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ceilidho · 30 days

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.

And then it lingers.

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

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lowkeyremi · 2 months

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JJK CHARACTERS AND THEIR ICKS

basically things they do that make you upset. this is a joke so please do not attack me. y'all already know i never miss a chance to slander gojo!!! credit to my sweet mutual lene (@satorisoup) for giving me this idea!!! GO READ HER'S (if you're into haikyuu)

Gojo

PLEASE. He 100% leaves his clothes on the floor and it really grates your nerve when the hamper is RIGHT THERE!!! and he just leaves them right in front of it. It's so embarrassing when you have guests over and they just pull a dirty sock from between the couch cushions.

Yuji

I love him but I just KNOW he leaves toothpaste in the sink. It's like he doesn't understand the concept of rinsing the sink out after you brush your teeth. You'll finally be making your way into the bathroom to brush your teeth and there's dried spit and toothpaste in the sink.

Megumi

Always. talks. back. It does not matter he always has something to say. "Well you could have just taken out the trash like I asked you to." and he'll say something snarky like, "Maybe if you weren't so soft spoken I would have heard you." BOY SHUT UP BEFORE YOU GET SLAPPED.

Geto

He is a HUGE gossip. "Mimiko was telling me about xyz yesterday." He just doesn't know when to shut up. People think Geto is a very quiet and kept to himself kind of person but when he knows you he will not stop talking shit.

Toji

There are so many things I could say but the worst of them all is the fact that he will wear the same pair of underwear more than twice. "Toji... are those the same fucking boxers you had on Thursday?" You can see the hem line of his boxers and it looks like the same pair from Thursday. He sets down his cup, "Uh, probably. What's today?" ... "IT'S SUNDAY. JUST WASH YOUR CLOTHES!"

Nanami

He's overbearing with tasks. He forgets that you know how to do things and will bug you until he knows you've done them. "Don't forget to take your car to get an oil change soon." You nod.

A few hours later when he returns home, "Have you gone down to get the oil ch-"

"Kento! The love of my life. I know. I'm going tomorrow." ... "Oh, okay. I'm sorry."

Nobara

Leaves her plate/bowl/etc on the table. You've reminded her on multiple occasions that she needs to do it but she just forgets. "Food was great!" She yells with a smile. In no time she's up from the table sprinting to the living room. "Nobara.. your plate." She freezes, "Oh shit right. I'll get it!"

Maki

She snores. It's not the cute kind either, it's the loud obnoxious kind that prevents you from sleeping. You've tried to get her to change her sleeping posture and find other ways to help but it does. not. matter. By the end of the night she will be holding you close. Your back pressed against her front and loud snores ringing in your ear.

Inumaki

Never gives you any kind of warning when he's going to fart he just does it. HE KNOWS they're a lethal weapon but finds it funny whenever you're screaming at him and gasping for air. God forbid he ever farts while you two are in bed because a dutch oven from him is probably enough to kill you.

Shoko

She laughs whenever you trip or get hurt in any kind of way. She doesn't even mean it she just does it. Like say she sees that the pavement is uneven she doesn't say anything and watches you trip, just to laugh about it. "Okay okay okay, I'm so *giggle* sorry. I should have said something, let me help you up."

Sukuna

Thinks because he's lived for a long time he knows everything and then he gets mad when, "This stupid little talking box won't work." (his phone) "This shit is broken again." He complains throwing it to you. "Dude.. it's powered off. 'Mr. I Know Everything.'" He rolls his eyes at you, "I do know everything you shit for brains." You scoff, "See if I ever help you turn on your 'talking box' again."

Choso

He's always second guessing you. He doesn't even realize it either. The two of you will be driving and he's like, "Are you sure you know where we're going? Should I pull up GPS." YOU KNOW WHERE YOU'RE GOING CHILL. He's just really cautious though which is why he asks a million times.

#jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #yuji x reader #megumi x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #nobara x reader #maki zenin x reader #shoko x reader #sukuna x reader #choso x reader

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ratcash-wasgud · 3 months

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・❥・Loser!Mizu Headcanons・❥・

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Firstly, I'd like to apologize for how deranged this came out towards the end, so mdni pls pls. Secondly this is a Loser!Mizu x Rebel!Reader typa shit, so it will get specific at times. My requests are open, btw.

