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raitonsfw · 3 months

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jjk men: sub edition

characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, okkotsu yūta, kamo chōsō, & sukuna ryōmen.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, gn!reader (gojo), sub!characters, vibrating sex toys (gojo's and geto's), face riding (yuta's), pegging (choso's), refusal to submit (sukuna's), whining, whimpering, pleading, begging, dirty talk, bondage (gojo's), p in v intercourse (geto [riding] & sukuna [mating press]), anal sex (choso's obvi), slight rim play (gojo's), degrading & praising, pet names, gojo selfishly whines, geto can't keep his composure, okkotsu loves you, choso's completely fucked out, sukuna shares a body with itadori (& doesn't care about your kinks), fyi the reader isn't very dominant (more neutral, maybe i'll write another one of these with a dom!reader later on)

a/n: this came about 'cause of some hate from an anon about me writing satoru gojo whimpering & that men shouldn't whimper or moan? next time, be a dear and send it off anon? i'll answer you more thoroughly that way. i love having the option that is 'write to spite'. wc: 3.2k total. m.list

divider credit: @hitobaby

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮…❞ who isn’t really all that submissive– at least not on the surface. in public his exterior shone a haughty personality but in the midst of silk sheets, he whined like a little bitch.

soft whines of ‘please, baby…’ and ‘r-right there– yes…’ as you moved the vibrator towards the tip of his cock. he was sitting up against the headboard, his knees slightly bent and his bright eyes were glued on your hand that held the small pink wand.

you knew gojo quite well, the man could withstand almost anything sorcery related; curses expelling out left and right, best friends turned enemies– but he couldn’t handle the juddering feeling of a sex toy. he’d practically short-circuit. his entire body would freeze up as you ran it along the side of his thigh, a dulled lust sinking within his eyes and suddenly his cock would be rock hard.

you’d watch as his legs would spread open for you, a quiet obedience held within the air and you’d hum in content as he let you shed his trousers and boxers. and holy shit, it was so intoxicating to take in how fucking hard he got just from the slight indication of the vibrator buzzing up his thigh.

he wouldn’t be quiet for long though, no– that was just for show. as soon as your hand grabbed at his flushed cock, a choked gasp would follow and a bunch of pleas would spill out of his mouth like a waterfall.

“need the toy– give me the toy…”

“y/n, baby…sweetheart– c’mon...”

“please, don’t want your hand right now–”

“‘m sorry, i’m so sorry– fuck-!”

and despite his empty words (and the rushed apology when he vaguely realized his mistake), the vibrator would be set to the near highest setting. ‘cause there was something so hot watching him squirm from such a delicate thing, bulleting at an overstimulating press firsthand.

god, you could get drunk off of his whimpers and cries as they spilled from his mouth every time you ran the vibrator over a vein on the underside of his cock… his jolts of pleasure when you upped the setting by a hair as he was so sensitive and even the slightest change would send him spiraling… the constant clenching and unclenching of his fists within the confines of his blindfold– courtesy of you tying it that way.

you had the right mind not to edge him, his voice pitching higher and higher each second you ran the droning sensation over his slit, precum slathering the toy. his chest rose and fell quickly as you switched the settings to a different rhythm, his back arching out towards you and his cock bobbing against his tummy with a loud whine escaping him.

his head had knocked back into the headboard with his eyelids fluttering closed, a fucked out expression washing over his face as his thighs trembled– as his whole body trembled in front of you. you knew he was close; the tiny whimpers felling long with each stroke of the toy and the way his muscles tightened in his stomach with each roll of his hips as he desperately feigned for more friction.

which led you to take a quick gamble– and press the toy right against his rim.

you didn’t even have time to replace your hand on his cock as he painted his shirt white. long spurts decorated it, nearly up to his chin and you hummed softly to yourself as you pumped him through his release, your name heavy on his lips as he rode it out. you cooed out praises as he bucked into your hand, dribbling the rest of his cum all over it with small pants filling the room.

and as soon as he came down, his hands were slipping from his blindfold and pinning you underneath him– it was your turn now.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮…❞ who’s slightly submissive– but knows how to keep his composure. it wasn’t often you got to see him needy, the man wasn’t exactly enthralled in giving you a show; so instead of begging for what he needed, he did everything in his power to please you.

the most he’d give you were tiny hums from the constant drag of his cock as you rode him, his eyes rolling in the back of his head. when he had the pleasure of cumming inside you – when he could because you’d fall apart against him in mere minutes – you’d hear the most sinful whimpers bare from his throat, his hands gripping your hips as he gasped for breath.

you couldn’t escape the cuddling afterwards either, the quiet contented sighs that captured you whole as he worked his body around yours in a tight embrace when the stars fell away from your eyelids. his mind would be reeling with the aftermath, still painfully hard in his boxers since he didn’t finish; but you came on his cock and that’s all that mattered to him.

but there were just some days where he needed you more than ever – and the aching pleasure of his cock spasming inside you – a pliant buzz reigning him in as he heard you come home. his arms would wrap around your waist as you’d toss your keys onto the kitchen counter and you’d feel his breath fan against your ear as he spoke, a slight whine etched in his voice.

“y/n, come to the bedroom with me…”

“ah–! shit… please?”

“need you tonight… can’t wait any longer–”

“gotta be inside you– right now.”

and you thought it was the usual routine, you laid out underneath him with his cock driving into you like no tomorrow. but as you were pulled into the bedroom, the box of sex toys you shared with him had been dumped over the bed and you realized his neediness and the sound that droned lightly from him– the vibrating cock ring was missing.

you weren’t exactly sure if geto ever acted submissive in his life, never really wanting to push him too far as he already did so much for you; he never seemed bothered by the lack of reciprocation. but when he came home with the cock ring and your life sure flipped a sudden switch, your collected man reduced to nothing but a puddle as you drove him to the edge over and over again.

as you fully sank onto his cock, his ring would vibrate against your folds and you’d sigh out in relief when you noticed his face screwed up in pleasure– and pain as he was already so close to his godforsaken orgasm. needy– fucking desperate whines would leak from his mouth as you bounced lightly on him, some hiccuped noises escaping him and– oh? he might cry.

his hair was splayed out on the pillows, some of it stuck to his sweaty shoulders as the corners of his eyes brimmed with tears, his hands clutching onto you for dear life. he wouldn’t say anything, too drunk off of the overstimulation of your pussy and the vibrations pushing him over the edge; except he couldn’t cum yet. not until you took off the cock ring and honestly, did you really want to?

this was one of the only times you saw this side of him after all.

you eventually let him cum, pulling off his cock to ease the ring off while instructing him softly not to cum until he was inside you. and he’d be damned if he didn’t shoot off inside you, holding himself back for all of ten seconds before the feeling of your walls warm around him pushed him over– you felt him twitch inside you and a lengthy moan accompanied as he tried his best to pull you close into him through it.

he stole kisses from you afterwards, his demeanor returning to the same old facade he encased himself in and you wondered if you buy him vibrating beads– what would that do to him?

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚…❞ who is just the right amount of submissive. he would quiver at the faintest feel of your fingers ghosting his cock as he knelt before you. his eyes would be nearly blown wide, taking in your composure as his falls away when you bend down eye level to him.

he’d know better than to buck into your hand like a poor puppy, desperate for any friction you could give him as his fingers reach out to grip at your clothing. and he wouldn't even realize he broke a rule as he repeated in his brain ‘don’t thrust’ into the warmth of your palm.

as you backed away, you’d notice the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes, the pout that would cross his face when he tried to retrace his movements– and then his mouth would be going a mile a minute with apologies.

“baby… i’m sorry! i’ll be good, i promise– i won’t touch you again.”

“please… forgive me? use me to get off…”

and that wasn’t a bad idea in your eyes as you thought it over, squatting back up to let him breathe. god, he was so pliant with you, complete putty– pulled and stretched out for you. his cock curved up towards his tummy as it stood proudly from the confines of his jujutsu uniform; he was so excited he didn’t even care to unzip his zipper, he just pulled himself out ‘cause you told him to.

as you finally allowed him up onto the space of the bed after his relentless regret, a muffled ‘thank you’ spilled from his lips before you could even position yourself onto his face and you clutched the headboard to steady yourself; because he wasn’t allowed to touch– and he sure knew that as he was chanting it in his mind.

he needed you to use him, to just sit right on his tongue and ride him mercilessly; it’s what he deserves for breaking one of your rules. but you were nice, you weren’t mean with your punishments and honestly this seemed more like a reward for him. he was manipulative, that one– you had to be careful as he could get you to do anything for him with just a glassy eyed look and a pout.

his hands grasped at the sheets for leverage as you sat down against him, his tongue not hesitating in the slightest to swipe over the swell of your clit and you huffed out a relieved moan. you didn’t falter, your hips rolling against his mouth with the shock of warm pleasure flowing through your body. and he reciprocated your moans, humming gently into you as he lapped at your arousal trickling against the tip of his tongue.

and all he wanted to do was touch you – bury his fingers inside you and fuck the life out of you – anything for his girl. but he knew the moment he moved his fingers from the threaded sheets, you’d pull off with a whine falling from his lips. god, did he want to please you– and he wanted it in return; his cock was aching even as it laid against his tummy. he couldn’t take it anymore, between the sweet taste of your slick running down his chin and the insane amount of precum building at the tip of his cock– he begged.

“fuck, please touch me… won’t cum til you say so, i swear–”

“just need your hands on me, y/n honey… l-love you so much– god, thank you.”

when you leaned back to pull him off, your other hand feathered into his hair and you caught a glimpse of his dark rimmed eyes staring back up with such profound desire– you just knew he wouldn’t last more than a few seconds.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨…❞ who takes the cake for being the most submissive slut known to man. when you sunk into him the first time with the strap nudging into him subtly, he couldn’t help but let out a choked whimper. he would be so fucking full– his rim clenching harshly around you and you’d coo at him; some praises that did you no good as he could barely hear you through the pounding rush of blood in his ears.

you couldn’t even begin to fathom the drunk passion you felt for this boy, arching his back for you as you started to ease yourself in all the way– it was fucking insane and you weren’t even the one with your nerves on fire. he’d grip at the sheets with a wanton moan, pushing back onto the strap with eager hips and it took everything in you not to collapse onto him with the heated arousal you felt in your cunt.

you’d be on your toes, basically straddling the poor boy’s hips, your hands flush against his waist to keep you steady and all you’d hear was ‘more, please… i can take it–! need you to move.’ christ, you haven’t even gotten your bearings yet and he’s begging for you to pound him into the fucking mattress.

his spiked hair wouldn’t be in their usual ponytails, it sleeked down the back of his neck and soon, it was going to be balled up in your palms while you fucked the living shit out of him.

once you actually rolled your hips into his tight hole, a broken moan flew out of his mouth and his head drooped down onto the side of the bed. his entire body shook in pleasure as you thrusted into him shallowly, hushed pants coming from him as his cock dripped onto the sheets beneath you.

you noticed his cock rather quickly– and how neglected it looked, hanging between his legs with a reddened flush and you snaked your hand underneath him to tug at it a bit, earning a repressed whimper that was muffled in the sheets he buried his face into. before you knew it, your hips found a rhythm you were content with and one he was ecstatic with, his body jolting upwards with every stroke of his cock and bruising of your strap.

you knew you nailed his prostate when his head snapped up, his entire body shuddering around you. his moan was so sharp in your ears, it delved straight towards spine and you threaded your fingers into his hair with the words ‘good boy, that’s it… that’s the spot?’ leaking from your mouth in a soft tone. to which he nodded, a heavy need carving out his common sense and replacing it with nothing whines and whimpers.

‘soo good, thankyouthankyouthankyou–’

‘right there, keep going…’

and you did, even when you noticed his tongue loll out of his mouth– the fucked out expression blatant on his face as you pulled his head back to look at you. his violet eyes were watery, his mouth completely open in near silent moans as you pounded into him now, and you swore you saw a blood tear drip from his mark as he squeezed his eyes shut through a particular thrust. and now he begged for you, pleaded like no tomorrow as you fucked him senseless; his entire mind clouded with nothing but ecstasy.

‘am i being a good boy? please– tell me i’m being a good boy for you…’

‘fuck me harder, yeah– yes… shit–! so close…’

as he came around the strap, you watched in awe– ropes of cum spurting against the sheets and harsh gasps filled the air as you kissed down his back with your hands massaging his waist through the heavy orgasm. you ran a quick finger down his spine, reveling in the way he trembled against you as you pulled out of him.

you wouldn’t even talk to him properly afterwards, just tiny adorations; because you knew as soon as he came to, he’d be out like a light.

❝𝐬𝐮𝐛!𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧…❞ who isn’t submissive at all. the king of curses didn’t have a submissive bone in his body– completely overtaken by the dominant hull. you’ve tried to make him submit – more than once – but it never worked out in your favor.

your hands would delve towards his shoulders to pin him down as you rode him– well, tried to ride him as his cock pounded up into you harshly– but you’d be thrown off in an instant, a mating press following suit so you couldn’t move underneath him.

you’d whine for him to take you more than once in a single night, in pursuit of overstimulating him– but you failed to realize just how much stamina he had and you ultimately ended up being the one overstimulated with your cunt stuffed full of his cum each and every time.

there were some days where he played along with your endeavors to be nice. sometimes a quiet whine would fill his throat before replacing it with hefty growls and grunts while you sucked his cock. and other times he’d let you have the upper hand for more than a half a second, reveling in the way your body moved against him to try to overtake him.

your tits would bounce right in his face and it made him think twice– he almost begged for them, wanting nothing more than to take them into his mouth and litter them red with teeth marks. but that thought left his mind rather quickly as your cunt pressed warmly against his cock, stirring it awake from its confines and it was game over.

there was no way he’d beg for a lowly human.

why would he need to when you gave yourself up to him so easily? you’d practically jump him as soon as he switched with itadori, strong arms holding onto you as you pushed him onto the bed. but of course, he could flip you over in an instant and he would, his cock dragging deliciously along your walls within the next two minutes.

as much as it was fun to watch you squirm and cry about him not letting up his dominance, it also turned him on immensely. his cock would ache inside you as you begged for him to make a needy noise… his eyes would threaten to roll back as you clenched around him in hopes he would show some type of submission… and he’d have to recollect himself when you breathed hot in his ear that he was such a good boy for fucking you so well. why the fuck did that affect him?

but once he grounded himself, you were in trouble– his cock pounding into you with heinous phrases leaking from his mouth. he couldn’t bear to listen to you anymore, the idea drove him insane– a fucking human shouldn’t be calling him wretched pet names like that. so to shut you up, his palm would end up on your mouth and his tongue there would shove straight into it. he just needed to fuck the kink out you, that’s all.

and of course being the curse that he is, once you couldn’t speak, he’d tease (berate) you about your subby needs.

“ah, so you get off on pussy men now?”

“don’t look away from me, doll, answer the question.”

“what– you want me to whine and beg for you like a goddamn pup? i don’t think so.”

“now hold your legs open ‘n take my cock… like a normal fucking human.”

yeah, you tried and all it got you was a sore cunt each time, unable to walk without a bit of a wobble– his devilish smirk and targeted eyes followed you every step of the way before he relinquished his form to itadori in the morning.

taglist: @izakyun | @classyempathmongercloud | @satorawrrr | @winterskeleton

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thehighladywrites · 1 month

Text

— “You were flirting with me?”

pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

summary: You leave Azriel mid-makeout to debrief with your girls

warnings: suggestiveness, the ic being nosey, miscommunication, rhys and cassian knowingly riling az up, the girls get drunk and interrogate reader, the boys get drunk and interrogate az,

amara’s note: this might be the funniest thing i’ve ever written. also sorry for my absence i’m posting more soon💗💗

You’ve had a massive crush on Azriel since the day you met him. He didn’t really notice you and was somewhat nice to you.

Really, you had no idea how you started crushing on him, I mean he paid you no special attention or anything. Maybe it was because he was quiet, handsome, tall, dark, mysterious and only spoke when it was necessary. He also cracked jokes and flashed grins that made your heart flutter. The Mother knows how much it grated your nerves whenever a male tried to hit or talk to you when you clearly had no desire to.

Azriel was the complete opposite and you started worrying that you were the one who grated on his nerves everytime you tried speaking to him.

“Hi Azriel, how are you doing?” you noticed him sitting at the dining table, collected yourself and asked him.

“Good,” he said staring straight into your soul before he realized his answer wasn’t really socially appropriate so asked you, “How are you?”

You just smiled awkwardly and nodded, “I’m fine, thanks.”

And that was how 90% of your conversations went. There was no further comments or extra questions and fuck if it wasn’t awkward. You really wanted to get to know him but you also knew how impossible it was since even the people he had been friends with for half a millennium often considered him a mystery.

Sensing the weird energy in the room, you just swiftly said goodbye, not bothering to stay to hear his goodbye.

He wanted to ask if you maybe wanted to do something, perhaps eat brunch at the restaurant you talked about to Cassian but you were moving before he had the chance. Azriel got extremely annoyed with himself, wondering why the hell he couldn’t ask you out like a normal person.

With determination, he promised himself to try the next time.

—

The girls all knew about your very obvious crush on Azriel and encouraged you to approach him often. They were all mated and happy and you wish it was you, you that had a mate, you who got loved and kissed and hugged and fucked.

But you just had to be obsessed with a man that paid you no attention… Maybe that’s why you wanted him, you viewed him as a challenge, and you loved challenges. Despite wanting his attention and wanting to get to know him, you still had self-respect and didn’t act like a pathetic, desperate, love-sick puppy infront of him.

So you went from always greeting him and smiling at him, trying to initiate conversations to flat out ignoring him. I mean, he never talked to you first so maybe it was time to accept it and just admire him from afar.

—

Azriel began to sense a dullness in his days, a void he couldn't really pinpoint. He realized he hadn’t talked to you, or rather, you hadn't talked to him while he played it cool, trying not to make his beating heart obvious. He noticed the absence of your chatter, questions and lovely voice, realizing that his days grew more mundane and boring without someone asking about his shadows, what his plans were, where he got Truth-Teller.

Azriel observed during dinner that you didn't glance at him once; your attention was solely on the girls or his brothers. You chose to stand up, walk across the dining room and grab the bowl of potatoes beside him instead of asking him for it, and it really irked him. Was he not worthy of passing a simple bowl of fucking potatoes?

He wondered if he had done something to make you avoid talking to him. Despite not being the most talkative person, he paid very close attention to everything you said, even if it seemed unnoticed. Azriel loved your presence and he thought he made his interest in you very clear when he looked at you.

Cassian had said girls like eye contact, still everytime he stared into your soul, you only looked weirded out. Was he doing it wrong? Maybe he wasn’t keeping eye contact long enough.

He had grown extremely fond of your talking and felt empty without it. Finding you alone in the kitchen while you prepared a quick breakfast, Azriel decided it was time to talk. The others had already headed to the training grounds as you had slept in. You were cooking your breakfast, not noticing Azriel.

“Hey.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, frozen in place as you slowly looked up at him. Was he really talking to you? But why?

“Yeah?”

He stayed quiet for a bit, just staring at you in that weird way he always did. Even though he wasn't sure if you liked him back and was afraid of rejection, he still wanted to talk to you.

“How have you been?”

You fight the urge to furrow your brows in confusion. Since when the hell did Azriel care? You were truly baffled and tried to act normal.

“Uh, I’ve been good, you?”

Azriel didn’t like this. He didn’t like this at all.

Usually, you'd spontaneously share every detail of your morning routine, even without him asking. He fucking loved to listen as you talked about your broken hairbrush, the struggle of choosing clothes, the snug fit of your leathers due to gained muscles, and the morning hassle with your hair, prompting you to wake up 20 minutes earlier than usual.

“I’m okay. Have you done anything else today? How is your hairbrush?”

A stupid question really, but Azriel didn’t care. He wanted to see that familiar spark in your eyes as you talked about anything and everything. No way would he ever forgive himself if he ruined something between you.

Your face heated at the fact that he remembered such a minuscule detail about something you said weeks ago.

”Oh, the hairbrush? It broke so I got an enchanted one. Heard it's like a hair miracle, tried it, and it really worked. By the way, your hair looks good. Did you cut it lately?”

Azriel couldn't help but warm up at your rambling. His eyes widened at first, and then he threw his head back and laughed. The deep, rich sound was familiar, yet it never failed to feel like the first time. It was a beautiful and joyful melody that always managed to make you melt on the inside.

"I really missed you," he admitted, feeling your heart pound in your chest, unable to meet his gaze.

"You did?" Azriel's soft smile warmed your heart, the one you'd nearly missed.

"I did. I enjoy being around you and hearing your voice," he confessed.

"Oh, I always thought you didn’t." You couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and relief.

Stepping closer, Azriel's presence loomed over you, his hand gently lifting your chin.

“Please, don’t misunderstand me. I’m sorry that my silence ever gave you that impression. I thought I was making my interest clear, to be honest,” he murmured, sincerity gleaming in his hazel eyes.

“Okay, I promise I won’t misunderstand again. But why did you think you made yourself clear?” you whispered, feeling a rush of energy as you locked eyes with him.

“Because I made a point of holding prolonged eye contact, thinking it was a clear signal of my interest,” he explained matter-of-factly.

You couldn't help but raise your eyebrows, suppressing a laugh. “So, all those times you were staring at me, you were actually flirting?”

Azriel's expression softened, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Well, yes. I thought you knew.”

Suppressing a giggle, you bit your lip and glanced away, not wanting to offend him.

“Ah, not exactly crystal clear, but I understand now. Let’s go for a walk and chat some more,” you suggested, linking your arm through his.

"Sounds perfect. Now, tell me about those new leathers you got," he said, his playful demeanor easing the tension, steering the conversation towards lighter topics.

—

Over the next few months, the bond between you and Azriel deepened. He trusted you with secrets of his life that remained hidden from everyone else. These private conversations became the pillars of your connection, sweet moments for you only.

As the months went by, an unspoken desire for more lingered between you and Azriel. Yet, despite the magnetic pull, something kept you from going the final step.

You've had countless close moments where you almost kissed, where just a tip-toe closer would have sealed the deal. But it never happened. So close, yet so frustratingly far away.

—

Mor's question disrupted the laughter and gossiping of the girls' night, the clinking of wine glasses punctuating the anticipation in the air.

"Remind me again why you and Azriel aren’t a couple?”

Mor's curiosity hung palpably, shifting the mood from gossiping to an interrogation.

“Well, it’s kinda complicated,” you replied, swirling the wine in your glass as you gathered your thoughts.

“We have a great connection, but there's this unspoken understanding between us. It’s like there's a boundary we're afraid to cross.”

Amren raised an eyebrow, her sharp eyes observing you closely. “Unspoken understanding? Fancy fucking excuse”

Elain giggled and nodded in agreement.

You chuckled, “Maybe it is, but it’s like we're both tiptoeing around something, afraid to ruin what we have. I mean, do I want to be with him? Yeah, I do. But we might fuck something up and I think we have too good of a relationship to throw it all away.”

Nesta leaned back with a smirk, “Sounds like a case of unresolved sexual tension. Maybe the only cure would be to finally get a good dicking.”

You shot her a look, “You make it sound like a medical condition. Also that has got to be some plot from your smutty books.”

Feyre chimed in, “Maybe it is. Maybe it's time you took a bold step to see what happens. Who knows, it might get you laid.”

The group erupted into laughter, but underneath it, you couldn’t ignore the truth in their words. You liked him, there was no denying it. But did he like you as much?

—

“Is she dating anyone?” Rhysand’s casual question caught Azriel off guard as he browsed his big wine selections with Cassian while the girls where out of the house.

Azriel feigned ignorance. “Who?”

Rhysand and Cassian exchanged a knowing look. “Y/N. Is she dating anyone?”

Something about the question irked Azriel. “Why the hell do you care?”

Rhysand shrugged nonchalantly. “Just curious. I might set her up with someone.”

Azriel's jaw clenched as he fought to mask his frustration. Rhysand's casual tone grated on his nerves, igniting a simmering jealousy he hadn't realized he harbored. Suppressing a sigh, he forced himself to respond evenly,

“She's a grown female, Rhys. She doesn't need you playing matchmaker for her.”

Cassian chuckled, sensing the tension in the air. “Easy, Az. No need to get defensive. I think little Y/N might want a lover of her own, no?”

Azriel's gaze hardened, a flicker of annoyance flashing in his eyes. “I'm not being defensive. I just don't appreciate your implication. And no, she doesn’t need some lover.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, his smirk bordering on mischief. “Interesting. And why is that?”

Before Azriel could formulate a response, you had returned with the girls, your laughter echoing through the room, shifting the focus away from the questions. Azriel sighed, silently cursing Rhysand's annoying questions and the unresolved feelings stirring within him.

—

You turned off the tap and brought the glass of water to your mouth, much needed after the amounts of wine you and the girls had downed. It was honestly a miracle Mor had the energy to winnow you to the house of wind.

As the girls walked to the library for more drinking, you snuck into the kitchen for some water.

You put down the tall glass of water, swallowing the refreshing and cool drink before your body tingle.

Your stomach flipped, blood heating as your skin broke out in goosebumps.

His presence was undeniable.

Azriel was here.

Turning around to leave the sink, you saw him standing there behind the island, looking at you with a soft look that made your stomach flutter and cheeks heat.

"Hi," Azriel greeted softly as you approached him.

"Hi, Az." you replied, feeling a surge of warmth at the sight of him.

"Did you have fun with the girls?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"Yeah, I did," you answered with a smile as you looked down.

Azriel's lips twitched, and he gently lifted your chin with his pointer and thumb. He looked down at your midnight blue dress and raised his brows

"You look absolutely breathtaking."

Your heart beat faster and faster and you were damn sure your friends upstairs could hear how hard it drummed against your chest.

You leaned into his touch, the move careful and intentional. Azriel’s thumb rubbed against your jaw, your eyes glistening in awe at his handsome self.

”Thank you. It’s nothing special, I just like the color.”

Azriel's gaze softened, his eyes lingering on yours with a tenderness that made your knees weak. "It's not just the color," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's you. You’re beautiful."

A blush crept up your cheeks at his words, and you bit your lip nervously, unsure how to respond to such sincerity. But damn, he looked good, and the alcohol in your system made you feel bold enough to speak your mind.

"You look really good," you said, your voice a little breathless. "This shirt suits you."

Stepping closer, you let your hand rest on his sturdy chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the tension between you palpable. Slowly, your hand traveled down to the planes of his stomach, each movement filled with anticipation.

As you looked up at him with a mischievous smile, you played with his belt, the air crackling with the electric energy of the moment. His reaction was immediate, his gaze flickering with desire as the tension between you reached its peak.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his hand moving to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your breaths mingled. The sudden proximity caught you off guard, making you gasp softly.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and tinged with desire. "Let's not do things we can't handle."

Your breath hitched at his words, a shiver running down your spine as his proximity sent electric sparks coursing through you. “That sounds like a challenge, Azriel,” you taunted, your voice barely a whisper.

Azriel’s smirk widened, his gaze burning with intensity. “Consider it an invitation.”

You looked at each other, breathing shallowly. Azriel’s intense gaze softened gradually as his eyes traveled further down to your lips. He swallowed, pupils wide with lust.

"May I-"

"Yes."

It was a tender, sweet kiss that caught you off guard in the best way possible. You didn't expect him to be so gentle, but you welcomed it wholeheartedly.

His touch was tender yet reassuring. One hand cradled the back of your head, while the other wrapped around your waist, drawing you closer to him.

You melted into his embrace, savoring every moment of closeness. Your hands found their way to his neck, clinging to him as if you never wanted to let go.

Azriel’s shadows swirled around you lazily, one trailing up your calf and causing you to twitch in surprise. Pulling back, you were met with his clouded, lustful eyes. A mixture of concern and confusion cleared up his hazy gaze.

Suddenly, the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. Here you were, in the kitchen, making out with Azriel—the very male you'd had a crush on for what felt like an eternity. Panic surged through you, and you took a step back, needing a moment to collect yourself.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm, I’m fine, just give me one second,” you managed to stammer out before turning on your heel and practically stumbling out of the kitchen.

With your heart racing and your mind in a whirlwind, you burst into the library where the girls were lounging, each with a glass of wine in hand. Feyre perked up at your arrival, offering a lazy smile.

“There you are, was wondering where you went,” she mused, clearly already feeling the effects of the alcohol.

Without thought, you blurted out the bombshell news. “Guys, Azriel and I kissed.”

The revelation seemed to sober up the entire room, and suddenly, you were bombarded with questions and reactions from your friends.

“Oh my gods, finally,” Mor exclaimed, practically jumping in her seat

“Is he a good kisser? Was it rough or soft? How did he hold you?” Nesta fired off questions, her curiosity piqued.

”All of you owe me 10 cold coins each. I’m always right,” Feyre slumped back in her seat, sipping the wine as she nodded happily.

“I knew you were up to something while we were in here,” Amren chimed in with a knowing smirk.

You grinned widely as you shared all the details with the girls, who were just as excited as you were. They leaned in, eager to hear every bit of the story.

As the questions swirled around you, Elain’s confused expression brought the conversation to a halt.

“Wait, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be kissing right now?” she asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

You froze, the weight of her words sinking in. “Well, yes, we were just... making out, and I had to come here. I panicked.”

In response, your friends practically shoved you back outside, Nesta taking the lead. “And don’t you dare come back until your legs are shaking and you have a big smile on your face,” she declared with a mischievous grin.

You took a deep breath, suppressing your smile as you made your way back to the kitchen. Azriel stood there, leaning against the kitchen island with his feet crossed and arms over his chest.

“Are you sure you’re okay? We don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable,” he said, his voice laced with concern.

You softened at his words, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. Pulling him down slightly, you gave him a loud kiss that ended with an audible "mwah."

"I really couldn't be more comfortable. I love you, Az. Like a whole lot," you confessed, your voice filled with sincerity and affection.

Azriel's eyes softened at your words, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and tender.

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "More than I can put into words."

You felt a rush of warmth flood through you at his admission, your heart fluttering with happiness. Without another word, you leaned in and kissed him again, the feeling of his lips against yours sending shivers down your spine.

Azriel grabbed your hips and slowly backed you into the kitchen island. You yelped when he picked you up and put you on the counter, deeping the kiss.

“Let me take you on a date. I want to do this properly,” he whispers breathlessly between kisses as he tucks your hair behind your ear.

You put your hands on his chest lovingly as you nod, smiling up at him. “I’d love that.”

—

extra scene where rhys and cassian visit azriel in the kitchen:

Azriel stood frozen as you left, his mind going into overdrive, worrying if he had done something wrong. Just as he was about to follow you, Rhys and Cassian popped their heads into the kitchen.

"Yo. Where did she go?" Cassian asked, scanning the empty kitchen.

Azriel furrowed his brows at the pair, or rather their heads.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Go before she comes back," he urged, shooing them away with his hand.

Rhys leaned against the kitchen island, a satisfied grin on his face. "It's about damn time."

Cassian nodded in agreement. "Fuck yeah, took him long enough. But hey, better late than never."

Azriel frowned, feeling the weight of their words. "You guys make it sound like it was some kind of mission."

Rhys chuckled. "In a way, it was. And you finally completed it."

Azriel sighed, "Stop talking like that, you sound fucking ancient.”

