drier than ever as he stares down at you with a type of fondness that has your mind thinking—and feeling—way too many things right now.

And it feels like the moment slows, time stops. You take in everything, really take it in. You on your knees in front of his open legs, your palms on the cut out parts of his jeans that showcase his knees. The fuzziness in your chest turning into something else, something racing and filled with heat. Something that should surely not be there—all from what? Meaningless flirting? Eddie jesting with you?

Weed was definitely not a good idea. You should of just went home. Should ask him to take you home right now before your haze filled mind has you thinking of doing something else you definitely shouldn’t do.

Like move forward. Your knees dragging across the floor until the tops of them are pressed to the bottom of the couch. Until there’s no space left between you and Eddie’s thighs flush against the sides of your arms, his groin inches from your face. Your palms now higher up on his thigh.

You can feel how tense he is right now. Watched his expression go from softness to rigid with nerves. And maybe you are the only one who’s been feeling something tonight. Maybe he can handle his weed better than you. Or is simply not interested in you whatsoever. All his mindless flirting just that: mindless.

But you can’t help but want to test the waters. To see if any of those things are actually true.

Leaning up, your palms digging into the meat of his thigh as you do, your eyes moving from his to his lips and back up. A hint he seems to get when he meets you halfway and your lips are being pressed together in a gentle kiss.

It’s slow at first, curious, new to the both of you. Sloppy, and you can feel Eddie’s hand twitch at his side until he loses whatever fight in his head that has him holding back, and then it’s at your cheek and his thumb is digging into your chin the deeper the kiss gets. The more the two of you learn each other’s mouths. Which way to turn your head, that slow timid way his tongue pokes at your lips and then finds its way into your mouth; the quietest of noises coming from his throat when his tongue rubs against yours.

A noise that makes your stomach flutter. Makes an ache start between your legs.

Have you ever been kissed like this? Have you ever felt like the other person was learning you from the inside out? Memorizing how your lips moved, felt, tasted. The way your own deep rooted noise slips out and vibrates against his lips when his other hand comes to the other side of your head and pulls you so close to him as he leans further down into you. The top of your cleavage rubbing against the material of his shirt, tickled by his hair.

When the two of you finally pull apart, your eyes feel heavier than ever. Feel like all your energy went into that kiss and you feel buzzed. Like you’re on cloud nine. Like you’ve never felt better, as the two of you pant. Try to catch your breaths.

Feeling Eddie’s thumb nail running along your bottom lip you look up to his eyes, see they’re on your lips. His brows pulled together.

“Munson.” You don’t mean for it to sound like a whine. It’s not. You’re not whining right now, you’re just…feeling things and really high and maybe you can’t remember anyone you’ve been with ever touching you like this. And he’s barely touching you.

You may not have thought it to be a whine, but Eddie does. The look in his eyes as they finally meet yours has you floored. Has you seeing a want in a pair of eyes you don’t think you’ve seen before—know you haven’t; needy, nervous because of that need.

And when your palm moves of its own accord higher up and over until you feel a bulge in his tight jeans, the intake of breath he does. The slight droop of his eyes. All the decision you need to act on whatever these feelings are.

There’s disappointment in his eyes when you pull away from him, just enough to have his hands drop from your face and yours finding the top of his pants to open them up and fumble with the zipper.

“Whoa,” a nervous chuckle, then his hands wrapping around your wrists to stop you. “Whoa,” he says again. His breath still heavy. “What–should we–you,” he stammers.

It’s a bit cute, but it also has your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Shit. Have you completely misread this? Maybe he just wanted to kiss. You were fine with just kissing, if it was going to be like that everytime. But there’s an ache, a want, to hear that noise again. The one he had made in the back of his throat. To see the impressive bulge that your fingertips had touched.

“Do you,” you pull your hands back, take them from his hold and chew on your lip, “not want to do this? More..” you trail off. You can’t imagine what you were coming off as right now. Have you ever been rejected? Tonight was clearly the night of firsts for you.

“I,” Munson shakes his head, and your stomach sinks. Face falls. But then he’s shaking his head more aggressively, “no, that’s not,” he sighs. Takes a breath to ground himself, his hands coming to hold the tops of your shoulders. His expression serious, “Yes. I want to do this. I just…I’ve–never thought this would be happening and that I would be admitting to it in a situation, let alone this one–“

And then it clicks.

“Munson.” A slow smile snakes its way across your lips, “are you a virgin?”

His leg bounces, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”

“Just to be clear I mean sex, you’ve never had sex?”

“Yes.”

“But you’ve done..other stuff, right?”

Silence for a beat and then he’s shaking his head. You try and fail to hide the surprise on your face, “I should take this as a compliment. Your utter shock.” You can see the blush that is growing up his neck and over his already red cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” Your smile falters for a second, “I just thought with that kiss, you had done something before.” You can’t help but look down at his parted lips, yours still tingling from them. “It was..”

“Perfect.”

That word again. Hits you the same way it had before. Has the both of you staring at each other’s mouths until you’re kissing again. This time faster, harder, the passion seeping from the want and morphing into something that now has you completely on fire. Engulfed by Eddie. Your fingers are in his hair. His hands cradling your face like it’s so fucking fragile.

“Can I taste you?” You’re panting against his mouth, running your hands down his chest back to the top of his pants that are still undone. Open enough that you can push your hand in them and move your fingertips against the top of his shaft. That same noise he did earlier coming out as a puff against your parted mouth.

He nods, “yes.” It sounds so soft and filled with need. He presses one more kiss to your lips before he’s slowly pushing himself back, giving you room and helping you maneuver his pants and boxers down his thighs. Just enough to spring his cock free.

It’s bigger than you imagined it would be—never imagined it to be. But, fuck. How has he not done anything when he kisses like that? When he’s so funny, cute, and nice, and his cock is so thick.

Your jaw aches just staring at it. Tongue coming out to wet your lips as you wrap a hand around the base of him, have to hold back the sound you want to make from the sound he makes; a shallow breath let out, just below a whimper. His hips already jerking involuntarily up, precum at his tip.

“Are you sure? You’re not like…just super high–“

“I am super high, Munson.” You smile sweetly and it makes him do the same. A low laugh covered up by you leaning in to press your lips to his, “and yes, I’m sure. Incredibly.” You hope your own look of want for him comes across clearly, not only in your words but with the way your hand starts to move on his shaft, and the way you run your tongue along his bottom lip.

A breathy, “fuck, oh-kay” slipping out from him.

It’s all the consent you need, the push to have you leaning down to run the flat of your tongue across his leaking tip. The hiss of pleasure he lets out only a prelude to the whimpers and gasps he makes when you let your tongue explore along his length, pumping and sucking with your mouth along a thick vein that runs up the side of his cock. Your thumb rubbing a slow circle behind the head of it, making his hips buck and legs tense around you.

And when you finally put him in your mouth, finally swallow down the already there taste of him on your tongue—you both let out a moan. Can feel the top half of him shift like his head has fallen back, an image of his beautifully parted mouth hung open, eyes screwed shut in pleasure has you moaning against him again; your body on fire, your pussy aching.

You match the pumps of your hand with the drag of your mouth up and down his dick. Swirl your tongue around the head and suck when you reach it. Let yourself go as far as your gag reflex will let you until you’re gagging around him and Eddie is cursing and digging his nails into the cushion of the couch.

You completely expect to feel his hand on your head, to be pushing or pulling your hair to guide you. Even fucking up into your mouth. When you’ve done this for other guys they were nothing less than over aggressive about it. So when it doesn’t happen part of you thinks he’s not enjoying it; a thought that’s quickly debunked by the grunts and shaky breaths coming from above you.

And when you steal a glance to the side you can see how red his knuckles look from the death grip he has the cushion in. How his fingers twitch and hand runs along his thigh, acting as if he wants to touch you but not daring to. You steal another glance up at him, “oh, ohmygod” tumbling from his lips when your eyes meet; he looks so desperate right now. So flushed and pretty.

You pull your mouth from him, let your lips press the tiniest of kisses to the tip that makes his hips gyrate, chasing your mouth. “You can touch me, Munson.”

“Where?” He asks shakily.

“Wherever you want.” You reach for his hand and press it to your cheek, “here, so you can feel yourself inside of me.” He whimpers, you smile. “Or here,” you run his hand down your neck, raise your brows to note that area being an option before you descend further. Until you reach the top of your cleavage, “to tits.” You say playfully and it has a deep chuckle scrunching his eyes. “Okay?”

He hums, nods. “Okay.”

And then your mouth is on him again, his tantalizing noises back and making your thighs press closer together. Making you encourage the small thrusts of his hips up into your mouth. Drool slipping down your chin when your own whimper is dredged up from the back of your throat when you feel the pad of his thumb run along your hard nipple; before his palm squeezes and massages your boob in a way that makes you move your body further into his.

The pleasure you’re giving him being handed back to you with the same energy of want and need, and it has you shellshocked. Has your body working overtime with heat, arousal, and wanting to please him. Wanting to hear more of those groans. To feel the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat and his “holy shit, that feels so good” when your throat spasms around him.

If you knew sucking Eddie Munson’s dick was this fun you would of done it years ago.

Why hadn’t you seen him before this night? Why did it take weed and giggles and flirting that turned you on more than you want to admit—to really see him. And why did the thought of not being able to look away from him again, to go back to not seeing him, something that was inevitable: make fear take root in your chest?

His hand has moved to hover over your head, his rings adding more pressure to the back of your skull than his actual fingers do. “You’re so perfect,” he whimpers. Pushes his hips up into your mouth, pulling your lips further down his throbbing shaft. “Perfect.” He repeats, your stomach flutters and flops and you preen around him. His breaths get deeper, hips moving more frequently, fingers flexing in your hair. He’s close, so so close.

And if you thought the noises he was making before were beautiful, the whine he lets out when he says, “I’m going to come, can I–oh fuck–can I do it in your mouth?” Makes your eyes roll back, your head nodding in approval and then you can feel him leaning back; a loud moan coming from his mouth, his fingers gripping the hair on top of your head as he comes against your tongue. The searing heat from it like a salve to the ache in your throat.

You swallow him down. Let your tongue lap at the droplets left on his tip as you suck him into your mouth one last time before he’s letting out a hiss of over sensitivity.

He tastes just as lovely as he looks right now. Completely flushed, eyes red and heavy. One corner of his mouth ticked up in a soft smile.

“Did I hurt you?”

“What?”

“Your hair,” his fingers rub at the back of your skull gently. “I’m sorry if I pulled too hard,” the softness of his words has your chest feeling heavy. Those feelings back, your arousal under shadowed.

“No,” you shake your head. Pull his hand from the back of your head, don’t know why, but you let your lips skate across his rings as you kiss his fingers. “It was perfect.”

His mouth pulls into that boyish grin, for the millionth time tonight. “It was.”

Maybe your summer won’t be so boring after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things one shot #joseph quinn #heavy metal love !

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xsister-serpent · 4 months

Text

Earbuds & Intrigue

Warning: 18+ MDNI, cursing, spicy audio, sexual explicit,

Summary: Goth!Reader is a supporter of a spicy audio content creator CraftedClassic on Patreon. Her routine office job takes an unexpected turn when she discovers that her new wealthy CEO is none other than CraftedClassic, the infamous spicy audio creator she admires.

A/N: This has been back burner of my computer for years and I finally had the time to work on it. This was heavily inspired by those spicy audio's on gone wild reddit. This is going to be a series for sure. Might make a playlist for this story. 🖤 Hope you guys like this take on CEO Kylo btw. Kylo's username is: CraftedClassic and Goth!Reader username is DeathMajesty. link for Part 2.

Having worked in the office all day had been tiresome and treacherous. There were daily reports to prepare since the month was almost over. It had been okay for you to come in two out of five days since the lockdown. In addition to not having your former employees next to you, you were able to listen to music and be on Zoom calls at your convenience. Although it wasn't important, you were a shadow in the background, and you appreciated that. Today was different, however; word got around that you were going to have a CEO boss. Rose, your cubicle mate (or, as you both coined the term, cell buddies), messaged you. You placed your dark wave music on hold as you saw her messages ring up.

ROSE: Morning! Hope you had your coffee. Just a little forewarning about the new CEO. He’s a bit uppity.

Y/N: Aren’t they all?

ROSE: He’s worse…he’s like a male version of Miranda Priestly.

Y/N: Good thing I wear all black, huh? Can’t go wrong with that fashionable look.

You chuckle and then go to work. You didn’t care about new people at this point if you were being honest. You expected an older man, of course, like all stereotypical CEOs, if not a preppy-looking man with a traditional family values background. As you went back to your reports, you saw Maz, your supervisor, entering the building along with a man dressed in a fine all-black suit.

He took off his sunglasses and glanced around the building. He had black shoulder-length hair, an aquiline nose along with beauty marks. He was tall and built, and the suit made him look all the more intimidating. He had an unusual handsomeness to him that caught you off guard.

‘Okay, you weren’t expecting that at all.’ You went back to your work, seeing Maz and him draw closer and closer to your workstation. You withdrew an earbud as you saw Maz wave at you with a kind smile, “Ah, the little ghost! Y/N is one of the best drafters we have here. Y/N, this is Kylo, the new CEO.”

You glance up at him and stuck out your hand, “Hi, nice to meet you.”

Kylo's gaze was tense as he shook your hand, “Afternoon.”

You could see why Rose used that term; even his presence was intimidating. His hand gently but firmly shook your hand. ‘God, even his hands are huge,’ you thought. You could tell Maz was in a rush as she moved on to show Kylo more of the building.

“Reports looking good?” Maz spoke.

“Always,” you mused as you went back to work.

Kylo trailed right behind her only to look back at you once from the corner of your eye. He leaned over to say something to Maz. She didn’t glance back but nodded assertion.

What did that mean? Was it your workwear? Was cooperate goth not good enough anymore, you’d be damn to wear those awful brown-colored company polos.

You were a ghost in that company, and you wanted to keep it that way; his attention was the last thing you needed. You were clocked out at 3:30 pm and cleaned the temporary workspace. You had messaged Rose on your break about the CEO. However, you didn’t mention the side conversation you saw with him and Maz. You kept that to yourself, trying not to think too much about it. You took off in your black car, blaring the deep vocals of Peter Steele as you drummed to the beat of the song. You pulled up to the light and waited, softly singing to the chorus of 'My Girlfriend’s Girlfriend’. As you glanced over, you saw him. Kylo. He was in a black convertible, of course, talking to someone on the phone with a narrowed look. Immediately, you turned the other way, avoiding contact. As you waited for the light, you quickly glanced at him, gandering him.

“Hmm, looks like you're made of old money—the quiet type of rich. Oh, check out that watch,” you quietly observed, “Breitling. Not quite a Rolex, though.”

You turned your attention to the traffic light, and almost incidentally, you saw Kylo glance your way. You gripped onto the steering wheel and kept your eyes forward.

‘He didn’t see you; he’s just checking out the window.’ You told yourself.