Okay, enjoy ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

I stand by the fact that Mizu would be a huge loser. Like girlie grew up not really interacting with anyone but her mother and Eiji and doesn't really like meeting new people (Ringo for example)

She'd get shy, and you can't change my mind. She'd blush a lot, especially on her nose. Blud turns into Rudolf the moment she's embarassed.

She'd be the type to dress like literal Adam Sandler, then try to casually pull her shirt's sleeve up to flex her muscles.

She'd say shit like "Oh, these? I dunno, they just...spawned here." All while knowing damn well she spends half of her life at the gym.

She'd still wear shades all the fucking time, but not to hide her eyecolor, but because she thinks it's cool, and because she mained Johnny Cage in mortal kombat.

She'd listen to corny ass music like Joji, Hozier, maybe Mitski or even The Front Bottoms and bop her head agressively. Then she'd deny the whole thing and say that she was listening to Playboy Carti or Drake.

She'd be in the basketball team, but would be horrible at teamwork. She wouldn't pass, she'd just go for it everytime. She'd miss 20% of the time, and then yell something like "It wasn't my fault, this bitch was breathing down my neck!" or just groan loudly out of annoyance.

She'd be very drawn to water. She'd visit the beach very frequently, but the local aquarium even more often.

Mizu was standing before a smaller aquarium, looking at the spotted, green fishes' quickly pacing around between the glass walls. She came here right after basketball practice, so she was quite sweaty, and tired but being here, for some reason, always charged her energy. Her hair was in it's usual bun, but her shades were now closed, and were hanging from the neck of her shirt. Her eyes were shining in the dim blue lighting as she slowly placed her fingers on the glass. Suddenly, she almost jumbed backwards when she finally realized someone was standing next to her. She turned her head to the side and saw you. It was fucking you. It could've been anyone else, but no. You.

You and Mizu had a couple classes together, and you were one of the most prettiest girls Mizu has ever seen. She saw you on campus a lot, smoking in the parking lot, yelling at one of the fratboys because he parked his dumb car in a way that your motorbike would get stuck next to it, or literally running from one of the professors. She never talked to you though. She never had the opportunity, or at least that's what she told herself. In reality, she was just a coward.

Bit still, she would be lying if she said your face hadn't popped up a couple times when she touched herself. There was just something about you that always caught her attention. You didn't know her, but she felt like she knew you. Everytime she had a basketball game, she looked for you in the crowd. You were rarely there, and even if you were, you'd leave halfway after throwing food at someone. Still, she'd do her best, trying to impress you, knowing damn well you won't give a shit.

"What?" You laugh right in her face. "Scared you? Or did the Discus' mesmerized you so much you forgot you were in public?" You say, turning your gaze to the fishes.

"E...excuse me?" Mizu manages to croak out, her eyes widening. Why are you talking to her like you two have been friends for years? It's not like she minds, but it sends her anxieaty flying. It's her first time actually talking to you, of course she's nervous. She has rehearsed this a couple times in her head, planning to quickly guide the conversation towards how good she'd be at beating people up, (because she knows how much you do that) but now that it's actually happening she's pissing her pants.

"The Discus. Rot Turkish Discus, to be specific. The fish you were drooling at." You press a finger against the glass. "Pretty cool ones, I'll give you that. They can change the pigment in their body if they're stressed or sick." You say, casually dropping a "by the way did you know" kind of fact. One she didn't know.

"Oh." Mizu looks back to the fishes, but actually she's just looking at your reflection in the glass. "You like fishes?" Great. Stupid ass question.

"Yeah, kinda." You shrug. "They're interesting, but I'm here because they have bugs on the second floor." You point up with a small, lazy grin. Mizu remembers that, but never went up there. Bugs were never really interesting to her, but...maybe today she will. She mentaly notes that you like bugs.

"Hm." Mizu hums back. "If you think about it," She starts, glancing at you to check if you're still paying attention. "Fish are kinda like...water bugs." She says, and even shrugs for good measure. She needs to look like she doesn't give a shit.

You let out a laugh. "What a genius." You roll your eyes. "There are actual water bugs though, but I'm willing to overlook that." You say, then walk past her to look at the next aquarium, and Mizu just follows you withouth even thinking about it. "Cichlid." You say, pointing at one of the pinkish fishes. Mizu realizes how little she actually knows about fishes eventhough she comes to this aquarium a lot. She just likes watching them. "A very pretty one at that too. Jewel Cichlid if I'm correct." You say, almost as if thinking out loud.