Cassian smirked at him, arms over his chest as he said “Y’all kissed?”

Azriel's cheeks flushed slightly at Cassian's question, but he maintained his composure. "Yeah, we did."

Rhys raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "And?"

Azriel shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "And it was... nice."

Cassian laughed, clapping Azriel on the back. "Nice? Come on, tongue?”

"Yeah, tongue,” he said trying and failing to suppress a smile.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I knew it, you little freak. What else?”

Azriel's expression turned guarded. “Okay, that's all you dickheads need to know. Now, get the fuck out before she comes back.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows shot up, a finger wagging in Azriel’s face. “You better not fuck in my kitchen, I swear to the Mother, I’ll make you both scrub every inch.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and ushered them out, leaning against the kitchen island, waiting for you.

1K notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 5 months

Text

[4.5K] Steve Harrington x fem!reader 18+

A/N: sorry, no advent blurb today as we’re v tired and v sick and writing doesn’t sound fun. but please have an old fic that was once on the masterlist

“This is a bad idea,” you whispered, shy, nervous, wanting to curl into yourself.

Steve stayed still behind you, your back to his chest, his legs bent and framing your own. His hand stroked over your knee, a safe distance, one that didn’t add too much pressure to the situation. The boy pressed a kiss to your cheek, nose nudging your temple. “We can stop, if you want.” His voice was quiet and filled with soft sincerity. “It’s okay.”

But you’d asked for this, face flushed, squirming on Steve’s bed sheets ‘cause how on earth did you go from watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High to talking about sex to telling your best friend you’d never had an orgasm?

“What?” He’d asked, face soft with shock. “What about those six months you dated that guy, whatshisface? Liam?”

“Lewis,” you’d corrected, fingers pulling uncomfortably at the blanket Steve kept at the end of his bed for you. “And no, he just couldn’t get me there, I guess. Maybe it was me. It’s gotta be me, I can’t even make it happen myself.”

Steve had paused at that, looking at you with parted lips and soft eyes ‘cause you looked so sad, so frustrated, defeat taking over from the embarrassment you’d felt in admitting such a thing.

“It’s not you,” he’d said, determined. “He should’ve taken his time with you or— or, found out what you liked.”

You huffed out a laugh at that, humourless and tired. You shrugged, hands falling into your lap. “How’s that fair when I don’t even know what I like myself?”

You don’t know what happened after that. Just that the movie was paused and the evening outside turned to night, Steve’s blue room turning navy in the shadows, the dull glow of his bedside lamp making your bare legs turn apricot and rosy in the light. His hand looked so big against your knee, like he could swallow you whole.

You asked him. Voice quiet, words making the boy’s cheeks turn pink. Asked him to help, to show you, to tell you what you were doing wrong which sounded so ridiculous, because Jesus Christ, it was your body, for fuck sake.

You sucked in a deep breath. “No, it’s fine. I’m just— being stupid. We can keep going.”

You felt Steve relax a little behind you, his body sinking into the pile of pillows at his headboard, your body falling into his in turn. His thumb drew circles on the side of your knee, a touch you’d felt before: during a horror movie in the dark of the cinema, in the front seat of his car when you cried about a boy who wasn’t him, when he’d argued with his dad and you piled yourself into his lap for comfort.

“Are you sure?” Steve whispered and his voice was right by your ear, lips almost touching the shell of it. It made you shiver, spine tingling. “And you’re not stupid. This, the way you feel. It’s not stupid, okay?”

You realised he was waiting for you to answer him, so you nodded, chest tight at his earnest words, always trying to make you feel better. He’d once told you when you were both only thirteen, that that was his job and he’d proven it true ever since.

“Yeah, m’sure.” You let your head rest against his, cheek to his chin, day old stubble rough against your skin. “Thanks, Steve.”

A silence swept over you both, not exactly uncomfortable but not an easy one either, not like it usually was. ‘Cause your skirt was hitched up high, the hem of it falling towards the tops of your thighs when you’d bent your knees and sat between Steve’s legs. He’d patted the space there and your body had burned, but you’d obeyed all the same. His thumb was still rubbing circles and your hands lay awkwardly in your lap until finally, finally, Steve took them in his own and placed them flat over your thighs, his bigger ones covering your fingers.

“So you’ve never, ever—?”

“No,” you whispered it back, like a dirty secret. Something to be ashamed about. “Can't even manage it myself… it’s— fuck, I don’t know.” You choked off your own words, heated embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck.

Steve squeezed your hands, gentle, soothing. “S’okay. Do you, uh, do you try? A lot?”

He sounded nervous too and suddenly you were thankful for this position, eyes hidden from each other, knowing his cheeks would be flushed, too pretty to look at. You sucked in a breath and nodded. “Sometimes, yeah. I guess. It’s just— I either get interrupted or it doesn’t feel right and then the times when it does, I just can’t… can’t. You know.”

“Finish?” Steve supplied helpfully.

You nodded again.

“Okay, uh, why don’t you— do you wanna, try? Show me?” You heard him swallow audibly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and you felt his jaw tense against your temple, where you were leaning against him.

You stiffened, and Steve felt that too, so he tangled his fingers between your own and used his thumb and yours to skim up and down your legs. You wondered if he noticed how warm you were, if he realised you were running so much hotter than before.

“It’s just me,” he whispered to you, head ducked tucked down so he words fell into the crook of your neck. He sounded so soft, familiar, like the sixteen year old who’d picked you up from your shitty first date and told you that the next boy that hurt you would have to deal with him. “Do you trust me?”

You licked your bottom lip, mouth dry but you made a noise of agreement. “Yeah, I trust you.” You felt his smile, felt the affection ripple through him and back into you, ‘cause you really, really did. More than anyone, you thought.

“We can stop whenever you want, alright?” Steve said and you bobbed your head, suddenly feeling clumsy, fingers too small between his own, legs splayed out like a broken down China doll. You dug your toes into the mattress and breathed out. “Show me.” Steve whispered again. “Show me what you do.”

It took a second, maybe five, for your heart to stop rattling against your chest, for your bones to stop vibrating. But you took one hand from Steve’s and pressed it between your thighs, hidden under your skirt. Your underwear was still very much on and you were unsure how to go about that, so you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to find your clit the best you could under the cotton, shifting your fingers over the fabric.

Then Steve tsked, a soft sound that didn’t come across as reprimanding as it should’ve, but between that and his hand catching yours again, you stopped, unsure.

“You normally just dive right in like that?” Steve murmured, rubbing his thumb over your knuckle. “Christ, you gotta be nicer to yourself, babe, you need to relax more.”

“I do?”

Steve laughed quietly, a huff of spearmint breath falling across your cheek and wasn’t unkind, it didn’t make you shrink like you thought it would’ve. “Well, yeah,” Steve answered. “You gotta warm yourself up, right? Get in the mood. Hasn’t anyone taken their time with you? Made you feel like, uh, like putty?”

“Putty?” Your lips kicked up at the corners, lashes fluttering as your eyes closed, happy to listen to Steve and the smile in his voice. He sounded shy, and it was lovely, it made you feel better, warmer, ready for what was happening.

“Yeah,” he huffed. “You know, all gooey n’shit. Nice. Relaxed.” Steve sucked in a breath and pressed your joined hands to your thigh, his so much wider and covering much more skin. “You’re real cute, babe, someone’s gotta treat you the same way.”

“No,” you shook your head, trying not to sound too sad about it, ‘cause Steve’s hand on your bare skin was starting to make you feel real nice, warm, just like he was describing. Except you were anything but relaxed, heartbeat a livewire racing through your bones, a new pulse thrumming, stomach jumping at each touch. “You think I’m cute?”

You weren’t sure why you asked that, but suddenly, you were desperate to know.

“You kiddin’?” Steve said and you could hear the smile there, the one you knew so well. He leaned in, chin hooked over your shoulder when he felt you settle back against him, body more lax than before. His lips brushed your cheek when he spoke. “You’re the cutest girl in town, d’you not know that?”

You squirmed, too pleased with his comment but embarrassed all the same. Steve always gave you too much attention but it was the way it had always been, a little flirting over the diner table, his hand on the small of your back when you walked through too big crowds, an offered cheek for you to kiss goodbye when he dropped you home after school.

“Shut up,” you whispered, voice thick and quiet and caught in your throat. You didn’t mean that. You didn’t want him to shut up at all. And Steve knew that.

“Now, if you’re the cutest thing in all of Hawkins,” he continued, emboldened by the way you tucked your head into the crook of his neck, letting your fingers go soft between his own. “Don’t you think you gotta be nice to yourself?”

Your breath stuttered and hitched in your chest and despite the nerves that still pinballed around in your stomach, your thighs dropped open a little, the hem of your skirt hitching higher still and Steve swallowed down a curse.

“I don’t think I know how.” It was embarrassing, admitting it, cheeks on fire, nose scrunched even though Steve couldn’t see.

His hands swept up your thighs, taking yours with them, stopping short of creeping under your skirt before retreating back down to your knees. “Like this,” the boy whispered. “See? Nice and sweet. Slow.”

You wanted to let your hands fall away, wanted to feel Steve’s rough fingertips and wide palms span over your skin but when you tried to pull away, Steve only tightened his grip. “Ah, ah, c’mon. You can’t learn if I do it for you.”

There was a whine stuck in your throat; a bratty, moody noise that you didn’t dare let out in fear of being teased by the boy for all of entirety but Steve seemed to sense your frustration anyway.

“C’mon, you got this.” Steve pressed a quick kiss to wherever he could reach, a warm smack of his lips against the skin under your ear, right by your jaw. “Relax, remember?”

So you did, letting out a small sigh before sinking back into him, legs widening and letting Steve drag your hands up and down your thighs, your skin erupting in goosebumps every time you felt a particularly rough graze of Steve’s short nails.

“What d’you think about?” He asked, voice hushed, almost hoarse. It sounded dirty, like a secret you weren’t supposed to tell anyone else about. “When you touch yourself? What d’you think about?”

You pressed your lips together and shrugged, a gasp wrenching out from you when Steve moved your hands inwards, to the softer dough of your thighs, creeping higher and higher until you felt the cotton and lace edge of your underwear against your fingertips.

“I dunno,” your voice didn’t sound like your own. “Someone else, I guess. Someone’s fingers, instead of my own. Being— being kissed and their, their mouth. Lips. Tongues.”

If Steve’s hips twitched up into your own, you were sure you’d imagined it. But he took a second before he answered, nodding so his nose pressed into your cheek, his hair fell over your own.

“S’good,” he agreed, praising you like any teacher would. “What about their mouth, huh? Where d’you want it?”

You squirmed, face on fire, teeth chewing something rotten at your poor bottom lip and when you didn’t answer, Steve took your hand and placed it over your cunt, the cotton there suddenly more damp than it was before. You wanted to throw yourself out the window. Or worse, at Steve.

“Here?” The boy suggested. He wasn’t really touching you, just his hand over your wrist and fingers, guiding, pressing slightly. “Has someone done that to you? Has someone put their mouth here?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the little whine that came out with it, disappointment colouring the sound. Steve tutted, cooing at you with sympathy and he let out a stuttered sigh when you took it upon yourself to press two fingers closer to your clit, seeking out some friction.

“That’s a real shame, you know that?” Steve’s hands left yours, only to grasp your waist and pull you back into him a little firmer and you’d be lying if you didn’t feel him, hard under his jeans, pressed into the bottom of your back.

It only made you press your fingers into yourself harder.

“It is?” You were breathless, each word a huff of air, face screwed up and eyes shut tight as you tried to work out where you wanted your fingers the most.

“Fuck, yeah it’s a shame, babe.” Steve whispered. “Told you, didn’t I? You’re the sweetest girl there is. And someone’s not tasted you? Not told how sweet you really are?” Steve blew out a breath, as if exasperated. “That’s just unfair.”

“Steve.” You weren't sure what you were whining your best friend's name for. For release? Permission? Guidance? All of the above, maybe.

But Steve seemed to know, ‘cause he nudged your hand closer to your cunt, coaxed you into running your fingers over your cotton covered folds. “Yeah?” He asked and his voice was hoarse, a little wrecked sounding. “Ready for more? Feelin’ good?”

You nodded, clumsy, breath coming out a little heavier than before.

Steve let one finger flirt with the edge of your underwear, along the lace trim where your cunt met your thigh and he snapped the elastic against you, feeling brave when you pressed back against him, like you couldn’t be close enough.

“Want these off?” You heard him swallow hard, sounding quieter than before. “Don’t have to, if you don’t want to. We can do whatever—”

You lifted your hips in answer, one hand holding onto Steve’s thigh for support as the other dragged down your underwear and your cheeks cringed with heat as you caught a glimpse of how wet the cotton was. You balled them into your fist, shoving them to the bottom of Steve’s bed and they lay there like a flashing neon sign, all lilac and buttercream coloured flowers, lacy and mortifying.

Your skirt still covered you, hiding a lot from Steve. But the boy could look over your shoulder and see the way your chest heaved, nipples pebbled underneath your T-shirt, the one you’d stolen from him freshman year and made into a crop top. You were all legs, soft thighs, socked feet digging into his duvet, skirt flirting dangerously with all that bare skin underneath. He tried not to rut up into you, but he knew you had to feel him by now, his hard cock pressed against your spine, twitching at every breathy noise you let out.

“What next?” You asked and you sounded desperate, more pent up than you’d ever felt before and you wondered if it was really because you were taking your time with it, if all these slow touches really worked. You wondered if it was Steve. “Should I just—?”

Your fingers dug into your thighs, sitting over your skin alone ‘cause Steve was gripping at his own knees, knuckles white on the denim. “Fuck,” his voice cracked. “Just, uh, do what feels good, yeah?”

You made a sound of protest, frustration spilling up and out of your throat because this is where it went wrong, fingers fumbling, unsure where to touch to be able to coax you over the edge.

“Hey, hey, s’alright,” Steve assured you, whispering again. “Give me your hand.”

You did, without hesitation, and together, with Steve’s fingers twisted between your own, he guided your touch underneath your skirt. You held your breath as you felt your own fingers - and the boy’s - slip between your folds, your legs parting automatically for him. You felt his breath hitch and fall over your cheek as you let out a tiny moan, urging him on, your fingers following his as he swept up and down your cunt, gathering up the slick there before pressing your middle finger to your clit.

“Yeah?” Steve asked and he sounded awed when you cried out, a soft grunt that made him see fucking God. “That good?”

You could barely speak. “Yeah,” you whispered on a breath, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder, giving Steve an unobstructed view down your front, to the way your hands could be seen between your thighs, skirt rucked up around them.

“Atta’ girl, keep doin’ that, okay?”

You did as you were told, adding your pointer finger to the mix, rubbing the two digits over your clit in soft circles, panting every time you felt Steve’s fingers slip between your own. Steve’s free hand was on your waist, a vice-like grip that you weren’t sure he was aware of, his palm on the strip of bare skin between your top and skirt. Every time you let out a shy noise, he squeezed, kneading at the dough there.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, jaw slack as he watched you work at yourself, never letting go of his hand and fuck, fuck, you were so wet, velvet heat under his touch.

“D’you use your fingers?” Steve asked you, lips against your cheek, both of you leaning into each other as if you were unable to help it. “Inside? Do you put your fingers inside yourself?”

Twenty minutes ago, you would’ve died if the boy had asked you such a thing, but now? Now? Now you whined at it, cunt clenching around nothing at the idea of it and you shook your head, temple rubbing against Steve’s cheek in a way that killed him with how fond it was.

“Not really,” you whispered to him, ‘cause even with his fingers slipping over your clit, you were still so shy. “Don’t feel big enough, never- shit - never full enough.”

Steve swore his eyes rolled back into his skull, ‘cause all he could see was white, a blank flash over his vision that felt white hot. He rubbed soothing at your waist, let his fingers span over the width of your side, blunt nails sliding over your ribs. “Poor girl,” he sympathised and he smiled when you whined as he pulled your fingers away. “Shh, gimme a minute, hey? Here, just, try this, huh?”

You didn’t get to ask what he was meaning before the fingers that had been rubbing over your slick skin were in his mouth, two digits pressed to his tongue and Steve sucked. He licked over the pads, most definitely tasting you and you felt his chest rumble with a groan he tried to keep in. And then, as quick as it happened, it was over.

Steve brought your spit slick fingers back between your thighs, nudging the tips of them against your entrance. You keened, hips arching off the bed a little until Steve soothed you back down against him, mouthing over your jaw and cheek in a touch that definitely couldn’t be misconstrued as a kiss.

You sighed as you slid them in, two fingers fucking into yourself as deep as you could manage, slipping in easily with how insanely turned on you were. You hooked them up, like all the articles in the magazines you hid from your parents told you to do, searching for that spot that would apparently make you see stars. But you fell short, fingers not long enough and your clit was aching with neglect.

“Steve,” you felt close to tears, the usual frustration bubbling at the surface of your chest, ready to pop and simmer over. You’d have normally given up by now. “Steve, s’not working.”

“Gotta be patient, babe,” Steve assured you, “gotta be nice to yourself, c’mon, don’t let your head take over.”

But Steve saw the tear that rolled down your cheek and he caught your chin, titling your face towards him as he frowned down at you. You looked wrecked, heartbroken and all pent up, lips red and slick from where you’d chewed at them, eyes all glassy.

He shouldn’t have asked. But he was already in too deep. What does it matter now, right?

Right?

“Want me to help?”

He waited, one second, two, three and then you nodded, relief and disbelief filling his chest all at once. He swallowed back a broken moan and tapped his thumb at your chin, just catching your pouting bottom lip. “You gotta tell me, please?”

“Please, Steve, please. I want you to touch me.”

He’d died. He was dead.

But then you were pulling at his wrist and guiding it back between your legs, your fingers slick from where they’d been inside of yourself and Steve wasn’t sure he was able to handle it. His middle finger nudged up against your entrance and Steve felt it flutter, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was for you, not him.

He was rock fucking hard.

“Ready?” He asked in a last bid for confirmation. You were laying fully against him now, thighs pressed to his, skirt barely covering you and you nodded so furiously that Steve didn’t dare ask you to speak again. “Okay, I’ve got you, alright?”

His finger slid in so easily and you clenched around him, velvet heat that made his heart stutter and his cock kick up against your spine. You immediately felt the difference, the boy’s finger thicker and longer, already reaching parts of you that you’d never felt. You felt like you were going to burst.

“More?” Steve asked and his voice eas shot, eyes closing at the feel of you, your small hand wrapped around his wrist to ensure he wouldn’t stop and Steve wanted to tell you he’d never stop if you didn’t want him to, that he’d do this every fucking day if you’d let him. “Another?”

“Another,” you agreed and god, you weren’t holding back anymore, moans tumbling from your lips when Steve slid another finger in with his first, the feeling of your cunt tightening around him making you both cry out.

Your hips were shifting against him, listing yourself on and off of his fingers and he groaned, stuttered dirty, filthy words into your hair as he let you fuck yourself down onto his didgits. The friction was too much for him, his cock straining in the denim, weeping for release.

“Touch yourself, babe,” he managed to groan out, sighing at the sight of you doing what he told, hand flying to your thighs so you could rub messy, wet fingers over your clit. “That’s it, good girl. Jesus, are you close? I can feel you - fucking hell - I can feel you getting tighter.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, a sob ripping through your chest and Steve decided it wasn’t a good idea to ask, deciding that he needed to get you out of your own head so your body could take over.

“Do you like it when I talk to you?” He asked instead, a whisper against your ear, his breath warm on your neck, his fingers spanning upupup until they grazed the lace of your bra. You rutted against his hand harder, whining when he hit a deep spot inside of you, one that made your vision go blue-white. “You do, don’t you? My girl likes hearing dirty things, right? Like when I asked you if someone had went down on you? If you’d had someone’s tongue here?”

Steve slid his fingers in and out of you a little faster to get his point across, sweating when you moaned his name. His name. Your own fingers were moving with intent now; tight concise circles that were making your toes curl.

“Would you let me do that? Huh?” Steve dared to asked, grinning when you almost ripped the sleeve off his shirt as you grabbed at his arm, lips falling open in a long moan. “Shit, you look so damn pretty, you know that? I could do that for you though, if you wanted.” Steve’s eyes closed for just a second at the thought of it. “Could put my mouth on you, let you know if you’re really as sweet as you look—”

You seized up, body stiffening as you let out a noise Steve would never forget, a breathy moan of his name that he’d think about every time he fisted his own cock. He kept pumping his fingers into you, eyes wide as your own hand faltered and you shook, head slumping back against his shoulder as you decided to hold onto him instead, hands reaching back to grab at his shoulders, his neck, his hair.

Your pussy was a vice around his fingers, filthy, wet sounds filling his bedroom and he was pretty damn sure but he had to ask, he had to know—

“You comin’, babe? Yeah?” You nodded, frantic, eyes slammed shut and nose scrunched up all cute and Steve couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it. “Fucking hell, oh shit, yeah, there you go, that’s it, that’s it, that’s it—”

He wasn’t even ashamed that he came in his jeans like a teenager, in fact, he was a little insane with it. White spots over his vision as his cock twitched and jumped, letting his hips grind against your ass as you whined, your cunt still fluttering around his fingers as he slowed down the way they pumped in and out of you. He heard you swear when he finally pulled them away, slick with your release, sliding them into his mouth as if hiding the evidence.

Your eyes finally met Steve’s when you turned and flopped onto the bed next to him, mattress shifting as you both panting, chests heaving. He turned to find you already staring, eyes wide and cheeks flushed the prettiest colour, almost matching his own.

“Holy fucking shit,” you managed on a gasp.

“Told you,” he managed to say, fighting to keep the smile of his lips.

“What?” You frowned at him, wondering what on earth he wanted to say to you after that. He still looked like your best friend, still sounded like him too. Maybe just a little more smug. “Told me what?”

Steve took the time to push his finger into his mouth once more, enjoying the way your face burned, lips falling open as you watched, unblinking. He let his tongue wrap around it, chasing what was left of your taste until he let it go with a dirty pop.

“Sweetest girl in this fucking town,” he said.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot

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chewingcyanide · 5 months

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𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secrets are best kept buried, just like your tangled relationship with your best friend’s older brother.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — unrequited love ( that heart wrenching shit ), cursing? weird mentions and descriptions of blood, cursing ( lots of it ), yelling / arguing ( LOTS of it ), heavy angst with a dash of laughter, kind of OMC x reader but not too much, jealousy, kinda possessiveness ( from jack… had to do it ), emotional distress and all that good stuff

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x f!reader , OMC x f!reader (briefly), best friend!luke hughes x f!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — i’ve returned from a million year hiatus with this BIG BITCH and i’m sorry for it. may write a pt. 2 w a happy ending bc i’m a slut for them. anyway, enjoy! request if you’d like. love you guys.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You had existed within the world of Jack Hughes since your freshman year of high school.

Existed. Not an integral part, nor a spoke on the wheel of many friends he already had. Truthfully, you were only acquainted with him because of his younger brother, Luke; your freshman biology lab partner, and eventual best friend. Years had passed since you first met Luke—no longer were you the wide-eyed fifteen-year-old crossing the threshold from child to near-adult. Now, you were an adult. Twenty, with two more years of college stretched out before you, seemingly everything had changed.

Well, except for the lead weight chained to your ankle—the fundamental and inexorable truth that you were still in love with Jack Hughes.

It started as most consuming things do: a small idea, watered by brief looks, a brush of heated fingertips against your hand, or arm, or waist—or anywhere, really. A head rush that sent you meters under waves of excitement and anticipation. Loving Jack was like having a fever that never broke; it persisted, a dull ache that squeezed your skull each time he was near. Even now, five years later, the flashing of blue eyes—never brimmed with what you knew was embarrassingly reflected in your own—was enough to make sweat bead at your palms.

It never grew into more than a hope, a wishful desire. But wishing seldom got anyone anywhere, and it surely hadn’t helped you. When the months turned warm and spring faded into summer, the overwhelming ache of freedom that came with warm weather and the end of the hockey season drew Luke and his brothers to Sanibel—a beach so wrought with memories of youth and foolish memories that the idea of going another year made dread settle like steel in your bones. They’d bought it after a vacation there a few years ago, and the rest was history.

But, of course, Luke—the youngest of three—never took no for an answer.

“You can’t miss this year,” he had insisted. The Devils had their hopes cut short once more—this time in an second round exit to Carolina. Ergo, the expected departure time had been bumped up significantly. Vancouver had missed the playoffs altogether.

You stood silent, tearing away skin from your nail-beds as Luke leaned against the kitchen counter. The cold metal of the fridge pressing into the bare strip of skin on your back was the only thing keeping you present in the conversation.

You hated how Luke did this—he’d take your silence over text as an invitation to barge his way into your apartment, destroying the barrier of safety and excuses a phone provided, and ask you face-to-face. And how could you say no? You never had before, and look where that got you. No closer to removing hooks branded with the name Jack from your heart.

“Luke…” you sighed, only dropping your hands when blood bubbled to the surface of your torn skin. Pain rippled down your fingertips, but you ignored it. The dread that quickened your pacing heart was too overwhelming a sensation. “I don’t know—maybe I should—”

“Skip out?” Luke rounded the kitchen counter and came to stand in front of you. “No way, Bells. You have to come. Otherwise I’ll be alone all summer.”

You could have scoffed if you cared more. Bells. That dumb nickname Jack had given you years ago—according to him, it was because you were such a silent walker, you required a bell to be heard. Aside from the embarrassment you got from being called a childhood nickname even now, it reminded you that your existence was always going to be tied to Jack. A piece of him carried with you, a cage keeping your heart from beating without him; the bright red ribbon tied around your wrist that screamed I Love Jack Hughes!

No matter what, it would always be him. You tried; God, did you try. Hearing stories of his hookups, the life of a single, superstar hockey player should have been enough to send your stupid childhood crush to its grave, but as if cursed by a necromancer, the mere mention of Jack brought it right back to life. It was a cruel cycle that just wouldn’t end. And you knew going to that damned beach house would only prolong the life of the indestructible feeling more.

Jack was tarnished jewelry, rubbing your skin green and raw and wrong, and yet—you could never seem to take it off, even when it made you look foolish.

Silence fell like thick fog. Luke’s eyes roved along your face, as if trying to read a book with the letters smudged. “C’mon, Bells. You have fun every year, and I don’t want to have a summer without you.”

“Jack and Quinn will be there,” you said, voice low. Pathetic anxiety swelled in your chest like the forecast of a hurricane. Even saying his name tightened your veins. “Trevor, Alex, and Cole, too—I don’t need to go, Luke. Won’t it be weird?”

An unamused look graced Luke’s face. “You go with us every year. Why would it be different now?”

You wanted to curse Luke for being so persistent. Part of you wished you could just scream that you loved his brother, but couldn’t. You never could. Loving Jack ensured you lost someone—Luke, who would never get over the thought of you potentially sleeping with Jack; and well, if that failed, you also fully lost Jack. Unrequited love confessions made fools of ghosts.

To Jack, you were a ghost. Haunting his life, disrupting some times, but never there long enough to be seen. And even if he did, he convinced himself you weren’t there, that you didn’t even exist. Maybe it were best if you moved on and let yourself rest. Ghosts haunt their murderers, but Jack hadn’t killed you, you’d killed yourself—hoping, wishing, praying he would take a moment to believe and see you. But he never did. So you floated through his life until the moment you were no longer confined by unfinished business.

And maybe that was what you needed. Closure, the severing of a tie that was only hurting you to hold on to. And maybe, closure would come this summer. To look on Jack and not feel your heart race, but settle into a quiet murmur, a healthy pace—to free yourself from the confines of this painful love and finally move on. Haunt the graveyard no longer; sitting by and hoping he would place flowers by the grave.

“Okay,” you said quietly, glancing down at your sweater. Crimson marks stained the white fabric. You’d accidentally wiped your fingers on the cloth. “You win.”

Maybe this would be the summer you let go of Jack Hughes.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The cry of gulls and gentle breeze of salt-bitter air welcomed you back as the car breezed past the Welcome to Sanibel Island! sign. It felt like a taunt, as if you were passing into the circus, the main star of a show you never signed up for. With Sanibel came Jack, and the potential end to a love you’d clawed onto for dear life for the last half-decade. It felt strange, almost wrong, to imagine a world where Jack Hughes didn’t exist as the basis for all romantic interests. To hold someone’s hand and not compare the texture to his. To lose the anticipated blush that warmed your face each time he glanced at you. Because losing Jack was like losing a piece of yourself—all your life you’d associated love with him, and what would there be afterwards?

Sandy beaches rolled endless at the horizon, dotted with the figures of vacationers and locals alike. You glanced to Luke, his hand working the steering wheel as he drove the long-winded path to the beach house. Strands of your hair were roused by the invisible hand of the wind, no doubt knotting it, but you were too enraptured in what ifs and a potential future to much care.

“Are you excited?” Luke asked, looking to you. Elbow leaned against the doorframe, you managed to work your mouth into a smile. Even if it was twinged with apprehension.

“Of course. I love it here. I’m glad you guys were rich enough to buy it.”

Luke laughed.

And that was true. Summer here felt endless. Nights spent on the beach, the tickle of warmth from a stick-lit fire cradling you against the rush of cold blowing off the ocean. The bitter rush of alcohol that stung your veins. Hair made wet by the sea, drying beneath the warm fingertips of sunlight. Skin richening into a burn, soothed only by aloe vera and a cold shower. Laughter between friends and the restless nights talking. All of it was perfect. For you, summer was Jack. Brief and sweet, the thing you looked forward to seeing each year. But it never lasted long enough to truly feel, something you could never touch.

You wondered if you made it obvious. If Luke suspected, or Quinn; the eldest Hughes was always the most perceptive. Any time Jack said something that made your teeth clench with hurt, Quinn glanced at you. A reassuring smile. The extended hand in the dark. But if he knew, he never commented on it.

“Who’s already here?” you asked, eyes catching on the brightly colored houses lining the beach. Blue, pink, the odd green, melding together as the car breezed into the strip of land the beach house rested on.

You almost dreaded the answer. “Quinn and Jack,” Luke responded, voice a little distant—his eyes scanned for the house, too focused on his task to much care for the cringe you gave at the mention of Jack’s name.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was his house. Yet you found yourself hoping you’d at least beaten him here so you could mentally prepare for his arrival. As it were, you had about five minutes to do that.

Tires crunched against sand as Luke pulled into the driveway. Lead solidified in your bones until you felt as though you were going to sink straight into the earth. A deep breath expanded your chest, and you watched as Luke took out his phone—presumably to text that he’d arrived. Escaping the car, Luke stared at you expectantly. Your body pressed against the doorframe, eyes glanced out at the horizon. Smeared like a painting across the sky, a myriad of colors—oranges, pinks, yellows—foretold the coming of night. Maybe you could stay in here until everyone was asleep, to sneak past Jack and not have to—

The door to the passenger side opened, and there stood Luke, a hand on his hip. Making grabby hands like a toddler, he motioned for you to come. “What’s up with you, Bells? You’re so… quiet.”

You snorted. “That’s not news.”

“You know what I meant,” retorted Luke, grabbing your elbow with a gentle grip. “What’s got your head off to sea?”