Thankfully, his light had turned green, and in a roar of the engine, he took off.

You made your way back to your apartment and were greeted by your roommate's corgi, BB8. You gave him a boop on the nose and a little treat.

"Stop giving him treats Y/N, he’s gonna get tubby," Rey chuckled as she slipped on her shoes. You looked at the now-sad pup who shamefully went to his spot and sighed heavily.

"Sorry, BB," You soothed as you went to the couch, "You're out of here already?"

"Yeah, got a weekly meeting with 'the family'," she said as she slipped on her blazer, "I'll probably be back late, make sure BB gets half of his dinner."

You looked at the tubby corgi who was almost hiding her face in shame. "Of course."

You knew Rey from high school and knew she, too, came from a rich family. One she said was a near mix of Succession. All the more it made you curious about why she'd want to live in a regular 2-bedroom apartment with you in a middle-class area. You could tell she hated family holidays, and most of the time, she spent it with your large, loud family if her dad was out of town.

"Sounds good," you nodded as you landed on the couch, taking off your docs. "Wish me luck; I'm meeting with my annoying cousin," she sighed.

"The one who totaled the car?" You chuckled as you remembered her story of the last Christmas party she went to with her dad.

"Yup," Rey spoke as she ran her fingers through her hair, "I need to get Bravo on my family; we'd make good headlines. Welp, I shall see you two later." Rey waved as she blew a kiss at her dog, leaving you alone.

You looked over to BB8, who was now snoring into her blanket. With a chuckle, you got up and went to your room. You had changed into your black oversized tee and sweats as you mindlessly scrolled through social media.

Until a notification came from your subscription to Audios After Dark, a website for audio erotica. You stumbled across it and immediately got into it a few years back. It was better than seeing those fake pornos and way healthier for your sexuality—over the million accounts you had found one to your liking. A user named CraftedClassic had one of the smoothest and sexiest voices you had ever heard.

You listened to his introduction hearing his baritone voice through your headphones and you entered into the rabbit hole of his audio directory. A few times you had left him a tip and a little comment here and there to which he replied with appreciation.

You saw a new audio from him this time it was a script he created. In this scenario, he played a submissive something different from what he had usually posted. You just shut the door and pulled on your headphone clinking the link. You closed your eyes hearing him through your headphones.

“I know it's been a long time since I uploaded but I hope you all enjoy this one, it was quite the experience for me,” he spoke with a deep chuckle.

You are back on your bed hearing him describe his restraints and how he needed to be fucked. Immediately you felt that heat between your legs grow with excitement and lust. You went over to your nightstand and took out your viberator. His moans and pleas making you feel all the more excited for this audio.

You quietly went to work on your release picturing this man kneeling before you begging you for your touch on him.

‘Please I need this! I need you! I need to taste you in my mouth,’ CraftedClassic cried in pleasure mimicking what sounded like eating you out, ‘Fuck you taste soo good, I want you to break me..’

As you worked your fantasy your mind to Kylo as your vibe went a few stages higher on your clit. You pictured him being submissive his hands bound behind him as he buried his face between your legs moaning and whimpering into your throbbing pussy. You heard CraftedClassic wanton pleas and begging that made you finish with a silent cry of pleasure as he made the sounds of his climax. You came hard and fast, your body trembling as you felt yourself melting into pleasure. You lay there in a blissful state, your mind still reeling from the intensity of the experience. You heard CraftedClassic heavy breathing through the headset as he released another soft moan coming down from his undoing. As he closed his audio session you left a like along with a short comment:

10/10 Keep up the good work.

Almost within seconds, he replied.

'Glad I could give you the satisfaction @DeathMajesty ;)'

You looked at his profile photo once more wondering what this CraftedClassic looked like out of curiosity but it was all anonymously which you couldn’t blame him for.

“No digit footprint at all,” you sighed shutting your vibe off.

The digit footprint was always in the back of your mind but it was fine for this. Better spicy audios than a lecherous porn site that used sex workers’ content. You sighed and logged out of the site setting your phone to charge.

You went back to social media and doom-scrolled once more, seeing Rey's post on her social. She was in the upper side of the city taking dinner selfies with her good-natured father Luke and boyfriend Finn. But then something else caught your eye in the background. You paused her video and zoomed in. It was Kylo. A slight laugh escaped your lips connecting the two dots, he was the dread cousin Rey had told you about. You clicked his name but of course, it was private. The only icon of him was a black-and-white photo of his silhouette.

“Interesting,” You chuckled going back to watching Rey’s post and exiting out of the app.

You stopped scrolling and went to make yourself dinner settling in for a salmon bake bowl and coke. As you feed yourself you fed BB8 who was already spinning in excited circles for food.

#star wars #kylo ren #kylo ren fanfic #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren smut #reader x kylo ren #ceo!kylo ren x reader

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itsbackwoodsbby · 5 months

Text

A/N: confession- pretty sure this was wrote the beginning of this year… like february/april. went through a lot. never forgot it though. revisited it a lot to read what i had. just never finished … here it is … nov. 22nd at 3am. removing the cobwebs and putting it for the world to see. hope you guys enjoy it. definitely not proofreading this, so excuse the errors.

ICU

Yahya Abdul Mateen II x Black Fem Reader

Warning: Smut! Unprotected Sex! Dinking (Recreational)! Swearing!

Summary: Yahya and you used to be together, until you both realized that you were better off as friends. You start dating again and none of the guys are really for you. a lonely night in your apartment makes you realize that Yahya might be one.

Inspo: ICU by Coco Jones

you come into your apartment and place your purse on the counter and take off your heels. you head to the kitchen and make yourself a very strong peach margarita on the rocks. after you make the drink, you trudge to your living room and sink deep into your couch, replaying the date in your head. he was an hour and thirty minutes late. he got loud with the waiter for getting his food wrong. the waiter was new and scared. so our waiter changed to a waitress and he starts flirting with her for the whole ass night. you groan and start face palming.

there’s no way you go out with yet another asshole. get it together y/n.

“alexa, play icu by coco jones.” you blow out, very upset with yourself.

she follows your command and the music plays.

you close your eyes. the cadence of coco’s beautifully crafted voice fills the room. you get up and look at the night sky and admire the stars. they looked so delicate in the sky. then, you were startled by a pair of hands wrap around your waist as you felt lips on the nape of your neck. you know who it was without turning around. it was him. but you don’t fully know if it’s him. you turn around to face this man and you were right.

yahya… the one that got away. you guys met through mutual friends who were trying to hook you guys up. a few weeks later, you two started dating. he was amazing. he called you every day to check on you, random flowers, occasional dates. sweetest guy ever. then, he got busy with work and you got busy with work, the two of you barely saw each other. slowly, texting each everyday went to no text for many many weeks. so you two decided with your busy schedules to just be friends.

as you two were facing each other, you don’t speak. just admire each other. you start to think how the hell you went this long without this man. his warm embrace and his touches were the best thing ever in this world. you two dance together to the song. your head resting easily on his chest his arms. you haven’t been this relaxed in a while.

as soon as the song goes off, yahya disappears. you open your eyes and realize you were only daydreaming about him in your lonely apartment. the condensation of the glass now soaking the couch. you shake it off by finishing the rest of your drink and heading to the bathroom to shower. you start playing your shower playlist and get inside. when you turn on the water, you let a sigh out and let the water rain down on your body and lean on the wall.

your thoughts travel to the first time you shower with yahya. you close your eyes again and he’s back in the shower with you. he hold you tightly and you reciprocate the same tight embrace. you look up at him and kisses his chest. he smiles at you and kisses your forehead. then somehow, you pinned against the shower getting dicked down by him. you’re grabbing onto to the shower curtain, screaming, because the pleasure is so unbelievably amazing. he just chokes you and plants his soft lips onto yours to quiet you down. you’re on the verge of coming. he goes deeper and hits your spot until you’re creaming all on his dick.

then… he’s gone again.

y/n … don’t do it. fight it. you don’t miss him. it’s just the alcohol and that horrible ass date.

you try to repeat it to yourself in the shower as you wash your body. you get out the shower, get dressed into this, and do your nighttime routine. when you get done, you go into your room and decide to write out the things you have to do tomorrow. trying to be productive and organize. afterwards, you scroll on instagram and the first post yahya. at a dinner party with your two mutual friend, leilani. they were cuddled up together… and not in a friendly way. your emotion start to show and you’re jealous. you sighs and lay in bed and try to go to sleep. but no matter what, you started feeling him cuffing him, making you miss him more than you think you actually think you do. you sit up in bed and look at the time. 1:30am. finally breaking and deciding you need to talk to him, you grab your phone and a cardigan to wear. heading to the living room, you grab your keys and glasses. you’re heading to the door and you open it and see yahya was about to knock on your door.

“uh… hey y/n.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “i know it’s late and all but i just really need to talk to you.” you touch his chest and tap him. just to see if he’s real. he chuckles, “are you okay?” you sigh out, “yeah.” you giggle, kind of embarrassed. “this night has been crazy.” you say. “come in. make yourself comfortable.” you say moving out of his way so he could come in.

he comes in and you two sit on the couch staring at each other. “so. how have you been?” he starts off. “i’ve been good. started back writing.” you say. “and yourself?” you add. “that’s good. i’m amazing. finishing up filming with leilani. it’s been really fun.” he smiles really hard. “that’s good.” you say, trying to cover your jealousy. you don’t think he catches on to it but he chuckles, “what’s up?” he asks and you give him a confused look. “what do you mean?” he shrugs a bit, “you just said it dryly like you’re jealous or something.”

you laugh it off but he was spot on. he could always tell your emotions. and you didn’t know if you hated it or loved it but now… you definitely hated it.

“anyways yahya. what are you here for?” you asks him, trying to avoid the question. he breaths in, “y/n … i miss you.” you look at him and you’re super speechless. “what do you mean?” you stumble out somehow. “look… i understand we didn’t have time for each other at one point of time. but i really like you. hell i love you. i can’t even get you out my head.” he says. “you love me? what about leilani?” you ask him and look down. “what about her?” he looks at you confused. “aren’t you two together?” he chuckles and it turns into a laugh. “no, we’re not. it’s just for the movie.” you look down kind of embarrassed. “oh okay.” you smile at him and giggle. “i miss you so much yahya. with everything that’s being going on… it showed me how much i miss you. how much i need you. us breaking up was a mistake. i love you too.” you say, as it feels like 100 bricks has been lifted off your shoulders.

you both admire each other again. eventually, you shy away and look down because you both have been staring too long at each other. he lifts your chin up and caresses your warm cheek with his thumb.

“don’t break contact.” he says, looking into your eyes, more like your soul.

you just nod your head and look at him. eventually, the two of your lips collide with each others. this feeling right here is what you missed. after the kiss, you two catch up with each other some more. with a bottle of wine and some music, the conversation starts to get a little sensual.

“yahya… when is the last time you had sex?” you ask him boldly out of nowhere. he laughs, “well uh, i haven’t had sex since we broke up.” he places his glass down and eyes you down. “did you give my pussy away to someone else?” you astounded at the way he reworded the question, “wow, uh way to throw me off guard.” you giggle. “nope, i didn’t give your pussy away.” he smiles at you, “good girl.” making you bite your bottom lip. “mm … let me put this wine up. it’s a little warm.” you say and head towards the kitchen.

you open the refrigerator and place the wine in there. you close it and before you can turn around you feel those muscular arms wrap around your waist. you smile. his hand begins to fumble with the trim of your romper and his finger starts brushing against your clit. you remove your body from the romper and turn around to face him. he licks his bottom lip, letting you know, it’s about to go down.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ (resume spot)

the time was now 2:30am. the room was filled with skin clapping and moans and groans. you looked back at him. it’s crazy how you were just scared to make eye contact with him a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking back at him with the most sluttiest, lustful eyes. making him know, you want more and he gave your more. a little too much more. you grab his chest and slowly trailed down to his stomach to slow him down a bit. however, he just grabbed both your arms and pinned them to your back.

“fuck! yahya, please it’s too much!” you cry out as he smirks at you. “baby girl, i know you can take this dick.” he grunts out. you sigh and bury your face in the pillow and moan into it. he smacks your ass, “i want to hear you, y/n.” you jump up a bit and bury your face into the pillow again. he shakes his head, “well, you put this one on yourself.”

he pull you up from the pillow by your hair. your back is now on his stomach as he digs deeper inside your pussy. your moan resume filling up the room as you relax your head on his shoulder. he kisses your neck and pulls your waist closer to his, making sure you don’t run from this dick. you grip his muscular arms and dig your nails through them.

“oh! oh! fuck! baby, i’m about to cum.” you squeal out. “cum on this dick, baby. he kisses your neck as you clench tighter and tighter around his dick.

you wet his waist down with your orgasm. you fall back on the the bed and try to relax as he was still fucking you. it wasn’t as aggressive. your throbbing pussy was bringing yahya closer his nut as he hovers over you, planting wet kisses down your back and giving you slow deep strokes. a few seconds later, he pulls out and cums on your back.

“shit, i really needed that y/n.” he says as he smacks your well bruised hand printed ass. “lemme go get you a towel.”

he goes to your bathroom, runs some warm water on two rags, and comes back and cleans his mess off your back. you arch your ass up to stretch like a cat. yahya spreads them cheeks to clean your pussy up from the wet mess you have, but gets distracted by your glistening pussy. he smirk. you look at him.

“oh, no. you’re not eating my pussy again.” you say, but you wiggle your ass at him. he touches your clit and rubs it slowly with his thumb. “oouu, shit, baby. i just said no.” you saying, but both of you already knew you wanted him to eat it again.

he starts having a full blown make out session with your clit. you couldn’t do anything but hang your mouth low and push his head closer to your pussy. he grips your cheeks and spread farther apart from each other and licks up and down. you close your eyes and bite your lip.

“mhm, baby. just like that.” you nod your head and start grinding your lower half into his face.

he grabs your waist and pull you even more closer to him, burying his face in your pussy and starts shaking his head in between your cheeks, getting his nose wet in the process. you couldn’t understand how you just fed this man your pussy almost an hour ago and he’s still eating this motherfucker like he’s hungry. your clit starts to pulsate, meaning it was time to cum again. you sigh as you cum in his mouth this time. you flip on your back and watch as he gets the semi-cold rag. he barely puts it on you, yet you still jump up.

“too cold. too cold.” you hiss out and he laughs. “you want me to just lick the mess up?” he jokingly says. “yeah.” you say laughing.

you didn’t think he would take it serious since you laugh, but he did. you let out a moan and he chuckles and comes up to your face and kisses you sloppily while let you taste yourself on his lips and in his saliva.

“see how good you taste, mamas?” he says after the kiss. “yes.” you smile, giggling at him. you two cuddle for the rest of night and watch the sunrise in the morning and making up for the time lost. then eventually, you both go to sleep.

Next >>

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celebtf · 24 days

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Vinnie & the Car-shop

It was a hot summer day, Mid-july and and I was taking my Car to work. I woke up and I was not feeling well today, my head hurt, I was tired and hungry but I needed to work so I could afford rent and have food on my table.