It's as if Mizu became mesmerized. She walked along you trhough the whole aquarium, then followed you upstairs to the bugs. She listened you naming all of them, then telling her fun facts like 'An ant-eating assassin bug piles its victims onto its body to scare predators' and 'Ticks can grow from the size of a grain of rice to the size of a marble'. You were someone who'd always caused trouble in school, saying it's all bullshit and how fucked the system is, but you were actually very educated. On animals, that is.

She never really cared about people being smart or not, but right now it was the most attractive thing ever.

And with that, you unintentionally ruined her life. She was fine-ish with having this little hallway-crush on you, but now that she actually interacted with you for two full hours, she's fully in love.

And somehow that makes her frustrated.

She'd walk with Ringo on campus, listening to him ramble about this new dish he cooked and how she should totally come over and rate it when you suddenly dash by her, probably escaping from some football player you made mad again. Mizu would freeze, then mutter "why the fuck is she so cool?!" under her breath and lightly punch Ringo on the shoulder.

You're so hot it makes her mad.

You two didn't really talk after that though, just casual greetings in the hallway, and sometimes sitting at the same table in the cafeteria, but that was it. Still, it was more that nothing.

One time you started a fight with one guy outside of the parking lot because "he dick rode a teacher while the teacher was making bitchass bigot jokes".

You left the guy with a broken nose, and would've made it a broken jaw too if someone wouldn't have stopped you.

Akemi recorded the whole thing, and Mizu needed to discreetly beg her to send it to her.

She couldn't help it. Seeing your sweaty form, your face scrunched up in anger, your knuckles blood stained...it wasn't enough to see it just once. She had to watch the video on loop.

She'd wonder if you'd make a similar face in bed too. She'd wonder if you're a top or bottom.

She'd wonder if you're even into girls at all. It seemed too good to be true though.

Still, watching that video over and over again made her mind wander.

"Fuck..." Mizu mumbles out as her fingers finally reach her folds under her boxers. With her phone in hand, the video of you beating the shit out of some guy playing, your huffs and groans on full volume in her headphones. She closes her eyes, and imagines you kneeling between her legs.

She had a long day. She argued with Taigen, listened to Akemi whine about this guy, Takayoshi, then Ringo kept talking about this boring ass anime he watched about a broke God, or whatever...plus, she didn't see you once today. She couldn't catch a whiff of your smell as you walked by, or she didn't hear your sharp and raspy chuckle, or saw your smug grin. Torture at it's finest.

Is she proud of it? Nah. It's embarassing as hell to masturbate to your crush who probably forgot you even existed, but hey, a girl has to blow of steam somehow, right? And you just couldn't leave her head. It gotten to the point where she can't even watch porn, unless one of the actresses look like you, which is...rare. You're too good looking to be compared to sluts like that.

She imagines that it's your hand that is slowly circling around her clit as you whisper in her ear. Things like "You're so warm...I can't wait to taste you" or "You want this as much as me, don't you? Mizu..." and it gets her to buck against her fingers.

She licks her lips as she imagines your pussy hovering over her mouth while you slowly finger her. She imagines your taste, and how'd you drip on her face before you allow her to dive in.

She'd eat. Oh, she'd devour.

She saw your ass in jeans before, and it made her clit throb in public, so she just knows it's perfect when it's bare. She quietly moans your name as her fingers work deeper, placing the phone down to only listen to the audio, her other (now free) hand moving up to tease her hard nipples through her shirt.

She slowly pumps her long fingers inside herself, her back arching on the bed. She whispers your name as she imagines you slowly lowering yourself on the strapon she has inside her drawer.

She doesn't know why she has that toy though. She has only ever been with one person, and that was a guy. It happened years ago, back when she was still in denial about her gayness, and when she was still living with her homophobic mom. But after she first masturbated to the tought of you, she impulsively bought the light teal strap on dildo, just in case you ever somehow ended up in bed. She'd fuck you just the way she imagines it right now (lies, btw, she'd freak out and cum after two seconds). But still, there's no harm in having dreams.