Your brother! you wanted to scream, but found your tongue bolted to the bottom of your mouth. Offering instead a smile, you allowed Luke to help you out of the Jeep. Soft sand caught your feet, cushioning the drop. It felt strange to be back here again, but somehow, you knew it wouldn’t be the same. A rueful feeling ached your bones. This would maybe be the last time you’d ever come to the beach house. If your closure went as you intended… there would be no more summers in Sanibel. No more late beach nights. No more salt air creating a stick sheen on your skin. No more Jack Hughes.

“Just thinking about summer,” was all you said.

Like everything, its temporariness was what made it special.

Together, you and Luke began to unpack the bags from the trunk of the Jeep. “Any fun activities planned this summer?” you asked, hoping to alleviate the tension making your head pound.

Luke gave you a backwards glance as he practically leaned his whole body into the trunk. “New bar opened on the strip,” he told you. “I think we have to go.”

Your eyebrows crinkled. “We’re twenty, Luke. And this is a tourist town, they’re going to ID.”

Luke only smiled, clearly not thwarted by your pessimism. “Lucky then that you don’t have to worry. I’ve got it all figured out.”

You didn’t want to ask how, so instead you sighed, hauling your bag onto your shoulder. “Whatever. But I am not ending up in jail because you want to underage drink in public, Luke.”

There was no response to that. Slinking past you with elegance you thought his large frame incapable of, Luke began walking up the driveway and towards the beach house. It looked exactly the same as it had last summer—a gentle gray exterior, like the storm clouds that sometimes brewed over the sea, and a darker roof. White wood bordered the many windows, some with their own balconies. Rust spotted the metal of the garage, slowly encroaching from the outside. A simple wood fence enclosed the sides of the house, leading to the back where you knew a pool hid. Everything was exactly the same, yet so different. Last time you were here, it all felt so unknown, like the end of the summer would make or break the rest of your year. You’d hoped then that maybe Jack would notice, that it would finally be the year he looked at you as more than Luke’s best friend. You’d packed your cutest outfits, the bikinis your friends said would make any man double-take, yet nothing worked. It had been the same as every year before. Jack was nice, but indifferent. Friendly, but inattentive.

However, this year wasn’t like every other year. You didn’t come here with starry eyes and a child-like hope that Jack would pick you after years of oblivion. You came here to finally let go of him, to move on, to bury a love you’d kept on life support for years and years, in the hopes it would come back to life.

Feet making indents in the sand as you walked up the driveway, you saw Jack’s car—a silver Mercedes-Benz—parked a bit ahead. You hated the stutter in your step when you saw it, and you hated more the stoppage in your heart when you heard laughter rounding the side of the house. There was two voices, interwoven and nearly indistinguishable, but you’d know his laugh anywhere, know it blind. All the feelings you’d shoved aside in favor of an aloof disposition crawled their way out of shallow graves. A shaky breath, the fluttering of your eyes, and suddenly—there he was.

Trailing behind Quinn, soaked black swim shorts clinging to wide thighs, a bare chest coated in droplets of water, tousled hair styled by the unconscious hand of water. He smiled, maybe at something Quinn had said, you weren’t sure, and it all came back. How could you get closure when he incited such a deep, profound longing in your soul? When he tugged you towards him the the moon to the tide?

You’d stopped walking. When, you weren’t sure. Time became an endless thing as Jack’s eyes flickered to you. Those blue eyes shot through with something you weren’t sure how to describe, but he grinned—at you—and then he was walking towards you. All at once you wanted to lob a rock at Luke’s head for making you come, and then kill yourself for even thinking for one moment closure would be remotely possible when you still were in love with Jack.

His presence was all-consuming, like stepping to close to the fire. Fingers worn by years of use brushed your own when he took your luggage, carrying it with ease. Even older than you, Jack never lost that youthful sense of delight you’d seen on kids when they got a new toy. He’d always been the sun. For you, and for everyone around him.

You’d never deluded yourself into thinking you were the only one who loved Jack, or wanted him. But it didn’t stop you from wishing you were the one he’d choose.

“Bells,” Jack greeted, warmth oozing from his words, so much that you wanted to yell at him that he wasn’t being fair. How could he expect you not to want him? How, when he was so nice to you, yet so indifferent? “How was the trip?”

Blinking, you allowed him to gathering your luggage and begin walking back to the house. Water transferred from his body to your tote bag, but you found yourself not caring. He could ruin everything you’d brought and it wouldn’t matter. They’d at least be stained with his touch.

“Good,” you managed, trying to keep your feet even on the lumpy sand. Why they’d decided not to install an actual drive way would never make sense to you. “Not a lot of traffic. Luke didn’t kill us, so that’s a plus.”

Jack laughed. It rumbled through his chest and echoed like a victory trumpet in the air. “He’s a shit driver,” he said. “Shoulda convinced him to let you drive with me.”

Tar filled your lungs. Words failed you, and so stupidity, you said: “But you drove with Quinn.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow. Readjusted your bag on his shoulder. “Quinn’s a big boy. He can travel alone.”

Before you could stop yourself, the words flew out of your mouth, “So you think I’m a little girl?”

Jack paused. Glanced over at you. The meeting of two sets of eyes holding extremely different emotions. After a moment, he cut the tension with another laugh. “You are two years younger than me.”

“So is Luke, and last I checked, he was the tallest,” you retorted, offering up a chuckle yourself. You didn’t want to give more, to give in. You had to keep that wall, even if there was already so many holes in it.

With his free hand, Jack tussled your hair, wiggling your head around. You batted him off, feigning annoyance, when really, you wanted him to keep touching you. You could have groaned. God, you were pathetic.

Entering the beach house was like entering freedom. It was typically decorated, that seaside aesthetic Ellen had done herself the first year the boys bought the house. Fishing net and shells in jars, accompanied by hanging hammocks and white coral displays hadn’t moved, and you felt the air greet you, blowing in from the open back door that looked over the pool—and the beach. Salty air snaked up your airway, a welcome sting. A missed one. You weren’t sure if you’d miss Jack or the beach house more.

Luke disappeared with Quinn, the latter offering a gentle smile—perhaps a little pity twinged in. That left only you and Jack, standing in the wide mouth of the living room, the sunset sky bathing your skin in those candle-light oranges you so loved. Beside you, the gentle pat, pat, pat of water dripping off of Jack’s shorts was all that was heard. You took a moment more to enjoy the feeling of peace you got from being here, before Jack snapped you back to the current with a throat clear.

“Want me to bring your stuff to your room?” Your room. The one you’d claimed all those years ago. A room that—after this summer, perhaps—would bo longer be yours. You’d spent hours decorating it, little trinkets imposed with sentiment covering the room. The sea blue sheets. The balcony overlooking the ocean. All of it would be gone.

You had to inhale to stave off the melancholia crawling up your throat like bile. “Yeah, thanks.”

It was hard not to look at Jack. He was always the center of attention—on the ice, off the ice; in his personal life, in the eye of the public. He just was. Never asked for it, always had it. Girls wanted him, boys wanted to be him. You imagined it got tedious after so many years, but at the same time, you wondered what it would be like to be that loved. So adored you could have anything and anyone. You found you’d trade it all for him, for Jack, if he simply asked. You knew he wouldn’t do the same. Why give up freedom for a small-town girl that his brother had dragged around for longer than he probably should?

Up the stairs, through a hallway, and there your room was. You tried to revel in it, in the finality of it all. Convinced you were never coming back here. That Jack would never carry your luggage for you again, making a mess of the floors just to help you out. Inside, you saw the bed was made just like how you left it. A small whale plush—affectionately named Hershey for the chocolate it had been holding when it was won at the arcade—was sat just before the pillows. You hadn’t left him there. Hershey was a cherish piece of history; Jack had won him for you, two years back. Whales were your favorite animal, a gentle giant, the crown of the sea. He knew it, and he had gotten him for you. Maybe that was what kept your hope alive, the little things, the moments where he was more than just an unreachable deity you prayed to repeatedly just for him to notice you.

You glanced over your shoulder as Jack placed your luggage down with a thud. He rubbed his hands together. “Found him downstairs,” he said, gesturing to Hershey, “figured I’d bring him home.”

Home. A word that made your gut turn. His home, but never yours.

“Oh, yeah,” you said lamely. “Wouldn’t want to lose Hershey. You tried so hard to win him.”

Jack scoffed. “I was playing against Trevor. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t win.”

“Don’t talk about Trevor like that,” you teased with a smile. Finding yourself slipping back into the dynamic. You’d try to make him laugh, just to make him smile. Just to make him see you could make him happy.

Jack only rolled his eyes. You attempted to side-step him, only for your foot to catch his own. A hand immediately came to your rescue, steadying you. A hot flush pinkened your cheeks and slid down your spine. His breath fanned over your temple, a catalyst for every single one of your nerves fraying. You hated that he could do this to you, without trying, without caring, when you tried so hard to avoid falling back into him like a fool. It wasn’t fair—but when was love?

Jack pulled his hand away, the phantom of his fingers imprinted on your skin. Marked. Just like you’d always been. “Sorry,” you muttered, embarrassment eating at you.

His laugh was a reward. “It’s fine,” he responded. It was always fine with Jack. Never hard feelings. You didn’t think he had a aggressive bone in his body, even after years and years of playing physical hockey. “Even after all the years, you still can’t stay on your feet.”

A reference to your clumsiness. Which wasn’t clumsiness. It was just Jack. You never stumbled around anyone but him. “Yeah,” you bit out, probably harsher than intended. “Guess I haven’t changed.”

But you had. And you needed to find a way out of the hole that was Jack Hughes before you were buried alive.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Letting go of things has never been easy. Marked with scratches and tears, everything you’d ever relinquished never left the same. How could it, when you’d spent so much time loving it, cherishing it, only for it to be cruelly ripped from your grasp? Letting go had never been easy, because you’d never been ready to lose what was taken, because it was never ready to leave you either. That’s why it was so easy to reason with yourself about finally moving on from Jack Hughes.

It wasn’t mutually assured destruction. There would be no blowing out of stars and creation of supernovas when you finally put the love to rest. Because it was you. It was never him. He didn’t love you—hell, he didn’t even know you loved him. Perhaps there laid the foundation for burial, a tomb within the dunes, marked with a single shell. When the time came, no claw marks would mar Jack’s skin. He was never yours to mark.

Two weeks had since passed. Settling in had always been easy, but this time, it felt like a final meal before execution. A good thing before the inevitable end. Nights spent by the pool, the reflection of the water a perfect mirror of Jack’s eyes. Drinking and laughing and talking—a chosen family, but one you’d soon depart. You’d always have Luke, the last cord of the fraying rope, unbreakable and timeless. But never again would you tug on that rope, just to see the other end. To move on from Jack would be to forget him, as much as you could.

The summer sun blistered overhead, biting your skin until red bloomed. Splayed out on a beach towel, you opted to suntan while the boys enjoyed the water. You’d get in, eventually, preferably when Jack was not in. You didn’t want the distraction of his body to further make you doubt your ability to handle change. Back facing the sun, you remained entranced by the book in front of you, instead imagining your love life was as explosive and beautiful as the story written for you. When you went to flip the page, something hit your back—a ball, you guessed, from the feeling of impact—making your already sunburnt skin sting like hell.

“Shit,” you cursed, placing your book face down in order to stand. Glancing to the side you figured the ball bounced off to, there sat the culprit: a black-and-white soccer ball, covered in patches of sand.

You heard some shouting, and opted to be a good samaritan and grab it. As you bent down to pick up the sandy ball, another pair of hands invaded your vision and brushed your own. Rightening, you saw a tall man—your age, presumably—who immediately began spewing apologies of all kinds.

He had that youthful look to him, the same as Jack. Golden curls fell around his eyes, slightly sandy, a bit wet, but gleaming like rays of sunlight. Familiar eyes, the blue of the sky after a storm, peered at you with a mixture of concern and apology. He was beautiful, in an artful way—a hand-sculpted effigy, lain in the town square to be worshiped. You figured with age and maturity he presently lacked, he’d be all the more beautiful.

But he wasn’t Jack.

“I am—so sorry!” he spewed words like bullets, hoping one apology landed. You bit down a laugh at the desperation leaking into his voice. “I wasn’t watching where I was kicking. Sorta shanked it—scratch that, really shanked it. Are you okay—I meant to ask—”

“I’m fine,” you cut him off, sparing him. As endearing as his apology was, you could see red rising to his face—you knew what it felt like. “Although I don’t recommend you shoot for the Premier League.”

Upon realizing you weren’t angry, the boy relaxed. “Yeah, as if,” he laughed, tossing the balls back and forth between his hands. “You are okay, right?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Unless you’re secretly the Hulk, I don’t think you kicking a ball at me could do any serious damage.” Your fingers grazed the spot the ball struck. “Might have a weird mark on my back, ‘s all.”

Goldie Locks, as you’d taken to calling in him your head, circled around you and bent at his knees. His fingertips grazed the small of your back, rattling your spine into a shiver. You heard a subdued sound—something between a giggle and a sharp exhale of air through his noise—and twisted to look down at him.

“It looks dumb, huh?” you said, trying to feel the patter marked on your back with your fingers.

Goldie Locks shook his head. “You wear it well.”

“I better, or I’ll give you a matching mark,” you teased. He stood up, imposing. “Really, though, I’m fine…”

He caught on swiftly. “Jackson. Or Jack.”

You could have cursed the Gods and Fate and her trifling ways. Of course the first cute guy you find has to be him, but not be him. The great irony of life, you supposed it was. Finally ready to move on, and your tugged right back to square one.

A tight smile made its way onto your face. “Jackson.”

Jackson opened his mouth to say something, but the voice of the man you quite literally could not escape interrupted him. “Bells? You okay?”

You thought briefly of faking fainting.

“I’m fine,” you responded, without looking at Jack. You couldn’t. But you wanted to. “He just hit me with a soccer ball and was apologizing.”

Jack imposed into your vision anyway. Jaw working, the rapid flex of his muscles that told he ran to you. Suddenly, the sweltering heat was no longer the cause for your sweating. “Hit you?” he repeated, glancing to Jackson with a raised brow.

Shoved into an unwanted spotlight, Jackson immediately backpedaled. “Accident. Didn’t mean to hit your girl.”

Your girl.

Those two simple words repeated like a scratched vinyl in your mind. Jack’s girl. His. It was something that would have made past you puff your chest. It made present you feel sick. Another pull towards him. Another lock trapping you inside of the room. In the past, you wouldn’t have said anything—wouldn’t have fought it. You’d have waited to see if Jack would deny it; he always did. Another nail in the coffin. How many were needed until you finally understood?

But you were now actively trying to fight the feeling seemingly hardwired into your blood. The instinct that told you to love Jack. “Oh, we’re not dating,” you told Jackson. Blue eyes flittered to you—was he surprised? For once you denied, distanced. Was he confused? “He’s my best friend’s older brother.”

You didn’t know why you added that part. It wasn’t necessary—Jackson didn’t care about your relationships to Jack past the words not dating. But here you were, petty pride swelling in your chest at finally getting to stick it to Jack. Finally being the denier instead of the denied.

“Oh,” Jackson quirked his brow. Glanced at Jack; he said nothing. “Is it okay if I have your number?”

That shocked you. And it clearly shocked Jack, as well. His shoulders tensed, eyes darting to you. Gauging your response. You would have said no before. Would have made some dumb excuse. If you accepted, you distanced yourself from Jack, showed indifference. Past you couldn’t have that.

Present you could.

“Sure,” you said.

This summer would be different.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been on a date. Michael Neely in eleventh grade, but that was in major part because he looked entirely too similar to Jack—didn’t act like him, however. Didn’t smile like the sun’s envy. He just wasn’t Jack. For as long as you could remember, no one had been. Isolating yourself for years because of the off chance Jack would finally admit it, as if he’d been pulling a big joke on you and had actually wanted you back. But he never did. And you couldn’t wait around forever hoping he would. He never asked you to.

You went through your hair with a brush one final time before deeming yourself presentable. A knit green tank-top paired with denim shorts, warm vanilla perfume—one you’d used since Jack had offered a compliment on the scent—and a smile that you hoped appeared genuine. For once you were excited, not thinking of Jack, measuring Jackson up to him. You let Jackson be himself, undeterred by the ghost of your unrequited love.

The downstairs of the beach house was alive with loud laughter and conversation—you hated you could still pick out Jack’s laugh, could imagine his face when he did; the gentle scrunch of his nose, the squint of his eyes. You wondered if it would ever go away, that sixth sense. If you’d ever be truly and unapologetically free.

Rounding the corner, you were met with the sight of the three brothers playing what looked to be Chel, their eyes fixated on the large TV in front of the couch they were splayed on. You debated slinking out of the house, silent as they’d always teased you for being, just to avoid the awkward conversation you knew would come from the knowledge you—Bells, infatuated devotee of Jack Hughes—were going on a date with a boy you’d known a week.

Fiddling with your fingers, you stood at the back of the couch. Not wanting to interrupt their game, you went to simply tap Luke on the shoulder, hoping he’d eventually pause it. He wasn’t the one to do it, however. Luke and Queen groaned in annoyance when the screen paused, glancing over to the only person who could have done it. Jack didn’t spare them a glance. His homely blue eyes were on you, eyebrows furrowed. Following his gaze, Luke and Quinn gave you a once-over.

“Hell are you going all dolled up like that, Bells?” Luke asked, flicking you on the wrist.

You didn’t really think you were dolled up. “I have a thing called a date, Luke.”

That incited the expected awkward silence. As if drawn by a unbeatable force, you found yourself glancing to Jack. White-knuckled, he gripped the controller with such force you were surprised it didn’t break on him entirely. You briefly wondered what his issue was before Quinn spoke.

“With who?” Surprise laced his question, and you hated it. Hated that he thought you were incapable of moving on from Jack—or maybe he didn’t think you incapable, just averse.

“That guy from the beach, right, Bells?” Luke piped up, turning his body on the couch to face you. “What was his name? Jack?”

You ground your jaw. “Jackson.”

Luke shrugged. “Same thing.”

It wasn’t. You really hoped it wasn’t.

You turned to leave, intent on scurrying out like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, when a voice called you back. Always calling you back, just when you tried to leave.

“Bells,” Jack spoke, voice drawled. You didn’t turn. “Where are you going?”

You blinked at him, dumbfounded. “On a date…?”

“Where?” You figured it could have been a growl if he were less careful. Luke and Quinn glanced at each other. You fought back a scream.

Why do you care? Why now? When I’m about to move on? I spent so much time waiting for you. I’m done.

You wanted to scream those words at him, but of course, like most confessions, they went unsaid.

“The cove,” you humored him, eyes flicking to your fingers. When had they started bleeding? The cove, of course, was as it sounded: a small chunk of land past the rock barrier at the beach, cornered in by mangroves and hidden away from sight, Jackson claimed it the perfect place for a seaside picnic. You weren’t one to argue.

When Jack made no effort to respond, you finally left. Jackson wasn’t even there yet, but you couldn’t stay inside anymore. Indecision and confusion were eating away at your gut, turning your mind into a war zone. You didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. Years spent in the shadow of Jack Hughes had taught you to fear the light, that if you even for a second let the rays touch you, came the consequence of losing the shade forever. And you’d tossed those fears aside, let yourself into the light, and that only made the dark come back in full force.

It wasn’t fair. Why weren’t you allowed to move on? To finally break the bonds that you yourself had made? Jack had never kept you near, and yet now he didn’t seem to want to let you go. Like a child unwilling to relinquish a toy just because it was theirs.

You tried not to dwell on it. Not when Jackson pulled up, his 4Runner breaking the noise of gulls calls and rumbling cars. Not when he led you out to the cove, picnic basket in hand, like an old-timey romance your mother used to watch. You tried, but just like everything concerning not thinking about Jack, miserably failed. Jackson was attentive, sweet, he did it all right. And as much as you hated yourself for thinking it, it was true: he wasn’t Jack.

“Are you a local?” Jackson asked you. Your mouth closed around a strawberry, staining your fingertips red—better than blood, you supposed.

The tide lapped gently at the sand before your feet, spanning out from beneath the quilt laid beneath you and Jackson. Always coming close, but never quite enough to wet your feet. Gnarled roots of mangrove trees split the sand, boxing the little cove in. You remembered coming here with Jack once, when he was trying to make up for throwing you in the pool with your phone in your back pocket. He hadn’t set up a picnic, only sat beside you in the sand and offered you Hershey. A silent apology. One you never forgot.

Trying to build over that memory was like trying to filter the salt out of the sea. There was too much to ever fully get rid of it.

A breeze tickled your legs. Sand parted between your toes. Everything felt normal; normal, you realized, wasn’t always right.

“No,” you responded after some time, tossing the strawberry head to the sea. “I come here every year with my best friend, his brothers, and their friends.”

Jackson nodded. “The guy from the beach, the one I thought you were dating—” You fought the urge to cringe, “—that was Jack Hughes, right?”

Always the icon. Beloved, beautiful Jack Hughes.

You glanced at Jackson. He smiled. “Yeah, I’ve known him for years. His brother is my best friend.”

“Yeah, I remember you saying that,” he laughed, a whimsical sound. Off-key; pitched too high. You didn’t think you’d be able to differentiate it in a room of others. “How’d that even happen?”

You grinned. Memories of freshman year. Restless nights spent studying in Luke’s room. False trips to the bathroom just for a chance at a glance of his brother. “Luke and I met in our freshman year biology class. He absolutely sucked. Had to tutor the poor kid so he wouldn’t fail.”

Jackson shook his head, the mess of golden curls crowning him danced with the movement. Raising a finger, he wagged it at you as if apprehending a naughty dog. “Hold on now. Biology is damn hard, cut him some slack.”

You giggled. Almost cringed. You felt like a schoolgirl again, trying to slow time as a cute boy walked past. “Maybe if you’re a loser.”

More time passed, the sun’s rays dulled to a warm orange instead of a blinding yellow. The sea calmed. Unseen birds chirped and sung their tunes, never to be understood. Jackson asked questions, answered some. He indulged, dug deep, hoping for treasure. It was strange, to fix your hair and bat your lashes in the hopes of impressing a boy who wasn’t Jack Hughes. Stranger yet you were enjoying Jackson, even fantasizing about a second date. The cold fingers of the wind rose gooseflesh in its wake; your arms rose to combat it, folding against your body in hopes to retain heat. Jackson peered over.

“Cold?” he asked, presumptuous and forward and hoping; one arm already out of his cardigan.

You nodded, murmuring a thanks as Jackson draped his sweater over your shoulders. At once the smell of salt and secondhand smoke snaked up your nose, invaded your airways. It was so different from the warm amber you imagined your skin would faintly smell of if Jack made you his—he smelled like heartbreak and sleepless nights and longing, something you feared was permanently smeared on your flesh. You found yourself heating at the scent, blushing, a slight twinge of excitement at the thought of being claimed by another boy. Foolishly, maybe, you thought it could purge Jack from you, draw over the marks he’d made all over your flesh.

You’d had boys like you before, liked them back—felt the head rush that accompanied youthful yearning. None had ever compared to Jack. Like a stain on your favorite shirt, he’d never come out of your heart, a scar that pulsed every so often, a reminder that he was still there. That he’d never go away. You realized now, looking at Jackson—the soft lines that sprouted next to his eyes when he smiled, a mess of curly blond hair that seemed to fall perfectly in front of his eyes, catered specifically to his beauty—that the memories of wounds weren’t always bad. They weren’t just reminders that you’d been hurt, but that you survived.

Before your mind could conjure any wishful images of you and Jackson, he spoke, “Tomorrow night, there’s a beach bonfire.” His finger extended, curled a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. “Something the locals do every year to kick off summer.”

You smiled—genuinely smiled, not just a flash of teeth forced in order to hide a grimace. Not the smiles you got so used to giving Jack. “And you’re telling me this because…”

Banter. He could tell you knew where he was getting, yet wanted him to spell it out anyway. “Go with me? I think you’d enjoy it,” he said, voice gentle over the lap of waves against the shore. You could almost feel the world hold its breath, awaiting your answer. Would you cling to a hope and dream, or go with what was sitting in front of you? “Plus, having a pretty girl with a perfect personality on my arm wouldn’t hurt too bad.”

“Hmm…” You faked contemplation, tapping your chin. When Jackson flicked your forehead, you scoffed, batting at his hand. “Well now I’m reconsidering my answer, ass.”

Warm fingers wrapped around your wrist, caught it midair, a fish hooked on a line. Feverish, a heat you’d only associated with one person your whole life rose to your head as Jackson’s eyes met yours. Not blue, green. Your mind didn’t even attempt to paint over them, to erase his color, to make him him. Lips wet by eager tongues, a mutual desire. When had you last even considered another man romantically, sexually?

The answer was: not since Jack Hughes barged his way into your life and trapped your heart behind a wall, tossing away the key.

Before anything could be realized, before you could experience your first kiss in what felt like forever, a dull vibrating ripped the moment to shreds. Annoyance flashed in your heart, and a part of you told you to ignore it—but you couldn’t. What if something had gone wrong? Apologetically, you tore your eyes away from Jackson and dug your phone out of your back pocket.

The name flashing on the screen had your heart clenching.

Jack.

“Yes?” Confused, clipped. Why was Jack calling you?

“Oh, uh, hey,” came Jack’s voice—you frowned at his tone. He sounded as if he didn’t even know why he was calling. “I was just… calling to see when you’d be home tonight.”

A scream bubbled in your throat. This is why he was calling you? “This could have been a text.”

Jack laughed dryly. “Guess so. Figured you wouldn’t have seen it.”

You didn’t want to admit he was right. “It’s what…” You took your phone away from your face to look at the time. 8:43. “8:43? I’m not sure, Jack. We’re still at the cove.”

Shuffling on the other end. Your eyes darted to Jackson; he seemed intrigued at who was calling you. “Right, well… Luke wanted to know, so…”

You frowned. “Then why didn’t Luke call me?”

“Playing Chel,” was all you got in response.

Pettiness whirled in your chest like a maelstrom. For once you had the upper hand; cards hidden against your chest, not splayed out for all to see. Maybe with the right move, Jack would fold after so many years of winning. It was childish, you knew that, but the child in you who’d hoped and hoped and hoped only to get turned down every single time awoke—wanted Jack to feel the burn she’d felt when he’d sunk his hooks into her heart.

“I may not come home tonight,” you told him, relished in the pause. Jackson’s eyes flickered to you, curious.

“What?” Jack asked, voice darkened with knowing and other terrible emotions. “What do you mean?”

He knew very well what you meant.

“Absolutely fucking not.” You resisted the urge to recoil at the scorching flame simmering in Jack’s tone; he rarely ever spoke to anyone like that, least of all you. “You met him this week, Bells. If you aren’t home by 10:30 I’m coming to find you.”

Rage flared. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because you could pretend like he cared. As if he had any right to tell you when you had to be home. “So what? Now I have a curfew?” You didn’t want Jackson to overhear the spat, but it’s clear he was watching, listening, picking apart the conversation. “Forgot the part where you were my mother, Jack.”

“You’re staying in my house,” he retorted sharply. “10:30. I’m not kidding.”

After that, the line went dead.

Fire lashed in your veins, threatening to burn your being to ash. How dare he? Just as you inched out of the cage, he tries to drag you back in. Why did he care now? Why couldn’t he have before?

Why?

Tears taunted you. Tried to slip past your eyes. You had given so many tears to Jack, expected him to bottle them and place them on a shelf, a reminder to never hurt you again. He never did. The moon’s rays were a solace, an extended comfort from who knew loneliness better than anything. Soft fingers touched your arm, didn’t push—only rested there, a reminder of consolation.

“He’s like an older brother, huh?” Jackson tried to alleviate your melancholy, revive your playful spirit like a necromancer.

It only made you sadder. If only Jack were like an older brother, if only your heart hadn’t chosen him to beat for.

“Yeah,” you chuckled dryly. “Let’s be glad he won’t be there tomorrow.”

A bright grin tugged on Jackson’s lips. “So you’re coming?”

You smiled.

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10:15.

The bright light of your phone screen cut through the darkness as you walked up the sandy driveway to the beach house. The departing rumble of Jackson’s 4Runner interrupted the ballad sung by the cicadas and crickets, a sound that followed you all the way to the front door. Sliding your sunflower-adorned key out of your pocket, you fiddled with the lock before finally managing your way into the house. The biting cold of the summer night was promptly chased away by the inviting warmth, but you found yourself unwilling to remove Jackson’s green cardigan. Plastic buttons twirled between your fingers, a few stitches unraveled. Well-worn, loved—smelled like summer nights and escape. You smiled to yourself.

The hum of the TV, along with its vibrant glow startled you as you crossed into the living room area. Despite the somewhat early time, you hadn’t expected anyone to be awake. But there Luke was, curled up on the couch, watching Grease. You could have laughed if you weren’t more aware; Luke had always had a major small crush on Sandy, his guilty pleasure movie, one that came with summer nights and hours talking into the AM. Rounding the foot of the couch, you plopped down next to Luke, startling him out of what appeared to be oncoming sleep.

“Back already?” he asked groggily, clearing the gravel out of his throat. He straightened, blinked a few times. “I take it you didn’t get laid.”

You glared at Luke, silently cursed his teenage-boyishness. “Not everyone fucks on the first date, dick,” you retorted, smiling. “Someone here gave me a curfew. Said he’d come looking for me if I didn’t come back in time; I wasn’t too keen on testing him.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Cockblock,” he muttered. “Which of them was it? Quinn? He seems like the type.”

“The other one,” you corrected, earning a confused look from Luke. “Exactly! That’s what I thought. Also, did you ask Jack to ask me when I’d be home?”

“No,” Luke drawled, raising an eyebrow. “Why would I?”

That son of a bitch.

Was he just dead set on denying you happiness? Why couldn’t he just admit to caring even a little about you? Why dress up good deeds as the requests of others? Nothing about Jack made sense; it never had. You supposed that was part of the appeal, the mystery of it all. A puzzle gathering dust on the shelf, tried and forgotten for its difficulty. You’d always had a knack for choosing the hardest games.

You waved Luke off, not wanting to hear his conspiracies tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when you didn’t have the weight of a thousand unanswered questions close to caving in your chest. “Nothing,” you said. “Are Quinn and Jack awake?”

Luke eyed you. He saw through you—always had. Yet, for the sake of your dwindling sanity, chose silence. “Quinn isn’t, no,” he told you. “Went to bed like an hour ago.”

“Old man,” you commented, earning a laugh. “And Jack?”

Luke’s eyes flickered to the door leading to the back porch. A warm orange glow was visible through the drawn curtains. “He’s in the pool, I think.”

You nodded. Came to a resolution in your withering heart. “Right,” you murmured, standing. Before departing, you pressed a kiss to Luke’s cheek. “Night, Luke. Go up to your room, if you fall asleep here, I won’t be able to carry you to your bed.”

Luke rolled his eyes, nudged your leg with his knee. “How unfortunate.” Then, he stood, and disappeared up the stairs.

Dread swarmed in your stomach like a tornado, wrecking every defense you’d built up these past weeks to keep out a certain boy. You feared damage control wouldn’t be enough this time, that you couldn’t rebuild if Jack shut you down now. But you had to confront him, had to at least tell him to stop controlling you if nothing else. This summer was meant to be your closure, the final chapter in a book you never thought would end. It felt more like the procession to the grave, not the closing of a door.