I sat in the car, I got the AUX and put on some music from my regular playlist. The playlist is around 10h long so I have some songs to shuffle through.

As I was driving on the highway my car started to make this strange noice, I was in a rush and needed to hurry. I continued to drive even with the strange noice but the more I drove the more the sound got worse.

I picked up my phone and called my boss " Hey Joe, I'm sorry but my car just broke down on the Highway. I might not come in on time today, but I'm making it up to you" I heard my boss laugh a little " Hey man, it's okay, take the time you need and be safe while driving on the 40 highway. "

I hang up and called my local Car-shop and they send a car to pick my truck up. They come and I get a ride to the car-shop.

I walk in to the shop seeing a young man, im his early 20's, he can't be much younger then me, sitting on a box with his face in his face.

I go up to him and start talking " Hey man, what's up? How's it going " I asked to he polite and to see if there's anything I can help with.

" Hey man, I don't know, I'm having trouble with this thing over here, I don't know how or if I can fix this thing " the young man, who I now can see is that one tiktoker... what's his name, Vinnie hacker I think.

" Okay man, give me that thing over there " Vinnie gives me the screw and I show him how he can twist this and do that " Also, my fingers are getting dirty can I Barrow your gloves real quick " I ask him.

He gives me his gloves and I start to work on the car, and a bit later I feel the place getting hotter " I'm so sorry, but it's just so hot, I need to just take my shirt off" I said, throws the shirt and start working.

As I'm working I can feel my hands heat up, but I can't take the gloves off, my hands start to cramp and I can see them grow. My arms began so gain muscles and I can see a few, not a few alot of new tattoos for. My shoulders get bigger and my pecs too. I can feel my nipples getting hard and touching them feels really Nice. I felt something that felt like a punch to my stomach and I can see a pac of abs start to appear, a hard sixpack of Washboard abs.

I feel my face starting to heat up, my jaw cracked and got sharper, my eyes burned and my eyebrows grew bushier and my hair suddenly grew a bit longer, and blond. I'm usually not blond.

" Hey vinnie, wasn't your workday over 30 minutes ago? Why are you still here?" The owner comes up to me " I'm sorry I didn't hear you, what did you call me?"

He just looked at me and laughed " Vinnie you're always such a jokester " I didn't really understand him, but if I needed to leave then I would have to get going..

I went to the Bathroom before closing and that's when I finally saw what he meant. I was really vinnie, but how? And where was he now? But my mind started remember things, everything in my mind as Vinnie's memories.

" Okay I look really good, even better then before, I think I can get used to this"

I laughed and left the shop

Hey, I'm back, I wrote this story last week after trying to get out of this writters block I have had for like a month. I'm okay with this story not being the best. Just wanted something out and to post.

#celebrity tf #body swap #celebtf #transformation #gay #male body suit #malebody swap #male shapeshift #body switch #vinnie hacker #tiktok #cars #noah beck

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star-crifice · 1 month

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Donatello 2012 x Reader

Words: ~1500

A/N: This was inspired by Lovers Rock - TV Girl btw :P

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The successful invasion of New York City has been a while ago now. As you were stumbling across the streets past debris and mutated humans, you desperately sought for help. At that point, you’ve known the turtles for a few months. They send you a text to come outside so they could pick you up in their van. Not a moment has passed before they came drifting around the corner, stopping abruptly so you could jump inside.

That day, you fled your hometown and had to leave your whole life behind.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“I love that song!” you exclaim with a small smile, not looking up from the old, chunky laptop in front of you. Donnie smiles back at you, lifting his head over his computer's screen to snatch a quick glance at you nodding your head to the beat.

He thinks about what he should answer, analysing every option and its possible outcome. After overthinking it, he settles on a simple ‘Me too!’, however, doesn’t get it out in time, before it would be too late and awkward to answer.

Mentally facepalming himself for staying quiet, he tries to go back to work, but is quickly distracted by your humming.

Donnie and you are alone together in the barn, just like he hoped. Though there isn’t much time for chatting or bonding or, well… making you fall for him or something…

Both of you are busy trying to translate and decode some Kraang data you stole from one of their headquarters back in NYC, before the invasion. It’s tiresome work with lots of dead ends, straining your patience.

After a few days of sitting on the unreadable files, the Mutant decided to put on some music to lift the mood. It wasn’t as much of an impulsive idea as he pretended it was. In fact, it took him a whole day to get over his anxiety and bring up that idea.

And, who would’ve thought, he just so happened to have the perfect playlist!

Well, he actually spent a whole night calculating and putting together a playlist for the two of you. Just to make sure that the time you spent together is perfect!

A huge sigh escapes your lips as you push back your chair and spin a few times, hoping for your tired brain to reset.

“God, I’m so done with this. Nothing! NOTHING! I can’t find a single thing!” you say unintentionally loud. Donnie thinks about a way to console you, but feels the same. He’s tired and exhausted, barely got any sleep or went outside. His brothers, April and Casey have taken over patrol, giving him and you time to work on the stolen files.

“How’s your progress?” you ask, stopping your chair from spinning and looking past the computers blocking your view from your friend.

“Extremely slow, but at least something…” He sighs, “Oh who am I kidding! I've run into a dead end two hours ago!”

He lays his head on the table in frustration.

You take a deep breath, smelling the comforting autumn night air. The thought of taking a break outside, underneath the stars, pulls your glance towards the huge barn doors. The dim light of the old oil lamp beside you is spilling out the small gap between the doors, just like you wish you could.

Donnie notices your dreamy stare towards the wooden exit, thinking of something to say. For a moment, he dares to let his fantasies drift away from work. His little daydream trails off to laying in the grass with you, watching the stars, sharing earphones… listening to you humming to your favourite songs… your hands getting closer…

“I think I’ll go outside for a moment,” he says without thinking and stands up, turning away from you as his face heats up. He’s not sure if he needs a moment alone or hopes for you to follow him into the night, but when he hears you asking “Mind if I join?” and his heart skips a beat, all his questions seem answered.

“I’d never mind,” he says unusually confidently, all the hard work might just have turned off his anxiety for a moment.

You stand up and walk to him, he waits patiently for you to catch up. The warm but refreshing early autumn night air hugs you loosely as Donnie pushes open the doors, gesturing for you to go out first. A slight breeze dances past your bright face, making you forget about your worries for a bit. You catch Donnie’s glance and without words, both of you lead each other away from the house. As you glance inside, you see shadows walk past the curtains in the lit up windows, signalling you that your friends are done with work and exercise, calling it a day as well.

The small hill beside the farm is basically calling your names as you wander through the dark, nothing but the moon and the house lightning up your path. But with Donnie by your side, not even walking through the dark forest scares you.

With a content sigh, you let yourself plop down into the lush grass at the top of the hill. It’s slightly damp, but not enough to bother you. Nor Donnie apparently, as he sits down right beside you. For a second, your knees touch but he pulls his leg away, making the spot feel colder than before.

Donnie's heart races as the current situation gets way too close to his little daydream from before. But something in him wants to see how far he can go, he wants to test if his dream can become reality.

You lay down in the grass, your neck hurting from looking up into the sky for the past few minutes. The turtle beside you pulls out his phone and earbuds, plugging them in and handing one to you. Smiling up at him, you carefully take it from his hand and put it into your ear, Donnie mirroring your actions before laying down beside you.

Your shoulders almost touch. Almost.

The song from before continues playing, but fairly quiet this time. You can still hear a few grasshoppers chirping, the wind rustling through the tree’s crowns and dare you say, even Donnie’s calm breathing.

You start humming again, tracing star constellations with your fingers in the sky.

“Cassiopeia,” you mumble fondly, happy to find constellation after constellation in the clear sky, “and Hercules.” Your finger swiftly glides over to the ancient hero.

The next song starts, another one of your favourites. Either Don happens to have the same music taste as you or knows you too well, you think to yourself.

“Did you know, Hercules’ brightest star is Kornephoros,” he says quickly. You turn your head over to him, grinning.

“Smart as always, how do you just know that kinda stuff?”

He only shrugs, grinning back at you.

Unknowingly, both of you happen to glance down at your hands at the same time, and as you see how close they are, the same thought comes to your minds.

Neither of you act on it though.

To be honest, you didn’t even think you felt something for the boy. But now you lay here in the grass with him and suddenly you yearn nothing more than his touch. You want the spot on your knee to be warm and tingly again, his hand on your cold fingers, laying shoulder to shoulder.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a beautiful night sky,” you break the silence.

“The city’s light pollution is awful,” he mentions, averting his gaze from you to the cloudless sky, “back here, you can see more stars that you could count.”

Ever so slightly, you move your hands closer to one another.

While you’re questioning your feelings, Donnie’s got it all figured out. He fell first, long ago.

“The Pegasus,” you say as you accidentally point up with the hand that was right beside Donnie’s. You drop it again, cursing yourself for pulling it away. But your hand happens to fall right on top of his. Embarrassed, you pull away. God, you feel like some little kid right now, blushing over accidentally touching someone's hand.

Donnie’s heart seemed to explode for a second when you let your hand fall onto his. Was it an accident? Did you plan this? Why did you pull away? Was it weird that he didn’t pull away?

All these questions, but there's one thing that he’s sure about: that has to happen again. And for once, this desire pushes his anxiety away and he reaches over and grabs your hand.

From the corner of his eye he sees you turning to him, but you didn’t pull away. He’s too scared to look you in the eyes, terrified of being met with a face of disgust.

His worries disappear though, as you turn around your hand in his grasp and intertwine your fingers. He glances at you, both your faces looking equally surprised.

Another song you love comes on, but by now you don’t even pay attention to it.

#fanfiction #tmnt #tmnt2012 #Donatello #Donatello 2012 #Donatello x reader #donnie x reader #donnie 2012 x reader

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literaila · 1 year

Text

listening ears

tasm!peter x fem!reader

summary: in which peter is terrible at keeping secrets. and socks.

warnings: idiots to friends to lovers, no angst just pining, arguments, fluff, ahhhh

a/n: heres the link to the playlist. for a real time experience, listen. (this makes it sound like an amusement park which i think is funny)

word count: 10k

the first time you meet him, you're listening to sad music.

it's unclear which song--being that it's late enough that they've begun to blur together, instrumental shifting to piano and soft sullen voices and heartbeats you can't hear but feel--but it rings in your ears as he walks by.

as spider-man is suddenly in front of you, suddenly right in front of your bench, flashing blue and red and ego and playing with some weird white string between his fingers.

you're also fairly certain that he's cursing.

so, quietly, you hit pause on your phone, taking out an earbud. you watch him, hoping that he's already noticed your presence.

hoping that maybe he'll leave and there will be no questioning--from either of you--about what you're doing out this late on a night like this.

the snow on your head has melted, turning your hair several different forms of wet.

and when spider-man has not looked up, or any other place he might be mugged, you, graciously, clear your throat.

alerting him of your presence and beginning an attempt to beg him to leave.

spider-man, unsurprisingly, jumps back.

his white eyes are wide, but that might just be the costume.

you smile and wave.

"wha--" he looks around, behind himself, like you might be waving at someone else. "when did you get there?" he asks.

his voice is quieter than you've heard it before. less animated. maybe a bit rough, or sore.

you tilt your head, lifting a brow. "about an hour ago."

spider-man stares blankly at you. "no."

you contemplate laughing, or maybe tripping him with your leg as he peers closer at you, but ultimately hum. "okay." you drawl, "maybe i didn't."

your smile is soft. your voice is abundantly sweet.

you do not doubt that if spider-man wanted to, he could make both of you disappear in an instant.

not that you're afraid, of course. you've seen the news. and experienced an average day in new york.

spider-man tries again to pull his hands apart. fails.

"sticky?" you ask him, swinging your legs.

you think--but really just know--that spider-man glares at you.

and then, with the subtleness of a child, he leans up again, straightening his back. clears his throat like he's got a lot to say. "what are you doing out so late?"

his voice might be even deeper now, as some method of intimidation.

unfortunately for him, you got over your fear of spiders a couple of months ago.

"i could ask you the same thing," you respond.

spider-man does not find this amusing, apparently, because he just stares at you. waiting and watching.

eventually, maybe just to evade some awkward silence approaching, you sigh and relent. "i was drawing," you say, gesturing to the notebook you set aside.

you don't tell him about the music, or your sore eyes.

or about how when he first showed up you almost fell off the bench.

these are things he probably doesn't need to know, you think.

spider-man must frown or something because he grumbles out his next question. "drawing?" he repeats. "at three in the morning? in the dark?"

"there's a light right there," you point to the streetlight above your head, the picture of innocence.

you continue to smile at this man, if only because he seems to find it immensely irritating.

"aren't you cold?"

"the weather?" you furrow your brows, criticizing him. "c'mon, i thought you were better than that."

"it's snowing."

"i hadn't noticed."

"your paper is getting wet--" he points to your notebook, to the soiled edges.

it's the first thing to make you frown since he's shown up.

"shit," you whisper, brushing some snow and lead off of the paper. "i liked this one."

"sorry." spider-man clears his throat again. he bounces between feet like he's freezing.

"is spandex warm?" you ask him, leaning forward.

"i'm fine."

you frown. "are you always this grumpy? or is it just cause i scared ya?"

"you didn't scare me."

"must be the hands then," you say, leaning over so you can try and see the hands he's kept hidden behind his back.

but spider-man pulls them out--two of them--wiggling his fingers.

you frown. "how'd you do that?"

spider-man doesn't answer. instead, he looks around, probably for someone to rescue him.

unfortunately, everyone else went to bed hours ago.

you grin at him, suddenly and smoothly, holding your notebook out to him. "wanna see?"

spider-man is definitely judging the mess of a journal you have, but he takes it from you anyway, if a bit hesitantly. "whoa--" he says, turning it over. and then he pauses.

he looks back to you.

you smile.

"this is a penis."

you and maturity have never gotten along.

you make an effort to keep a blank face--snickering internally at the dry way he says it--and shake your head. "no," you say, "if you turn it over it's a smile."

spider-man does so.

and surely behind the mask, he's doing a slow blink, probably scowling at you.

"do you like it?" you ask him, keeping your voice soft and sincere.

he hands it back to you, sighing. "you should head home."

"so, no?"

"really," he says, almost gently. "you'll get frostbite. there's a reason no one else is out."

you blink, leaning back. "except you?"

spider-man swings his arms back and forth. he looks away. "except me."

"you can't get frostbite?" you guess.

and spider-man, despite himself, tries to smother a laugh with a cough. but you hear it clearly enough.

you furrow your brows as you peer at him.

and so he points a finger at you, stern. "get packing."

"what if i live on this bench?"

he doesn't laugh this time. he just starts to walk away, eyes still on you. "if you're not gone in five minutes i'm swinging you home."

"you don't know where i live," you say, calling his bluff.

but he turns around, waving nonchalantly.

you watch him, maybe surprised or irritated.

either way, you call after him.

and he spares you a glance.