She'd watch your tits bounce as you ride her, her hands firmly grabbing your ass. You'd moan her name, hair falling in your face as you lose yourself in pleasure. "Fuck...so fucking pretty...loving my cock, aren't you?" Mizu coos into the air, her thumb circling her clit as her fingers move faster inside her, agressively curling into her g spot. "Yes...Mizu, it feels good..." You'd moan back as you throw your head back when she starts thrusting her hips upwards, fucking you from under, leaving you no choice but to lean on her for support, pushing your beautiful plump boobs so damn close to her lips.

She'd suck on your nipples until they're red and puffy while she brings you to your climax. You'd love her cock, she's sure. She got the one that was the same teal that was also the color of one of your bracelets. Small, almost stalker-sih detail? Yeah, but she imagines you'd be impressed.

Afterwards, she'd lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, post nut clarity hitting her hard. And the next day, she wouldn't even be able to look at you, withouth getting embarassed...and horny. Oh only if you could hold her for real.

#bes mizu #blue eye samurai #bes x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #fanfiction #mizu fanfic #bes smut #smut #bes headcanons #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu headcanons

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awfcspencer · 3 months

Text

Sweet N Low || alexia putellas x reader

alexia putellas x reader

prompt: Alexia and you are in a friends with benefits situation, but what if you each realize you each want something more but at different times.

warnings: angst, smut (top!alexia with bottom!reader), begging, fingering, strap

a/n: inspired by sweet n low by lily kincade with some of the lyrics slightly modified to fit better.

Part 2 Here

“She leaves my place at 3 a.m. She’s just here to take the edge off”

“Alexia… please I’m close” You beg out, gripping the white satin sheets. You and Alexia had been at it all night.

Alexia was kneeling with her face between your legs as she sucks on your clit with a harsh tug every so often. Her fingers knuckle deep in your heat as she watches you come apart under her. The panting breaths and the moans leaving your mouth filled the room as Alexia pounded into you.

“Cum” is all she needed to say.

Feeling the familiar tight coil in your stomach. Your back arches off the bed and your hips buck forward as you reach orgasm for the third time tonight.

“Fuck” Your raspy, breathless voice cries out.

Alexia helps guide you through your high as your legs spasm and your thoughts are no longer clouded with the stress of the work week that you had experienced, but rather drunk off the way Alexia is touching you.

Alexia didn't want to stop, she had to keep going. She didn't want to face the reality that when you were done, you would leave. You never spent the night. No post-sex shower or cuddles. At the end of the night, Alexia would be all alone.

Alexia licks another hot stripe up your sensitive heat as you try to pull away from her, knees buckling. But she is a lot stronger than you, placing a hand on your stomach as she pushes you back down.

“Alexia” you whimper out. The room is hot, sweat droplets have formed on your forehead.

“One more. I know you have one more.” she demands. She continues her ministrations on your clit, her tongue buried deep inside you, sending ripples of pleasure throughout your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to reach your high and Alexia knows it. She can tell by the way your thighs tighten around her head, moans becoming louder. You ride out your high and Alexia cleans you up with a warm towel and grabs the water she had placed on the nightstand.

You lingered in her bed, in her arms, as your body comes down. Far longer than you meant to, but not nearly long enough for Alexia. But now you need to go, another long work week ahead of you. It’s routinely at this point. You collect your clothes of the bedroom floor that Alexia threw off when you had first arrived and leave. No hug or kiss goodbye, just a forward head nod and a promise to text her when you arrived home. It was easiest this way you thought, not wanting to ruin what you had going on. Alexia was there to take the edge off.

Each time you left, Alexia felt a piece of her heart break, not that she would ever tell you that though.

“I like it when she misses me. So, I make it a habit to be keeping myself busy.”

Meetings, meetings, and more meetings. A high executive job that requires your upmost time and effort. You had worked your way up the corporate ladder on your own. You had rightfully earned everything that came to you.

In the middle of another late night spent at the office, you hear a ping that gains your attention. An all too familiar ping at this hour.

A simple text from Alexia, ‘Come over.’

You had been plenty busy prepping for a huge presentation that could be influential for your career. Maybe purposefully ignoring Alexia, secretly loving when she missed you. Wanting to hear her beg, beg you to come over, just like when you have to beg her to let you cum. You click the call button and it barely rung twice before Alexia picked up.

“Hello.”

“Quick answer. Must be extra needy.” you hum out, knowing you were riling her up, getting on her nerves. The sex was always better this way.

It was an interesting dynamic between the two of you. You held the power in deciding when you would go over, when you would let her fuck you senseless. Alexia held all the power in the bedroom though. It was the easiest way to forget everything going on. To clear your mind. A release. Letting Alexia guide your body to a release.