What if losing your love for Jack lost you him?

The back door swung open with a squeal, piercing the once thick silence. With your presence swiftly outed, you forewent attempting discreetness, and eased out onto the pool deck. Fingers of frost grabbed for your exposed skin, only combated by Jackson’s cardigan. Bones rattling, you wondered why on earth Jack was going for a swim right now of all times.

You heard the lapping of water, roused by movement, before you saw him. The fluorescent underwater lightning cut through the darkness and reflected on your face, a myriad of whites and blues that was distinctly Jack. When you came to the pools edge, your eyes focused on him—clad in nothing but a pair of blue swim shorts—floating ok his back, eyes closed, as if imagining himself in a different place. You almost felt sorry to ruin the fabrication of his mind. Remembering your anger, you pushed aside the feeling. Why should he be given peace when he’d never given you any?

Before you could even open your mouth, his eyes opened, as if sensing you. He adjusted, treading water, as you merely assessed each other. Waiting. Who would draw first? You. It had always been you.

“I’m home now,” you bit out, your leash gone; Jackson wasn’t here to judge you. “Happy?”

Water lapped at Jack’s collarbones. You almost envied it for being able to touch him so freely. His eyes darted around you, then stopped on the cardigan. Forest green, like Jackson’s eyes. You knew he knew; you hadn’t been wearing it when you left.

“Cute,” he commented, sarcastic and dripping with cruelty you’d never heard from him before. He parted the water with ease, as if he expected everything to bend to his will.

Jack stopped where you stood at the edge. You looked down on him for once, a prick of pride stinging you as for once you had the high ground. For once, he wasn’t able to confine you with his overwhelming presence and being. Fingers curled around the edge of the pool, his hair dripping tears of chlorine-tainted water down his face, Jack merely watched you, waiting a scolding, the tantrum of a child who had what she wanted torn away.

You thought if unfair someone could be so beautiful, especially when he could never be yours.

“What is your issue?” you snapped finally, folding your arms, protecting your glass heart from his insults he’d fire like arrows. “I asked Luke, he said he never asked you what time I’d be home. Was it fun for you? To ruin my date?”

Jack scoffed. Arms corded with muscle flexed, rose from the water; a heave and he was on his feet in front of you, your leverage lost. Water bled off his body like a torrent, soaking your shoes. Droplets flicked on Jackson’s cardigan, the water staining through. You stepped back instinctively, throat tight. You hated how, even now, he had an effect on you.

“Ruin?” he echoed, eyebrows creased. “Don’t be dramatic. It wasn’t like you were planing on staying out with him past 10:30. I was doing you a favor, giving you an out.”

Classic Jack; thinking he knew better than everyone else. “You weren’t, actually,” you hissed. “I didn’t need an out, Jack; I was enjoying myself. So much so I’m going out with him again tomorrow night.”

That was unnecessary to say, you knew. A bite only given to wound him, to prove you were capable of rising from your knees and tearing down the shrine you’d devoted to him for years. Because if Jack Hughes was no longer your sun, you didn’t need to revolve around him—shine only when he was near. Pathetic and driven by childish need to probe yourself, you wanted Jack to hurt—even if you knew he never would, that he couldn’t care less about who you loved and who you were with.

You just wished that he did.

A flicker of confusion. A frown, and then, “What?”

“Jackson invited me to the beginning of summer beach bonfire,” you told him, watching Jack’s jaw tense. You wanted to look away, but couldn’t—he’d always been so encapsulating. “It’s tomorrow night.”

His presence invaded every defense you’d placed up. Chin tipped to look at him, you felt suddenly claustrophobic, as if boxed in—everywhere you looked was him. Deep breaths made each muscle of his chest flex and tense, well-sculpted from years of punishing activity. You hated the flush that almost burned your face. You hated the thunder of your pulse that drowned out any noise but your racing heart. You hated the effect he had on you.

“You aren’t going,” he said simply, as if he had any say.

You frowned. “Yes, I am.”

Jack’s lip wrinkled. Condescension dripped from his voice. “No, you aren’t.”

You could have strangled him. You really could have. “You aren’t my father, Jack. You can’t tell me what I can and can’t do. I’m going.”

He smiled at you. Smiled like he thought you opposition was funny. “You met this guy this week, Bells,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Not only that, you have no idea who’s going to be at this bonfire. What if something goes wrong? You think Golden Boy is going to play the white knight?”

Ignoring what Jack had called Jackson, you turned to leave. You were absolutely not having this argument with him. Not when it was ultimately your decision and your life. Before you could even make it a step, a wet hand clamped around your arm, fingers closing around you like a vice—Jack spun you, unsteadying you. In an effort to save yourself a trip straight down, you threw up your hands, connecting palms with the rigid plane of Jack’s chest. Heat rose to your face, a feverish high sinking the logic of your brain. All of a sudden, you were sixteen again hoping Jack would come out of his room while you were in the hallway.

Breath deepened, you searched for an out—a way to defend yourself. The sword lying at your palms was cheap, but effective, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

But you did know better. And you knew he wasn’t; you just wished he was.

Jack smiled. Predatory. “Of Jackson?” Fingers loosened—you took the chance to escape, pulling yourself free of Jack’s hold. “If you’re going to try and make me jealous, maybe do it with someone who doesn’t have my fucking name.”

He breezed past you, disappearing inside like a shadow.

You looked down. Eyes grazing the cardigan. A wet handprint stained the arm. Jack’s handprint.

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Smoke thickened the air into a husky, palpable haze. Dozens of conversations overlapped into one massive dissonance, drowning out the harsh crash of waves upon the shoreline. Bathed in an amber glow provided by a massive fire housed upon a hearth of triangularly-laid sticks, the beach was alive with drinking and laughing and dancing. Sand cushioned your feet, sandals dangling in your hands. Jackson haunted your side, keeping close. He led you in deeper, parting throngs of people like the Red Sea. Greeting a few of them, introducing you.

Excitement turned your blood hot. Rebellion made it all the sweeter. Despite Jack’s vehement opposition against your coming here, you’d done it anyway. When the boys had decided to get a few drinks at the new bar that opened up, you feigned sun sickness as a result of a day at the beach. Whether or not they believed you didn’t matter much—they’d left, which allowed you the chance to be here.

All you had to do was be home before them, which shouldn’t have been difficult. They’d be home in the early hours of the morning.

Mingling with Jackson was simple enough—people didn’t much care who you were. Just that you existed. Beers were handed to you, drank quickly. You wanted to have fun, to let yourself exist without the shackle that was Jack Hughes dragging you back from any romantic venture. A heated hand slipped in your own; Jackson smiled at you. Stomach knotted in a ball, you downed the rest of your White Claw and grinned back.

“You feelin’ okay?” he asked, bending down to better carry his voice to you. The proximity of his face warmed your chest.

“Mhm,” you hummed, relishing in the head rush. Being drunk wasn’t something you did often, what with being underage. There were parts you hated, parts you sought. Like the current buzz of warmth that whispered false confidence through your bloodstream.

The confidence that made you lead Jackson to the water’s edge, hidden from the glow of the fire, shadows outlined by the light of the moon. Rosy-cheeked, you tossed your arms around Jackson’s neck and peered up at him. Although his countenance was lost in the darkness, you could make out blown pupils overtaking his eyes, parted lips lightly doused in alcohol. Water lapped at your feet, danced around your ankles. You didn’t care. Everything in your mind was screaming at you to just do it—kiss him and get it over with, get over with Jack.

Jack.

You hated that even in a moment like this, your mind went to Jack.

It was then—arms tossed around Jackson’s neck, the waves kissing your bare legs—that you realized you’d never let go of Jack. You couldn’t. He was too well in your heart, the patchwork of two souls. If you could, you would turn tail and run, find happiness on the road of abandonment. You wouldn’t have to worry about being alone, isolated simply because people found a piece of your life more interesting than the whole. You wouldn’t have to rebuild your shattered heart when another summer passed by without Jack loving you. You wouldn’t need to remind your heart not to give in to his toothy smile and infectious laugh.

But then, you wouldn’t have Jack. His smile, the devil’s disguise, a shot of oxytocin to the system. Touching of skin, unintentional yet entirely wanted, setting ablaze the wildfire that burned down your castle of wood. Nights spent by the pool, his face illuminated by the glow of underwater lights. The way he made your heart break and mend all at once, the high of a drug that you could never quit. Every time, you relapsed, reminded yourself why you loved Jack—why he was your favorite love, your only one. He didn’t want you for anything, he didn’t even want you.

And maybe it was that; the hypothetical, the possibility. The construct you’d built inside your head, trying to fit into the narrative every summer, but never getting the part.

“Jackson?”

He looked down at you. Green, not blue. Never blue. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think—”

All at once, your arms were falling, cradling empty space as Jackson was ripped away from your touch. A splash of water sent droplets launching into your skin and clothes. You shrieked, stumbled, looked for the culprit. And of course—there Jack stood, huffing, as if he’d run to you. You could barely make out his face, but you didn’t need to; you’d know him blind, by touch alone. Your eyes went down to Jackson, body engulfed in the shallow water. You pieced it together, came into the frantic understanding that Jack had pushed Jackson.

Immediately, you went to help Jackson, only to be tugged back by your elbow. “Jack! What the hell?”

He didn’t grace you with an answer—didn’t even look at you, actually. Those stormy blue eyes were on Jackson, murderous and heated. He shoved you behind him. “What are you doing, huh?” he barked. “Did you know you were giving a minor alcohol? She’s twenty, you fucking idiot!”

Tears of frustration turned your eyes wet, and air became scarce. You wanted to do something, but what could you even do? Jack was accustomed to ignoring you. Stares nipped at the back of your head. Conversation dulled into a lapse.

“Jack, enough,” you begged, the sheer desperation in your voice normally something you’d hate—you couldn’t be bothered to care now. “Please. I’m fine. It wasn’t Jackson’s fault. He didn’t do anything.”

“Stop,” Jack interrupted, eyes flashing to you, a warning. “I told you not to come. Stay out of this, Bells.”

“I had no idea, dude, I swear!” Jackson responded, pulling himself up from the water. Soaked head-to-toe, and dully embarrassed. “She did it herself, I didn’t offer her anything!”

It soured your mouth he was trying to shift the blame to you, even if he was being honest. Your eyes flicked to Jack, and all at once you were reminded why you chose to love him.

His hair was tousled, worked one too many times by frustrated fingers. Eyes wild and concerned, so raw that you could’ve convinced yourself he was that cut by your situation. You knew it wasn’t you; he was just a good person, an empathetic one. But still, you liked to imagine. You’d spent your life imagining what it would be like for him to love you.

“Jack, please, just—”

“Don’t you dare blame her,” Jack’s voice was strangled, as if barely bypassing a wall of fury. “What the fuck do you think this is? The blame game? I don’t care who gave her the alcohol. You brought her here.”

“Please, Jack, let’s just go,” you pleaded, voice tight—embarrassment crawled up your spine like the cold. Everyone was looking, observing the screaming match you’d unfortunately found yourself a part of. “People are looking.”

“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed, advancing on Jackson. Chest-to-chest. A size up; one you hoped wouldn’t result in traded blows. You’d never seen Jack so angry, so wrought with violence. He’d always been docile—kind.

“Why do you care?” Jackson finally snapped, shoving Jack backwards. You tried to intercede, only to be shut down. “She said she wasn’t your girlfriend. Stop acting like a jealous dick.”

Jack laughed. He turned around, facing you as he spoke. “She may not be mine,” he conceded, “but she sure as hell will never be yours.”

Everything was happening to quickly. Your mind struggled to process the entire interaction, how quickly it had all gone sour. Before you could question Jack, scold him, consider the root of his rage, you were being lifted by the middle, and promptly tossed over Jack’s shoulder.

Air fled your lungs, your head pulsed—both from the swift movement and your consumption of what was likely too much alcohol. Jack’s hand stayed on you, keeping you steady as he carried you through the crowd, cutting through blots of people who all looked just as confused as you felt. Anger sparked then, fanned by embarrassment and anger and frustration.

Slamming your fists into Jack’s well-muscled back, you spewed profanities at him. “Put me down, asshole!” He didn’t. Kept walking, over the boardwalk and into the parking lot. Jackson’s 4Runner taunted you. “Jack, let me go! Jack!”

And he did. Your feet felt unfamiliar as he placed you down with little preempt. He steadied you before you could fall, kept a hand on your arm even after. Your heart felt pulled in a million directions, throat filling up with sand—fossilizing in your own skin, mortification sawing pieces off of your soul. Jack looked furious, pacing in front of you. His silver Mercedes gleamed in the moonlight.

“Bells—” He cut himself off. His throat bobbed, ran a hand through his already messed hair. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Your teeth bared. “Me? And what about you, barging into my night and accusing my date of being a criminal? The fuck is wrong with you, Jack?”

Jack laughed. Mocking, mean. You half-wanted to punch him, felt the itch in your fingers. “Oh, forgive me for trying to help you,” he hissed. “What if cops had busted the bonfire, huh? If they’d got you? Do I have to remind you that you’re twenty, Bells? That’s a felony.”

He was right, and you hated it. “But did you have to do all that? Jackson didn’t even give me the alcohol, why did you push him into the water?”

“I already said I don’t care who gave it to you,” Jack grunted, closing in on you. A step back, and you felt your back press into the cold metal of his car. “He was with you. He let you drink.”

You rolled your eyes, tried to muster up a semblance of control. “He doesn’t know my age, Jack.”

“Then he’s a fucking idiot.”

Scoffing, you shoved him away from you. “Oh, is he? Or were we just on a second date, one that you completely ruined! He’s never going to speak to me again, Jack, so thank you for that!”

Faintly, you wondered how you went from adoring Jack to despising him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this. There was a fine line between love and hate.

Eyes flashing, Jack rounded on you. “A second date you shouldn’t have been on,” he snapped. “I told you not to go.”

“New flash: you’re not my keeper,” you said, feeling the anger wane into something worse—fatigue. You didn’t want to fight. Fighting with Jack felt like fighting a part of yourself. “How’d you even find me? You guys were at the bar.”

Jack paused; he noticed your deflated shoulders, sullen face. “SnapMap,” is what he said. He didn’t expand, and you didn’t ask him to.

Silence felt like the worse fog—thick and impenetrable, falling over you like a suffocating blanket. You didn’t know what to say. What could you even say? Jack would never tell you why he was so upset, you didn’t want to ask—didn’t want to hear another made up story he’d spew just to tear apart the hope in your heart.

It hit you then that maybe Jack did love you—or care about you in some capacity, but he’d never admit it. Dancing in circles, a choreography that never ended, you’d never know what Jack truly wanted; didn’t know if he even did. Probably figured you’d screw it up, would ruin a friendship—his and yours, yours and Luke’s. It was a losing battle either way. Every word he uttered cut to the bone, because it was meant to. When the shift started, you didn’t know. Maybe when he realized you were not always going to kneel at his alter, when you tried to escape.

Maybe then he understood, and still avoided—lied, all to protect himself and his brother. He knew, you knew. One wanted, the other avoided. None of it ended well. Heaven was breakable, and he couldn’t dare threaten his own peace. Not even to have you.

You knew then where you stood.

“Why?”

He shook his head, chewed on his lip. “Don’t.”

“Please, Jack,” you whispered. “You owe me an explanation.”

Did he not believe in love? Had a girl hurt him? Was it really Luke, or something else? Why wouldn’t he just try?

“Bells, don’t.”

Your hand reached out. Hoping, praying—it brushed his shirt-clad chest. He didn’t move back, finally looked at you. “You owe it to me, at least. I’ll drop it, I’ll never ask again.”

“We’d just… we’d screw it up,” he managed out, the blue of his eyes richening into a navy. His eyes darted around your face. “I can’t…”

What did it matter anymore? Everything was being bared. All of it. Your fear disappeared into dust; the yearning for a conclusion to this twisted knot of a love died. Just like it always did with Jack—you’d want him, try to forget him, and fail. A never ending loop. But before there had been no chance, now—now you weren’t sure.

“Can’t what?”

Jack didn’t respond. He dug into his pocket. Grabbed his key. “Get in the car.”

The stark change of situation caught you cold. “What—?” You shook your head. You weren’t going to lose this opportunity. “Jack, no. Talk to me. Please.”

“Get in the fucking car.”

You didn’t budge for a moment, then finally, “Okay.”

The drive was silent, thick with awkwardness. What could you say? You’d been so close to coming clean, to finally—after five years—admitting everything. It seemed like Jack had too, but something stopped him. Something always stopped him. You wished you could pick his brain, lay it all out to see the moment he’d stopped seeing you as a ghost, as Luke’s high school best friend. All because you’d tried to move on, because you’d hoped for happiness beyond his black hole persona. But of course, he always managed to drag you back in.

“It’s not fair,” you muttered aloud, semi-an accident. Jack’s eyes snapped to you, the dark road rolling out in front of you.

He worked his jaw. Adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “What isn’t?”

“You,” you grunted, looking out the window. “I try to be happy, move on. You’ve never wanted me before, I didn’t think it would matter. But when I try, you turn it into World War III.”

Jack didn’t say anything. Barely even moved. You wanted to scream, to leap out of the car, if only to see if he’d care enough to come back for you.

“Why now, Jack? Why not before?” you whimpered. Alcohol made you pathetic, even more so than usual. “What changed?”

“Bells,” he warned, nostrils flaring.

“No,” you protested, swiveling your body his way. “I deserve an answer, Jack. Please.”

Silence still.

“Stop the car.”

Jack looked at you. Up and down, before his focus returned to the road. “No. Stop having a tantrum.”

That nearly sent you into a murderous rage. “Stop the car or I’m jumping out.”

Jack scoffed. “You’re not going to jump out of a moving car.”

You clicked off the lock. Fingers tested the handle. When you tore the door open, the alarm blared; wind whipped your arm as you gripped the door, the darkened road greeting your eyes. Thankfully, no one else was out this late. Jack grabbed you with his free hand, slammed on the breaks and veered off onto the side of the road, just beyond the dunes. Beachgrass surrounded the car, the distant buzz of crickets the only thing you could hear as Jack cursed at you. Unbuckling his seatbelt and slamming the door shut, Jack glared at you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he snapped. You felt something akin to pride; he finally had a reaction to something. Cared enough to stop you.

“You won’t answer me,” you said, eyes darting around his face. The emergency interior lights of the car blinked into existence, lighting up your bodies. Jack’s face was flushed, eyes wild. “Please, just—”

“Fuck, stop saying that,” came Jack’s strangled plead, his head dropping.

You blinked at him. Confusion welled like a storm in your eyes. “What? Please?”

Silence. Jack’s head raised lazily, he looked distressed, mouth parted ever so slightly. A hand ran through his hair, mussed it more. “Fuck,” he cursed, low and gravely. “Luke is going to kill me.”

What was he on about? He looked like he was struggling, his hand gripping the steering wheel which such force his knuckles blanched. “What?”

“You’re his best friend,” Jack said. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. “If I… Bells, please…”

You had no idea what to do. What to say. “Jack, what do you mean? You aren’t making any sense.”

“I want to fuck you,” he bit out, leveling you with a furious look, as if he hated himself for that very fact. “But I can’t. If Luke found out, he’d hate you, or me, or us both. I can’t risk that, Bells, I can’t.”

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you. The very fact that he wanted to sleep with you sent you into a dizzy spell; normally, you would’ve wept with happiness at the sheer fact that Jack Hughes wanted you, in any capacity, but all you felt now was a resounding emptiness. He wanted to fuck you, to have you carnally, without anything attached. You loved him; not because he could give you brief pleasure, but because you knew how many freckles were on his back, how he drove with his left hand predominantly, how he quoted Camus but never actually read him.

It occurred to you then that this summer was different. Not because you were getting closure, or because Jack Hughes finally loved you back, but because you finally understood that the devotion you’d put in him for years should have been put in yourself.

You looked at Jack, and for once, didn’t feel that biting desire to touch him, to be wanted by him; now you knew you were, but for what? For once night, just to fade into obscurity? Either you had Jack entirely or not at all. You couldn’t tease yourself with a taste only to never be given the full experience. You didn’t think you’d survive the memory of it.

“I love you,” you said. Watched his reaction. The confession felt like the greatest heartbreak and the biggest relief.

He said nothing back.

And you weren’t heartbroken that he didn’t. You were relieved. Free.

#jack hughes #nj devils #nhl smut #nhl #hockey imagine #hockey smut #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes smut #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey

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lovebugism · 7 months

Note

hey honey can i request a shy!reader x grumpy!eddie , maybe they’re pumpkin picking with friends & something angsty ensues but then fluffy & after they all go eat at the diner and get spooky themed orders 🤭

thanks for requesting lovie! — eddie gets grumpy on a fall outing with the gang (shy!reader, established relationship, hurt/comfort, 1.3k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie’s a big ol’ grump at Eugene’s Pumpkin Patch, but he’s being really brave about it. He follows you like a puppy, visibly unamused about the whole thing but trying hard to be a good boyfriend despite his woe.

“Ah! Look at this one!” you gasp at the sight of a pumpkin, in a sea of bright orange pumpkins.

Swallowed whole by your sweater, you crouch in the tall grass and reach for the tiny round thing hidden in it. The runt pumpkin sits neatly in your palms. “It’s so wittle,” you singsong up at Eddie in a tiny, high-pitched voice.

He smiles despite himself, laughing even though he’s grumpy, ‘cause you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m gonna get this one,” you announce affirmatively when you rise to full height again.

“You made me drive an hour out just to get the tiniest pumpkin they have?” Eddie asks, laughing still but with a subtle bite of annoyance.

You try to ignore it, though the weight of his aggravation makes you writhe. “But it’s cute…” you defend with a weak shrug. “And also, you have to get one, remember?”

You take a tentative step towards Eddie, standing chest to chest. He huffs and puts his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. His chocolate eyes flit around the expansive farm, dull and unimpressed. “They all look the same, so… I don’t think it really matters.”

“It does matter!” you insist, girlish and quiet and stubborn. “You have to pick the one you like the most— that’s the whole point!”

“You’re telling me there’s an art to pumpkin picking?” the boy teases with a crooked grin, tilting his head to the side so his curls bunch at his shoulder.

Still clutching the tiniest pumpkin either of you have ever seen, you nod. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

He scoffs again in a curt laugh. He looks around again, only to point to the one sitting by his feet.

“Alright… How about that one?”

“Eddie!”

“What?” he whines in the same pouty tone as you.

“Can you at least pretend you’re having fun?” you murmur, a bit sad you have to even ask.

You always spiral when he gets weird, secretly terrified that it’s all your fault. He doesn’t talk, so you overthink. Your brain gets mean, and you need Eddie to make you feel better — but he can’t because he’s weird. It’s unbearable. For both of you.

“It’s cold and rainy and Steve’s pants gave me a headache on the way over and I don’t feel good, okay? I’m sorry,” Eddie rambles with a pout, looking visibly pained about all of it.

Any excitement you had left leaves you like an ebbing tide. “Okay,” you mutter with a soft nod.

“I’m gonna go smoke,” the boy announces.

He smacks a fleeting kiss to your cheek before he goes but doesn’t bother to invite you to come with him. He doesn’t feel very deserving of your company right now, too selfish in his woe and painfully self-aware about it.

You stand in place while he walks back to the van, feeling utterly alone and unwanted.

“Where’d Eddie go?” Steve wonders when he walks up to you with Robin at his side.

They carry two pumpkins each, struggling with each of them because they’ve somehow managed to find the biggest ones on the whole farm. You figure they made a bet about it because everything’s a competition with them.

“Um… to smoke, I think,” you answer shyly, embarrassed to have been found alone for a reason you can’t name. “He just kinda… left.”

Robin scoffs. “I think he’s on his period,” she jokes with a gritty laugh.

“Yeah. He said my pants looked stupid before we left. I knew something was up.”

The brunette girl side-eyes the boy beside her. “I think he might’ve been right about that one, Stevie.”

You make a quiet exit when they begin to bicker back and forth. You duck through the bustling pumpkin patch and try not to trip in the tall grass on your way to Eddie’s van.

Your boots crunch over the gravel of the parking lot. You find him leaning against the trunk, blowing out smoke from his pink mouth, slouching like he’s weighed down by his own sadness.

“You okay, Eds?” you ask to announce your arrival.

His eyes widen when he realizes you’re there. He’d pretend to be fine if it didn’t take all the energy he had left. “No,” he answers honestly, then quickly corrects, “I mean— I am, but… I feel bad. I was acting like a dick…”

“Yeah,” you concur with a nod. “You were.”

He’s too shocked to hide it on his face. You’re never normally so confrontational. You’re usually too quiet for that, too soft. And you still are now, because you always are, but he feels like he deserves to see this sterner side of you.

“But it’s okay. I know you didn’t wanna come in the first place.”

He turns on his shoulder when you stand at his side, towering over you as he flicks the butt of his cigarette. “Yeah, but… I didn’t have to be such an asshole to you about it. I feel like I fuckin’ ruined this whole day, you know?”

“We all have our moments, Eds. It’s no big deal,” you assure with a weak shrug and a stronger smile. “We still have the whole afternoon left— you didn’t ruin anything. Doesn’t make me love you any less, either.”

Your words make him grin. Like, really grin — all wide and rosy and boyish. You make him smile like nothing’s ever hurt him. Like nothing’s ever been wrong in his life. Fuck, he’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.

“I love the shit outta you, you know that?” he mumbles but doesn’t give you a chance to answer. He tosses the cigarette to the ground and snuffs it out with his sneaker right before kissing you absolutely stupid.

He wraps his arms around your neck, smothering your face with his. No one’s ever been kissed as hard as he’s kissing you now. The realization makes you smile too wide to kiss him back.

He pulls away from you with a hearty smack. With pinker lips and chocolate eyes, he grins hopefully down at you. “So you’re not mad at me?” he wonders, gentle like a child.

“Yes,” you nod, playfully firm. “I’m very mad, actually.”

Eddie’s smile widens. He knows you’re joking and decides to lean into it. “What can I do then, huh?” he murmurs lowly to you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “How can I make it up to you?”

He wants to kiss you again. He wants to get you in the back of his van in a vacant parking lot. He wants you to tell him to make you feel good and not to stop until you’re pushing him away.

You know all of this, ‘cause you can practically read his mind, so you decide to drive him crazier. “I want you…” you start in the same low tone, bordering on sultry.

Eddie’s already nodding.

You smile and continue.

“…To go pick your most favorite pumpkin in the whole patch, and then take me to Benny’s Burgers.”

Feeling slightly disappointed and utterly teased, Eddie searches the entire patch and finds the weirdest-shaped, wartiest pumpkin the earth has ever grown. He drives the gang to the diner after and sits you in his lap when all of you squeeze into one booth.

He shares his milkshake with you and lets you have the pickle slice that comes with his burger when you ask for it (‘cause everyone knows it’s the best part). It’s the purest form of love, if he has anything to say about it.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: fictober!

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orikiys · 9 months

Text

✿ ✿ 〞arguements with skz

✰ pairings : ot8!skz x gn!reader

✰ genre : angst

✰ warnings : heavy angst, mentions of toxic behavior in some, misunderstandings, failing to communicate

✰ word count : 2.7k + words

part 2

౨₊ৎ chan

"why are you so angry about all this?"

“you’re seriously asking me that?” his brows raised in disbelief as he spoke.

this what you two had been dealing with lately. unnecessary fights and constant bickering over anything. even today, a weekend, which chan called his ‘golden day’ , you two were yelling across the room.

“yes i am. and i’ll keep asking till you stop acting petty,” you looked him dead in the eye now. your faces were edging closer and closer to his, a defiant glare sparkling in your eyes. chan glared back, but he looked away as quickly, not being able to look at you when you two were fighting. he was used to the warm and admiring gazes, but not these sharp and angry stares. it made his stomach churn with the thought, what if you both got tired of fighting one day?

“if you’re not going to open your mouth no one will be sleeping tonight,” your voice snaps him back to reality, he silently stares at the floor with his head hung low.

“you know i hate him, don't you? i’ve told this story to you like a thousand times already and yet you still talked to him! do you think that’s fair?” he raised his voice and immediately regretted it. but there was no taking it back now. words can only be taken back in laptops or phones, not in real life.

“i just talked to him for barely even two minutes, chan! you’re being ridiculous at this point. do you think this is fair?” you cock your eyebrow at him, not hesitating to raise your voice as well since he walked down that path first.

“it doesn’t matter how long you talked, the point is you talked even after knowing our rough past. it’s almost like you don’t care about me or my feelings anymore! you’ve changed. you’ve become. . . selfish,” ouch. that had to hurt. and chan noticed the way your eyes instantly dulled. he licked his lower lip anxiously and watched as your frown deepened.

there were no further words uttered from your side which made him realise just how far he went, “babe. . . i- sorry,” the words were stuck in his throat and he could practically feel the tears building in his eyes as you took a shaky breath. he took a step closer and raised his hand to touch your face, but you avoided that and walked away.

maybe it was selfish indeed. or maybe not, he wished to not answer that as he sat on the couch and dragged a hand across his face filled with guilt. and as he stared at the hallway where you walked out, he could only hope to turn back the time and undo his mistake. but for now, he needed to wait. or fight for you.

౨₊ৎ minho

minho let out a frustrated groan when he felt the couch dip beside him. he threw a mere glance, before opening his laptop and typing something. it was unusual of him to act this frustrated and even when you tried to talk to him he glared in your way.

“i understand you’re having a bad day but it doesn’t mean that you can act however you want,” you muttered and scooted away from him before crossing your arms over your chest.

“then simply don’t understand,” he muttered nonchalantly and leaned closer to the laptop screen as he typed. this infuriated you even more.

“can you at least pretend to care? i’m not a statue sitting beside you!” his gaze shifted to you and he pressed his lips into a straight line.

“of course i will! should i even leave my job and tell my boss that my partner wanted to argue with me while i work?” sarcasm dropped all over his tone and it made you nauseous. you couldn’t believe your ears thay minho, lee minho was acting this way. he rolled his eyes and muttered a ‘thought so’ , upon seeing you go quiet and diverted his gaze back to the laptop in front of him.

“why do you have to make everything so difficult? why can’t you just talk like normal people do?” your gaze hardened and he could feel it. rolling his eyes, he switched his gaze back to you and saw you, a new you. your jaw was clenched harshly it was almost as if you were a ticking time bomb, just finding the right time and you could explode.

but minho was no less. the last thing he wanted was to submit his work after his deadline. and time was ticking as always. it doesn’t wait for him.

“the world doesn’t revolve around you! you need to know that. i have submissions to make and i can’t afford to lose my job when i’m this close to getting promoted,” with a final look he picked up his laptop and marched into your shared room. you poked your inner cheek with a tongue and wiped a lone tear that dripped on your cheek. this was going to be one hell of a night. and what hurt you even more is that he didn't even try.

౨₊ৎ changbin

changbin just unlocked the door to your shared apartment and quietly took off his shoes before slipping in the flip-flops. his heart dropped out it’s chest when he saw the date and time. it was two minutes past three. and he wasn’t surprised when the lights flicked on and there you stood, with an exhausted expression and wearing formals.

“shit. . . babe i’m so sorry-“

“you’re sorry?” your scoff definitely took him back. he stared at you nervously and felt his palms get clammy.