"maybe i'll draw you next time," you say.

and then he's gone, and you're switching playlists.

when peter runs into the bathroom he's not really thinking about germs.

or toilet seats or washing his hands, or, obviously, checking the stalls for anyone else in there.

the fire alarm went off two minutes ago; anyone who remains, peter thinks, is probably not going to connect any dots between him and spider-man.

and when he unzips his backpack, digging his suit out of one of the pockets and cursing as pencils and pens fall onto the ground, he wonders why he didn't iron it this morning.

why he even tried to do laundry yesterday, considering that he's not very good at it and may has definitely noticed.

still, he kicks his shoes off.

the floor isn't wet this time, peter's thinking, so thank god for that.

he swings his jacket off of his shoulders and hurries to unbutton his pants.

there's a gentle buzzing of a fan in the corner, only slightly drowned out by the siren that is giving peter a headache. and flashing lights. and people running by.

and lots of chances to get caught, but not enough care in the world.

and if peter focuses enough, he can hear some type of music playing, somewhere close.

loud bass, quick rhythm.

he almost pauses to think about it, and then decides against it.

he flings his pants onto the floor, folding his shirt over his head.

it is very cold in this bathroom.

still, peter slides his socks off, hating the tiled floors, and internally screaming when one of the socks falls under the stall, disappearing to places that peter does not have time to look in.

and then he's squeezing into a very irritating suit.

trying to remind himself what the greater good is and blah blah blah. . .

but his arms are sore as he tries to zip it up, jumping to reach.

peter is insanely grateful for doors and peace and quiet and advil, of course.

and finally--finally--when he has the suit on, he scrambles to pick up everything he left on the floor while also putting his web-slingers on.

a good effort, really.

he sticks his backpack to the wall, promising himself that he's not going to forget it.

and then he unlocks his stall, beginning to step out when he catches a glance of you.

standing right in front of him, white earbud dangling toward the ground, proud smirk as you hold his sock up.

peter pauses. he stares at you.

you tap an innocent finger on your chin. "aren't you supposed to check the bathroom before you change?"

peter's first move is to try and grab the sock from your hand. but you, swift on your feet, duck away, humming to yourself.

"you're gonna go save a bunch of people with a sock in your hand?" you ask him.

peter thinks for a moment--not about socks, thank god--if you were standing in there when he walked in.

if you had paused when he burst through the door, not thinking about what bathroom this was or any person who might've stuck around. if your eyes were wide and mischievous--as they are now--when he quickly ducked into a stall.

but he knows, really, that you weren't there.

because, peter recognizes, he wouldn't have been able to miss you.

still, you're smirking at him.

"better get out there, spider-man," you say, gesturing towards the door.

and peter doesn't have the time to curse at you because you're right.

he doesn't bother to try and grab his sock again.

and when peter opens the door he can hear it--

your laugh.

and a gentle throbbing of another one bites the dust coming from your headphones.

you're trying not to laugh.

really, it's an extreme effort as you store the snort deep inside your chest, trying to melt the smile off of your face.

you are squirming in your seat as your sternum begs for some sort of relief.

and you contemplate leaving the library before this goes too far. before you start cackling in his face, unable to hold back--even if he gives you a weird look and everyone else around you starts complaining.

there's not much you can do to stop it, honestly, not when you've been sitting here, studying, for the last hour, music lulling you almost to sleep. and not when the boy who is now sitting in the cubicle next to you kicked his feet out, revealing some scruffed up converse.

and of course, some mismatched socks.

when you looked down--in a moment of weakness, dropping some type of pencil--you had to do a double take.

not that you can judge this boy, who you've been studying for the last five minutes and his choice of attire. you lose your own socks all of the time.

but there's a grey sock, plain and casual and not unlike your own. and then, just a couple of inches over, there's another sock. this one with a striped, colorful pattern, and words on the other side that you can't really read--for lack of view--but recognize almost immediately.

because, coincidently, you have the same sock in your backpack, awaiting a certain visitor.

and so, as soon as you looked up at this boy, the amusement crowded your not-so-subtle eyes.

he's got brown hair, a frown on his face as he reads a textbook that looks much more than dreadful. his chin is jutted out, his teeth idly munching on the lip between them. a headphone in one ear.

and, of course, this boy doesn't look over. he seems almost unaware of your presence.

and maybe that's what makes this so funny.

being that you've experienced this a couple of times now, and it's getting really hard to not say anything about it.

synchronicities, you know, can only go on for so long.

and this boy--this strange, somewhat attractive boy--is blissfully ignorant.

and you can't believe that he's wearing those socks in public.

you clear your throat, smile unstoppable now.

but he doesn't look over.

and you cover your mouth, shaking your head and turning yourself completely so that when he finally does decide to look over, he will know that you've been staring at him.

he will know that there's no avoiding this interaction.

which, for some strange reason, you're getting immense pleasure out of.

if you listen close enough you can hear the music he's playing.

some melancholy guitar music, completely what you would've assumed from him.

it makes you smile even wider.

you clear your throat again, leaning forward, legs crossed on your chair.

you kind of want to make him jump.

"excuse me," you say, softly. good enough to not draw any attention in this library.

though, your smile might be enough to raise some eyebrows.

the boy looks over, eyes wide and attentive.

you note his face as he takes you in.

"i was just wondering," you continue, innocently, "where you got your socks?"

you have rendered this boy speechless. which you seem to do a lot of.

you cough. "i mean, sock."

he looks down, to his feet, and then to you, seeming to understand. you catch a smudge of panic in his eyes, carefully glazed over as he opens his mouth, trying to say something.

he scratches his neck. blinking, with his mouth open, like he's trying to make sure that you're actually there.

and, to be honest, this is exactly what you imagined of him.

"lose all of your other pairs, too? or do you just like the look of clashing colors?" you blink at him, leaning back.

he takes a deep breath. "i'm sorry?"

"i mean," you shrug, turning back to your desk, "if it were me, i probably wouldn't wear those. especially when someone might have the exact same sock. but, to each their own."

"you--" he awkwardly laughs. "i just, um, found this. in the bathroom."

"was it in a backpack stuck to the wall?" you look back to him--his wide, scared, doe eyes--polite smile on your face.

"actually, i bought them yesterday. they came like this."

"interesting design choice," you respond.

and the boy, who is still staring at you, though not quite as breathless now, ducks down, leaning closer to you. "what do you want?" he whispers, eyes glaring.

"excuse me?" you whisper back.

"i'll--whatever it is, i'll try and get it. just don't--please don't tell anyone."

you frown, resting your head on a hand. "tell anyone what?"

"what you--" he looks around for anyone who might be listening. "what you know."

you tilt your head, questioning, and amused eyes.

"about me," he clarifies, almost hissing.

you lean back, studying him. "we just met," you say, with a hand to your chest.

he glares back.

"i won't spread your questionable fashion choices around the school if that's what you mean."

this boy still doesn't laugh. just like the first time, and the second, he seems to find you distasteful. almost annoying.

and honestly, that might be the only thing fueling this fire in your veins. this want to mess with him until he drops.

"seriously," he says, angry, "what do you want from me?"

"just to know where you bought those."

and then, as quietly and quickly as possible, you bend down to dig into your backpack, smiling in satisfaction as you find it, and then leaning back up, handing it to him.

"i wouldn't leave those around," you whisper. "you never know who might try and copy you."

you are almost threatening him.

the boy glowers. "i don't know what you're talking about."

you shrug, turning away again.

but he grabs your arm. "what?" he demands, again and again.

his eyes are angry, his face is hard and he's leaning away from you like you might reach out and turn him to dust.

but you only smile, asking sweetly "what's your name?"

he stares for a moment, blinking. "what?"

"i think maybe we have met before," you answer. "you seem familiar."

the boy grinds his teeth together.

but you wait, shoving that chuckling down your chest.

"peter," he says, the word mad and tough.

"peter," you repeat, looking away from him. "nice to meet you. i'm y/n."

you reach to shake his hand, and he stares at it like it's poison.

you roll your eyes. "don't worry," you add, softly. "i haven't forgotten. i still have to draw you."

his frown increases.

and you laugh as you turn away, thinking about secrets.

and listening to the music in peter's ears, still drifting over.

peter is not really paying attention tonight.

he roamed around all day--because there was nothing else to do--talking to strangers and not having to smile for pictures, just hoping for something to pop up.

and it did, and then it didn't.

when the problems are easy to fix, peter knows, they're less enjoyable.

still, the distraction was nice.

and you are not as you sit on a bench in front of him, smiling.

you've got that look on your face--the one that makes peter want to run away.

especially because you know who he is.

because he's been especially reckless the past couple of weeks, and as a consequence, you have shown up. you have smiled at him, whispering gentle words and even gentler promises.

and you've got a pencil in your hands.

a glint in your eyes that peter's seen somewhere before.

"fancy seeing you here," you say, amused. this is the same bench he passed by on the first night--when he was thinking about going home but didn't.

peter curses his own stupid decisions; the difference that they could've made.

"are you going to threaten me again?" peter asks, not really joking, though his voice gives nothing away.

"i don't know what you're talking about."

you're shrugging, looking away from him as your lips curl at the corners.

and then you look back up. "you never did answer my question about the socks, though."

peter rolls his eyes, though he doesn't miss the way he moves forward, trying to catch a glance at the surely explicit picture you're drawing.

curiosity is a curse.

"aren't you cold?" peter merely repeats.

"it's not snowing. so, no."

peter grunts. "another body part?" he nods toward the picture you're drawing, the thing you've chosen to look at instead of him.

"a foot," you grin up at him, eyebrows raise. "though, if you wanted. . . i could get started on my picture of you."

peter wishes you could see his frown.

still, he takes another step towards you. "how much?"

"hmm?"

"how much are you charging for it?"

peter watches you stifle a laugh, feels the pin-prick of pleasure in his chest. "only a smile," you say, head tilted.

"no thanks, then."

"c'mon, spider-man," you complain. "you're so much nicer to everyone else."

"everyone else hasn't threatened me."

you pout. "i won't tell anyone," you tell him, eyes wide, "if that's what you're worried about."

peter doesn't answer, just stares at you. looking for any tells.

"i mean," you continue, shrugging. "not that anyone would believe me. you've got enough frown lines to put me to shame."

as if to prove your point, peter frowns. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"well, i don't think anyone else has ever heard spider-man so much as grumble. so you. . ." you scrutinize him, nose wrinkled. "you couldn't be him."

peter narrows his eyes.

but you smile again, patting the bench next to you. "sit."

"i can't. i'm working."

you roll your eyes, sighing. "i'm the only one here. wouldn't you be better off watching me? just to make sure i don't do anything."

you smile at him, and it's more vicious than kind.

peter notes your eyes and the secretive glances you're giving him.

you might be right.

so he shrugs and moves to sit down next to you.

he's been closer, anyway.

you flip to another page, looking up at him, then down.

and so it begins.

you hum as you draw him, and peter taps his fingers on the bench, feeling nervous and uncomfortable, and mostly, hating that he's allowed himself to do this.

maybe just to keep in your good graces.

"what classes are you taking?" you ask him after a couple of minutes go by.

"what?"

"last week," you say, head tilting. erasing something on the paper. you've tilted it up on your knees, leaning against the arm of the bench, so peter can't see. "you were studying. that textbook looked horrible."

peter lets his lip perk up.

"what were you studying for?"

"a chemistry midterm."

you look at him, eyes just a bit tired. "you're into science?" you ask, almost doubtful.

peter crosses his arms.

"i mean, no offense or anything--" you smile as you say it. "--but i would've picked you for a music major. or business."

peter understands the implication. he doesn't say anything.

"gym major?" you ask, stealing a glance at his arms, laughing to yourself.

"what about you?" he asks, suddenly leaning forward. "i didn't realize there were classes on how to manipulate someone."

"that's called law," you respond, dryly. "and i'm an art major."

peter is sure you can feel his raised brow.

you roll your eyes, sighing as you relent. "fine. undecided. but i'm figuring it out."

you smile again like you know something he doesn't.

another minute passes, peter listening to the wind and your pencil as you scribble against the page.

"how long is this going to take?" peter asks, looking up, wondering how long he's been here.

"you can't rush art."

"i can when it's annoying me."

you don't look at him, but peter watches as you tense. he almost catches himself--the words he's just spoken and accidentally let out--and decides not to say anything.

maybe you'll forget about it.

"so," you drawl, after thirty seconds of awkward silence. "you're a chemist."

"engineer."

you scoff. "sorry, but that means the same thing to me."

peter snorts back.

"how old are you?" you ask him, brow furrowed as you concentrate.

"i'm not telling you."

you raise a brow, but don't look at him. "why not?"

"you'll just add it to the file."

you don't say anything.

"the file of things you know about me."

there's a quirk on your face, the clearing of your throat. "i was serious," you tell him, again. "i'm not going to tell anyone. i respect your privacy."

peter gives you a dubious look.

"i respect your anonymity," you revise, giving him a grin. "and if you keep moving your face i'm going to mess up your portrait."

"are you actually an artist?" peter asks, "or is this a ploy to get unsuspecting strangers to stop?"

"guess," you say.

"i'm going with the latter."

you shrug, not looking at him. "i've been told worse. but i think you're really going to like this."

peter doubts that, but he doesn't say anything.

and another tens minutes pass--in which you scrutinize everything about the suit he designed, snorting when he argues back--and then you're tearing out a page, smiling at him.

"i mean it," you tell him, "next time i see you i want a smile."

"i could be smiling right now."

you stare at him.

"just give it to me."

you laugh, putting your notebook in the bag next to you. "just don't look until i'm gone, okay?"

"you don't want to watch my reaction?"

"i don't think i need to."

and peter watches as you put everything else away--pencils and erasers and stick of charcoal. he pauses when he finally notices the headphones you tuck into your bag.

"you were listening to something before i got here?"

you just nod, zipping up your bag.

"what?"

you look up at him, eyes daring. "guess," you say.

"kanye?"

you scoff. "please."

"miley cyrus?"

you tilt your head, "i would be more likely to listen to the hannah montana soundtrack."

"metallica?"

you nod, lips pursing. "you got it, spider-man. i'm a metal kinda girl."

peter could've told you that.

but you're smirking before he can respond, pulling the pencil back out, flipping over the paper, and concealing it with your hand so that he can't see.

"there," you say, after forty-five seconds of scribbling. "now it's finished."

you put the pencil away, standing up.