“Come over.” she demanded again in a stern voice. You can tell she meant every word, a tiny hint of desperation that only you would be able to pick up on though.

“Now you know that is not how it works Alexia.” It was like giving Alexia a taste of her own medicine. You needed to hear it, hear her beg for you.

“Please.”

“Please what Alexia?” You knew you were already going to give in to the desire. Packing up your belongings and swiftly exiting the office.

“Please come over.” Alexia begs.

“Now was that so hard? I was already on my way.” You baited her and did it successfully. A small huff leaving the midfielder’s mouth right before you hung up.

—————

A desperate Alexia was always means for rough sex.

Pounding into you from behind as if her life depended on it. Hips hoisted upwards with help from a pillow. Your ass in the air, Alexia’s favorite view, bent over begging as she stroked in and out with impeccable pace. An impending orgasm sitting in your tight stomach.

Alexia quickens her pace, hitting deep with every thrust. Pleasure is rippling through your body as you began to quiver, desperate to let go. But you knew the rules, Alexia’s rules.

“Ale… Please, please… let me cum” You didn’t think you could hold any longer. Your words came out in breathy moans. The tension in your core ached and your legs were sore, Alexia was on one tonight.

The nickname had slipped out of your mouth. An accident that was quickly forgotten as you tried to not reach your high without her permission.

Alexia was blindsided by the nickname, you always called her Alexia, never Ale. Thoughts of what this could possibly mean, were you falling for her like she was falling for you? Caught up in the moment she almost forgot to let you let go.

“Cum for me.”

Her words were the final straw, sending your body over the edge. She coaxes you through your orgasm, slowing down her movements and eventually pulling out.

The routine began again, the warm towel and the water. Each night, for some reason that you weren’t necessarily sure of just yet, you would spend longer and longer in Alexia’s arms. Her strong arms wrapped around your smaller body, it was comforting and safe.

You had to leave though, the routine would be broken. It worked better this way. Alexia understood the rules, understood why they were put there in the first place. A late night hookup, friends with benefits situation, nothing more. What happens when one wants more though?

The nickname you had used for Alexia sent a wave of confidence through her body. She wanted you to stay. She wanted to spend the night cuddling your warm body. She wanted to make you breakfast in the morning and spend the day on the couch watching a film. She wanted you to stay. She didn’t want to be alone anymore, she wanted you.

Trying to untangle yourself from the Spaniard, you can tell she is lost in thought. Like she was trying to figure something out in her head.

“Stay?” Her voice was vulnerable and quiet. She knew that it was uncharted territory, uncharted for a reason. Her eyes locked in a staring match with yours. She could tell it was a battle deciding in your head.

Should you stay or should you go?

Against every single fiber in your body that screamed no, you lied back down, your chest finding her back as you relaxed into her.

As you dozed off in her arms, her scent invading your nose, you swore up and down that this was a one time thing. In no way shape or form would you be staying over again. It could ruin the setup you two had, no one was supposed to catch feelings. Tonight was just different. A one time occurrence.

Unfortunately for Alexia, she was far to deep. Since the arrangement had been made, she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that she fucked up, she had fallen for you. Besides the life altering sex the two of you had, in the small moments where the two of you were actually friends, she could see your humor, you always managed to make the usually serious captain laugh. She loved the passion you had for your job because she had it for hers too. Your smile made her smile, your laugh made her laugh. Ultimately, Alexia knew she had fucked up, she had caught feelings when the one simply rule was don’t catch feelings.

Waking up early the next morning, Alexia was set on making a lovely breakfast for the two of you to enjoy. Her smile quickly falling though, your side of the bed was cold and empty. Alexia thought that maybe, just maybe, you also wanted something more, but she guesses she was completely wrong. Your absence speaking volumes. A single text message on her phone from you, ‘home’.

Ever since you had stayed over that one night, you found yourself staying over several nights after that, but always leaving before Alexia woke up.

Alexia was hurt, more than hurt. Her heart was broken. She couldn’t keep doing this to herself, it wasn’t fair to her. It seemed obvious that that feelings were not mutual so she forced herself to move on, she had to, or she would never get over you. She knew a girl at the local cafe near the training grounds who was interesting, maybe she would finally take her up on her offer for a date.