“if you’re sorry then you wouldn’t have forgotten our second anniversary! if you’re sorry then you wouldn’t have forgotten our booking! and if you’re really sorry then you would’ve at least called!” you yelled loudly and he could feel himself grow annoyed even though he was at fault.

“babe, i’ve had a tiring day and a bad headache. could you please not shout?” his soft tone took you by surprise but there was disappointment all over your face as he simply began to walk away.

“that’s it then? you’re just walking away like that? like a coward running away from his problems?” your throat felt dry when his head turned and his eyes met yours. his brows were furrowed in anger and he took a step towards you.

“me? a coward? if working my ass off means i’m a coward then maybe i am one. but i’m not running away from my problems. i’m simply solving them at the right times,” he muttered and gave you a tight smile.

“right time, huh? then why can’t you appear at the right times during our dates?” you replied, weakly. you were tired too. tired of his excuses, his empty promises, his apologies. they felt like nothing anymore. he had let you down too many times.

he opened his mouth to say something but closed it back again realising it could worsen the situation. with a soft sigh, he pressed his lips to your head and muttered a sorry before walking away.

maybe, the right time required you both to sit down and talk calmly.

hyunjin

“baby,” you hummed in response, making him continue, “i have a tour coming up so i’ll be gone for two months.”

the words slipped his mouth so easily as if he almost didn’t care. he came back home a week ago. out of which, he spent more than half of his time occupied at the company.

“you just came back!” the exasperation was visible in your tone and hyunjin bit his lip, feeling guilty. he cupped your face and said, “i’ll call you everyday, i promise.”

with a glare you shrugged his hands off and sat straighter to get your point clear, “if i wanted a boyfriend who can only call me why didn’t i just go for long distance?”

hyunjin’s expression changed. he ran a hand through his hair harshly, “i thought you knew what you were getting to when you started dating me.”

“yes i did! i still do. but that doesn’t change the fact that you have the upper hand in your life. which means you should be able to make some time for me?” it felt pathetic, to beg for his time. to sit there at home waiting for him. always. like the desperate being you were. and you began to even pity yourself.

“how long do i have to wait for you hyun? just how long?” and as the tears finally slipped through, hyunjin pulled you in a tight hug. he let you hit him. he let you curse him. and in the end he didn’t let you walk and slip away. but maybe, trying harder would be better. the thing that stung the most was time. time that he didn't have for you. time that he promised he would give, but never did. maybe it was time to take some right decisions for both of you.

౨₊ৎ han

you had been trying to get your boyfriend to talk to you for about 15 minutes now. it was a chore. it was exhausting. but you knew something was wrong and you weren't going to let him suffer alone.

“what’s your problem?” he snapped. annoyance written bold on his forehead as he stared at you, waiting for an answer.

“you’re too unusually quiet today,” you muttered under your breath but he managed to hear it.

it was one of those days where the two of you didn’t hold back.

“oh so now you decide whether i talk or not?” you sighed noticing him still look annoyed.

“don’t put words in my mouth jisung,” your eyes warned him, and he snapped himself out of it before covering his face with his hands.

“can you just go away for now?” he whispered and looked at you. he looked so . . . tired.

“is that a request or a warning?” your joke had no smiles, neither out of you nor him. he expectantly looked at you making you bitterly nod to yourself.

“always has to be me,” and even though it reached his ears he gave no expression, seemingly feel his head throb with thinking too much. he slammed his hands on the desk it made him feel better, maybe not much. but it did not fill the gap in his chest. and it hurt him to reach this point.

౨₊ৎ felix

“lix, i don’t think i can do this anymore,” you muttered and looked away knowing that one look at his face would have you running back in his arms. you had become that weak for him. that weak that you couldn’t resist him or his lies.

“what do you mean baby?” he looked so confused that you almost felt guilty, but then you remembered that he was just being innocent. as if he didn’t lie to you a hundred times. as if he didn’t cause you pain and misery almost everyday.

“i’m tired of you, lix. i’m also tired of us. how long are you going to make me suffer?” your tone caught him by surprise. he stared at you baffled, trying to find words to make you stop speaking like that anymore but he chose to remain quiet when he saw that look of sadness take up on your expression.

“i know we fight a lot babe but i swear i love you,” he held your hands in his hands and pressed a tender kiss while looking at you.

there it was. those words he uttered again, just like always. he would hurt you and then later on he would sweet talk you. and you had grown extremely tired of it.

shrugging his hands off you took a step back, “that’s it felix! if you try to manipulate me once more i’m breaking up with you!”

his brows furrowed in confusion. he didn’t know what you were playing at, but he wasn’t going to back off after being told those words.

“manipulate? i’m simply trying to remain calm! but looks like all my efforts are going in vain,” hurt spread all across his face as he said it. maybe you overthinking it, or maybe not. but one thing was clear, you both hurt each other in ways you didn’t know.

“you always do this! make promises you can’t keep and then talk me out of it,” and even though you stood firm with your decision, you weren’t a fool to not notice the way his shoulders slumped down, and his mouth turn downwards forming a frown.

“what more do i have to do to make you believe that i a sincere about this, about us?” he let out an exasperated sigh after pointing between the two of you.

“just be honest and love me,” and as you uttered those words, your eyes met his and you could see the way it reflected deep sorrow and perhaps guilt? you couldn’t name it.

with a dejected nod, he grabbed his wallet, bag and phone before rushing out of the house.

“i’ll be staying over at chan’s,” he muttered giving you one final look, as if telling you to stop him. but you didn’t, you just nodded and looked away.

he felt all his hopes shatter down upon that one thing, all the things he dreamt of for future could be seen crumbling down and all he could do was let out a shaky breath with his hand trembling all the while as he drove away.

౨₊ৎ seungmin

“where were you?” he practically shouted, startling you.

“i told you i was out with some friends,” you replied, trying to be the calm one.

“some friends? or a special friend?” his tone felt poisonous. it felt unfamiliar on his tongue to speak in this way but he tried not to look too fazed.

“what is that supposed to mean?” you replied pointedly, totally forgetting about remaining calm and stared at him.

“you know exactly what i mean,” his voice lowered down for a second and so did the anger in his gaze, but he held contact wanting you to know it was serious.

“i’ve called you like a million times and i was worried sick because you didn’t tell me where you went!”

“i can take care of myself, seungmin.”

“sure you can, but i don’t trust the other men,” he sighed and his eyes finally softened.

“good night,” he mumbled and walked away, leaving you standing all alone. things were getting better for worse? or for better?

౨₊ৎ jeongin

“stop shouting,’’ he said. It almost made you scoff when he was the one who started it.

“babe it wasn’t funny you know that?’’ you muttered, dejected but he just looked away not having any words to speak.

“i understand they are your friends but you can’t just go and tell them about my problems like that!’’ jeongin let out a deep sigh and looked at you.

“i thought maybe they could help in a way. they’re like my family.’’

“still. you could’ve at least asked me before telling them, you’re basically feeding off every bit of my secrets and i’m even scared to tell you anything now,’’ now that sounded ridiculous to him. you could trust him, and he wanted you to know that.

“you’re clearly overreacting. i just told them why you were feeling off,’’ he ran a hand through his hair growing frustrated that you both didn’t understand each other.

“you gave them the entire speech jeongin. don’t you dare lie to my face!’’ that was the high point. the two of you looked at each other with an abnormally furious gaze. and it made you realise just how long would it take for this to end?

“i’m not lying! Why don’t you understand me? i was just trying to make you feel better!’’

“if you wanted to make me feel better then you could’ve talked to me! and not them!’’

a minute of silence was all that was heard before you took your cue to speak, “am i dating you or am i dating them?’’ the tears came as quickly as they fell. you had grabbed your coat and bag, heading for the door. you didn't think anything else could hurt you. but you were wrong.

what hurt the most was that he didn't stop you.

#ॱଳ͘#k labels #stray kids x reader #straykids reactions #skz angst #straykids angst #seungmin x reader #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #minho x reader #hyunjin x reader #felix x reader #jeongin x reader #han x reader #skz imagines #skz scenarios

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kitkatscabinet · 6 months

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Soap, Suds and the Scouser

John Price x MacTavish! reader

Summary: Due to shitty neglectful parents, Johnny's older sister had been forced to take him in and raise him as her own. As such, she's fiercely protective of him, not that he minds, at least not until she screams at his Captain.

Word count: 4.4k

Johnny doesn’t remember much of his life before you. All he remembers is feeling cold, and not understanding love until you swept into his life. From the moment you had swept into his life the dull greys had morphed into an array of colours, his unrelenting loneliness and misery chased away by the light of your affection.

He doesn’t have a ma and pa like most other kids, and sometimes they tease him for it but he doesn’t mind, because he’s got something better. His big sister is the coolest person in the whole world! You tuck him into bed and read him bedtime stories every night. If he’s been really good he even gets to visit the base where you work sometimes. (He doesn’t understand until he’s older why you suddenly retire from the coolest job ever.)

You never yelled at him and even seemed to get upset when he wouldn’t let you know he was hungry. He cried when you scolded him for that, begged you not to send him back to the house with the angry people who sometimes forgot to feed him. He’d been surprised when instead of getting mad at him you’d started to cry, squeezing him tightly against your chest until he wriggled to be let go.

You hugged him much more after that, pulling him close whenever he was within reach and planting raspberries on his tummy while he shrieked in laughter. You keep it up even as he gets older and tries to escape from the kisses you’d pepper his face with.

He was fourteen the first time he snapped at you for it and the way your face had fallen would forever be burned into his brain. You pull away a little after that and Johnny feels sick with guilt, he hugs you a lot more after that.

Later in his life when asked why he’d joined the military he’d answer without hesitation, that he wanted to be like his idol. He wanted to be like you, wanted to make you proud. In a way, he wants to live up to your legacy. As a child, he hadn’t realised just how much of your life and career you’d had to give up to take care of him.

(You’d been on track for a promotion to lieutenant, and likely would have made captain in record time too.)

As you started to near 40 Johnny was determined to step up and take care of you for once. He makes it through selection easily, but to his surprise, you’d blown up at him. He can’t remember an instance where you’d been so furious at him, not even when he’d crashed his principal's car on a dare.

It’s the first time in his life you end up not being on speaking terms and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t exactly leave the army, wouldn’t even if he could because finally, it feels like he has a purpose. The men in his unit instantly pick up on his sudden 180 in personality but any inquiries are instantly shut down with a glare.

It’s the worst few months of his life, but he won’t apologise. He’s not a child anymore and he needs you to see that. He almost breaks when it’s time for his first deployment and you still aren’t on speaking terms, he’s been sleeping like shit and he misses you like a phantom limb.

He ends up not needing to when you show up on base, with red-rimmed eyes and hollowed cheeks. Johnny crosses the distance and lets you pull him into a crushing hug, not paying any mind towards the odd stares they receive.

“I’m sorry. Please be safe,” you whisper into the fabric of his uniform and Johnny doesn’t need you to elaborate. He doesn’t respond verbally, because there’s nothing else to be said, and simply squeezes you tighter against him for what will be the last time for a while.

It’s hard to be away from you for so long, he’s never done it before and he’s teased relentlessly for how often he calls you. Johnny just laughs in their faces when they pout and complain when he gets your care packages, he has many emotions about your bond but shame is not one of them.

When the plane lands on his home turf and the dust settles Johnny can’t wait to collapse into one of your hugs and he can practically taste your cooking and he wants to cry when he remembers he’ll have to wait another day. Only, when his boots hit the tarmac he only has to take a few steps before he sees you waiting for him, beaming grin as you open your arms. Dropping his bag, he closes the distance in a flash and he’s not ashamed when he pulls away and notices the wet spot he’s left on your shoulder. The next thing he notices is the uniform, his eyes widening and you laugh.

“Now that I don’t have to look after a brat anymore I figured it was high time I became active duty again.” He can’t seem to reign in his shock, gawping like a fish and you frown in faux anger, “What? Think I’m too old to do the job? I could still put you in the ground Johnny.” The look in your eyes promises retribution if he doesn’t agree so he simply nods rapidly.

He’s twenty-two when he gains the moniker Soap, you laugh when he tells you and his smile drops when you won’t explain what’s so amusing. (No matter how much he asks around the base all he gets is amused laughter.)

It’s not until he’s twenty-three, riding the high of being selected for an elite task force and returning home after the shit show that was Verdansk that Soap starts to learn more about the imposing history of his sister.

He doesn’t even make it to the debriefing room, still covered in grime when he spots you stalking towards him with concerning vigour, thunder on your face that usually indicated an impending ass-whooping.

Preemptively Johnny backs up, mouth opening to apologise for whatever he’s done, only to freeze as you march straight past him and round on his captain. “You John Price?” Soap recognises the tone and decides it’s in his best interests to stay still and silent, Gaz is openly gawking though the mask makes it impossible to gauge Ghost’s reaction.

His captain, in a terrifying show of no self-preservation skills, nods in a ‘who wants to know’ sort of manner, brow raised and arms crossed.

“I dinnae ken who the fuck ye think ye are - ” Oh dear. Instantly Soap’s mind blue-screened, white noise ringing in his ears. Your accent only ever got that heavy when you were truly angry, when he zoned back in you were still yelling, arms flailing to enunciate your point that had very likely become very lost in translation to his starstruck teammates. “ - Irresponsible!”

Your chest was heaving by the time you’d finished, perfect hair even a little dishevelled. “Laswell” you nodded your head in respect towards the woman, before smiling softly when you turned to Soap.

“Johnny, bring your teammates over for dinner when you’re free.” It’s said kindly enough but Soap knows it’s not a suggestion. You pat him lovingly on the cheek before disappearing back down the hallway.

When the shock fades and movement becomes a possible thing again, it takes some extra cajoling to get their captain’s attention and Soap is mortified that whatever his sister said, it had so profoundly shaken the unflappable man.

Unable to hold anyone’s gaze, Soap marches forward, resolutely staring blankly at the floor. If he’d taken more than a few seconds to gauge his Captain’s reaction, it would have been abundantly clear his frozen state wasn’t one of perceived terror but arousal.

From the moment John Price bore witness to the fuming Scotswoman stalking towards him with the grace of an apex predator he knew he was fucked. You were an absolute vision, truth be told he barely registered the venomous words you were screaming at him, in front of his men no less.

His dazed eyes flickering from your perfect pretty lips down to your tits, hips, thighs and back up. His brain was empty of all thoughts except for the stunning goddess and how you’d look sitting astride his lap, squeezing his cock as he mouthed at your -

He clears his suddenly dry throat, dilated pupils darting back up to flicker over your face once more as he desperately attempts to reel his focus back towards what you’re saying, to anything that’s not the aching erection begging to be freed from the confines of his tactical pants.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably he watches as you pat Soap on the cheek lovingly, forlornly wishing that was him instead. Watching your ass sway with your departure, holding back the groan building in his throat.

Vaguely Price was aware of the wide-eyed looks exchanged behind his back as he stomped towards his quarters, little mind was paid towards them however. His focus solely on reaching the privacy he needed, slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary as his other hand fumbled for his belt. He doesn’t bother with his pants beyond freeing his flushed cock, leaning back against the door with eyes closed to help better produce an image of your likeness in his mind to match the voice that still rang in his ears.

Although you weren’t in any capacity attached to the 141, couldn't be due to your conflict of interest, you still shared a base. It was large enough that logistically you should have been able to work without ever seeing any of the 141. Key words being should have, because all of a sudden John Price seemed to be everywhere you turned.

At first you’d simply assumed he was just another man in power, irritated that you’d so thoroughly dressed him down in front of his men but John Price quickly proves you wrong. He brings you tea, hustles to hold doors open and more than once you’d walked into your office to find flowers. You want to think he’s just trying to get into your good graces, trying to smooth things over with one of his teammates siblings, the denial doesn’t last long.

You try not to be so taken by his blatant courting attempts even if you are a little confused. Nobody has ever given you this much blatant effort and it makes you feel like a little girl with her first crush instead of the grown woman you are.

It’s embarrassing, but it’s the most romantic, the most tender that you’ve been treated pretty much since you first took in Johnny. You’d given up on several potential relationships before they could even start over the years, not willing to let him suffer from any potential breakups.

Still, when you arrive to your office at 4am to find a bouquet of sunflowers you can’t help the way your heart hammers relentlessly against your ribcage as if trying to escape, to jump out straight into the arms of John Price.

To Soap’s surprise, it’s his Captain who clears their schedule, getting on his sergeant’s case about the promised dinner he’d nearly forgotten about himself. When Johnny walks apprehensively through the front door of your home the anger is apparently gone and you greet them all eagerly, planting a kiss on his cheek as you ushered them all inside and towards the table.

“Smells heavenly, thanks for having us lass” Price smiles charmingly, moving into the kitchen and swatting your hands away as he finishes setting the table and commanding the boys to help him, insisting that you sit and rest.

Soap, who is still somehow unaware of his captain’s affections, feels like he’s entered a new dimension for a few seconds. The perceived tension he’d expected nowhere to be found, though he quickly decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, simply happy that everyone was getting along.

(He’ll look back on this moment down the line and wonder how he was so blind.)

The food is great and you’ve even bought Soap’s favourite beer, something you don’t drink and Johnny lets himself relax as he witnesses you joke around with the team and even start to mother Gaz and Ghost.

“How is it you know Laswell?” Price asked, seemingly hanging on your every word as he sat down next to you on the couch. Soap paused his conversation with Gaz to listen in as all ears and eyes were suddenly on you, you’d always been notoriously quiet about anything to do with your career.

“Classified” you smirked, laughing as Johnny groaned dramatically and slumped back down in his seat. “I will say we were both very young,” you look into the bottom of your glass with a nostalgic gaze, but there’s something on your face that looks far too close to the time he’d walked in on you-

“Oh my god! You fucked Laswell!” He shrieked and Soap thought he could be forgiven for the girlish raise in pitch. Price choked on his bear, froth spilling from his nose as you reached for a washcloth to pat his shirt dry, the man having to bite back the groan at the feel of your hands against his chest.

You don’t give a verbal response but you do turn back to Johnny with a mischievous grin whilst wiggling your eyebrows. When the situation calms a little you surprise him by volunteering even more information, “she was the one that started calling me Suds.”

There were a few seconds of silence as the information was processed before Kyle started to laugh, and Johnny frowned a little, “wait…” he trailed off, shooting you a somewhat betrayed look as you started to laugh too.

“What was it you told me? They call you Soap cause you clean house? Na little brother, you’re named after me.” Johnny’s face was hysterical as he pouted, his teammates teasing him as laughter filled the house.

At some point, you’d meandered outside as the boys had started to roughhouse after a game of cards had devolved into a lighthearted screaming match. You sat on the porch with closed eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the feel of the cool night air on your skin.

A creak behind you alerts you to the presence of another, the wind carries the scent of scotch and cigars and you open one eye to watch as Price sits next to you. “Needed a break from the peanut gallery?” your brows raise in amusement as he huffs at your words, reaching for a smoke and placing the end in his mouth, hands patting down his pockets for a light when you gave silent confirmation that his actions were ok.

You giggled a little as his frustration grew, reaching over with your own lighter, holding the flame out for him. “Cheers love,” his gravelly voice sent a shiver down your spine. His breath hitting the back of your hand and you watched slightly mesmerised as he inhaled the smoke. The conversation dwindled and you sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the company as your arm lightly brushed his jacket-clad one.

Silently Price handed you the cigarette, and though you didn’t usually smoke you found yourself accepting, acutely aware of his deep blue eyes boring into the side of your face as your lips clasped around the filter.

“Sorry for going off at ye earlier” you apologised, suddenly realising that you’d failed to do so. Continuing to stare straight ahead as you passed the smoke back his way, knuckles brushing against his slowly.

“S’alright lass, you’re just looking out for what’s yours, it’s admirable really. Sexy too” he growled, voice a whisper on the wind. You’re not sure if the shiver that runs through your body is from his words or the cool night air. Regardless, you lean just a little bit closer into the captain’s warmth, a contented hum escaping your lips when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

You’re not ashamed to admit that over the past few weeks you’d been oogling the Captain, it was hard not to when the man flaunted his body so shamelessly in front of you. Looking, it quickly became apparent, was hardly comparable to touching and its impossible to ignore the way your body sings in delight at the feel of him against you.

Up close you can better detect the hints of his cologne, spicy wooden undertones accentuated by the faint whiskey you can smell on his breath as it caresses your forehead. From any other man the scent of cigars and alcohol paired with the scratch of a beard aginst your ear as he leaned his head against yours would have been a turn off, but it was so quintessentially him, so John Price that you couldn’t help but love it.

It’s the rusty squeak of the screen door, alerting you to the presence of another, that forces the two of you to part. Ghost, no, Simon, stands silently at the threshold, watching the scene before him with appraising eyes.

“Johnny’s looking for you.” His words cause you to sigh, throwing an apologetic glance Price’s way before you all head back inside, brown and blue eyes boring into the back of your head.

Your little brother ends up simply wanting to whine to you about how Kyle has to be cheating, it’s the only possible way the man could have won so consecutively. You want to throttle him for that, for so thoroughly cockblocking you, instead you settle for scuffing him over the back of the head and forcing him to help you with the dishes.

You work together in practiced tandem, cooperating with silent ease the result of years attending to each others needs. It’s the first instance during the night that the two of you have a moment alone together and you allow yourself to enjoy the peace and monotony of the task, silence accompanied by the soft spray of water.

“Been meaning to ask, what’s it that got you so barmy with the captain.” His words are lighthearted, teasing, though you can’t help the way your hands still suddenly as you were reminded of that day. You pull yourself together as quickly as possible but Johnny has already undoubtedly picked up on your sudden change in behaviour, the clinking of the ceramic plates in the sink alerting him to the fact your hands were shaking. Although Johnny’s not sure exactly what’s upset you, he’s aware that he has and quickly tries to backtrack but you cut him off,

“He put my baby brother in what was very avoidable danger” you whispered, eyes never leaving the now sparkling clean plate you’d been scrubbing for the past fourty seconds. Johnny doesn’t answer the shaky confession, but he does bump his shoulder against yours, lightly pushing you out of the way and completely taking over the task.

Ever since the dinner at your house, something had shifted between you and Price. It was un unspoken tension, crackling through the air every time you so much as laid eyes upon one another, but one you both felt.

Lingering gazes turned to light touches, fingers brushing against yours, large hands cupping your hips as he passed behind you and the like. It was driving you insane, every night you’d return to the sanctuary of your bed, fingers exploring the expanse of your body as you imagined it was Price touching you instead.

The two of you were a powder keg waiting to explode, waiting for the single spark that would light the whole thing. It was an inevitable reality, and one you both knew was coming. You’re not sure who snaps first, what exactly lights the powder, though you find you care very little in the face of his lips against yours.

You push him against the door of your bedroom, hands tugging at the roots of his hair as he lets out a sinful groan, only for you to swallow it with another open mouthed kiss. With one of your thighs between his legs and pushing against his thick erection, you grind frantically against his own muscled thigh.

The drag of you’re already soaked cunt slowly drenches his pants as well, you’re so focused on planting kisses and bites down the skin of his neck and chest as you rip his top off that you barely notice the way his dilated gaze watches your every move.

“Fuckin hell darlin, that’s it, take what you need baby.” He sounded wrecked, his words of encouragement causing your rhythm to falter as your hands continued to paw at his chest needily. As much as Price wanted to continue watching you use him to chase you’re own pleasure it would have to wait another time, at this moment he needed you now.

A squeal leaves your lips as your back is suddenly on the mattress and Price tugs your pants and underwear down to your ankles in one aggressive move, his hands keeping your thighs spread as he stared intently at his prize.

The groan that leaves his throat at the sight is guttural, the praise he mutters is nearly indistinguishable over the blood pounding in your ears as his tongue swipes over your swollen clit. John Price eats like a man starved, lavishing your thighs in bitemarks when his fingers replace his tongue. He makes you cum like that twice, your juices coating his beard and neck while you tug harshly on his hair.

“Price please, s’too much, need you now” you sobbed, pulling him up into another bruising kiss and wrapping your shaky thighs around his waist to try and coax him to where you wanted him most. Any other day he’d probably tease you for being so needy but Price was just as aching with need as you, cock flushed and dripping as he lined himself up with your fluttering hole.

“I know darlin’” he cooed, dipping his mouth down to place reassuring kisses over your chest as you finally stripped your top half bare. His left hand cups one of your tits, forhead resting against yours as he slid into you with one smooth thrust. The pace he sets is relentless, you’ve both been waiting for this moment for weeks. There’d be a time for tenderness later, but right now it was sheer animalistic need fuelling your movements. Your nails rake down his spine as he grunts, whines reaching a crescendo that lets him know you’re quickly approaching your climax once more.

His own rhythm starts to falter, the sensation of your warm walls squeezing him so tightly nearly too much for him to bare. He refuses to cum first however, thumb swiping over your clit as he grumbles against your collarbone, “come on love, nearly there, be a good girl and cum for me yeah?”

You are so worked up, so desperate to please the man bringing you such pleasure that you obey with a high pitched keen, thighs clamping his waist in a vice as your walls milk his cock. Price swears at the sensation, unable to pull out from how harshly you’’ve locked your ankles over his back and is filling your womb with thick ropes of cum before he can stop himself.

Shaky arms unable to hold his weight up anymore collapse, though you don’t seem to mind, snuggling up to him and wrapping your arms around his houlders to keep him in place. He falls asleep tangled in your arms, face nuzzled into your neck as your fingers play gently with his hair.

When Price wakes the next morning to an empty bed and cooling mattress he frowns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and lumbering out of your bedroom, still naked from the night before. He quickly finds you in the kitchen, standing at the counter wearing only panties with his shirt.

Immediately the sight stirs something primal in him, chest rumbling with pleasure as he plasters himself to your back. You hum happily, turning your face so he can plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “Morning darlin.” His voice is still hoarse with sleep and you feel the way it rumbles through his bear chest against your back.

“Morning” you let out a moan as he pressed his hard cock against you. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as one of his hands dips below the hem of your underwear, both of you sighing happily as his calloused fingers make contact with your still tender pussy.

Any reprimands are banished from your brain at his touch, your worries evaporating into nothingness as the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit. Just as you’re about to cum there’s a screech from behind of “My eyes!” And you whirl around just in time to witness your little brother run face first into the wall behind him in his haste to escape.

Johnny hits the floor with a heavy thud, hands still covering his face as he continues to scream about the atrocity he’s just witnessed. You think he might even be crying, whether from the pain or the visage of his captain’s bare arse you aren’t sure.

You should be beyond mortified, and a large part of you is. Still, you can’t help the belly laugh that escapes you as your brain finally catches onto what’s just happened. Your legs collapse from under you as your own tears of laughter stream down your cheeks. Johnny’s also crying and writhing on the floor whilst Price looks to be contemplating murdering the both of you.

Still giggling you manage to stand once more, pulling the captain down into another sweet kiss before spinning him around and ordering him to get dressed. You do give him a smack on the ass before he leaves though and the sound sets Soap off into a new cursing fit, one hand shaking an aggressive fist towards where he thinks his captain is while he keeps his eyes covered.

While you’d have liked to have kept whatever it was you had with the Captain a secret for a little longer, liked to have kept him selfishly to yourself, you had to admit that scarring your little brother so badly was worth it. Though given the stink eye he relentlessly stared at Price with you’d probably have to give him a little more time to adjust. Even if unbeknownst to you, the wedding had already been planned out in the Englishman’s mind.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @Skotchi @juvenillia

#x reader #cod mw x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #cod john price

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kamiversee · 2 months

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 49 || The Things You Didn’t Know

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & semi-heavy angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.1k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOUR HEART WAS racing against your chest as you hurried out of the cafe. Despite the stares you got from people given the recent outbursts, the only thing you focused on was catching up with Choso.

He couldn’t have gotten that far, right? God, you were so nervous. What if he didn’t want to hear you out? What if that’s all it took for him to hate you? What if he never talks to you again?

Did you fuck up? Should you have lied? Was this for the best? Shit, tears were blurring your vision as you ran outside and frantically searched the parking lot for any signs of Choso. If he was gone already would he ever answer a call or text from you again?

Fuck. You can’t do this. Anxiety, fear, and a profound rush of pure angst simply crashed over you.

“F-Fuck,” You breathed out heavily. You tried to stop your crying but the tears kept coming and you really couldn’t spot Choso anywhere, even his car nowhere to be found.

It was cloudy and there was this brisk breeze running over you, a distant ripple in the sky heard as the weather decided to match the vibe of everything that’s just occurred.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat and kept walking into the parking lot nonetheless, refusing to give up just yet. What were you even going to say if you found him? What is there to say-

“Why’d you… Why’d you follow me out here?” Choso’s voice hushed out from your left.

Your feet stumble into a halt and the way your head turned in that direction was instant, quickly laying your eyes on the man who was standing in front of his car door that was parked not too far away from where you stood. You must’ve missed it when you first looked that way due to your tears and distraught way of searching.

Your lips are quivering and your heart is simply beating against your chest, “C-Choso, I-“

The sight of Choso’s hand trembling catches your eyes, the key in his hand just barely held up against the door handle of his car. His other hand was balled into a fist and you couldn’t see his face because his hair had fallen into a mess after the way he rushed out of the cafe.

He’s breathing heavily, panting even, as a sudden dribble of water falls from his face. Was he… Was Choso crying?

“Choso?” You voice out softly. Your tone was shaky and almost sappy as you took careful steps toward him.

“Don’t,” He croaks out. You couldn’t tell if he was crying just yet but his voice was definitely trembling with emotion.

You pause in your steps, merely a few inches away from him. Swallowing you try your best to come up with something to say, “I-I’m sorry-“

Choso sucks in a deep breath of air and suddenly his keys slip out his hand, “Fuck-,” He sighs, bringing an arm up to his face and sniffling.

Despite him telling you not to come closer, you do so anyway, inching toward him before crouching down and picking his keys up. After which, you stand up straight and slide the keys into the pocket of his pants before forcing him to turn his body to you.

Then, you place a gentle hand on his arm and pull it away from his face, coming face to face with his flushed expression, saddened, hurt, and tired eyes, frowning lips, and ragged breathing as tears slip down his cheeks.

The water in your eyes just doubles as you get the full and raw view of Choso Kamo crying. Frowning and quick to take the blame, you squeak out a cracked, “M’sorry. S-Shit, Choso, I-“

He starts shaking his head but he doesn’t look away from you. Instead, Choso gazes down into your eyes and for the first time, his eyes are so very dull and just tired. It was as though everything he just learned had completely drained the usually vibrant brown shade that coated his irises.

He sighs shakily and steps closer to you, the tips of your feet touching one another as he just gazes down at you. Choso was confused, tired, hurt, and drained all at once.

You sniffle, “I’m s-sorry, Choso I-I didn’t-“

“Shut up…” He says. However, his voice is void of anything outside of hurt with hardly any strength or anger remaining. Choso then leans down to you and you try to back away a bit but his arms drape around your waist and he pulls you up against him, tipping his head to the side and nearing your face, “B-Baby,” He rasps out, tears still falling from his eyes.

You don’t even know what to feel right now, “Cho, p-please, I’m sorry. I didn’t know-“

“Stop apologizing,” Choso whispers, “S’not ‘ur fault…” He mumbles.