"i'll see you soon," you say to him, nodding. "and that smile."

peter snorts.

and then you're walking away, waving an idle hand goodbye as you turn the corner. peter watches until you're gone, making sure that you're not going to pop back out when he least suspects it, and then he slides over on the bench, finally grabbing the paper.

he flips it over to find a black-and-white picture of himself, every slope and curve of his suit that he recognizes in the mirror.

and he knows, for sure, that you lied to him. or he lied to you.

it wasn't the latter.

still, somewhat amazed, smiling under his mask, his eyes drift down to the words you've written at the corner of the page.

you are a call to motion, it says. there, all of you, a verb in perfect view.

and then another foul "smiley face." peter almost laughs.

when you move, you've written, i move.

and your number at the very bottom, scribbled a bit recklessly.

peter memorizes the numbers before he swings home.

you get the first text three days later.

your phone vibrates in your pocket as you're waiting in line at a coffee shop, watching the people around you move with creases in their brows.

your fingers itch for the notebook in your bag.

and when you read the screen, you're a bit confused.

a text from an unknown number, and all it says is:

you lied.

you frown, thinking of who you might've irritated in the past couple of days.

it only takes a couple of seconds to recall the boy who you've messed with the most.

peter and the scowls he's given you.

you smile, knowing what he means.

and then you send him the spotify link to enter sandman.

peter rolls his eyes when he gets the message. still, he clicks on the link, plugging his headphones into the jack.

he walks while he listens, wincing at the words.

and when it's finished--when peter officially decides that he's finished with you--he sends back another link.

one to the song you wrote out for him, the song you happened to lie about.

are you flirting with me? he asks, trying not to let himself regret it.

or smile as he sees the little bubble at the bottom of the screen, letting him know that you're still there.

you send an emoji of a spider back and peter's smile fades.

you're laughing as you type, you still owe me a smile.

you move up in the line, trying not to stumble over the shoes of the person in front of you, scowling when peter sends you a scowl back.

not literally, of course. but it's been two minutes since he read the text, and he has not answered.

which, you think, is very rude.

is that a no? you type out.

peter merely says: you owe me a song.

so you send him knee socks, by arctic monkeys.

and you forget what to order when you get up to the counter.

peter begins to look for you before he walks around any corner.

he's avoided that bench, thinking that if he gets too close, too soon, you will get bored.

that you might've already after you sent him that song and he had nothing good to send you back.

he's been thinking about it for the past couple of days.

while he studies, and showers, goes to class, and swings from building to building, staring down at tiny people and thinking that one of them might be you.

but you haven't shown up. peter thinks maybe you've been hiding out too.

maybe worried because he hasn't texted back.

but then he corrects himself; he can't imagine you worried about anything.

still, he peeks around the corner before he moves, waiting for your cheeky smile and irritating laughter.

instead, he finds a crowd of people that he doesn't know, and who don't know him.

not that you do either.

peter is listening to music as he walks. trying to pretend that there is no correlation between you and this song.

he moves around the people, keeping his eyes low. he says hello to anyone who says anything to him. he smiles at strangers and reminds himself how to be polite.

he thinks about how mean he's been to you, and wonders if it just comes naturally.

and when he gets home, kissing may on the cheek and walking up to his room, happy to finally put down his backpack and all of the books in it, he's still thinking about you.

thinking about the picture he's put on his wall, and your simple handwriting underneath it. neat and smooth, nothing like he'd expected it to be.

he's thinking about you as he gets undressed, sliding on his suit and staring at the socks he's left on the floor.

when you know who's callin' even though the number is blocked. . .

peter shakes his head, kicking them under his bed.

but, right before he leaves, he grabs his phone from his bed, angrily clicking on a playlist.

and then he sends you another link, about a week later.

and he doesn't have it in him to question it.

you awake from your nap to a text.

the name at the top of your screen just says "itsy bitsy," because you were a little bit delirious and thought it was hilarious when you put him in your contacts a week and two days ago.

you almost smile at the notification, and then catch yourself.

spider-man, peter, has sent you a link to love grows (where my rosemary goes).

you click on it, smirking as you do so.

and then two minutes and fifty-four seconds later, you finally text him again.

are you busy tomorrow?

"you're my muse now," you say to him, pointing to a stool.

you sent peter the directions to an art studio, about three minutes off campus, and told him to come at noon.

it is 12:23 and you haven't stopped smiling at peter since he walked in.

"any song suggestions?" you ask him, wide eyes and tilted head and that devious smile that runs goosebumps up his arms.

peter clears his throat.

"no," he says. "pick whatever,"

you asked him to pose for you. told him that he owed you at least that, if not some laughter.

and peter disagreed, but didn't argue.

and now he's not quite sure why.

you put on some soft guitar music, going to a shelf in the corner of the room to grab something.

"how's my bench?" you ask him as you move back over to him and sit on the ground.

peter frowns. "i don't know."

you pull out a notebook, scoffing. "you're telling me that you haven't checked it once in the past week?"

"nope."

"aren't you supposed to be like the protector of new york city, or whatever?" you blow some hair out of your eyes as you say it.

"that typically applies to people."

"except me," you grumble, under your breath.

peter's lip twitches.

"what are you doing, again?" he asks.

"well, i figured since i drew spider-man, the least i can do is also draw peter."

"you said i was a terrible statue."

"you are," you laugh at him, "but you've got a nice face."

peter pretends not to feel it as he flushes.

"i won't show anyone," you tell him, "if you don't want me to. but it would be nice for my still art class."

"so you are an artist," peter says, attempting to evade your subtle question.

"only in my dreams. i'm also taking algebra, economics, and philosophy 101."

peter frowns.

"i'll declare next year," you tell him, frowning as you erase something.

"as an art major?"

you grin at him, but the peter that's on the paper. "wouldn't you like to know?"

peter doesn't answer that.

he watches you as you draw him, peeking an eye on the side of his face every couple of moments, and smiling when you catch him staring at you.

"what's your last name?" you ask him, breaking the silence.

another song plays, and peter still doesn't recognize it.

"parker."

you snort. "figures."

his brows furrow. "what does that mean?"

"of course, you would have a superhero-ey name."

"what's yours?"

"y/l/n."

peter laughs.

you frown. "what?"

"of course, you would have an annoying-sounding name."

you glare at him, but peter doesn't miss the twitch of your lip. "don't copy me, parker."

"don't make it so easy."

and you don't say anything back, instead choosing to focus down at the paper, but peter notices the little chuckle that falls from your mouth. the silent sneer in your eyes.

"what?" he asks after it doesn't go away.

"i think that was the first time you've actually teased me."

you don't say the rest of it. and peter doesn't acknowledge how comfortable he feels, sitting on this stool as you stare up at him, watching you as you look back.

"you can use it," he says, suddenly.

"what?"

"the picture. for your class."

you don't say anything, but nod in acknowledgment.

and peter feels like an idiot as the silence drifts. feels like he shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have agreed to this.

and the song changes again, a soft, melodic sound.

peter almost smiles.

"is this opera?" he asks, heavily judging you.

you grin, dropping your notebook on the ground and standing up. you take a step closer to him, leaning in.

"shut your mouth and see," you whisper to him.

peter is almost offended, brows furrowed as he stares at you and how close you are.

but then someone else echoes the words back, and you begin to dance, holding a hand out to invite him to join.

peter does, memorizing the slow movement of your hips as he stands up, feeling like his limbs are heavier than they were only four minutes ago.

and the two of you dance to only angel like no one's watching.

peter listens to you sing the words under your breath.

i must admit i thought i'd like to make you mine.

you are humming to yourself when you get the phone call.

when your hand stumbles, pencil creating a harsh line over the drawing you've spent the last twenty minutes hating. you scowl at your hand, and then your phone, for interrupting.

until you see peter's face on the screen.

the picture you took of the picture you drew of him, scowling at you like he seems to do a lot of.

you don't smile, but bite your lip as you press the little green button.

"hello?"

"hey," peter says, voice soft. he clears his throat. "what're you up to?" his voice is suddenly louder like he's using a microphone.

you smile, glad that he can't see it.

"just laughing at this picture of you."

"from last week?"

"yup."

"really?"

you roll your eyes, hoping he can feel it. "no," you drawl. "i was just working on something new. what's up?"

"do you like movies?"

after that, peter doesn't have to avoid you.

he doesn't look for you around any corners, because you've already leaned forward, already allowed him to see your smile and guess what you might be thinking about.

"hey," you say to him as you match his stride. "how was class?"

"boring," peter answers, accepting the earbud you hold out to him.

"of course, it was," you grin at him, "i wasn't there."

and peter just barely laughs, feeling a bit light when you smile back, face full of some sort of victory.

you play a song about being cold, and peter completely understands.

"i can't believe you got me to agree to this," you say to him as you open the door.

you're wearing a dress. pretty and flowing and completely surprising peter, if his face says anything.

"wow," he says, coughing. then clearing his throat. then coughing again. "it's--you look nice."

you scowl. "i look terrible."

peter just chuckles, looking down again, then at your eyes like he's forgotten something.

you just glare at him, waiting for him to tell you that you don't have to come.

but peter holds his hand out to you. "ready?" he asks.

"no. because i'm not going." you try and close the door in his face.

peter pushes it back, just smiling softly at you.

finally, you understand why he's been so irritated and cruel to you. if your smile is anything like his, then his reaction is completely rational.

"it'll be fine," peter coos, reaching a hand out to comfortingly--and condescendingly--rub your shoulder.

"it's a banquet," you say, just barely getting the words out. "for science."

"it's a party for engineering majors. i invited you a week ago and you didn't say anything--"

"all of your teachers will be there," you correct him, staring daggers. "if there are adults there, then it's not a party. and you made it sound fun."

"we're adults."

"i'm an adult, peter. you are a child. you are childish for tricking me into this."

"tricking you?" peter laughs, eyes gleaming. "i don't remember that part of the conversation."

you, suddenly, smile sweetly at him. "i don't know if you've heard," you whisper, smoothly, "but this is going to be terrible."

he grabs your hand, rolling his eyes. "it'll be boring, maybe, but not terrible. i'll stay with you the whole time."

you frown. then say again, in the same, all-knowing tone, "i don't know if you knew this about me, peter parker, but i'm terrible at boring. or being serious. or talking to people."

"you talk to me just fine--"

"as soon as anyone says anything i'll start laughing. it's a nervous reaction, i can't control it."

"i'll put a hand over your mouth."

"that's a violation of my boundaries."

peter snorts, "look, not that i'm not enjoying this--"

you pinch his arm, shaking your hand out of his.

"--but we're going to be late. we can talk about your chortling on the way there--"

"chortling?!"

"witch cackle, guffaw, whatever," peter corrects.

"you are not making me want to go with you."

"c'mon," peter whines, catching your hand again. "you're my plus one. everyone will think i'm a loser if i show up without you."

"they already think that," you hiss at him, moving back again. "and anyway, i can't walk in these."

you gesture down to the heels you dug out of your closet.

it took you two hours to get ready, simply because you were stressed out enough to absolutely ruin every outfit you put on.

"i'll die, peter," you say, staring at him desperately. "die."

he raises a brow. "you can put on different shoes."

"you're a man." you wave a hand, scoffing at him. "what do you know about fashion?"

peter shakes his head. "okay, if your feet get sore, i'll carry you."

you stare at him blankly. "i highly doubt that, noodle arms."

the smile that appears on your face is one of satisfaction.

but peter rolls his eyes and doesn't bother to correct you.

"look," he says, pulling his phone out. "i brought my phone so we can listen to music. i'll let you pick."

you look away from his eyes to the strand between his fingers. then back to him. "you promise?"

"sure," peter says, almost snorting. "and anyway, i heard that there might be karaoke and you know that--"

as soon as he says the words, you're turning around, grabbing your purse from the table by your door, and locking it. you shut it, reaching for peter's hand.

"alright," you smile, easily. "let's go."

peter laughs as you begin to drag him along.

you sing along to sexy silk while you walk with him, just to keep the smile on his face.

"hey," you say to him as you pick up the camera on his desk. "you didn't tell me about this."

peter looks over, noting your frown and the furrow between your brows. he's sitting on your bed while you canvas his room, making fun of everything he's got in there.

not to mention the way you almost died of laughter when you saw your drawing on his wall, telling him that he's a dirty little liar, then smiling a secretive smile at it.

not that peter noticed.

still, he sits up, watching as you click on some button.

"there are lots of things i don't tell you about," he says, smoothly, and smiles at you.

your scowl grows. "you've got a camera?" you ask.

and then, after peter doesn't bother answering that and another moment passes, your jaw drops.

"you've taken pictures of me?" you demand, pointing to a moment he got a week ago, minutes before he met you for lunch.

"that's not you," peter lies, and goes to take it from your hands.

but you pull away.

"when did you do this?"

peter hesitates for a moment, but he sees the look on your face. "last week."

"why didn't i notice?"

peter smiles. "because you are particularly unobservant."

you glare.

". . . and because i was about twenty feet away, and ten minutes early."

"peter," you complain and whine. "why wouldn't you tell me about this?"

"didn't want to steal your thing."

"i don't have a camera."

he shakes his head. "no, art, or something."

"you're lying," you say, peering at him. "that's your lying face."

he holds a hand to his chest, mock offended.

but you don't say anything as you put the camera back on his desk, frowning at the window and avoiding his eyes.

peter watches for a moment, at the pout on your face and how soft and smooth your skin looks.

he thinks about you dancing and almost forgets that you're mad at him.

"hey," he whispers to you, hand reaching out. "i'm sorry i didn't tell you. i didn't realize that you'd want to know."

"of course, i want to know," you mumble. peter thinks you might be saying something else.

"well, now you do."

"i also know about your ninja turtle underwear," you say, with a hint of a smile on your face.

"yeah," peter says, standing up. "and you can hold it against me forever. i won't even complain."

you look over at him, raising your brows. "really?"

"mhmm."

and then you purse your lips, pretending to consider it. "okay, i guess," you say, as a means to forgive him.

and peter is glad about that. glad when you walk over to him, pushing his shoulder.

"but don't do that again," you tell him, almost as a threat.

"do what?"

"keep a secret from me."

peter almost winces, but decides to smile instead. "you already know all of them," he says, simply.

and you smile back.

he doesn't quite let himself believe that it's a lie. doesn't think about you being mad, or what you might do if you found out.

he just sighs, reaching over you to pick up the camera.

"do you want to see more pictures?" he asks you.

and then delights in the eager way you nod back.

you are humming along to the song playing from peter's phone as you doodle on the piece of paper in front of you.

you don't know the name, but peter's played it often enough that you know the words.

and, coincidentally, he's laying his head in your lap--claiming a headache--as you play with his hair.

he is almost distracting you as you attempt to draw a pretty little spider on his bedside table.

peter hums back, but it's not to the song.

"what?" you ask him, pausing your hand.

peter reaches up, moving it for you, and you snort.

"okay, okay," you say to him, and scratch his scalp some more.

"are you ruining my table?"

"no more than you already have."

peter groans, but doesn't bother to look up. you know that he knows that you're not drawing anything on it.

you smile down at him, then get back to the tiny sticky note you found in his drawer.

the pen you stole from the dining table downstairs.

you sing to him, to yourself, and minutes pass, and the song changes.

but you picked this one, and peter doesn't complain.

"do you feel any better?" you whisper to him, refraining from calling him a big baby.

"no. keep going," peter grunts.

you scoff but listen.