“B-But…” You stare into his eyes, “I…” You could hardly formulate your words properly, “W-Why’re you crying?”

“C-Cause’ you just…” His expression sinks and never before has Choso allowed himself to be this vulnerable in front of anyone, “T-There was the g-guy from before, then Geto, n-now… Now Sukuna a-and you don’t even know-,” He chokes on his words and squeezes his eyes shut, “Fuck, I c-can’t even… I can’t… I…”

He begins to lose his breath and falls into a state of hyperventilating. Choso’s eyes widen a bit and his breathing is panicked all over the place.

Your hands shoot up to his face and you tilt your head, “Choso, hey, Cho,” You call out softly. His eyes are frantic for a moment. “Heyyy look at me, look at my eyes, Cho.”

He does just barely.

You nod and grin, “T-That’s it, now take a deep breath for me,” You whisper.

He tries, inhaling sharply and then exhaling shakily.

“A bit slower than that, c’mon, you’re okay.” You tell him, wiping the tears from his warm face and keeping your voice calm and collected despite your own emotions being jumbled, “I’m right here, okay?”

He’s nodding, steadily controlling his breathing and blinking as he calms himself down. Swallowing, “I-I don’t what that w-was…” Choso huffs out, unsure of the surge of anxiety that ran through him.

“You had a minor panic attack,” You whisper, pulling his face to yours, “But it’s okay, I’m right here, alright?”

Choso moves his hands over yours and squeezes, “Baby…”

“Hm?” You hum, your mind discarding the fact that you just argued with this same man a moment ago.

It was like what happened with Gojo all over again. Yet, this felt different for some reason.

Choso’s voice is low and timid with you, “I’m s-sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” You hush out, “You didn’t do anything wrong, I-”

Your name is hushed out in an almost fractured tone and Choso removes his hands from yours, moving to hold your waist and pull you closer to him.

You drop whatever it is you were going to say at the sound of your name, “Yes?”

“C-Can you…” Choso hesitates, hating how he feels right now and disliking the fact that you have to see him in such a way, “Uhm…”

“Can I what?” You murmur, “What is it, Choso? Talk to me please.”

He leans down and his arms wrap around your waist, “C-Can you just hold me?”

Wasn’t he just upset with you moments ago? Was he not repulsed and maybe even disgusted by you for a second? Did you not fuck things up? Is he not angry with you-

“P-Please,” Choso begs, trying to hold back the rest of his emotions. Never has he felt so conflicted in his feelings before.

You end up nodding and raising your hands up, wrapping them around his neck and holding him tightly. Choso exhales heavily and he hugs your smaller frame tightly, burying his face into the crook of your neck and shutting his eyes.

You don’t know why he wants to hug you right now. You have no clue why he’s not screaming at you anymore when that’s the very thing you expected him to do.

Hell, the man just told you to leave him out of your drama, and yet here he is in your arms not even ten minutes later. You guess this was some kinda sign. Does this show the levels of how much Choso loves you or does this have something to do with his possessiveness?

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

What you didn’t know was that Choso needed to feel your warmth to center himself once again. You were unaware of the fact that he’d been so insanely tense for the past few hours. It was a build-up that led to his recent outburst.

All of which started about an hour and a half ago when Yuki first approached him. Choso was trying to draw as he stared out the large cafe window, his thoughts ironically on you since you inspire him to no end, before that annoying blonde approached him with that stupid smile on her face.

His mood soured from the second he made eye contact with her and it only worsened when she sat down across from him and started talking, blabbering about god knows what. Choso allowed most of what she said to go through one ear and out the other, only giving her these half-assed responses every now and then.

Then, to make things worse, Yuki started getting comfortable and despite Choso’s dismissive attitude, she sat there talking his ear off for what felt like forever, even going as far as getting herself food and really comforting herself. Sometime after that, you had called him and Choso’s mood lifted only a bit.

He was confused at first since you’re supposed to be taking a break from him but then as he realized he was with Yuki, he started to panic because he knew how this was going to seem to you. Even so, he answered because who is he to ignore a call from you?

And of course, there was your jealousy that came along as Yuki started pestering him during his phone call. Yuki’s intrusion irked Choso to no end but the sound of your voice in his ear, especially with you growing jealous, was able to help Choso calm himself. After all, he knew there was nothing you needed to be jealous over.

Then you told him that you were thinking about changing the status of your relationship with him and Choso was smiling from ear to ear. Just the thought of you coming to him and telling him you were finally ready for a relationship with him made his heart swell. It had meant that he’d won over whoever his competition was.

But of course, Yuki ruined that moment seconds later when she started talking again, to which Choso had taken a nearby water bottle and tossed some of it on her. You obviously didn’t know or see any of that since you were on the phone but Choso had been fed up with the blonde woman.

But, all of that only led to you sounding upset over the phone since he kept bickering with Yuki. This annoyed Choso even more because he was excited to see you and yet Yuki had ruined something that could've been rather sweet.

What you also don’t know is that once you are off the phone, Choso moderately curses Yuki out, telling her how she’s annoying and he wants her to leave. Of course, she didn’t go anywhere, and after more bickering Choso and her made a deal that Yuki would only be able to meet you and then leave.

As things played out, that’s not what happened but Choso wasn’t expecting that.

To make it all worse, Choso had gone to the bathroom after some time and when he came out he saw the cashier’s eyes not on your face in the slightest as your head had been angled up at the menu. You didn’t know it but Choso wasn’t lying when he said Ino was looking like he wanted to fuck you because it was so obvious.

He saw the way Ino ogled you, licked his lips, and then smiled before looking up to the menu as if he wasn’t just checking you out. This bothered Choso for many reasons.

For one, Choso knew he wasn’t your boyfriend so he couldn’t just come up to you and the cashier and call the guy out for his looks because that’d be him crossing boundaries. So instead, he did the only thing he could think of and approached you from behind, soon making direct eye contact with Ino and giving him the same death glare he gives anyone who checks you out.

You’ve scolded Choso about this look in the past but he couldn’t help himself. So that’s why he continued to stare Ino down before pressing himself up against you and placing his hands beside yours. In his mind, you may not have been his girlfriend but god dammit, he wasn’t going to allow anyone to look at you like that when he’s in the vicinity.

Hence the kisses to your neck, the claiming touches to your waist, and the threatening look in his eyes as he mentally dared Ino to look at you like that again.

But then, when you got bothered by Choso’s actions, it confused him. Could you not tell Ino was into you? Are you actually that unaware of how people, especially men, give such suggestive looks to you?

Choso didn’t understand it at all and knowing he was in no position to say something about it only ate him up inside.

But his mood was lifted for a moment as he then conversed with you. You didn’t know it but you really were the vibrance in this dull man’s life. His heart longed for you at every passing moment so when he noticed you disliked the idea of him being with someone else, even if it were just a friend, he couldn’t help but fall even harder.

It was like you wanted him all to yourself and he would give that to you at any given moment if you asked for it.

In Choso’s mind, he is yours. Whatever you need, he’ll go to any length to provide it for you. Whatever you want, he’ll see how he can get it for you. Choso is so devoted to you that sometimes he doesn’t even feel like his thoughts are his own.

At times, Choso feels as though every inch of his body simply operates under a blind gaze that's clouded with thoughts of you. While he wants nothing more than to be with you, he’s also okay with waiting. He’d do so devotedly until you flat out tell him not to and even then, deep down inside there’s a piece of his heart that’ll always run in your direction.

That being said, to have to reveal you to his ex Yuki who’s attracted to women, it was like he was putting you on the line. As if he were risking his relationship with you by simply revealing the way you look to Yuki.

Choso hated it but he was so damn insecure about losing you, which is exactly why he held onto you so tightly both when he showed you to Yuki and even now as he quietly weeps into you.

The grip he has on your shirt is relentless. He’s so damn terrified and upset right now.

Because after he revealed you to Yuki it all just got worse. Then she wanted to talk to you, she probably told you how she left him, and then fucking Geto Suguru showed up.

By then, just the simple sound of Heyy gorgeous almost made Choso snap. His eye had twitched and he felt like he was on the verge of losing his sanity. It was like what happened with Ino all over again but ten times worse because it was soon revealed that Geto is the man you told Choso you used to sleep with.

Which was one thing in itself but to see how Geto still looks at you just made Choso sick. It was like Geto was undressing you and fucking you with his eyes right in front of him and this dark emotion just swirled around in Choso’s heart.

Many times did Choso stare at the jawline of Geto Suguru, wondering to himself how fast he could reach over and connect his fist to the area without hurting you in any way since you were right next to him.

And to just add onto all of that because the list of emotions Choso just went through is long, the sound of Geto calling you a slut, albeit a way of him teasing you, made Choso lose his shit for a second.

No one at that table knew but Choso was contemplating some dark things the entire time. The flirting, the taunting, the fucking looks, it all made Choso so damn angry. It took every fiber of his being not to reach across the table and wipe that stupid smirk off Geto’s face.

Yet, that wasn’t his boiling point. He let a few things slip when he bickered with you but the second his brother was brought up, Choso just lost it.

He gave up on holding his tongue as he had been the entire conversation. As soon as you looked at him with those pretty eyes of yours, asking him what and who they were talking about, the mere thought of you and Sukuna ever crossing paths just made Choso nauseous.

He quickly got snappy and short-tempered after that, annoyed by how much you kept pushing the subject despite him wanting to move on. Then you had the nerve to tell him that you should know who his older brother is.

He couldn't believe you. Especially after you wouldn’t even tell him about the clear list of other guys you’ve been with? That’s all precisely why he says he felt as though he should know who else you’d been with.

But… to hear you respond to that by saying there’s a chance Sukuna could be one of those people…

Something deep within Choso just broke. He felt said emotion snap in half, the sensation raging through his body. It was his trust. He couldn’t think rationally anymore and both fear and pure anger ran throughout his body.

Everything had gone to shit and his brain was just being overloaded with information.

If it wasn’t enough that every single day Choso had to fear the possible call of you telling him you’d chosen the other guy over him, then he now had to add on the fact that you apparently sleep around. From Choso’s unknown competition to Geto, who he somewhat assumes is said competition, and then to hear about Sukuna?

He couldn’t think straight anymore. Horrid memories of the times he lived with his older sibling just flashed in his mind back to back, each one darker than the last.

Dating back to when Choso was younger and before Yuji was born… He remembered it all like some distorted nightmare. From being hit by Sukuna over the most minor mistake to being straight bullied by the man in the worst ways possible, Choso went through hell growing up with Sukuna.

For the sake of his other two brothers, he’d often take the blame and whatever unjust punishment followed just to protect his siblings. Which is even the story behind the tattoo going across the bridge of Choso’s nose.

You’ve asked him about it before but he never told you how there’s a scar beneath the tattoo that never went away and that’s why he has it in the first place. Of course, said scar was given to him by the asshole Sukuna himself.

And if all that wasn’t enough, what really topped it off was that after Yuji was born, Choso pleaded and begged that Sukuna not put the poor kid through what he endured.

For nothing more than his own amusement, Sukuna went ahead and promised he wouldn’t ever lay a hand on Yuji. Of course, this was only to build up hope in Choso’s heart because the promise was a lie and the things Sukuna had done to Yuji behind closed doors outweighed whatever hell he put Choso through.

This is the exact reason Choso has grown to hate both liars and Sukuna himself. Each time he goes and sees his little brother Yuji, there’s a new bruise on the poor boy’s skin and Choso is only able to do so much.

Genuinely, the only things that keep that man going are the bright smiles that Yuji gives him despite the abuse, knowing that unlike himself, Yuji stands up for himself even at his young age, and lastly, well, you. You make Choso forget about all the dark parts of his family life and essentially free him from it all.

So with all that being said, when you told Choso you had sex with Sukuna it simply broke him into pieces. Why was it that the one woman in which he decides to long for more than ever just so happens to have crossed paths with such a vile man?

He didn’t care that Sukuna was his older brother, he didn’t care that you even fucked him, what made him so angry was the person Sukuna truly is, how blind you were to it, and the possibility that Sukuna could’ve hurt you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As all of that replayed in Choso’s mind, his tight grasp on the fabric of your shirt came and went as he cried so quietly against your warm body.

The two of you were standing there hugging in silence for roughly twenty minutes. You simply rubbed the back of Choso’s head with one hand and the other caressed his back, allowing him to cry into you for as long as he needed to.

Well, that was up until you felt something wet make contact with the top of your head. It was faint at first so you didn't pay any mind to it. Then, another slip of water is felt, and another, and soon, you notice it’s drizzling.

Light rain makes contact with both you and Choso’s embraced bodies. You didn’t really want to move but the drizzle was steadily getting heavier and you soon shivered against Choso, to which he sniffled and came to with what was going on around him.

“Choso,” You whispered, feeling how he flinched at the sound of his name, “I-It’s raining…”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, not moving a muscle and just stuck against you.

Then, when the rain picks up just a bit more, he shifts around and finally pries his arms off of you. He lifts his head from your shoulder and god the sight of him makes your heart crease inward.

Damn these men and being the most beautiful criers you’ve ever seen.

Due to the rain, Choso’s hair was getting wet and starting to stick to his forehead, the ends of the strands having this slight wave to them as they decorated his hairline. His eyes that were darkened with those heavy sleepless bags had tears streaming down from the corners and the male bats his soaked eyelashes as the rain falls onto both of you.

Before you could say or do anything else, Choso moved to take off his jacket and hold it over your head, shielding you from the water falling from the sky. Doing so, he remains close to you and takes another long moment taking in your expression.

You do the same, admiring how someone could be so attractive as they wept. Choso was such a beautiful man, someone whose face you think deserved to be drawn and painted the same way he once did yours.

In that moment, you wish you could read his mind and figure out just what he was thinking as he stood under the rain gazing down at you so intimately. Though he was upset and conflicted, Choso couldn’t even hide the love in his eyes.

Your name is uttered again after a long moment and Choso’s voice is deep but so very emotional.

You swallow and just barely tilt your head, “Yes?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Choso whispers, “B-But, I don’t think we should uh…”

You moved your hands to his shirt and your delicate fingers clung onto the man as a slight gust of wind blew over the two of you. Was this it? Was he about to say what you think he was?

It’s over, isn’t it? Choso’s about to say he doesn’t think you two should be together anymore right? You’ve fucked up.

There’s nothing you can do. He’s done with you. He’s about to tell you that he never wants to see you again and you don’t know what you could possibly say to change his mind.

Right? Of course, what else would he be about to say?

It’s over. You and Choso are over. Just like that-

He says your name again and you blink, tears dripping down your face unexpectedly as your own thoughts and anxiety overcome you. “I don’t think we s-should stay in the rain like this,” Choso murmurs, sighing, “You’ll get sick.”

You exhale shakily and squeeze your eyes shut, nodding your head in agreement and so beyond thankful he didn’t say what you thought he was about to.

He then carefully places his jacket on top of your head and puts an arm around you, moving to walk you over to the passenger side of his car. When you get there, you slip a hand into his pants pocket and pull out his keys, your fingers slipping over the item to unlock his car.

Doing so, you wonder why Choso didn’t do that earlier. Did he wait on purpose to give you a chance to catch up to him?

Once the car is unlocked Choso helps you get in and tries to make sure no more water makes contact with you, despite himself getting soaked in the process. He even moves to put your seatbelt on for you, regardless of his shaky hand and his backside getting wet from the rain.

You frown, “C-Choso you don’t have to-“

He pauses and looks at you, his tone completely soft and weak as he whispers, “Shut up.”

Your lips pull together and you swallow your words yet again. His face was so close to yours, the mixed smell of rain and his cologne filling your nose. Choso’s eyes narrow as they stare into your own and you can’t even read his expression so you genuinely have no idea what’s going on in his mind right now.

Maintaining eye contact with you, the sound of your seat belt clicking is heard before Choso moves. His hand goes to your face and despite the shakiness of his fingers, he gently places them on your jaw.

Choso moves your head around a bit like he’s inspecting you before he stops and his thumb shifts upward. It swipes over your lips slowly and he stares for a while. Knowing that Sukuna has probably felt these same lips of yours bothers him to no end.

And to make it worse, Choso blames himself because maybe if he opened up to you sooner he could’ve prevented it somehow? Even though he doesn’t know when you slept with Sukuna.

Choso’s thumb taps your bottom lip three times before he opens his mouth. You wish he’d get out of the rain already but he seems so immersed in whatever he’s doing. Whispering your name again, “Has he ever hurt you?” Choso asks carefully.

You shake your head no instead of making your answer vocal in courtesy of recently being told to shut up. Were you that worried that if you didn’t listen to Choso he’d slip away from you? So much so that you couldn’t even speak unless told to?

“Say it,” Choso hums, “Needa’ hear you say it, baby.”

“N-No,” You reply.

“No, what? Please answer my question fully,” He instructs, his voice calmer and a bit dry due to his recent emotional outburst. You open your mouth to do so but he cuts you off, “I just need to be sure, okay?”

Nodding, “No, Sukuna has never hurt me.” You answer completely.

Choso releases a relieved exhale and shuts his eyes, “Okay… T-Thank fuck,” He whispers finally before taking his hand off your face.

He starts to pull away but you grab his hand for some reason. Choso freezes, not at all caring about the rain soaking him and his clothes as your hand grabs his own.

You’re looking up at him unsure of what should be said outside of a simple and heartfelt, “I’m sorry.”

Choso’s brows tense as if he didn’t want to hear you say that but he pulls your hand to his face and leans down again. He kisses the back of your hand, his lips pressing against your skin so long that it seems like he doesn't want to move away from the motion.

“Thank you for that, princess,” Choso says to you, his eyes meeting yours yet again, “But, you don’t need to apologize. We uh…” He swallows, “We’re gonna’ talk this all out, yeah?”

You’re nodding before even mentally rendering his words, “Y-Yeah.”

A small smile, one that barely even shows and seems to lack emotion, spreads across Choso’s face, “A-And uh… No matter what you tell me,” He gulps, wondering if he’ll later regret these words, “I’ll still love you.”

Your heart just swells so much to the point that it begins to hurt your chest. Does he know what he’s about to get into? Does he understand the gravity of what he just said to you?

“As long as it’s the truth,” He adds just in case.

You nod again, “Right.”

“Promise?” Choso asks.

“Mhm, I promise,” You hush out.

He sighs, releases your hand, and finally stands up straight, moving to shut the car door and make his way to the driver's side. Once he does and situates himself in his vehicle, his body is pretty soaked and he’s quick to turn his car on along with the heat.

The two of you were about to be in here for a while.

So many truths were getting ready to reveal themselves.

Does that include details of the list?

…

You had no idea.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

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tags;

@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx

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melobin · 4 months

Text

જ⁀➴ mirror 𐙚 sungchan

warnings - smut, dom!sungchan, mirror sex, strength kink, size kink, oral f receiving, unprotected sex, praise, dacryphilia, manhandling, choking, big dick!sungchan

wc - 3k

summary - you and sungchan stay in a hotel for the night where there’s a continently placed mirror above the bed.

a/n - a conversation with my love @neosvcr occurred and now this is here! very sorry to my friends over at the discord server …..

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“i’ve never seen a mirror above a bed before” sungchan looked over at you as he emerged from the bathroom, a plain white towel wrapped low around his hips. if you weren’t so distracted by the mirror you would’ve been drooling over him.

“really?”

“mhm” your eyes travelled from the ceiling to your boyfriend, shamelessly flicking straight to his abs. there were still a few droplets of water slowly sliding down them, you let your mouth water at the sight of him “what is it even used for? it’s not very practical” sungchan laughed at your question.

“are you checking me out?” you could only hum in response as you watched him pick up a different towel and bring it to his hair, drying as much of it as he could. his biceps flexed as he done it, toned arms being on full show for you to enjoy “what do you think they use it for, love?” you simply hummed again, too distracted on watching him to answer. he looked up at you and smiled “perv”.

“it’s not my fault” he threw the towel he used for his hair onto the chair in the room and walked over to the bed, sitting next to where you were perched up against the headboard. he brought his hand to your face, brushing your hair out of it before cupping your jaw. he took note of the way your thighs clenched together the closer he got to you.

“then whos fault is it?” his hand fell from your jaw to your bare thigh, mentally thanking you for putting on one of his shirts. it both drowned you and exposed you all at the same time, the shirt being baggy over your skin but the sleeve falling down your right arm exposing your shoulder to him. his shirts always rode up your thighs, especially when you were sat down. it gave him easy access to the parts of you he loved teasing the most.

“yours? why would it be mine? i’m not the one in the gym everyday just because my best friend beat me in an arm wrestle once” sungchan narrowed his eyes at you.

“well he hasn’t beat me since has he? none of them have”

“i know, it’s hot” you placed your hand on his shoulder and let it slide down his arm, stopping on his muscle to dig your fingers into it lightly “you know i love how strong you are, channie”

“of course i do baby” he leaned forward to press an open mouthed kiss against the exposed skin of your shoulder, hand moving up and squeezing your thigh “my sweet girl” his kisses slowly trailed from your shoulder to your neck, fingers inching toward your panties. “so little and fragile” he pressed the pads of them against your clothed clit, slowly rubbing his fingers up and down the material as he sucked on the skin just below your ear “could break you if i wanted to”.

you whimpered at what he was doing, sungchan always knew how to push your buttons and work you up. he studied your body intense, learning all the ways to make you tick and always used them against you immediately after. he claimed working you up was just a way to make things feel even better for you, but you knew he just enjoyed teasing you. he could be so evil sometimes.

“why don’t i show you why people have mirrors above their bed, hm? promise ill fuck you real good” he put more pressure against your clit, he was practically moaning his words into your ear. it done nothing to dull the throb he was creating between your legs.

“please” you whimpered, he pulled away from your neck to look at you. pushing your panties aside with his fingers to feel your soaked cunt directly, he practically hissed when he felt how wet you were. he circled your clit whilst he leaned in to kiss you, lips moulding perfectly against yours. tongue slotting into your mouth when your lips parted to let out a moan. the kiss carried on for a short while before he was pulling away.

“you’re so wet, did you get that worked up from watching me?” your fingers fell from his biceps to his wrist, wrapping around it as his fingers sped up. your hips bucked slightly against his hand, small whines leaving your lips.

“you’re just so pretty, channie, can’t help it” your words are broken and slurred, you were a wreck already but to him you were the cutest thing. he found it even cuter when you whined as he pulled his fingers off of you. instead they climbed up your body, under the shirt you were wearing in order to pull it over your head, every part of him adored the fact you lacked clothing underneath. bare tits on display for him.

“lay down for me, baby” you followed his instructions, laying down properly on the bed, letting your head fall against the pillow before looking at him. he stood up and let his towel fall to the floor, his cock was already hard, it struggled to hold itself up with how heavy it was. precum leaking down the sides, coating his bulging veins. just the sight of sungchan’s cock made you whine, countless memories of how he’d use it to drive you to the bring of insanity with sharp, deep thrusts clouded your mind. you could never get enough of him.

you expected him to kneel up between your legs and slide his cock into you, but he didn’t. instead he moved to lay down between your legs, hands grabbing the top of your inner thighs inorder to spread your legs further apart. he littered small, open mouthed kisses along the skin of your inner thigh before looking up at you to meet your eyes. his fingers hooked over the waist band of your panties, he pulled them down your legs and let them fall to the floor, almost moaning when he felt how soaked they were. he was quick to return back to his former position

“mmm” he hummed for a moment, digging his fingers a little deeper into your thighs “don’t watch me, just lay back and look into the mirror” you met your own eyes in the mirror above you, your reflection looking back at you. the position let you see sungchan too, or well the back of him. still, your boyfriends back was one of the hottest things about him, especially after you had raked your nails down it as he fucked you. there was excitement lacing through your veins at the idea of being able to see the way his back flexed through the mirror as he fucked you.

the feeling of his tongue against your cunt brought you out of the daze you were entering, sungchan never held back when he ate you out and you knew he wasn’t going to tonight. his tongue flicked against your swollen clit teasingly, he almost whined as the taste of you filled his mouth. you were always so sweet, always melted delciously on his tongue, it was one of the reasons he always called you his sweet girl. he meant it literally.

sungchan dragged his tongue down your slit, pushing it inside you just to collect more of your slick on your tongue before licking back up to your clit and swirling it around it. he loved making you as wet as possible, nothing was hotter to him than making a complete mess of you. and he always did, especially when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked on it until you felt light headed. he placed a hand against your lower stomach to keep you in place whilst he done it.

it was then that your hands went to his hair, he was quick to grab one of them with his free hand and lace your fingers together, squeezing your hand as he continued sucking on your clit, tongue flicking over it. the sight in the reflection seemed filthy. it felt weird watching yourself be ravaged by your boyfriend, but it was hot. something about it felt so intimate and sensual. just the image of you sweating a little, one hand in his and the other in his hair and your body squirming as much as it could under his grip was surreal. you were starting to understand why people enjoyed using mirrors so much.

you felt his hand leave your stomach, moments later he had two fingers pressing into you, your cunt welcoming them eagerly. with how already drenched you were, his fingers slid inside of you easily. he thrust them into you slowly to begin with, that was until he was finger fucking you with his lips wrapped around your clit. fingers curling inside of you, being long enough to press perfectly against the spongy spot that laid deep within your walls. you were a mess, the intensity of the please had your head spinning, you could barely keep your eyes open to focus on the reflection above you.

you were falling apart, your sanity drifting away as you grew closer to spilling onto his tongue. he knew it too. he could tell by the way your moans grew louder, how you pulled a little harder on his hair and how you squeezed his hand impossibly hard to the point it almost hurt him. he loved it though, adored the fact he was pushing you into such a state of ecstasy that you could barely control your actions.

once you were cumming around his fingers you were lost, your eyes shut themselves as you were pushed over the edge. his tongue flicking non stop against your clit, fingers curling resulting in an embarrassingly loud squelching sound to echo throughout the hotel room. your moans almost overpowered the sound of it, especially when you were at the peak of your high. everything felt so intense, it left you shaking when you were coming down from it.

he pressed an open mouthed kiss onto your clit as he slipped his fingers out of you, he knelt back on his knees and looked down at you fondly. your gaze was set on the mirror above you, eyes flicking over your own body in the reflection. you looked so fucked out, sungchan thought you looked pretty like this and he hoped you thought it too.

“so sweet” his fingers ran over your skin, hand still in yours “my sweet girl, gonna fuck you so good, just like i promised” he settled himself properly between your thighs, he held the base of his cock with his hand and pressed it against your cunt. he lifted it before slapping it against your clit, laughing at the way you whined and jolted at the sudden action.

sungchan leaned over you, keeping your hand in his and pinning it against the pillow next to your head. he leaned down to kiss you softly, lips only pressing against yours for a brief few seconds before he was pulling them off of yours and shifting his cock to line up with your hole. he looked down at you whilst he pressed the tip inside of you, his lips parted as he felt you squeeze around him.

“need to relax, baby” he breathed out, already feeling overwhelmed by how wet and warm you were “can’t fit me inside if you’re too tense” you nodded at him, trying your hardest to keep your eyes on his as he stretched you out, easing himself deeper with a gentle whine. you could’ve came just from the sounds he was making, nothing was prettier than the way sungchan moaned when his cock was pressed deep inside of you.

sungchan grabbed your other hand and pinned it on the pillow the other side of your head, keeping you in place with your hands in his. his head found its way into the crook of your neck, hips pressed against yours as he tried to relax himself. you’d swallowed his cock whole, took every inch of him with ease. sungchan remembered the time you struggled to take even half of his cock, now you were here taking all of him eagerly. he was proud but so overwhelmed, nothing compared to the feeling of your soaked little cunt wrapped around his cock.

it only took a few sharp thrusts for your eyes to find the mirror, the reflection showed something that you could only describe as completely sinful. sungchan’s back flexed with each thrust, your legs were wrapped around his waist pushing him deeper into you. it turned you on endlessly, sungchan was sure he felt you gushing around him, clenching with every other thrust. it turned him into a mess. his moans fell into your neck, groaning a little deeper each time you tightened your cunt around him.

“you’re so fucking wet” sungchan found the strength to lift his head out of your neck, pace of his thrusts increasing slightly as he looked at you, finding your eyes glued to the ceiling. they were dark, he was sure he had never seen you so turned on before, so soaked and dazed “you like watching yourself get fucked, baby?” you moaned, eyes barely flicking away from the mirror to meet his eyes, he pressed a soft kiss against your jaw, noticing the way your eyes had filled with tears.

“feel good?” you nodded, whimpering the moment your lips parted when you tried to talk. sungchan’s hips bucked a little harder against yours, a tear fell from your eye at the contact. you felt swollen, poor pussy being fucked raw by him, the feeling was surreal, the pleasure more intense than ever “fuck, you look so pretty when you cry” he leaned down to press a soft kiss against the tear that fell from your eye before slowing his thrusts down, lifting himself up and pulling out of you. you could only whimper at the sudden emptiness you felt.

“what’s wrong?” his heart melted at the way you asked him, your eyes wide and cautious as you watched him. he smiled at you.

“want you to ride me” god, if there was one thing you knew sungchan adored, it was having you ride him. he loved taking control even when you were on top of him, somehow he always found a way to grab you and fuck his cock up into you. it sent you to heaven every time without fail.

he sat down, having part of his back resting against the headboard. he was slouched, he beckoned you to sit on his lap. once you did he grabbed you, it was as if he manhandled you so your back was against his chest. “gonna watch you get fucked together, okay? need to see my pretty girl fall apart” you gulped back a whine at his words, he held his arms around your waist as you reached down to hold his cock, trying your hardest in your shaky state to line him up with you.

a whimper left you as you sank down on his cock, hands holding onto his toned forearms as you took all of him. the familiar warmth instantly filling you again. your nails dug into his skin when you felt him thrust up lightly into you, your body moulded against his. you met his eyes through the mirror, his eyes looked clouded over, as if he was in a state of delirium. sungchan simply thought that what he was looking at was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen, he needed to wreck you.

he placed his feet flat on the bed, one of his arms leaving your waist so he could wrap his hand around your neck, his other hand fell to your clit as he thrusted up into you. his grip on your neck was tight as he fucked you, cock fucking into you quite fast with strength behind his thrusts. you were dizzy and that only grew as he groaned into your ear.

“you’re so fucking perfect” his eyes never left your body as he fucked up into you, fingers rubbing constant circles on your clit. if he wasn’t as strong as he was, you were sure you would’ve slipped off of his body with how much you were trying to squirm. the overwhelming pleasure made it hard to keep still “you look so little against me, fuck, you drive me insane” he practically groaned his words out.

he was right, it only made you clench around his more as you watched the way his body almost devoured yours. he was ruining you, inside and out, in the best ways possible. everything mixed together left you on the verge of cumming around his cock, yet it was impossible for you to tell him. moans slipped from your lips, you could see the way his cock disappeared inside of you through the mirror and somehow the visual of it only made it harder for you to keep your moans to yourself. sungchan had a good sense of your body though, being able to tell when you were on the edge.

“cum, baby, need you to see how pretty you look when you cum” sungchan’s voice was strained, he was holding himself off from pressing his cock inside of you and filling you with his cum. but he couldn’t, not yet, he needed to watch you cum first. and he did. he watched you squeeze around his cock, felt you dig your nails into his arm as he fucked you through your orgasm, his cum spilling into you only moments after.

his arms wrapped around your waist as you tried to calm down, your thighs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. your eyes met his in the mirror again, there was a soft smile on his face. both of you were fucked out, on the edge of delirious, but that didn’t stop you from asking him an important question.

“so, when are we getting one?”

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

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#riize smut #sungchan smut #✧ melody posts #✧ hard hours ✧

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mypoisonedvine · 9 months

Text

𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | raymond leon x reader

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 | since you've managed to outsmart (or, more accurately, seduce) your last four bodyguards, your wealthy father decides it's time to take a new approach: hire a timekeeper to watch you. after all, a man who dedicates his life to the law can withstand the wiles of a spoiled, lonely girl... right?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 | 4.7k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 | dubcon smut (rough sex, daddy kink, choking, slapping, creampie, breeding kink, glove kink, degradation), age gap (raymond is ????, reader is early 20s), slight dd/lg undertones, reader is a bit dark and manipulative hehe

You were rolling your stockings up your legs, one of the final stages in dressing for the party tonight, when your bedroom door opened. “Hey, Ray,” you greeted with a purr as he stepped inside.

“Officer Leon,” he corrected you.

“Right,” you smiled, tilting your head. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

He scoffed, looking away, and you bit your lip— he was getting frustrated, in more than one sense of the word, and you were going to get what you wanted (like always). Boys are simply too easy.

This whole cat-and-mouse thing was starting to drive you a little crazy— none of the other bodyguards had taken this long to crack. But really, the anticipation just added to the fun.

You stood up and turned your back to him, hoping he was eyeing the V-shaped portion of your back he could see with your gown still open.

“Will you help me zip up my dress?” you asked sweetly, making sure your hair was out of the way and looking back over your shoulder at him sweetly. He sighed but stepped closer to you, but tugging on the zipper only lifted the bottom of your dress a bit— so he had to put his other hand on your hip to hold it in place as he pulled the zipper up, and you were thankful he couldn’t see your eyes flutter shut at the feeling. His hands were so strong, you could feel it even through the gloves— and those fucking gloves, shiny black leather, he knew damn well what he was doing to you. He just didn't seem to care.

"There," he said when he'd tugged it up to the top, stepping back, and you turned around to face him. The dress was more elegant than you usually went for: you traded in your lace and bows in pastel shades for a dark purple silk that fell to the floor.

"What do you think?" you asked, biting your lip. "Daddy picked it out for me."

"He has expensive taste," Raymond noticed, though he conspicuously didn't comment on your appearance. He was very uptight, especially about professionalism. You sort of got the feeling that if you could just pull one of his strings hard enough, he'd totally unravel: which is why you kept trying.

As he tried not to look at you, you gave him a slow look up and down. "Is that what you're wearing tonight?" you asked incredulously, pointing to his high-neck black sweater and long leather trench.

"I'm working tonight, so yes," he answered.

Everyone thought Raymond stuck out like a sore thumb in your room— his angular, dark form against the soft baby pinks and white laces around your bed, a hardened cop amongst the porcelain baby dolls and fluffy stuffed animals and gold-edged tea sets: but you thought he fit right in, standing there amongst all your playthings.

The party was a bit dull— you were having more fun toying with your bodyguard than anything else. “Try this,” you’d insist as you held up an hors d'oeuvre to feed him; he had to give in, he had to do whatever you said in front of all these people, but he glared at you as he leaned forward and took a bite out of the mini-tart.

You bragged to your father’s guests about your new bodyguard— or toy, as you called him more often. “Daddy bought him for me,” you’d say, “and he has to do whatever I want. Show them your gun, Mr. Leon!”

He only looked at you sternly again, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s sort of grouchy,” you explained to the amused dinner attendees. He didn’t react much, still standing there with his gloved hands held in front of him, but you saw a little tightness in his jaw.

Best of all, you flirted with as many suitors as you could get away with in a night, just to bother him. The tricky thing about a world without aging is men who’ve been around quite some time were still just as eligible for your hand as men closer to your age— you wondered if it would bother him more knowing that one of your father’s wealthy friends who had been alive at least 80 years was doting on you. Didn’t matter either way: you let them all stand a bit too close, put their hand on your lower back— you laughed too hard at their shitty jokes. All to make Ray jealous, but when you glanced over your shoulder at him, you could never catch a reaction.

After the guests had left and the staff had begun cleaning, you went back to your room to change. You’d coyly asked Raymond if he would watch over you during that, too, but he didn’t answer because he knew you were joking. It’s not like you were ever really serious… but you did want him. Not just for fun, and not just to prove to your father that there was no use hiring these bodyguards— he was fucking sexy, obviously. Definitely your favorite so far, and exactly your type… for how much he thought you were trying to tease and tempt him, he was the one driving you a little crazy.

Still, you kept your cool as best you could; you needed to keep control over him, and thankfully with him working for you, that was pretty easy to exert. (Well, technically he worked for your father, but it was close enough.)

“Oh, Mister Officer,” you called out to him through the door as you sat on your bed, hearing him step closer.

“Yes?” he asked, voice slightly muffled.

“I just need your help with something,” you explained, but he still hesitated.

“Are you decent?”

Damn, he wasn’t that gullible anymore. “Enough,” you replied, and he sighed before opening your bedroom door.

You were in your bra and panties now— but with your heels and stockings still on, of course; he lost track of his step for a second when he saw you, then frowned at you. “That’s not what I would consider decent,” he said.

“Well, I need your help and I wasn’t going to put on a turtleneck just for that,” you replied. “You’ve seen me in my bikini by the pool, anyways…”

And you’d made him apply sunscreen on your back as well; you smirked to yourself at the memory. “What do you need my help with?” he reminded you of the original topic.

“Well, these shoes are too small for me now,” you said, “I didn’t realize how much I’d grown since I wore them last…”

You hoped he’d find that a little intriguing, as someone who himself hadn’t grown in… you didn’t even know how long. He obviously never talked about it— for all you knew he could have been alive a hundred years, though he certainly didn’t act like it.

You lifted a stiletto-clad foot forward towards him. “Now they’re stuck. Will you help me take them off?”

He sighed that trademark, frustrated sigh of his, and you fought off a smile. “You can’t do that yourself?”

You shook your head. “I’m not strong enough,” you explained with a shrug.

Clearly not buying it but in no position to accuse you of lying, he knelt down in front of you. Taking the shoe in his hand, he looked at you with annoyance in his eyes as it slipped off easily.

“You’re so strong,” you cooed, wiggling your toes inside the pantyhose, then putting your foot down to hold out the other in front of him. “Now the other one,” you demanded.

He took the shoe off of you, tossing it aside, and you let your foot brush against his thigh as you lowered it down— just long enough to make it not quite believable as an accident.

“Now my stockings,” you continued, and he got up and started to walk away.

“You’ll have to do the rest on your own,” he insisted.

“But who’s gonna help me undress?” you pouted, and he stopped walking halfway to the door, dropping his shoulders a bit.

“I don’t know, how about you ask one of those boys that was sniffing around you all night?” he suggested, and you smiled proudly. Oh, you noticed that?

“I can’t,” you sighed, “you know Daddy doesn’t let me have any boys in my room— except you.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “because I’m the one who keeps the boys out of your room.”

“It’s no fair,” you whined. “It’s so boring up here by myself…”

“Please,” he groaned, finally turning around, “with all these things you have? You shouldn’t have any trouble being entertained.”

“You’re right,” you agreed, “I shouldn’t— but I do. There’s only one thing I really wanna do right now…”

You started to slowly and delicately run your fingers up your legs, spreading them a bit.

“But I don’t wanna have to do it alone…” you continued, blinking up at him as you saw his nostril twitch— could this finally be the moment you caught him?

In an instant, he stormed towards you and grabbed you by the neck. “So fucking spoiled,” he growled, his black leather gloves crinkling softly as you whimpered and held his wrist. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You think your father didn’t tell me what happened to the last four bodyguards?”

“I— I didn’t fuck them all,” you defended, voice a little thin from the pressure on your throat, “the third quit on his own—”

“Because he knew what would happen if he gave in to you,” Raymond sneered. “And so do I. You think I’ll give up on a job like this that easily?”

That was one thing that made Ray different than the others before— they were all professional bodyguards, used to working for the elite class. Most of them probably already had plenty of time, or could at least keep getting jobs of this caliber to earn a similar keep. But Timekeepers weren’t especially well compensated, paid daily but only paid just enough to keep going until the next per diem. He’d probably never had more than a couple days on his clock, and now he was earning a month a week just to babysit you. That was why your father hired him for this, you finally realized: he’d said before that he simply hoped a lawman would have a little more integrity and not give in to temptation with you, but it was far more than just that.

Raymond let go of your neck and tossed you back onto the bed, but just when you hoped he’d climb on top of you and pin you down, he scoffed and turned away. “You’re too young, anyways,” he said as he crossed his arms.

“Am not,” you denied.

“Your clock hasn’t even started yet,” he noticed.

“I’ve only got a few more years left,” you frowned, “but I’m still an adult.”

“Then fucking act like one,” he suggested sharply, and left the room with slam of your door.

You sighed, once again left frustrated with another unsuccessful attempt to get him into bed. But, you smiled, too; because you knew this was a step in the right direction.

Your father tried not to travel much, since it was one of the few things that exposed him to the risk of death. Wouldn't it be absurdly ironic, dying in a plane crash after living for hundreds of years and with nearly a millennium left on his clock?

Still, he didn't get all these years by sitting around in his house, he was a busy professional. And his work sometimes required him to leave for as long as a few weeks.

He had you come and see him off at the hangar, Officer Leon not far behind as you kissed your father on the cheek and bid him safe travels.

You loved when he left, it gave you a lot more freedom. But Raymond didn't know that, he just knew you were a billionaire's youngest daughter left alone in a massive mansion, and you'd already had planned for weeks how you could use that to your advantage.

You knew he was outside your door, you could see the shadow of his boots through the crack between the wood and the plush rug. Fighting off a little smile, you whimpered softly— but not too soft, he needed to hear it. The first one didn't seem to work, so you dropped your head and did it again.

He swung open the door a second later, and though he seemed relieved to find you alone and not being kidnapped or something, he still had to ask: "Are you alright?"

You sniffled and wiped at your eye, acting like you were trying to hide your tears as if it all wasn’t a performance in the first place. “Daddy’s gone away,” you pouted, “and left me all by myself… m’so lonely, Mr. Leon.”

“Officer,” he corrected, but his voice faltered when you looked up at him with big, needy eyes.

“I don’t wanna be all alone,” you whimpered, “I need somebody to take care of me… protect me…”

You rubbed your thighs together as you sat on the bed, toying with the lacy hem of your nightgown.

“Somebody big and strong,” you continued as he crossed his arms, “like you.”

His stare was icier than ever, yet those eyes still could’ve melted you if you let them.

“Will you be my new daddy while he’s gone?” you asked sweetly, biting your lip, and he tensed his jaw as he looked away.

“What do you get out of toying with me?” he asked sharply.

“Fucked, hopefully,” you smiled.

“You know, I’ve known a lot of women,” he informed you; you had no idea where he was going with this, but you liked how it started. “Rich, poor— prostitutes, politicians— young, or just young-looking. But I don’t think I’ve ever met such a brainless, insatiable little whore as you.”

You stood up from the bed, stepping closer to him carefully. “Really?” you smiled, taking it as a compliment, and that only angered him further.

“What is it that makes you think you can get whatever you want?” he wondered, his blue eyes like daggers as he glared at you.

“Experience,” you shrugged, reaching up to trace a finger over his lapel, but he batted it away harshly. “Ooh,” you breathed, “you’re a mean daddy, hm? The type that believes in lots of discipline?”

He didn’t respond, even when you stepped so close that your body was nearly touching his.

“I can be a good girl,” you promised sweetly, “for you.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” he snapped.

“Let me prove it, daddy,” you purred, “just give me a chance…”

You leaned in, wondering if he’d let you kiss him— he hadn’t backed away, but he hadn’t relaxed out of his bodyguard posture, either.

“Just make me yours,” you pleaded under your breath, lips nearly brushing against his.

Before you even realized he’d given in, he slammed you back against the wall with a hand around your neck, the other instantly grabbing you between the legs, and you mewled joyfully. “Fuck,” he snarled, like he was just as frustrated with himself as with you; his gloved hand roughly navigated up under your nightgown and into your panties.

Two leather-covered fingers slid inside you, and you arched your back up off the wall.

“Needy whore,” he grunted as he shoved his fingers deeper into you, making you whimper as your knees almost buckled. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes, daddy,” you moaned happily, though he slapped you across the face hard with his other hand right after you said it, and you yelped as you clutched your cheek.

“I’m not your fucking daddy,” he spat at you. “Such a goddamn brat— if I was your daddy, you’d have some fucking manners.”

“Teach me,” you begged, “fuck, please— I need to learn. Teach me right now.”

He let go of you, and pulled his fingers out of you, and stepped back slightly as he shed the gloves and his long coat. “Get on your fucking knees,” he growled, watching you slide along the wall onto the floor.

You didn’t need to be told what to do after that, you simply smiled as you reached up to rub the bulge in his pants. Unbuckling his belt for him, you had to catch your breath when you realized how big he was.

He smirked when you whimpered slightly while taking it out, stroking him as he got harder in your grip. “More than you bargained for?” he wondered smugly.

“Nothing a brainless, insatiable little whore can’t handle,” you promised just before leaning forward and taking him into your mouth. He gasped a little before humming in satisfaction, and you suckled as you swirled your tongue around his head, fitting what you could in your mouth and trying to coat the skin with your spit.

His hand suddenly held onto your hair when you started to bob your head, and he groaned when you choked slightly on the tip of him. “Fuck,” he whispered, “yeah— like that, baby…”

You moaned around him, not just for show but a reaction to the satisfying weight of him on your tongue— and the slightly salty taste of leaking precum. Your fingers brushed gently over his balls as you blinked up at him: you were pulling out all the stops, you wanted him to lose his mind over you even more than he already had.

He pushed your hair back, tilting your head further to meet your gaze. You thought he might speak when he opened his mouth, but you gagged on him again and he just sighed.

Your hand wrapped around the rest of his length that you couldn't reach with your lips, stroking him in time with the way you bobbed your head; and your other hand couldn't help but reach down between your bent legs, pressing against your core— bare, as you'd already thought ahead and forgone panties— and making you hum at the smallest hint of friction.

You were just starting to set a rhythm with it, the bobbing of your head and the stroking of your hand and the way you swirled your tongue… but of course he had to throw you off and shove your head down, making you choke again unexpectedly, as he groaned at the feeling. “S’what you wanted,” he reminded you, starting to roughly fuck your mouth. “What you fucking wanted, right, little whore?”

You could only barely nod with him holding your head, and your clit throbbed just from the way he looked down at you with his teeth bared.

“Fuck, just need a cock to choke on,” he growled. “Only way to shut you up, huh?”

He gave your throat a few more aggressive thrusts before pulling back, and you coughed and wiped your chin as you looked up at him. “It’s not all I wanted,” you reminded him when you caught your breath, and he smiled at you in a condescending sort of way.

“Right,” he recalled, tilting his head, “you wanted to be fucked. Poor thing.”

“Please, daddy?” you batted your eyelashes up at him, and he just laughed thinly.

“Nothing’s stopping you, princess,” he replied, holding his hands out, as if to suggest you come and take it. You couldn’t resist an offer like that.

Standing up and grinning at him, you pushed him back by the shoulders and down onto the bed, straddling his lap.

He smirked up at you; “Really need it that bad, huh?” he mocked as you pulled your nightgown up over your head and tossed it aside quickly.

“Uh huh,” you agreed with a nod, “need you so bad— you’ll let me ride your big cock, right, daddy? Please?”

But you were already lining him up to your entrance and sinking down, and you both groaned loudly as he filled you. “God, it’s so wet,” he hissed, watching you gasp as you lowered yourself further. “You get that wet just from sucking cock? Fuckin’ slut.”

Your eyes rolled back as the tip of his cock pressed further than you thought possible. “Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, “you’re so deep…”

“Yeah,” he panted in agreement, “can’t believe that little pussy’s taking all of me…”

You started to grind on him right away, holding onto his shoulders as you rocked your hips desperately. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you chanted, “it’s s-so good, it feels so good—”

He bit his lip as he watched you, and you loved how it felt to have those steely eyes looking up and down your body as you moved.

You'd been sort of on edge the whole time, sucking him off and all— not to mention that the foreplay with you and Raymond had started, in your mind, months ago when he was first hired. The satisfaction of finally having him exactly where you wanted him was nearly as good as the physical sensation… but it did feel incredible, the curve of his cock rubbing up against your spot with so much pressure that you shuddered all over.

His hands ran over your body, the strength of them more than apparent even when he was touching you somewhat delicately, and you moaned as his rough fingers punched your nipples.

You shifted from grinding down on him to properly bouncing up and down, arching your back to get the perfect angle as you both groaned. "Fucking tight," he mumbled his praise.

You held on tighter to his shirt, really wishing you could see him without it, but there was something hot about him still being in his uniform… especially when you were totally naked. It probably made him think he had more power over you, which was exactly what you wanted him to think.

Moving faster, you felt the pressure building inside you already, pulsing and swelling as you let your head drop forward to look down at him looking jus perfect underneath you.

He grabbed you by the neck, only to be unexpectedly sweet and pull you down into a kiss— but it was still a hungry, dominating kiss, one that made you whine and tense up inside as he tasted all over your tongue and mouth. And he didn’t let go of your neck, either, in fact he tightened his grip just enough to make you choke out a raspy moan against his lips, which you felt smirk a moment later.

“So good, daddy,” you mumbled into the last moments of the kiss. His hands moved down to your body, following your movements, and you pulled back enough to look at his face closely. “You’re so fucking good, daddy,” you praised again.

He groaned and held your waist tighter, making you hum and smile. "Little slut," he scolded through his teeth as you moved faster. “Show daddy how you make yourself come.”

You beamed as he really accepted the title for the first time. Sitting up higher and bouncing faster, you moaned loudly as you chased your high: shocks of sensation hit inside you, faster and faster the longer you continued.

You grabbed his hands off your hips and pinned them down beside his head, riding him harder while he smirked up at you. "So desperate," he cooed— but you could hear in his voice that he was close, too.

Whimpering at the feeling, you felt your walls bearing down on him as it nearly hit you— it was sort of difficult to come like this, since you could only move so fast, but the way it was drawn out just made you sure it would build up even stronger and hit you harder.

“Fuck, get off,” he warned, “gonna come.”

You grinned, biting your lip, and kept grinding your hips.

“Get up,” he demanded, but you just tightened your grip on his wrists. “Fuck, are you—?”

“Shh, m’close,” you scolded, feeling him try to struggle under you— but he was flexing inside you, too, and you knew he couldn’t hold back forever. He was obviously more than strong enough to fight you off if he really wanted, but it wasn’t about your body overpowering his— it was about you forcing him to give in to his instincts… to temptation.

“I swear to fucking god,” he groaned through his teeth, “if you don’t fucking get off me right now—”

“I’m coming, daddy!” you announced suddenly as you bounced on him even more fervently. “Oh my god, daddy, m’coming on your big cock! Yes!”

It felt great, don’t get me wrong, but you were definitely playing it up and giving him a real show as you tossed your head back, screamed out his name, dug your nails into his wrists— you wanted him to be totally helpless to you for just that moment. “Fuck!” he groaned, and you laughed excitedly as his cock pulsed inside you, heat flooding between your legs and his head falling back onto the mattress with the most gorgeous fucked-out look on his face.

“Oh fuck, come in me, daddy,” you demanded, rocking your hips and squeezing him tight for every drop, “wanna be so fucking full—”

He groaned through his teeth as it all started to die down a bit, scrunching his face up for a second before relaxing under you again; you felt his cock pump just a few more times, weaker than before, and you hummed proudly.

“God— oh my god—” he panted out, opening his eyes wide as he started to catch his breath, looking at you like you were crazy. You just laughed and bit your lip as you finally stopped moving. “What the fuck did you just do?” he snapped, but he still whimpered a bit when you deliberately clenched your walls around him.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “I just really needed some come inside me— been really in the mood to get bred lately—”

You giggled as he grabbed you and threw you down onto the bed, turning you both over as he held your arms tight and pulled out— he blinked quickly, his lips slack and still a little stained from your pink gloss, as he watched his come leak out of your pussy. “Fuck,” he snarled, clearly trying to use his anger and panic to hide how much it turned him on. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you realize what fucking happens if you get—?”

“Pregnant?” you finished for him, licking your lips excitedly. “Doesn’t it sound so hot though? You knocking me up, getting me all nice and full with your baby, ‘cause I’m so young and fertile— and then you can be a real daddy—”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he spat, sitting back at little on the bed and running his hands over his face in dismay. “You’re— oh god— I can’t believe this is happening—”

“Calm down, grumpypants,” you scolded with a smile as you sat up and looked at him closer. “I’m on the pill, haven’t missed one in years.”

Ray’s terrified expression fell into relief and frustration simultaneously. “Fucking— you could’ve told me that before,” he frowned, dropping his hands to his sides.

“But then I would’ve missed out on your little meltdown,” you laughed proudly. “You looked cute like that, panicking and thinking you really got me pregnant.”

He watched you get up out of the bed and snag your silk robe from off of a hook on the wall, slipping it on as you walked to the bathroom. You looked over your shoulder at him as you turned the door’s golden handle, smirking when you saw the dumbfounded look on his face.

“I think I could use a bath,” you explained, “care to join me, big boy?”

The look on his face was that sort of incredulous denial— like he couldn’t believe that you’d ask him that, expecting him to ever want to be near you again after pulling that stunt. “Are you serious?!” he choked.

“Of course,” you laughed, “I’m not in a joking mood anymore. Are you coming or not?”

He laughed in bewilderment and looked around for a moment, before sighing in relent. “Yeah, I am,” he admitted, sliding off the bed to come join you. You smirked to yourself; these boys are simply too easy.

#raymond leon x reader #raymond leon smut #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader

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tatsumessy · 1 year

Text

Missed calls - {itoshi sae}

“gosh you’re so fucking annoying. I wanted to call my girlfriend so that I could calm down from the huge amount of stress I’m already under and here you are acting like a nagging clingy psycho.” before any other words could be spoken you hung up the phone placing it on the nightstand.

Sae <3: I’m sorry.

Sae <3: y/n?

1 missed call

5 missed calls

12 missed calls

20 missed calls

hearing your phone ring once again you picked up up furiously screaming into the phone. “WHAT?” you yelled out of character, there was silence before he spoke, “you’re ignoring my calls.” without answering you slammed your phone on the nightstand not before turning on do not disturb.

you and sae had gotten in a pretty heated argument which ultimately ended with you hanging up the phone and ignoring it. he is in the states right now for a tournament so he can’t come to you. usually his sullen, dull, asshole personality would be just fine because that’s what you’re used too but this time he went too far.

he seemed like he didn’t even care. he wasn’t due to come back until next month so you opted to block his number leaving him with his “issues” that he has to deal with. if he thinks you’re clingy, fine. you’ll just go on about your business and leave him to do whatever he wanted. he always acts like he doesn’t want to be in a relationship so why not give him the freedom he’s wanted.

sae the moment those words came out his mouth felt like a dick. you were only worried because he had gotten trashed in an interview and it was shown on tv everywhere. he was frustrated and took it out of you, he knew the choice of words that he spoke was wrong but he said it anyways.

after you hung up on him he decided to wait until the morning to talk to you but his text weren’t going through and his calls weren’t either. “I’m sorry, the number you have dialed-” he tossed his phone on the hotel bed grabbing his head in frustration. his day was already starting horrible, usually you two would call each other in the morning and talk about what you’d do during the day so that you two knew when to call each other later.

two weeks passed and at this point he had called your number at least 40 times a day. any free second he had he would call you or text you, this is the longest you two had ever gone without talking to each other and he was seriously getting worried. getting back to his hotel for the night he laid down on his back holding his phone above his face. his phone was basically stuck on your contact card and that was the only form of you he had besides the endless albums of you in his photos or his rotating lockscreen picture.

he backed out of your contact and went to his brother’s reluctantly pressing the call button and waiting for him to answer. “what?” he spoke and sae was already rolling his eyes at his brother attitude. “can you check on y/n?” rin let out an annoyed sigh and sae could hear shuffling on his end of the phone. “y/n are you okay?” he heard you say yeah in the background confused then he heard more shuffling before rin spoke up again.

“she’s fine.” he was about to hang up but sae needed to ask, “why are you with y/n?” “we have dinner ever sunday together.” before any more questions could be asked rin hung up the phone leaving sae feeling more empty than he already was.

a month passed and now with him coming home he was excited to see you but he needed to win this game before going home to you.

you were sitting in your car outside of the stadium debating on whether or not you wanted to go in. you had never missed any of his home games and you didn’t want to start, you just kept going back to your argument. the night sae called rin, that was the only time he had ever come over to yours and sae’s apartment for dinner. you had spoken to him about what happened and even though him and his brother aren’t really that close he gave you good advice.

“sae is an asshole, that not a secret. he doesn’t think before he speaks and doesn’t think about the damage his words can cause. all I have to say is he has never called me for anything relatively important but he just called me to ask if you were okay. I can’t speak for him, he said what he said and now he’s paying the price for it. only speak to him when you are ready.” he ended with that before leaving.

last night when you unblocked his number all the messages and missed calls that you missed flowed through your phone all at once. tears prickled on your bottoms lash line reading all of his text messages. the last one had you crying yourself to sleep while hugging his pillow.

sae <3: this is the last message I’ll send tonight. tomorrow we’re coming back and I would love to see you. I know you are probably still upset with me and I would be too. I hurt the person I love so bad to the point where we haven’t spoken in a month. I miss you, I love you and if you come to the game and even though I’m we haven’t worked things out, if you wear my jersey tomorrow I’ll know that we’ll be okay. sweet dreams princess i love you.

he was right, you were still pissed but you missed sae, prior to the argument he’d been gone for a month already and that made you miss him so much more. the sheets didn’t smell like him anymore nor did his pillow. you wanted sae back but you weren’t going to make it easy for him. unzipping your jacket you slipped the long sleeve over your head then pulled down the mirror to fix your hair and makeup.

you sat in the VIP section in your normal seat playing on your phone until the game ended. everyone stood up leaving the area while you stayed put, you could see sae being interviewed by someone but because of the distance you couldn’t tell if he was actually paying attention which irked your nerves. he was always so rude to people whenever they interviewed him but went through with them because you asked.

a couple of minutes passed and once almost all the people were gone you noticed sae started to walk towards your direction so you stood up and walked down the steps stopping at the railings that was separating the two of you. “y/n…” he spoke stopping right infront of you, looking at him you kind of glared trying to hide how much you missed him. more silence filled his ears and out of defeat he dropped his head taking a deep breath.

suddenly a small quiet sniffle sounded and he looked back up with tears in his eyes. “I can’t lose you, I fucked up I know I did. if you want to punish me some more then do it but please stop ignoring me I physically can’t do it anymore, I can’t live without you.” standing there you looked at him in shock, he’s never cried before especially over something like this.

“meet me in the tunnel.” “no.” he quickly responded jumping up and climbing over the railing. he landed immediately taking you into his arms, you gasped at his action but ultimately wrapped your arms around him gently rubbing his back. for a quick second you could feel him shaking but you may have been imagining it.

he pulled back keeping his arms wrapped around you so that he could admire what he missed in these two months. “you look gorgeous, I love you princess.”

“I know you do, you and your 1,882 calls” he laughed awkwardly as you pressed a small kiss on his sweaty jawline smiling up at him. “I love you too.”

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mediumgayitalian · 2 months

Text

Nico really fucking hates capture the flag.

Well, not always. Last week was fun. Last week was the annual Everyone Against The Stolls (to atone for their crimes), and Nico got to chase Connor around at top speeds, cackling, committing his shrieking and begs for mercy to memory. That was nice. That almost made him forgive the fucker for digging a trench under Nico’s unwelcome mat for him to fall into at seven thirty in the godsdamn morning.

But tonight’s game is boring.

He’s been standing, alone, at the base of the flag for the past forty bajillion hours. He’d raised a few dozens skeletons to spar with at first, since animating them to fight himself isn’t technically against the rules, but that got dull fast. (It isn’t much fun sparring with a partner who doesn’t have a brain. He already has to do that enough with Percy when he comes to visit camp.) He’d climbed the various trees around the clearing, or at least he tried until he got reamed by the dryads for climbing on a manner that was too annoying (?), and tried his hands at a few summoning spells. Nothing held his interest long.

And now he’s just standing, doing nothing, and he’s not allowed to leave. He has to stay in this stupid spot on the off chance that someone comes stumbling over to fight him for the flag.

“You’re our best swordsman, she said,” he says mockingly, beaming the nastiest vibes he can manage in Piper’s vague direction. “We need you on our defensive line, she said. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.”

His checks his watch. He groans. He looks critically over the grass, looking for a softer patch, and when he locates it he throws himself dramatically upon it, groaning louder.

“This sucks!” he yells, to no one.

“Will you shut up!” shouts back the dryad he pissed off earlier. “For the love of photosynthesis! Fuck!”

He bites his tongue hard to hold back laughter. (If he can avoid getting his entire cabin overgrown with prickle bushes again, that’d be great.) “Sorry,” he calls, trying with everything he has to sound contrite. Convincing his father to fight the Titan War was easier, actually. Acting is not his calling.

“Hmph!”

At least listening to see if she’ll come out and yell at him again provides something to ease his boredom. Yes, he’s going to regret bothering her, but in his defense, solo guarding is cruel and unusual punishment. He’d rather sit by an outlet with a fork and see if he can poke and let go fast enough to avoid dying. That at least would be interesting.

A rustling of leaves recaptures his attention, and he pauses.

“Holly?”

When no one answers, which is odd because she’s taken every opportunity in the last hour to either insult him or pelt him with stones, he lifts his head.

“You’re not going to scare me, dude. I had my fear glands surgically removed to become a better soldier.”

Not true. Obviously. But a fun bonus of being the camp weirdo is that no one doubts anything he says. He’s working on convincing everyone younger than him that he needs weekly tributes of chocolate delivered to his door every Friday or the dead are going to take over the world. So far, it’s working.

“Look, Holly, I’m sorry about the zombie, okay, I promise it didn’t mean to sneeze part of its brain on you —”

The rustling sounds again, only this time Nico can see that it’s not Holly’s tree, and in fact she is nowhere to be found. Alarmed, he jumps to his feet, shifting so he’s balanced on the balls of his feet, poised to attack. Is Piper’s plan failing? Has someone actually managed to make it all the way over here without getting (gently, probably, although they lost the last game and Piper gets cranky without dessert) maimed?

The rustling sounds for a third time. This time, an armoured someone stumbles out of the underbrush, tripping over their own foot and nearly landing flat on their face.

Nico has his sword at their throat in a millisecond.

“Wo-oah, Morbius. That’s probably my least favourite sword you could stab in me.”

Nico goes bright red. “I have never wanted to stab you more than right this second.”

Will, chest plate skewed to the right, quiver completely empty, and black paint smeared under his eyes, snickers. He puts a finger on the tip of Nico’s sword and pushes it away from his neck.

“The opportunity was right there, babe. I couldn’t not.”