"look," you tell him, holding the drawing in front of his face. "do you like it?"

"pretty," peter mumbles.

but he doesn't even open his eyes.

so you flick him in the nose, raising a brow. "you didn't even look, you idiot."

"don't be mean to me," peter whines, "i'm in pain."

"you refuse to take any medicine."

"you're close enough," he whispers, and you try not to feel anything at the words.

"just one eye," you say to him, pulling at his skin.

and peter relents, staring at the picture you've drawn for him. "are you trying to be funny?"

it's a spider, sure, but a very hilarious interpretation of it swinging and falling off a building, and then, a couple of feet away, a picture of it being smooshed.

you grin. "i think you should put it on your next suit."

"i'll think about it," peter says, and closes his eyes again.

you laugh at him and hope he can feel it.

sing along to the song until peter falls asleep.

i wouldn't fall for someone i thought couldn't misbehave.

when peter wakes up, he's alone.

he wonders when you disappeared and where you went. he aches for the feeling of your hands in his hair and your smile and laughter as he wakes up.

it's dark outside though, so peter's glad that you're at home, at least, hopefully sleeping.

he looks at the clock, frowning at the numbers.

he sits up, head buzzing and blinking until he can see.

and then he walks over to the bathroom, figuring that he should probably brush his teeth.

and when he goes back to his bed, back aching and thinking about you, he notices the sticky note you've put on his wall, right next to the picture you drew of him.

he smiles at it, glad you put it there, where he probably would've put it anyway.

and there's another one, right next to your bed.

you're lame and you fell asleep, it says, don't worry, you didn't drool.

peter smiles, appreciating your handwriting. he puts it on his wall, right next to the other one.

and then he texts you.

when did you leave?

you answer almost immediately: about an hour ago.

it's one in the morning, and peter frowns.

did you walk home alone?

yup!

he scowls, immediately dialing you.

"hello?" you say, singing it.

peter wonders how you have so much energy, but doesn't give himself the time to dwell on it.

"you walked home alone?" he asks again.

"yes, peter."

"in the dark?"

you hum.

he's scowling, wishing you were there so you could see how serious he is. "don't do that," he says.

"peter," you sigh, snorting a bit.

"you shouldn't be walking home by yourself."

"might i remind you that you fell asleep? who else was i going to ask at midnight? may?"

"you could've woken me up."

peter hears you laugh.

"aw," you say, "but, baby, you just looked so peaceful."

peter almost flinches at the words, because you're not being serious and still--

"promise me that you will, next time."

you laugh again. "okay, peter. i'll uber home next time."

"you'll wake me up."

"please," you tell him, "i don't have a death wish."

you are frowning as he sits in front of you, but trying not to.

you're trying to keep a calm face and a smooth mind and repair peter without him figuring out a single thing about you.

without getting into another fight with him.

but he knows you, much better than you'd like.

"what?" he whispers to you, the words soft on your cheek.

he's got bruises sprinkled over his abdomen. a bright red cut on his cheek. a black eye and fingers that look more like pens than limbs.

still, you're trying not to be too rough with him.

trying to clean these wounds without opening up any others.

"nothing."

"you're frowning."

"you've got a big cut on your face."

he grabs your hand, stopping your movement as you dab at it. "you're frowning," he repeats, a bit louder.

you sigh and look away. "peter. . ."

"you're mad at me?" he asks, tilting your head back to him.

you're three inches away from him, staring.

and you don't even need to answer, because it takes one look from you, and peter nods.

"okay," he says, turning his cheek so you can clean the cut again.

you do.

and you listen to his breathing, hearing your own heart pound in your ear, staying silent.

there's not much you can say to him without wanting to scream.

"are you going to tell me why?" he asks you, minutes later, when you've had to replace the water so it's not so cold.

you hum. rub some ointment on the wound, apologizing when peter winces.

"y/n," he says, tilting his head. he's smiling at you like it might get you to break.

"you're not taking this seriously," you complain, closing your eyes. you move back, just for peter to move forward.

"hey," he says, grabbing your hand again. his eyes meet yours. "i'm okay."

"you're hurt," you argue, frowning, concern piercing your brows. "you had to come here so i could patch you up."

peter swallows. "i wanted to see you."

"no," you shake your head at him. "you can barely move that arm. you limped in here."

"it'll be fine by tomorrow."

you scoff. "but it's not fine now peter!" you whisper the words, but with enough force that he moves back, his eyes wide and his brow furrowing, as if he's just realized how serious you are.

"you're really mad?"

you shake your head, looking away from him. "i'm scared for you, and i'm mad because you don't even care. every time," you say, "you just brush it off. tell me that it'll be fine."

"because i will," peter swears, trying to catch your eyes.

"but what if you're not?" you ask him, just whispering the words, your voice breaking. "what if you come here," you look back to him, tears evident. "and i can't do anything to help you?"

peter starts to say something, tries to brush the liquid away, but you flinch back.

"no. what if someone else has to move the mask? what if they see you, but you're already--" you stop, not wanting to say the words.

and before you can blink or breathe, peter has wrapped an arm around you, crushing you to his skin.

he apologizes and holds you close, breathing slowly as you try to catch your breath.

he whispers in your ear, rubbing your back.

"i'm sorry," he says, "i didn't realize."

and you know that. and you know that this argument isn't quite fair.

"i promise i'll be careful. i promise, okay?"

you nod against his neck, breathing him in.

and a moment passes, and you try to memorize the feeling of being this close to him.

and then you whisper, "you're my best friend, peter. i don't know what i would do without you."

and it's only partly a lie.

"i know," peter says, moving back so that he can look you in the eye. "i know."

you try and smile at him, and he tries and smiles back.

"okay," you whisper.

and then you notice the small wince on peter's face.

you frown. "what?"

peter looks down to where your stomach has brushed against the cuts on his and clears his throat. "ouch," he says.

you meet his eyes and laugh.

peter knocks on your door, waiting.

he hasn't seen you in a couple of days, and you haven't been answering the phone.

he hears someone move around. hears a lurking at the door.

"y/n?" he calls. "i can hear you."

but you don't answer.

so peter knocks again, checking his phone for any sign of you, and staring at the door.

all he gets is a quick "read" message, and then silence.

he sighs.

"c'mon," he calls again. "just open the door, or text me, and i'll leave."

but you do neither.

peter scowls. "i'm not gonna go," he tells you. "i'll be out here until you are, and when i freeze to death you're going to feel really bad."

he might hear a scoff, but the only thing that follows is some silence.

he says your name again, leaning against the door.

and then he scrolls on your phone, sending you another text.

he hears your phone ring on the other side of the door.

and he can hear you sighing because he's just sent you a link to door.

there's a moment that passes, where peter is just a bit proud, and then you open the door.

"that's not even what that song means," you tell him, glowering, but you let him in.

peter just smiles at you.

you're drawing him again. laughing as he teases you and listening to a playlist that he's made for the two of you--promising that it was great and that you'd enjoy it very much.

this time, though, it's a bit different.

you haven't asked to draw him since that day when he met you in the studio and finally looked comfortable enough to sit still. you haven't wanted to push that line, again, because you knew that it would be different.

and that last picture of him, well. . .

it's not the same as now. not the same as peter is when he's smiling at you.

when he's singing along to a song that he's chosen and rolling his eyes when you say something, or make fun of him.

it's not the same, you know, because last time, it was merely some strange sort of attraction to him. some want, or need, or crazy, fantasy thing.

but now. god.

now you know peter. now you know what he looks like when he's upset, how he acts when he's scared, or what he cares about, or who he truly is, behind the mask.

now you're in love with him and trying to hide it.

unsuccessfully, you're sure.

"how much longer?" peter asks you, spinning around in your chair as you sit on your bed.

it's also different because he's in your room, messing with your things.

"i've already told you, peter, that you can't rush art."

"you're probably not even drawing me."

you grin down at the paper.

peter continues to sing, continues to flip through an old notebook of drawings.

"you know," you tell him, just glancing up to meet his brown eyes. "i don't like this song very much."

peter raises a brow. "really?"

you nod, pursing your lips.

and so he sings even louder.

"a zero, zero," peter says to you, laughing. "now he's a--"

you throw a pillow at him, smirking.

peter frowns. "that's going to ruin the drawing."

"so is your singing," you tell him. "stay still, peter."

"can i at least see?" he asks.

"not till i'm done."

and then the song changes, and suddenly, you're grinning at him.

just like that first day.

as soon as peter hears the opening chords, he's cursing himself for putting this song on the playlist.

for letting himself be manipulated at the thought of your smile, and funny laugh as you danced around to this one the first time. for allowing himself to give in to it.

because your smile is nothing but evil.

and suddenly, you're not drawing, but standing up, biting your lip.

"hey, good lookin'," you croon. moving your hips and your shoulders and smiling at him because you just know. "whatcha got cookin'?"

peter throws his head back and groans.

but you're singing along, dancing around him, and whispering the words in his ear.

"there's soda pop and the dancing's free," you whisper, the goosebumps much more than a physical reaction.

and, really, peter's trying not to smile as he watches you dance. as he watches your smile ebb and flow and listens to your voice, to your accent as--

"--so we can go steady," you gesture at him, smiling sweetly. "how's about saving all your time for me?"

you are a monster, an absolute devil as you pull peter up, as he goes so willingly, and begins to dance with you.

his hands around your waist and yours wrapped around his neck and that goddamn smile.

and your voice, and every single thing that you mean to him.

"c'mon," you say to him, giggling. "dance."

and he does. he can't stop.

then, when the song begins to fade, and you whisper a last "how's about cooking something up with me?" he pulls you down to your bed.

he's almost breathless and laughing at you as you try to squirm away.

he's absolutely gone as you still against him, suddenly realizing where you are.

that he's pulled you so that you're laying right against him. and, peter is three inches away from you, and he can feel your breath against him.

he can see your smile as it almost fades.

as you watch his eyes, but falter, and look down.

down and down and peter's eyes follow.

he's staring at your lips, and he almost doesn't notice it as he leans in, as your breath hitches.

and he kisses you.

finally. finally.

he pulls you as close as he can get you, hand wrapped around your neck, and at the base of your head, and digging into you, and your hands are on his face, they are still and alive as you grip onto him just as tight as he's got you.

as you pull him, push and pull his lips, and breathe into his mouth.

as he finally feels all of you, and thanks god that you're there.

and when he pulls back, almost disassociating, eyes wide, he's staring at you.

he's listening to a song in the background but he doesn't know the words.

he can't think at all, can't breathe with you right there.

"i'm sorry," he whispers, as he suddenly remembers who you are and what you mean to him.

but you--you smile at him. you laugh like you can't believe it.

you look into peter's eyes and you see all of him.

you shake your head, one hand drifting to your lips like you can feel something new.

you laugh again.

"peter," you whisper to him, and he's staring back. "do it again."

if you were a waiting room, i would never see the doctor.

more of them.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters

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logbush · 11 months

Note

Yay a Glee (Quinn) writer! lol I miss her! Can I request reader lending her sweater to Quinn, when Quinn is home, she realizes she still has r’s sweater and she find r’s iPod. Out of curiosity, Quinn looks through it and finds a playlist titled with her name, friends to lovers please! :)

Lost Something?

1,035 words

fluff

quinn fabray x reader

a/n: this was hard to write for some reason lol. keep sending your requests, im working on them right now and they should be out sometime soon!!

if someone would’ve told you that you would’ve fallen for your best friend quinn fabray, you would’ve laughed in their face. but here you were, sitting across from her at breadstix trying hard not to lean over and kiss her. she was wearing a red sundress, matching her red headband, and jeans. a look that made your knees weak. you, however, had decided to dress down for the occasion, a hoodie and sweats, you didnt expect her to dress up so you didnt.

she looked at you and laughed softly “whats going through your mind, y/l/n,” she said softly before taking a bite of her food. you shook your head “no nothing, dont worry” you replied before pushing your plate away, something you did whenever you were done with your food. “you’re already done? i just started!” she joked, trying to finish her food faster. “hey, we dont have to finish at the same time” she laughed softly before copying you and pushing her plate away towards you after she finished.

the waitress brought the check by, you and quinn looked at each other. you both wanted to pay but you didnt want to fight about it so you just let her. she smiled as she reached for the check and put her card in it. you sat back and looked at her with a smile. “you let me pay?” she questioned. “i didnt want to fight about it” you answered. she shook her head “we wouldn’t have fought, i would’ve just made us get my way” she smiled while you laughed, “sounds like a fight to me” the waitress brought back quinn’s card. the blonde said a quick ‘thank you’ to her before the two of you got up and started to leave.

it was cold outside, ohio in december isn’t exactly the warmest. you looked at the cheerleader next to you, watching as she was shivering. you quickly took your hoodie off before handing it to her “put it on” you instructed as you walked with her to your car. she looked at you, without your hoodie you were left in just a t-shirt. she shook her head “i dont want you to freeze” she wrapped her arms around her body, trying to conserve warmth, “i’m not going to freeze, q, you might though” quinn scoffed jokingly before taking the hoodie from your hands and slipping it on, the smell of you wafting through her senses.

quinn wouldn’t never admit this to anyone, but she was starting to catch feelings for you as well. you did the sweetest things try to make her happy, like giving her your hoodie whenever she was cold or making her her favorite pastry whenever she was sad. you remembered the small things and she loved that about you.

you dropped quinn off at her house about a half an hour ago. she had been sitting on her bed in your hoodie all that time. she turned on her side and put her hands in the pocket. the blonde felt something touch her hand. curious, she pulled it out of the pocket and looked at it. your ipod. god, you must’ve been dying without this. you can barely go five minutes without music.

quinn got curious about what you had been listening to all these years so she decided to go through it. show tunes, neil diamond, john denver, billy joel, simon and garfunkel. all people she was expecting, you weren’t very new with your tastes. she kept going through it before landing on a playlist. this playlist intrigued the blonde, as it was titled ‘quinn <3’.

the cheerleader smiled at the sight before quickly clicking on it before she could think. make you feel my love, lucky, something, but one song stood out to her, you belong with me by taylor swift. the only song from this playlist she actually knew and knew the meaning of.

quinn sat stunned, the thought of you actually liking her back made her crazy. she couldn’t wait til tomorrow to find out, she needed to know now. the blonde raced downstairs and outside to her car. she got in and drove to your house, breaking numerous speeding and stopping laws.

once the blonde got to your house she knocked on the door until someone answered. just to her luck, you were the one who answered. “whats up quinn? why are you knocking so much?” quinn looked up at you, looking at you dressed in sweats and a tank top. she gently bit her lower lip before holding up your ipod, “lost something?” she said with a smirk. you smiled brightly before yanking your ipod from her hands “oh my god i thought this was gone forever! was it in my hoodie?” you questioned while bringing her inside and up to your room. quinn nodded and sat on your bed “it was, you know, there was a certain little playlist that caught my eye”

your eyes went wide and you looked down, trying to avoid any and all eye contact “i dont know what you’re talking about” you mumbled. quinn smiled and looked at you, she didnt need your confirmation, your reaction made her know you liked her. you felt the warmth of her hand on your back rubbing soft circles “hey its okay, can you look at me for a minute?” she questioned. you looked at her, scared for whats going to happen. the blonde used her hand to cup your cheek, gently rubbing the apple of it. “you like me right?” she asked. you closed your eyes in fear, you didnt want to lose her. you just nodded in response, your eyes still closed.

quinn sighed and looked at you, she knew you weren’t going to open your eyes so instead of trying to talk to you, she just placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “i like you too” she said softly. you opened your eyes slowly, making eye contact with her before kissing her again. she smiled and kissed back before laying down on her back, inviting you to lay on her. you laid your head on her chest.