“You really, really could. In fact at all times, you should remember these words of wisdom: shut up.”

“…Damn. Inspiring.”

Nico rolls his eyes, but the effect is somewhat lessened by the smile on his face and the obvious pleasure in his expression. He’s even feeling merciful enough to accept Will’s kiss, although his sword keeps a good amount of distance between them. (Will’s on the blue team, after all. It would be unprofessional to be fraternizing with the enemy.

…Well, too much, anyway.)

“What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be with the other archers, sitting in trees and causing havoc.”

Will shrugs, grinning lazily. “I quit. This game is senselessly violent and I’m Against It On Principle. I’m a pacifist, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Nico raises an eyebrow. “I assume this doesn’t count you choking Cecil out in a headlock, this morning.”

Will opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He closes it again.

“Cecil is my mortal enemy,” he grudges after a moment. “He doesn’t count.”

“‘Course not. Not like you cried for two hours when he went to visit his mom last weekend or anything.”

“Will you — stop saying I cried. I barely teared up, okay. Barely.”

Nico can’t quite force down the stupid grin that pulls across his face, matching Will’s, nor can he resist grabbing the leather straps of his boyfriend’s armour and hauling him close.

“You better not be here to distract me,” he mumbles, leaning close and pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, the corner of his mouth. Will hums, settling his hands on Nico’s hips.

“Nope. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Drama queen.”

“Excuse — I am the least dramatic, I’ll have you know. I’m a pinnacle of solemnity. I am a shining beacon of stoicism. I am — mmfh,” He trails off. “Okay, doing this now, mhm.”

Nico smiles triumphantly into the kiss. Will, he has found, is very easy to shut up, despite his long-running nickname of Motormouth. It’s almost like he has an off button that can be accessed only by Nico sticking his tongue in his mouth. Nico is doing his civic duty, honestly. He should be compensated for his service.

(‘Course, doesn’t hurt that Will smells, like, really good, all the time, and his lips are soft as hell and he is actually quite the kisser, in fact. That is definitely a fun bonus.)

He smooths his hands over Will’s shoulders, travelling up the sides of his neck and settling in his hair. Will keens, slightly, when he wraps a finger around a frizzy golden curl and tugs, slightly, when he scratches his nails along his scalp. The rush of power at the feeling makes Nico dizzy, and his sword clatters to the ground as he busies himself with more interesting — and important — things.

Like pulling more of those sounds from his boyfriend’s throat. Or making his knees buckle, again, like he did the other night — gods, that was good, it made Will flush scarlet and Nico feel like he was fuckin’ floating, to have Will so needy and touchy and totally at his mercy —

“Free line to the flag! Go go go go!”

Nico startles, whirling towards the sudden cacophony of noises. To his horror, what looks like half the camp, helmets shining with plumes of blue, comes pouring into the clearing, weapons raised, voices mixing in one long, victorious shout. He lunges for his sword, but before he can grab it, two strong arms tighten around his torso, pinning his hands to his side.

Immediately, he knows he’s been set up.

“Oh, you — fucker!”

He feels the curve of Will’s grin against his neck. “First shower privileges for a whole month, baby.” He noses along his jaw, pressing an apologetic kiss to his cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”

Nico struggles, aghast, watching the once-red flag shimmer in Lou Ellen's hold to a bright, shining blue. “I am breaking up with you, you traitor, you Iago, you vixen — ”

Will snorts. He ducks down and pecks Nico on the lips, again, and again, and then shifts to his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his temples, his forehead, and all over his face, making louder and louder mwah sounds until Nico is laughing, punching his shoulder and shoving him away.

“Okay! Okay. Let me go, you villainous toad. We will discuss how much you’ll have to grovel for my forgiveness after Piper finishes yelling at me for getting distracted.”

Will presses one last kiss to his nose, smiling cheekily before stepping away, heading towards his boasting team. “Enjoy that lecture! Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Nico rolls his eyes, resting his aching cheek in his hand. “Love you too, asshole.”

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pupkashi · 8 months

Text

nightmares

satoru has nightmares, but so long as you’re there he knows he’ll be okay

a/n: hi friends ! here is some comfort that our favorite sorcerer desperately needs <3 i hope you guys like this and thank u for the request !

wordcount: 1,115

masterlist

satoru was a deep sleeper, and despite facing horrifying and haunting curses day after day, never once did it bother his sleep schedule. he had never once had nightmares about the things he had grown so used to facing, until after his battle with sukuna.

“this is it for you, gojo satoru” the curse smirked, satoru was exhausted, he’d been fighting for hours now and he didn’t know how much more he had left in him. “I’ll tell that lover of yours you didn’t care enough to make it home to them,” the words making him want to get up, to keep fighting.

but his body was heavy and he couldn’t move, and he tried and tried and tried, but the king of curses only smiled down at him wickedly, “so much for the strongest,” he laughed, the sound making his ears hurt, sukuna’s cursed energy surrounding his hand as he swung it at his face.

satoru shot up quickly, a thin sheet of sweat covering his forehead as he tried to steady his breathing.

“‘toru? what’s wrong?” you mumble, still half asleep as you sit up next to him, hand fumbling across the nightstand and flicking the lamp on. “you okay?”

you’re rubbing your eyes, hair still a mess as you finally open them, taking in satoru’s frantic expression. his chest is still rising and falling rapidly and the expression on his face gives you all the answers you need to know.

“sorry i didn’t mean to wake you up” he sighs, his large hands rubbing his face, “let’s go back to sleep.” you frown at his words, not bothering to turn the lamp off as you stare back at him.

“you had a nightmare didnt you,” it was less of a question and more of a statement. you could make out the bags under his eyes, his once sparkling eyes looked a little dull as he forced a smile on his face.

“i don’t have nightmares,” he scoffs, and his chest hurts a bit as soon as the lie leaves his mouth. you don’t say anything as you turn the light off, laying back down and watching as satoru does the same.

he’s quiet as he lays down, his back facing you, eyes wide as he tries to steady his heart.

i won, im safe, you’re safe, i’m home.

the words rattled in his brain, repeating them over and over softly. his eyes fluttered shut for a second, flashes of the battle filling his mind as soon as he did. ‘so much for the strongest.’

his eyes shot open again, the familiar sight of your shared bedroom not bringing the comfort he hoped it would.

you hadn’t taken your eyes off him since he laid down, and your heart ached as you watched his unsteady breathing. talk to me, turn around, anything. you’re sure it’s been over ten minutes when you scoot a bit closer, your hand ghosting over his waist for a second before finally placing gently on him.

there’s a relief that washes over you when you make contact with his skin, a silent sigh leaving your lips as your thumb rubs gentle circles into his side.

satoru tenses for a second, the familiar feeling of your palm calms him, and he can feel his heartbeat finally steadying. there’s a sense of serenity as he feels you scoot even closer to him, your legs nudging his and tangling the limbs together.

he doesn’t say anything. not when your breath is tickling his neck and your arm sliding around his waist, pulling him gently to press his back against you.

“I’m right here,” you whisper, your words are a gentle assurance to him, “you’re okay, angel boy.”

he blinks away the tears forming in his eyes, letting himself relax for the first time since then. you can see his shoulders fall a bit, and you can physically feel his muscles relax under your touch.

you’re okay, he’s home.

“sorry,” he mumbles, his voice weaker than he’d ever want it to be. he can picture the scowl on your face as you smack his gently.

“why are you apologizing? you don’t need to apologize” you remind him, “I’m always here for you pretty boy.”

he can’t help but smile a bit when you squeeze him a bit tighter, your lips pressing feathery kisses on his shoulders. he feels safe, he feels at home in your arms.

there’s a beat of silence before he’s finally turning around and facing you, his messy white hair covering his eyes a bit. you don’t miss a second as your hand reaches out to brush it out of his face, your fingers running through his hair and settling on the back of his neck.

“I’m the strongest, i shouldn’t be like this,” he mumbles, not daring to meet your eyes.

you bite your tongue, going through your words for a second before finally pulling his head into the crook of your neck. satoru doesn’t fight you, melting into your touch as he nuzzles himself further against you.

“you’re satoru gojo before you’re anything else,” you sigh, “you’re allowed to be scared, it’s okay to get emotional,” the press of your lips against the top of his head is enough to make his worries disappear.

you don’t say anything else, opting instead to let your actions say what you couldn’t. you’re holding him closer, running your hands up and down his back soothingly, whispering occasional sweet nothings.

there’s no telling how long you stay that way, only trying to move when your arm is falling asleep.

“toru my arms asleep,” you giggle, expecting him to grumble and move, but nothing happens. “toru?”

the only reply you get is a soft snore. your crane your neck a bit, satoru was fast asleep nuzzled against your neck. his brows weren’t furrowed and looked peaceful for the first time since his return.

you smile softly at him, heart fluttering as he instinctively pulls your closer to him when you wiggle a bit.

“goodnight, angel boy,” you whisper, letting your eyes close, grateful to have your lover home.

you didn’t mind that your arm was asleep and your whole body would probably hurt in the morning. you didn’t care that his soft snores and gentle complaints next to your ear would probably wake you throughout the night. all you cared about was him finally getting the sleep he deserved.

and when you wake up the next morning, and he’s smiling sheepishly up at you, telling you how much he loves you and pressing playful kisses all over your face, you’re prepared to do the night over everyday for the rest of your life.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

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tarrynightss · 4 months

Note

heyyyy 😻💗 (girls before requesting the nastiest shit)

ok so sukuna fcking reader (fem preferably but can be gn too) so hard just she doesnt feel pleasure it hurts, like shes not crying shes BAWLIN' her eyes out, shes begging for him to stop and then she actually cant cum she just shakes and shakes and then hes actually stopping like a cute aftercare with him reader just cries in his arms (a little) because it hurts.

(ovbiously only if you are ok with it)

thankss 💗

Heyyy 🤭 Oh hell yeah I’m down, a nice caring moment with Sukuna.

Tags: Smut, rough sex, hint of dacryphilia, stopping sex because of pain, comfort, aftercare

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Your hands balled in the sheets in front of you, your back arching as Sukuna fucked into you from behind in wet slaps. The strength of his thrusts would’ve shoved you forward if it wasn’t for his hands firmly holding you in place, high pitched moans spilling from your lips as pleasure built inside you. His cock hits perfectly every time.

Sukuna shifts to have one hand grip onto your hair, harshly pulling you up till your back almost reaches his chest. The new angle makes him slide deeper, causing him to growl against your neck. The sensation of his hot breath followed by his teeth digging into the soft skin makes your eyelids flutter, lost in it till a sharp thrust pulls you out. You try to shake off the sting you felt, but as he continues thrusting harshly into you, it happens over and over again, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“S-Sukuna,” you whimper out, one hand weakly moving back to push at his hips.

It feels like he’s going uncomfortably deep, making you grit your teeth whenever he bottoms out with a loud slap. The sharp pain has tears form in your eyes, squeezed out when he tugs at your hair fast and hard. The cry you let out doesn’t sound too out of place, only managing to spur Sukuna on as he bites down on your neck till you’re sure a delicate bruise is blooming there. You try to shift the position slightly, but he holds you too firmly, and more and more tears flow from your eyes till your chest is heaving. Your pussy throbs painfully, all traces of pleasure gone as you can only feel the pain now.

“S-shit,” you shake in his grasp as you try to form words, your lips wobbling. You’re full on sobbing now, but not from the usual intense pleasure.

Sukuna is completely oblivious to your pain, lost in the haze of his own pleasure and not noticing anything out of the ordinary yet.

“Stop!” The words burst from your mouth. “Stop please, Sukuna!”

You feel him freeze against you for a second, his body going rigid before he quickly pulls out of you. His hand lets go of your hair and he swiftly puts you on your knees on the bed, his features warped by worry.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

You’re still heaving, fat tears falling from your eyes as you try to catch your breath. Not getting an answer from you, he carefully spreads your folds with his fingers, examining if he can see any injuries or blood. He relaxes slightly when he notices none, but still there’s something obviously wrong for you to react this way. He lays down on the bed and pulls you against him, making you lay on your side and cuddle up against his chest.

His hand strokes over your hair, shushing you gently. “Breathe, my sweet, you need to breathe.”

It takes a few more minutes of crying in his arms until slowly, you start calming down, the pain still present but now more of a dull throb. You wipe a hand over your face, embarrassment heating it as you realize how badly you freaked out.

“S-Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to panic that badly,” you mumble out.

Sukuna quirks an eyebrow at you, his arm wrapping tighter around your waist. “I don’t care about that. Are you alright?”

You testingly squeeze your thighs together, relieved to find that the pain doesn’t get worse when you do. You nod. “Yeah, I think so. I’m not sure what happened, but somehow it really hurt when you changed positions.”

He hums as he takes in your words, a contemplative look on his face. “I see.”

A silence blooms between the two of you, and you interpret it as him being displeased. You bite your lip before springing to your knees, your hand sliding teasingly over his bare chest. “I can go again now. It’s fine.” You form a sheepish smile on your face despite the still present throbbing between your legs.

A deep frown etches its way onto his face at that, and he slightly sits up. “No, it’s not. I like seeing you cry on my cock but not because you’re hurting, so lay down.”

Sukuna is never one to mince words, making you feel both more embarrassed and relieved that he’s not expecting you to go again. When you lay down, he’s on you in a matter of seconds, pressing a kiss against your lips before trailing his mouth further downward, keeping eye contact with you as he does so.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles the words against your flesh over and over again as he trails from your chin down to your stomach. It’s a rarity to hear him say it once, nevermind so many times in a row.

The kisses aren’t heated like they usually are when he moves down your body like this, instead intensely gentle. You watch with wide eyes as he stops right at your mount, giving the plush flesh a long, loving kiss before apologizing again. Your heart flutters in your chest, all negative emotions swiftly fading as you watch him. When he moves back up your body, he kisses you again, cupping your face in his hands.

His intense red gaze pierces yours as he holds you. “What do you need? Say it and you’ll have it.”

You know he means it. You could say the most ridiculous thing out there right now and he’d stomp out to make it happen.

Your smile widens, sliding a hand through his soft hair. “Maybe we can take a bath? It still hurts a bit and maybe the warmth can help.”

He nods and swiftly picks you up, making you giggle as he carries you to the bathroom like royalty. Sukuna makes sure everything is how you like it, sitting behind you to function as your pillow as he watches some bathbomb fizz and color the water a deep shade of purple. He doesn’t get all of this necessarily, but that doesn’t matter. As long as you’re getting comfortable, then he’s satisfied, resting his chin on the top of your head and massaging your lower stomach gently with his fingers.

#sukuna x reader #smut #jujutsu sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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pedgito · 2 years

Text

𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐩 ✧ ˚ · . 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: eddie's got a late night bone to pick with you; only one minor sexual inconvenience in the way, but that doesn't stop you from picking up his call and eddie doesn't want to hang up either.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), virgin!reader, phone sex, mutual masturbation, really talkative reader & eddie (these two never shut up), lots of dirty talk, small innocence!kink, mentions to reader's body (only compliments, no descriptions), if i missed anything pls let me know.

word count: 3.4k — part two, part three

The deep coiling heat undulated through your entire body, fingers curling inside you at an angle that wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do. That dull ache digging at you, like an annoying itch you couldn’t scratch. It felt close, yet so far of that you couldn’t even reach it. You sighed harshly, eyes drifting close in hopes that maybe it would help—anything, just some peace and quiet, forcing your mind to focus on the feeling of your body and nothing else, finger dipping into your the slick wetness of your cunt, dragging up slowly toward your clit—yes, that helped. You breathed deep, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves, that familiar tinge of want and pleasure radiating throughout your entire body, building, and building—-

The bloodcurdling ring of your phone cuts through the air, nestled in the corner of your bedside table. You’ve never wanted to smash something into pieces so much in your entire life.

Who the fuck could be calling at this time of night?

You yank the phone from its resting place, cord wrapping around your wrist in the process, but you couldn’t be bothered to fix it. You lean over the bed slightly, settled onto your side, before answer with a very clipped:

“What?”

“Who pissed you off, princess?” Eddie fucking Munson.

It never failed.

“If you keep talking, it’s going to be you.” You retort, still mildly aware of the hand tucked between your legs, not touching anymore, but hovering, waiting for this painful phone call to end.

“Harsh.” Eddie replies, feigning a weak implication of hurt in his tone. “I just wanted to let you know that you grabbed my dice by mistake after the campaign tonight.”

Fuck. You squeezed your eyes closed, tapping the speaker of the phone against your head in frustration. You had been so quick to rush out of there today, you didn’t even think, blindly grabbing your shit and hightailing it home.

“And I hate to make a big deal about it, but those are my lucky dice.” He points out. You can’t help the eye roll that escapes you, Eddie could practically hear it through the phone.

“And this couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” You ask impatiently. The man was wasting precious time, time that you would be spending doing something much more enjoyable. “I’m busy.”

It comes out, a Freudian slip. You could’ve just assure him you’d bring them in the morning and the conversation would be null and void, but no; now Eddie was intrigued.

“Busy? It’s midnight—what the hell could you be busy with right now?” He asks, attempting to compile a list of reasons but coming up with a big fat goose egg.

“Sleeping, Eddie.” You deadpan.

“You don’t sound like it.” Eddie says honestly. “Wait, were you—“

“Eddie!” You yell, a desperate attempt to stop where this conversation was headed—but Eddie, ever the persistent.

“Ha!” He laughs, seemingly clapping his hands together over the phone, “I knew you weren’t so innocent—all that bullshit about never being kissed and—“

“Ed-die,” You stress, begging him to tone down the teasing. It wasn’t that you felt ashamed, everything you’d told him was true. You hadn’t explored much outside of yourself—you know your body best and that was all that mattered. Why did you even need the help?

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes sincerely, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, really. If I had known, I would’ve just waited until tomorrow.”

“There’s no way you could’ve, dipshit.” Eddie snorts at the nickname, savoring the bite in your tone. “Besides, it helps me sleep.”

“Shit, me too.” He laughs softly and you can’t help but laugh either, though it only lasts a few seconds before you’re mentally shoving your hand over your mouth, begging your brain to process shit before it comes out of your mouth. “It’s not that easy, is it? Trying to concentrate and everything.”

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion, wondering why he hadn’t just hung up the phone. But, he continues; you can’t help but listen.

“Not when I have meatheads like you bothering me,” You snark, the dull ache in your cunt still hadn’t settled, and you really hated yourself for your next move, but it was necessary.

Your finger rubs over your clit gently, slow enough that you can keep your composure, but allow just enough relief that it wasn’t bothering you as much.

“Not a meathead—That’s reserved for Jason and his band of assholes.” You could appreciate his mutual distaste, feeling bad for stacking him in with them.

“Sorry.” You meant it.

“It’s fine, princess.”

You’re so used to the term that it really shouldn’t bother you, it hardly ever does, but with your hands down your underwear, attempting to work yourself through a desperately needed orgasm, you couldn’t help but play it in your head, the sound of his voice, like a tape on repeat.

And this felt so wrong, but Eddie noticed your prolonged silence. He leans into it, nudging you further.

“Do you need help?” He asks innocently, his voice remaining it’s normal bravado, but you can feel the anticipation in the way he waits for your answer.

“With touching myself?” You ask boldly; what a night this was turning into. “I think I’m good on that.”

“No with, you know, getting there.” He says coyly and you can hear the should shrug through the phone, the way his head tilts to the side innocently. “I can help, if you want.”

“You wanna help me orgasm?” You ask, still gathering what little sanity you had left for the night. “Over the phone?”

“Sure,” He says easily. This didn’t feel real and maybe you were having some fucked up dream you’d wake up from any moment; another weird sex dream, albeit almost always involving your one particular friend, who just so happened to be on the other line offering up his services, selflessly, “but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

And why wouldn’t you be? Aside from the potential awkwardness of having to face Eddie at school after this, it didn’t seem like a terrible idea—and Eddie was never the type to shove a situation like this back in your face, he knew your boundaries. Plus, you’d kill him if he ever did.

“Okay,” You agree, voice hesitant. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Shit, okay.” He answers, half-expecting you to back out.

You doubled down, “I don’t have a lot of time, so make it quick.”

Quick. Eddie could do quick—except he’s never done this before and has no idea what to say or do, he was going in blind.

“Uh, well,” He laughs at the absurdity of the upcoming question, “what are you wearing?”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, glancing over the outfit you were wearing. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” He answers truthfully, “if it helps, I’m only in my boxerw—you know those ones you like to make fun of, they’re got the bats all over them.”

You laugh at the memory, Eddie bent over in front of you during Hellfire a few months back, moving some of the boxes full of theatre costumes since the group was forced to share a room and the other kids refused to put their stuff away properly. “How cute.” You'd told him and Eddie’s face burned a deep shade of red. He didn’t say anything, only pulling his pants up higher.

It was an interesting visual, you couldn’t lie. “Uh, I’m in my underwear, too—and a, uh, shirt.”

“Which one?” He asks curiously.

“Um, Hellfire, that black one. I think it's yours, actually.” Somehow that felt like the most scandalous part about all of this, being coached through your orgasm by not only your resident dungeon master, but someone who you consider a friend, “It’s nothing crazy, sorry.”

“No, no,” Eddie interrupts quickly, “That’s fine—are you—are you touching yourself, right now?”

Eddie’s free hand is resting over his boxers, palming at his growing bulge, not as satisfying as he wants it to be.

“Yeah,” You nod without thinking, feeling ridiculous after the fact, “For a while now.”

That slow, tantalizing pace you had on your clit wasn’t helping. You clear your throat, pressing harder. “You can touch yourself, too—if you want, I mean. I won’t mind.” Your face is hot with embarrassment, but it didn’t feel fair; he should be able to enjoy it too.

Eddie can feel his dick twitch against his hand, the idea of you having already been touching yourself before he even suggested anything; not that he had planned any of this, it was completely spur of the moment, but he couldn’t help himself now. “I am,” He replies after a beat, “I’m just touching myself over my boxers—kinda sucks, though.”

“Oh,” Your voice lilts, feeling that small tinge in your gut at the sight of Eddie holding his dick in his hands—you’ve never seen it before, nothing to compare it to or imagine, but still; you were picturing it, “Well, maybe you should actually touch yourself, you know? It only seems fair.”

Eddie exhales slowly, fingers shoving under the waistband of his boxers, taking hold of himself—it’s the first time he’s touched himself all week and he was in over his head, this was a terrible idea.

“God,” He sighs, falling back against his pillow, phone tucked firmly between his shoulder and ear, tugging gently at his shaft, “do you—you have anything you think about?”

“Not really,” You lie, “I just kinda—do it.” You lie again.

Eddie laughs softly, the soft sounds of his creaking bed frame were faint, but you could still hear them. It was the only thing you could think about; Eddie spread out, hands down the front of his boxers, tugging at his dick like his life depended on it.

You circle your clit absently, finger sliding down to dip inside of you. You mewl softly, letting the sound pass through your lips.

“What about you, Eddie?” And it shocks you, realizing it’s the first time you’ve said his name since you’ve started this dangerous back and forth. It comes out broken, wrapped snugly in that blissful pleasure you were trying to reach and Eddie hears it—the curse under his breath a telltale sign that he was just as wound up as you.

“Got a lot, too much to describe—never as good as the real thing, you know,” Eddie says absently, his hand an insistent tug at his cock, swelling to full hardness in his hands. He wipes the pad of his thumb over the slit, the small bit of precum helping ease the slide down, “there’s so much you’re missing out on, princess.”

Your virginity was never a main topic of conversation and Eddie didn’t make it a big deal either, but he knows how inexperienced you are outside of your own body; he wants you to enjoy it, wants you to experience how good it can feel.

“Wanna tell me about it?” You ask innocently, the pitch of your voice picking up on a certain stroke of your finger, palm dragging against your clit.

“I can’t speak for women, but for men—it’s pretty fucking good,” He starts, occasional gasps peaking through his voice, “it’s warm and wet and really tight, sometimes when they squeeze down on us—uh, it’s good. So fucking good.” Eddie tries not to sound too crass or dirty, afraid it might scare you away.

You laugh softly, his unique way of describing things never fails to surprise you, “What’s your favorite? You like when—when girls go down on you?” It’s really just curiosity, your mind racing through a million different thoughts.

Eddie huffs out a small chuckle, stopping to—what you could only guess—spit on his hand, and that had you clenching around your own fingers. It felt primal, in a way. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. But I, uh, like going down on a girl more—I got off once to it.”

And it shouldn't turn you on as much as it did, but goddamn if you weren't interested in hearing all about that. All common sense out of the window, you ask, “Really?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, his voice still unnaturally calm, “I was younger, but it was nice—she made all these noises, pulled my hair too hard—I didn’t think I’d like it as much as I did, but then she came while I still going down on her and it just happened.”

You sigh softly, “I’ve always wondered what it felt like,” You admit openly, “something other than my hand, it’s gotta be good, right?”

“You’ve really never done anything?” Eddie asks hesitantly—it didn’t feel judgmental, Eddie was curious; half leaning toward delirious from his sleep-deprived state.

“Never even kissed anyone, Eddie.” You say regretfully, hand stopping for a moment. “But, I’m not clueless—I’ve just never had any first hand experience.

There was a long pause, your breath catching in your throat. You can hear him on the other line, but it’s muffled. “Eddie?” You ask quietly, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, yeah,” He sounds a little breathless, “I was getting ahead of myself, had to slow down a bit—“

“Oh.” It’s small, feeble in the way you answer him.

“You still touching yourself?”

You nod again, feeling ridiculous. “Yeah—I am. I can’t focus, though—that’s been my problem all night.”

A problem that Eddie had just the remedy for.

“Do you trust me?” He asks and your answer is instant, not a single worry in your mind.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Close your eyes,” You take a small breath, letting your eyelids fall shut, “Tell me what feels the best.”

You breathe, allowing the fear of embarrassment shed from your body, losing yourself in the conversation fully. “Uh, fingers help a little—but, this is hard to do with one hand, I usually have two, that way I can cover all my bases.”

Eddie snorts at that, a smile spread across his face. “Just squeeze the phone against your shoulder,” You quickly maneuver it, shoved properly up by your ear, allowing your other hand to reach down and touch your clit properly, fingers an inconsistent rhythm as they pump into you, still, you can’t stifle the needy moan that slips out.

“Okay,” You sound shaky, “That’s—that’s a lot better.”

You feel like it’s going to be too bold of a question and Eddie would run away immediately, but you’re too fucking curious not to ask, since he was literally jerking off on the other end—it seemed like a perfectly fair question to ask.

“Do you—What do girls usually say about—you?” It was the worst way to approach the question, but Eddie isn’t too bad at realizing the context.

“Are you asking what my dick looks like?”

He couldn’t believe this shit was happening.

“Yeah, maybe.” You answer sheepishly, “Like I said, nothing to compare.”

Eddie grins, eyes scanning over his own dick briefly.

“Uh, it’s about eight inches, give or take.” He offers, “You could definitely fit both of your hands around it, if you tried.”

There’s a beat of silence, Eddie feeling like he fucked up—it slipped out, it wasn’t a suggestion; not the he didn’t want your hands around his dick, he’d be lying if he said that out loud.

You give a small noise of acknowledgment, feeling the heat coil in your stomach—surely you weren’t thinking about Eddie’s dick. But, of course you were. “Maybe we’ll have to try that out.” You say boldly, hoping that it would elicit some type of reaction from him.

“Fuck,” It definitely worked, “Yeah—yeah, maybe we could—I could even—even, go down on you, if you wanted.” He's too worked up, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

“Yeah?” You breath, followed by a small moan from the drag of your slick covered finger over your sensitive clit, rubbing the small bundle of nerves impatiently. “Think I could make you come?”

“With those pretty little noises?” Eddie asks redundantly, “I’m a fucking goner.”

You laugh softly, choked out by the sound of your own desperate noises, the pace on your clit picking up, fingers moving on their own accord. You can’t even focus on the fingers inside of you anymore, moving a free hand toward your breasts, still slicked fingers catching against the soft bud of your nipple.

Eddie strokes himself faster, recklessly almost. He groans so loudly into the speaker that you almost lose it, phone slipping away from your ear.

“Fuck, are you okay?” Eddie asks, hazy from the grip he had at the base of his dick, desperate to keep from coming. His entire shtick was to help you, not himself; but he was failing miserably.

“Sorry, I almost dropped the phone.”

“Oh.” He’s being cheeky, you can hear it in his voice.

“Shut up,” You exhale, returning yourself to the task at hand; regardless of Eddie’s smugness. “Thought you were supposed to make me come, not tease me all night.”

“Help you,” He corrects, “Not make you—though, I mean—that’s not totally off the table.”

“Eddie.” You warn.

“Right—I guess it’s not hard for me,” Eddie starts again, voice thick with want and tension, “All I have to do is think about you with your hands between your legs and those tits—god, they’re probably perfect, I haven’t seen them, but I know. I know.”

It was like he’d dialed everything up to ten, not bothering to hold back any longer, the pleasure taking away any filter he had.

He was thinking about you, of course—it made sense, but it didn’t snuff the pulse that grew between your legs, only making it much, much worse. Whatever line was drawn was crossed the moment you agreed to this, all bets were off.

“Wish it was your hands instead,” You respond wantonly, the pad of your finger rubbing quick, small circles against your clit, “they’re so much bigger than mine.”

You gasp, gripping desperately at the sheets beneath you, no doubt having soaked through the cover already from how wet you were, it was unlike anything you’ve felt before—it was better.

“Forget my hands—can’t get the sight of you sinking down onto my dick out of my head,” He admits earnestly, groaning through the quick tugs on his shaft, his tip leaking with a copious amount of precum, bring his hand back down to squeeze at the base. Eddie has never edged himself like this before, it was almost painful. Almost.

“I don’t think it’ll fit, Eddie.” The moan he lets out is loud, guttural—the sound of skin against skin louder than ever through the speaker, he’s close. “Is that what you want? To be my first?”

“Fuckfuck—yeah, I do.”

You can’t even think anymore, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

“Want you to ruin me, Eddie.”

He’s past the point of trying to keep himself quiet, openly moaning through the receiver, “Fuck—say my name again, please.”

And you do; again and again, your cunt spasming underneath your hand, reaching the precipice of what you had been dying for all night, his name a plea as it cut off into a desperate moan.

“Shit—I’m so close—.” Eddie growls lowly, his high hitting him almost immediately after, coming all over his chest and his sheets in shirt spurts, tugging harshly at his dick.

He’s never come so hard in his life.

“You’ve gotten a fucking mouth on you.” He says breathlessly, on the way down from his orgasm. “Would’ve never guessed.”

You smile warmly, hand slipping out of your underwear to rest against your stomach.

“You tell anyone and you’re dead,” You chide playfully, the beautiful feeling of sleep creeping up on you, “but thank you, Eddie, seriously.”

“Always at your service, princess.”

You laugh through your nose, the realization of your actions finally settling in. It didn’t feel wrong, but it didn’t feel right, either—though, you couldn’t be bothered to care now; all bets were off.

“I’m holding you to that, Munson.”

Eddie shrugs on the other end, unbeknownst to you. He wiped at the mess he’d made with his shirt, tossing it to the floor lazily. “So, not a one time thing then?” He asks hopefully.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

A pause, Eddie clears his throat.

"I still want my dice, by the way."

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #my writing #1kfic #5kfic

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