“so are you gonna send me that playlist, love?”

#glee imagine #dianna agron #quinn fabray #quinn fabray imagine #quinn fabray x reader #glee fanfiction #glee #quinn #glee x reader #x reader

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bradshawsbaby · 10 months

Text

Letters to My Love // Part IX

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Series Masterlist

JOIN THE TAGLIST!

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female Reader

Summary: When you signed up to volunteer with the USO, you never anticipated that you would meet a man like Ensign Robert Floyd. Fate brings you together one balmy spring evening in Charleston—the night before Bob is set to ship off across the Atlantic. Pen and paper become your only means of sharing your heart with the naval aviator who’s captivated it, igniting a correspondence that spans the distance between you. Can love blossom even as war rages and thousands of miles keep you apart?

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: Bobby and Peach’s story continues! Hope you all enjoy this latest installment!

Set the Mood: If you’re looking for some 1940s vibes, check out the playlist I made to pair with the story.

The title of this chapter comes from the popular song of the same name. Click here to listen to the first ever recording of the song from 1931!

Dedication: As always, this story is dedicated to my dear friend, @luminousnotmatter. Clara, thank you, thank you, thank you for your support of this story!

Warnings: Alternating POV, allusions to the physical and emotional cost of war, lots of sweet fluff.

April 28, 1943

Dearest Peach (or is it Cookie now?),

I have to tell you, this game of tag might just be the best version of the game I’ve ever played. I sure was surprised—and pleased, believe me—when I opened your last letter to find another photograph inside. The other fellas on the carrier are starting to grumble about how they hardly ever get photos from their girls back home, so you’ve managed to make me quite a big shot around here. Tommy Boy told me just the other day that word’s spreading about how “Floyd’s always getting these pictures from a pretty girl back stateside.” In all honesty, I think they’re just shocked that a gal as pretty as you would be writing to a boring guy from the sticks like me.

Now I don’t want you to think I’m gloating or anything when you send me photos, Peach—although your pretty face DOES deserve to be on billboards, in my humble opinion. It’s just that carriers are smaller than you’d think, in terms of news spreading around, It doesn’t help matters that Benny is always looking over my shoulder during Mail Call, and that when I opened your most recent letter, he stood up on our bench and shouted “Bobby Boy’s got another picture, fellas!” Don’t you worry, though. I tucked your photo into my pocket, right over my heart, and wouldn’t let any of the others see it, no matter how much they begged. Serves them right for being so nosy.

All that to say, it’s a wonderful picture and it brought a big old smile to my face to see how happy you all looked at Christmastime. Please send my highest compliments to Dottie. You and your sister look so much alike, you could both be Hollywood starlets. I especially love your matching smiles—prettier than the angel on top of the Christmas tree. And Frankie is the spitting image of Paddy, my goodness! It’s funny, Paul, Jr. looks just like Paul, too. Maybe the boys will both grow up and go to Annapolis together. You know, following in their fathers’ footsteps and all that. Wouldn’t that be something if they both joined the Navy one day?

Speaking of us “squids,” as our Marine brothers are so wont to call us, I’m glad to hear that you enjoyed the photos that I sent with my last letter. Tommy Boy and Benny have been bragging to anyone who will listen that you have our pictures displayed on your desk. I made the mistake of letting them know that you think they’re very handsome, but don’t worry, I kept it just between us that you think I’m the most handsome. They’re good guys and I wouldn’t want to go bruising their egos or anything like that.

Mike is the name of the fella on board who has the camera and took the pictures for us. He’s hoping he can get his hands on some more film soon so that he can take some more photographs while we’re over here. He likes to send them back home to his fiancee in Arkansas. He’s a solid guy, Mike is. He even told me he’d be happy to take some more pictures for me to send to you when he’s able to—if you’d like that, that is.

I’m glad to know that you don’t mind me writing a little bit about you to my family. I received a letter from my mother the same day I received your letter, and she said you sound like the loveliest girl and that you’re more than welcome on the Floyd farm anytime you happen to find yourself in Linn County, Iowa. When I was writing back to her, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that nobody just so happens to find themselves in Linn County, Iowa. But the offer still stands! My mama would be more than happy to bake you all the pumpkin pies your heart desires. And she’d be more than happy to hear about that peach cobbler recipe, too!

Paul wanted me to tell you that you have no reason to be embarrassed about the punch spill, and that, in fact, you should put it out of your mind completely. He’s sitting across me from right now as I write this, writing his own letter back home to Natasha and the kids. Clara’s just learning to recognize her letters and read some basic words, and Paul, Jr. can’t read at all yet of course, so Paul includes little drawings for them when he writes. Natasha says they love them, and that Clara always carries his letters around when they’re running errands to show off to all the neighbors. “Look at Daddy’s pictures!” she tells them. He really is a good artist, you know. One of these days, I’m going to have him draw something for you. Anything in particular you’d like to see?

Oh, please don’t be embarrassed about my overhearing that conversation! That’s the last thing I want you to feel. You have no reason to be embarrassed, Peach. If anything, it’s that Eddie guy who should feel embarrassed for doing that to a lady. But like you—and Dottie—said, everything happens for a reason. I believe that, too. And I believe that good things can come out of even the worst circumstances. Take this war, for example. It’s awful. There’s no sugarcoating it or making it sound better than it is. It’s just plain awful. In the time I’ve been over here, I’ve seen and heard things that I’ll never be able to forget, things that make you question how human beings can do such things to one another. But I’ve also seen instances of such heroism and bravery, of people doing all they can to stick their necks out for each other and see each other home safely, and I think that that’s got to count for something, too. Don’t you think so, Peach? I know you’re all doing your part back home, too, and that means the world to us over here. We can feel it, and we appreciate it more than you can know. So you see? Good things can still come out of the hard times.

Like you and me meeting, for another thing. I can’t say that I’m grateful for this war, but I am thankful that it brought us together and allowed our paths to cross that night in Charleston. I’ll always be thankful for that, Peach. Not a day goes by that I don’t count my lucky stars that Paul finally convinced me to go to that dance that night. It was the last place in the world I wanted to be, but it turned out to be just the place I needed to be. Everything happens for a reason, right?

Speaking of that night at the dance, I had a dream the other night about dancing with you, Peach. We were at the USO dance at first, but then we were suddenly on the beach. As a farm boy from Iowa, you can imagine that I haven’t spent much time on the beach in my lifetime. But I suppose my subconscious remembers all the beaches I saw in Charleston, because there we were, dancing in the sand while the waves were crashing in. Do you like going to the beach? Like I said, there’s none in landlocked Iowa, but I’d be more than happy to let you be my tour guide when it comes to the best beaches South Carolina and Georgia have to offer.

It’s funny, I don’t usually remember my dreams, but I remember that one quite vividly. I woke up thinking I could still taste saltwater on my tongue and feel you in my arms. Maybe that sounds a little silly, but it’s true. It was the best dream I’ve ever had, I’m sure of it.

It does sound like little Frankie is quite the mischief-maker! Hiding keys already? Something tells me he’s going to give Dottie and Paddy a run for their money when he gets older! From everything you’ve told me, I really do think he and Paul, Jr. would make the best of friends. I imagine the two of them would get into even more mischief than Paul and I did when we were growing up!

Gosh, I wish more than anything that I could be there dancing with you, Peach. But I’m holding the thought of you dancing to “We’ll Meet Again” real close to my heart until we really can meet again. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear that song without thinking of you now.

Please do keep me updated on your Victory Garden efforts! I’m looking forward to hearing all about it. Believe me, no one could have a browner thumb than me—just ask Paul, Natasha, and pretty much my entire family—so I’m sure you and Dottie will do a wonderful job!

And Happy Belated Easter, Peach! I hope you had a lovely day with your family. We actually had a bit of exciting news that reached us on Easter Sunday. The Royal Navy sent word that they managed to sink a German U-boat off the coast of [REDACTED], which is hopefully a good sign for all the rest of us. I hope this war comes to an end soon. It feels like we’ve been fighting forever.

I hope that the South Carolina sunshine is treating you right, and that you’re safe and well. I can’t wait until your next letter arrives (I’ll try to keep Benny from looking over my shoulder next time).

Most Truly Yours,

Bobby

May 24, 1943

My Dear Bobby,

Don’t worry, it’s still Peach to you, and it always will be. Frankie is learning so many new words every day that I’m sure I’ll only be Aunt Cookie for a little while longer. But I’d like to stay Peach for a good long while, if that’s alright with you.

I’m sorry to disappoint all the fellas on the carrier—particularly Benny—by not including any new photographs with this letter. I’ll try to amend that next time. But I absolutely do not believe that it should come as any kind of shock to anyone that you and I write to one another, Bobby. Boring? Who would dare call you boring? I’ll not have you talking about yourself like that, Robert Floyd, do you hear me? I could just as easily say that the people back in Charleston would be shocked to learn that a handsome naval aviator is writing to a girl as shy and mousey as me, but I know you wouldn’t like that. Just like I don’t like hearing you talk badly about yourself. So let’s promise one another we won’t do that anymore, hm?

Dottie sends profuse thanks for your sweet words about the Christmas photo—she actually blushed when I told her what you’d written! And I could tell that Paddy was all puffed up with pride when I told him that you thought Frankie looked just like him. Dottie agrees with you wholeheartedly, by the way. “Both my boys are so handsome!” she declared. I think Paddy blushed a little bit at that, though he’d never admit it.

My goodness, imagine Frankie and Paul, Jr. both joining the Navy when they’re older? I think you’re quite right that they’d make excellent friends—but heaven help the Navy with the double trouble those two would bring with all their mischief-making!

By the way, I asked Paddy about that nickname you said the Marines like to use—squids? I’ve never seen my brother-in-law turn so red so fast! “Oh, what do they know?” he demanded, waving his hands in the air. “They’re just a bunch of jarheads!” Squids? Jarheads? I never realized there was such a rivalry between you! No wonder the sailors and the Marines seem to stay on opposite sides of the room whenever the USO hosts an event! I hope you know that I don’t think you’re a squid, Bobby. But if you were, you’d be the cutest squid in the seven seas.

You’re very considerate not to bruise Tommy Boy’s and Benny’s egos, so thank you very much for keeping our little secret. Emily came over the other day—she’s still so excited about the wedding and she wanted me to help her go over some details—and she saw the pictures of you and the boys on my desk. She remembered Paul from the night of the dance, and she thought the rest of you looked familiar, too. She said to pass along her best wishes, and I passed along your congratulations on her and Eddie’s engagement. I hope you don’t mind.

That’s very sweet of your friend, Mike to offer to take more photos for you! Of course I’d love for you to send more, if you’re able to! Being able to see that you’re okay, even with all the miles and a war between us, makes me so happy.

Your mama is most generous and kind to extend that invitation! While I can’t say that I have any reason to be in Linn County, Iowa at the moment, I will be certain to look up the Floyd family farm if ever I should happen to be in town. And please let your mama—and all of your family—know that, should they ever find themselves in Charleston, South Carolina, the Sheridan residence is always open to them. Your mama and I can swap recipes. I know Dottie would love that.

I couldn’t help smiling from ear to ear when I read the part of your letter where you talked about Paul’s drawings for Clara and Paul, Jr.! What a wonderful father he is! And an artist, too? I’m very impressed! Not to mention thankful to him for his unending kindness. I can see why the two of you are the best of friends—you both have the same good hearts. Hmm, now as for what kind of drawing I would like, I suppose that would depend on what Paul specializes in. Does he do portraits? In that case, I’d like to see him draw one of you. Does he draw cartoons? I can only imagine how he’d portray a conversation between Tommy Boy and Benny. If neither of those, then perhaps Paul can draw me some peaches—I always think of you now, Bobby, whenever I eat them.

Oh, Bobby. Yes, I do believe it counts for something when people try to hold onto their goodness in the midst of so much evil and bad. We know so little of what you’re facing over there beyond the small bits that we read in the newspaper or hear on the radio. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to be living in it every day. I wish that I could hold you tight and make all the bad memories go away. But since I can’t, I’m glad to know that you’re able to find the glimpses of good where you can.

Without a doubt, everything happens for a reason, and I believe there’s a reason that you and I met that night, Bobby. Maybe a reason that’s bigger than you and I can ever understand. I’m grateful that our paths crossed, too. So, so grateful. I know this might sound silly considering we’ve only actually been together in person for a few hours, but you’ve helped me come out of my shell more than you can know. I’ve always been so shy, Bobby. Painfully so. It’s not easy for me to talk to new people, or people that I don’t know very well. It’s especially not easy for me to talk to handsome boys like you. But that night at the dance and during our walk on King Street—you made me feel seen, Bobby. And heard. Hardly anyone outside my family has ever made me feel that way. And then we started writing letters to each other and you’ve just been so easy to talk to, so easy to share my heart with. Thank you for that, Bobby. It means more to me than you can possibly imagine. So yes, I thank my lucky stars for that night, too.

Did you really have a dream about me? I’m blushing to think so, but now I don’t feel so shy to tell you that I’ve dreamed about you, too. In my dream, we were back at the ice cream parlor on King Street, sharing an ice cream sundae with lots of whipped cream and cherries on top. When you come home, we’ll have to take a drive to Folly Beach and get ice cream on the pier. I’ll be counting down the days until it happens!

Now speaking of our Victory Garden, Dottie and I are quite proud of the effort we put in this year! You’d think the two of us were a couple of regular old farm girls. We spent about a week or so clearing out the beds from last year and resoiling them. One of our neighbors, Mrs. Patterson had a beautiful garden last year, so she gave us a lot of helpful advice. We ended up planting beans, carrots, cucumbers, and tomatoes. It’s still a little too early to tell how they’ll end up, but they look promising so far! I think you’d be proud of us!

Things here on the homefront have been a little tricky as of late. I’m not sure if word has gotten over to you boys across the Atlantic, but some of the coal miners went on strike last month. It caused a bit of a crisis with regard to production and manufacturing. President Roosevelt delivered a fireside chat discussing the crisis earlier this month. He tried to remind all of us that it’s our patriotic duty to continue working and to do what we can for the war effort. I think Paddy was a bit worried about it, but the government has since taken control of the coal mines, and so we haven’t heard much more about it.

I want so badly to do my part for the war effort, Bobby. I think of you and Paul and Tommy Boy and Benny and all the others, risking your lives across the ocean to defend all of us back home. I want to do something, no matter how small, that can contribute and make a difference. There have been lots of women going to work in the factories ever since we entered the war. Some of them are filling their husbands’ and brothers’ positions while they’re off fighting. Paddy mentioned that they’re actually looking to fill civilian positions at Naval Air Station Charleston. It’s harder because of the background checks required, but I’d have a leg up, being Paddy’s sister-in-law. I’ve been thinking about asking Paddy to help me apply for a position. Do you think I should, Bobby? If it could be of any help to you and all the other men, I’d really like to give it a try. What do you think?

That’s wonderful news about the Royal Navy! Every time I hear about the Allies pushing further into Europe, or defeating our enemies in some way, it gives me a thrill of hope that maybe this all really will be over soon. I hope so, Bobby. I really hope so.

Even though there’s a few thousand miles between us, I hope you can feel all the good thoughts I’m sending your way. I can’t wait until I get your next letter. I always look forward to them.

Until next time, Bobby!

Most Affectionately Yours,

Peach

TAGLIST: @teacupsandtopgun @saturnsbabe69 @gigisimsonmars @marchingicenotes7 @high-speed-r @toobouquet @up-thereinthesky @lostinthefandoms11 @strangerparks @sweetwhispersofchaos

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #x reader #x female reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #lewis pullman #WWII AU #1940s AU

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tightjeansjavi · 1 year

Text

That Girl is a Problem

Part 1: “Sinful Colors”

(AU street racing! Joel x f! tattoo artist reader)

A/N: so this idea came to me because I rediscovered the song, ‘Problem’ by Natalia Kills. Suddenly I was like YES. Tatted up street racing Joel 😵‍💫 + tattoo artist female reader? Jesus Christ, my panties have been flung across the room. I’m blushing as I type this all out because this Joel is just on another level 🥵 get your engines revving laideaze.

~word count: 2.6k~

Summary: Joel Miller & Tommy Miller left their Texas homestead seeking new thrills. They find themselves working at an auto body shop on Hollywood Blvd. Joel meets you, a self taught tattoo artist working on the strip. You might be just the adrenaline rush that he was searching for. Or, his ultimate heartbreak.

Warnings: Early 1990’s Los Angeles violence/scandals. Drug use, drinking, smoking, mentions of tattooing and needles, street racing, infidelity, adrenaline junkies, Joel & reader have emotional baggage, reader is a badass, love triangle between reader, Joel, and readers boyfriend, flirting, teasing, banter, jealousy, rage, trauma, dark themes, domestic emotional/physical abuse from readers boyfriend, pining, unrequited feelings, excessive drinking/drug use, sustained injuries from street racing, bar fights, 2 character deaths, jealous! Joel, darkish! Joel, possessive! Joel, eventual smut, consent, eventual established relationship, no use of (y/n) readers nickname is Angel, (+18) minors dni!

That Girl is a Problem Playlist:

𝙄’𝙢 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡.

𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙚...

𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙢.

Los Angeles, California: Summer of 1993

When Joel Miller, and his brother Tommy Miller moved to the City of Angels, Los Angeles California, they had no idea what they were in store for. LA was a cultural shock compared to their homestead in Texas. They were looking to get in on the action, live life on the high side and they had come just to the right place.

It didn’t take long for the Miller boys to find work at a local mechanic shop on the Hollywood strip. Both brothers knew a thing or two about cars and motorcycles. Wasn’t the first time they had gotten down and dirty, and it wouldn’t be the last. Joel had discovered your tattoo shop on his lunch break. Hollywood had street vendors by the lot and he stopped in front of the bright red neon sign that read, Sinful Colors.

Joel wasn’t shy of his ink. He had gotten his first tattoo at the sharp age of 18 and from there, he became addicted to the buzzing sound of the machine, and quick jabs of the needle into his skin. It was a euphoric sensation. The only way he knew how to describe the feeling without sounding entirely masochistic, was that it was a good pain. A comforting pain that eased stress and tension. Maybe he enjoyed it too much. Who the hell was anyone to tell him that he was fucked up for feeling that way? Tattoos were fucking dope, as far as he was concerned.

Curiosity got the best out of him as he pushed open the door to your shop. He was greeted with the familiar buzz of the tattoo machine and the low tremble of Led Zeppelin’s, I Can’t Quit You Baby. There was the faint aroma of cigarette smoke, mixed in with burning incense wafting through the thick beaded curtain that separated the waiting area from the room where the clients and walk in’s would receive their new ink.

You had a cigarette perched between your lips as you were finishing up on a walk in that requested a tramp stamp to piss off her ex boyfriend. Although in your eyes, tramp stamps weren’t trampy at all. They were fucking hot as hell, considering you had one yourself. “You’re doing great, babe. You’re gonna love this one. As soon as your ex sees it, he’s gonna be foaming at the mouth.”

“As he fucking should be. Fuck him. He’s never gonna get his hands on my body again.” The client glanced over her shoulder at you, letting out a low hum from the sensation of the needle piercing her skin over, and over again. Once you were finished, you lightly doused a paper towel in rubbing alcohol before gently wiping the tattoo.

“Alright babe. You let me know how this looks, Kay? If you wanna change anything, don’t hesitate.” You had your walk-in gently sit up before you handed her a hand held mirror so she could check out her new ink. The tattoo was a gothic heart in red ink. The structured lines coming from the sides of the heart were like a crown of pointy thorns. The tattoo itself was delicate but possessed that edgy vibe that she was looking for.

“Holy fucking shit, Angel. You outdid yourself again! Oh my god, this is so fucking beautiful.”

It brought you undeniable joy to see someone happy with your art. You took immense pride in making sure that your clients and walk-ins got exactly what they were looking for. It was always fun when you got to throw in your own artistic flare in your work. “I’m so happy you love it babe. You know I would be more than happy to add you as one of my clients? You keep coming back for more..so I must be doing something right huh?” You said with a small grin.

“At this point, I’m just gonna keep throwing my money at you because girl, this is insane! Thank you so so so much!” She was already reaching into her hot pink wallet, pulling out a stack of cash for you.

“You mind if I take a picture of it real quick? I’ll give you a copy as well. Just like to keep a collection, y’know?” Your walk-in, Maddi nodded. You tapped your cigarette out in the nearby ashtray, far enough away from your supplies to stay within regulation code. You opened up your drawer pulling out your Polaroid camera as you got behind the bench. “Alright baby cakes, hold your shirt up for me just a little, just like that gorgeous.”

You snapped one picture, followed by another, gently shaking the photos as they developed. Once they were finished, you grabbed a fine tip sharpie and wrote the date, along with Maddi’s name, and handed her the second copy.

“Okay, this is so fucking hot. I’m hanging this picture up on my fridge. I don't care.”

You set your copy of the picture down before grabbing her a “goody bag.” Now remember, no harsh scented soaps, no swimming for at least 2-4 weeks. Please don’t let anyone cum on your back for at least a week either. I know how you are babe. Keep it moisturized, and a little bit of the stuff I gave you goes a long way.” You wheeled your stool over as you placed a light patch off the open wound. “You can take this off in a couple hours and gently wash it with water only.”

“Sooo no cum-shots on my back for at least a week? Got it!” Maddi said with a light giggle. “Oh, by the way, is Dylan still racing this weekend?”

“Yeah you’ll just have to stick with it on your tits or ass babe. Think you can handle that? He is racing this weekend. You and the girls gonna be there?”

“I do love a good ass shot. Hell yeah we’re gonna be there! We don’t miss that shit for the world babe.” She pulled her shirt down over the bandage gently before gathering up her things. Maddi always left you a hefty tip, which you appreciated greatly. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before you counted up your money and placed it in the safe under your work area.

Maddi slipped past the beaded curtain to be met with the tall, handsome stranger in the waiting area. She shot the man a wink before she left through the front entrance.

You wiped down your work area, sanitizing everything for your next client before you stood up. You didn’t know anyone but yourself and maddi were in the shop till you slipped through the beaded curtain and were met with Joel Miller.

“Oh shit, sorry man. I didn’t hear anyone else come in. How long have you been standing there?” The first thing you took notice of was his height and the way the leather jacket he was wearing, seemed to bulge at the seams from his prominent broad muscles. You could see some ink peeking out along his wrists and the visible skin exposed beneath his t-shirt.

“Long enough to hear about cum shots.” He chuckled, Texas accent drawling smoothly past his lips.

“She’s a wild one, that’s for damn sure. You’re not from around here I take it? Based on the accent. Texas maybe?”

The first thing Joel noticed about you was your clothing attire. You weren’t afraid to show skin that was for damn sure. He took in the fact that you were wearing a short denim skirt with a tight little top that did little to cover your nipples. You wore fishnets paired with black heeled boots. You were hot, there was no denying that. You were also positively covered in tattoos. He noticed right away that your style was patchwork mixed in with American traditional. You even had a little red ink queen of hearts tattoo along the front of your ear. It easily could pass as a face tattoo. Besides your tattoos, you had a septum piercing and an array of earrings on the same ear that had the tattoo close to it.

“Based on that conversation, she does sound pretty wild. How’d you guess from my accent alone that I’m from Texas? Does it really stick out that much?” Joel asked, crossing his arms across his broad chest, stretching the leather fabric even more.

You knew he was checking you out. It was flattering to have attractive people unashamedly check you out. You knew you were hot. Something that both men, and women and everyone in between desired. You were well known in the LA nightlife. Your boyfriend Dylan hated it. He hated that you dressed a certain way, that you were naturally bubbly, alluring. You had a bit of a mouth to you but hey, momma didn’t raise no bitch. You were everyone’s dream girl, but a real damn problem.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, handsome.” you grinned and mirrored his movements, crossing your arms over your chest with a raise of your brow. “Yeah, I don’t get many Texas men wandering in here. You stick out like a damn sore thumb man.”

Joel felt his mouth go dry at your suggestion. Was he really staring that damn hard at you? Fuck. He had only just met you, and you were already scrambling his brain. He cleared his throat as he stuck with his intimidating stance. “Can’t deny that I like what I see, huh Angel? Now, is that your real name darlin’, or like one of those fake stage names like the girls in Vegas use?”

“Between you and me, I like what I see as well. Oh, I’m sure you’d love to hear my real name, cowboy. We’re not on those personal terms unfortunately.” You said with a faux sigh of disappointment.

“Ahh, I see. You’re what men like to call a class A tease. Gotta hand it to ya darlin’ you got me hooked already.”

“Consider yourself unspecial, and most definitely unlucky.” You responded with a sickly sweet grin. “So, did you come in here to flirt me up or did you want to get something done? What was your name again? I don’t believe I caught it.”

Joel liked the fact that you could banter and hold your ground. He was unlucky indeed considering the fact that you already had the upper hand on him. “I don’t believe I introduced myself at all. I’m Joel.” He held his hand out for you to shake, a small grin plastered on his lips. “I was actually lookin’ to get somethin’ done. I’m only on my lunch break at the moment so I’d have to come back later unfortunately.”

“Joel? Never heard of a man with that name before. It’s different.” You shook his hand firmly. You could feel the ridges and veins in his hand against your soft skin. “What were you looking to get done? I can pencil you in for my next availability.”

“Well, now you’ve gone and boosted my ego up a notch darlin’. I was lookin’ to get both of my hands done. The knuckles and my fingers. I was thinking American traditional. Nothing really specific. Maybe a skull, snake or somethin’ along those lines.”

“Don’t let it go to your head too fast, cowboy. Knuckle tattoos are fucking sick. I love doing American traditional as well. Tell you what, I’ll sketch something up for you and then you can stop on by after your shift? Where do you work anyway?” You asked, already penciling his name down in your little notebook.

“Damn woman. You gotta take a man out to dinner first before you just start askin’ him personal questions like that.” He chuckled, shooting you a playful wink. “I work at S&M auto body just down the strip. My brother Tommy works there as well.”

“Fuck me. There’s two of you?” You said with a light giggle. Yeah, my boyfriend actually uses that place when he’s reckless with his car. Which is about every other fucking day I swear.”

Of course you had a boyfriend. Of fucking course a vixen, such as yourself was taken.

“Yeah but if I’m being honest, I’m the handsome one. Tommy is just eh. Although, believe it or not, he’s totally a bigger ladies man than I am. Dude can’t keep it in his fucking pants for more than a day, if that.”

“Wow, he sounds like the male version of my friend Maddi. The hot babe that was just in here. She’s out here breaking guys' hearts every other day of the week. I absolutely hype her up for it though. She’s getting it good all the time.”

“No shit? Well, sounds like they would be a perfect match for one another. Maybe we’ll have to make sure they meet or somethin’.”

“Oh, we? No. Sorry Joel. There will be no we but i’m sure they’ll end up meeting eventually. You and Tommy should come to the race Saturday night. Maddi will be there and they can meet and rip each other's clothes off and all that fun stuff.”

“What kind of race are we talkin’ here Angel?” Joel asked with curiosity laced in his tone.

“The only kind of racing that is actually entertaining to watch. Street racing babe. Happens every Friday and Saturday night, right here on the strip. Well, as long as the cops don’t come and bust up our party first.”

“Street racing? Can anyone sign up for it or is it like an invite only kinda deal? Are you gonna be there?”

“Anyone and everyone can sign up. You got a car or bike and you’re good to go. Entry fee is $50 and well..there’s not many rules either. That’s what really draws the crowds in. Just some down and dirty street racing. I’ll be there. I always am. My boyfriend holds the raining title in LA county.”

Joel fought the urge to roll his eyes at you mentioning this boyfriend of yours again. Dude sounded like a total tool and Joel didn’t even know his name, let alone what his stupid face looked like. “Well, Angel. Count me in. I’ll be there and I’ll bring Tommy. How do I sign up?”

“Alright, rookie. You got a taste for some action, huh? We’ve been looking for some new meat to join anyway.” You grabbed a clipboard from one of the drawers and handed it to him. “The $50 isn’t required till the race so just need your name, pretty boy.”

“Came all the way out here for some action darlin’. Any, and all kinds of it. Whatever I can get my hands on really. Your boyfriend might have some competition on his hands. We did somethin’ similar to this back in Texas. Only difference was, it was a bunch of hillbillies and their trucks in an abandoned cornfield. Same concept, I imagine.” He grabbed the clipboard from you, lightly brushing his fingers across your knuckles on purpose. He wasted no time signing his first and last name before handing you the clipboard back.

“We’ll see about all that, cowboy. My next client will be here in about 10. I’ll work on your sketch on my lunch break and then feel free to stop by anytime after 3 today.” You set the clipboard down along the table.

“Sounds like a date, Angel. Catch ya around hot stuff.” He winked before he turned on his heel and slipped past the front entrance door.

Dylan was positively gonna give you hell for this. Did you care? Not one fucking bit. Joel Miller was hot. He was handsome and sexy and you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t want to get a taste of what Texas had to offer. What your boyfriend didn’t know, wasn’t going to kill him.

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