You had left a few hours before Alexia had woken up. It was the routine. You could not fall for Alexia, and you hadn’t, yet. Pushing the thoughts of Alexia to the back of your mind as you start yet another busy week at work.

“Yeah, she says she talks to other people. But I guess that’s okay if we’re both saying that we’re single.”

Alexia had been distant the last few days. Your texts were delivered, you were sure of it, but there was silence from the other end of the line.

You thought about calling her, missing her. Her body. And secretly maybe her strong arms and comforting post-sex cuddles.

You had tried so hard to force yourself not to fall for the girl, but maybe you had? Maybe you had fallen for Alexia?

Thankfully Alexia had shown signs of life and requested you to come over. You hadn’t seen her in a few days so you hoped tonight would be rough. But it wasn’t.

Alexia took things slow, kissing every inch of your body, almost as if she was savoring the taste of you, like she wouldn’t ever taste you again. Forcing Alexia lower as you were getting impatient, she suddenly stopped and sat up.

“Is there something wrong” You asked, thighs rubbing together to get some sort of friction to where you really needed it.

“I’m talking to someone.”

Her words hit like you like a truck. You had just gotten to a place where you had accepted maybe you had fallen for the girl. The girl who even when she fucked you raw, always made sure to clean you up and give you food and water. The girl who stayed up after rounds of tiring sex to make sure she received your text that you had arrived home. The girl who shared similar interests and passions with.

Fuck, you had fallen for Alexia when she clearly hadn’t fallen for you.

“Oh… yeah that’s good, yeah good for you. I um, I’ve got to go, early meeting tomorrow.” You quickly reply. Needing to escape not only the embarrassment, but also the pain in your heart.

Collecting your clothes, just like in the routine, you couldn’t bare to make eye contact with her. Tears begging to leave your eyes. And as you walked out of Alexia’s home for the last time, you had come to terms that Alexia simply hadn’t felt the same. You didn’t expect her to, you were both single anyway, a situation-ship that had to end sometime right?

#woso x reader #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #woso one shot #woso soccer #woso blurbs #womens soccer #woso couples #woso smut #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni

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nordschleifes · 4 months

Text

life is what happens to you

➝ the life of a mother is not simple but it does not surpass that of the mother of a child who, in theory, does not exist to the world

➝ word count: 5,8k

➝ warnings: mentions of smut, coparenting.

➝ author's note: let's just say the idea of a formula one driver having a secret son gave me ideas.

The doorbell made you jump from the couch, relief filling your chest. As you walked to the apartment door, the sound of laughter made you smile. Finally your heart was home. When you opened it, you found a man and a little boy standing in the doorway, both with huge smiles on their faces.

— Mamá! — the boy exclaimed, throwing himself into your arms as he laughed.

— Hi, my love — you replied, pressing a kiss to his brown hair — How are you? I missed you so much.

— I missed you too, mamá — he murmured, his head nestled against your sternum, his hands resting firmly on your back, as if he were trapping you between his arms. After what felt like an eternity away from him, you never wanted him to let go.

— How was your week? — you asked.

— It was good — the boy replied, turning his head toward the man behind him — I biked a lot, didn't I, papá?

You looked up into a pair of brown eyes that were similar to your son's. The man in front of you had a tender, soft expression. One of his hands gripped the handles of a carry-on bag that you’d packed, and the other was stuffed into the pocket of his dark jeans. He looked exactly the same as the night you had met a Richard Mille event, seven years earlier.

You had been working as a designer for the watch brand for a few years at that point, and had gained a reputation for creating some especially bold pieces. At that time, you were celebrating the launch of your newest creation, the RM 19-02, which featured the first automatic movement for the brand, featuring a magnolia flower that opened and closed as the internal mechanism moved.

Seeing people enchanted by your creation, praising the little details, felt incredible, but all of it became background noise when an incredibly well-dressed man stopped to look at the display. You had seen his face before, but you couldn’t recall his name.

— This is yours, right?

— What? — you asked, half confused by the vagueness of his question, half captivated by how smooth his accent was.

— The design. It’s yours?

— Yes, it's mine.

He smiled.

— I can tell.

— Why? — you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

— It's beautiful like you.

Before long, he had introduced himself as Fernando and that he was a longtime friend of Richard Mille himself. You had a feeling that he wasn’t just any ordinary guest at the party. As the two of you continued talking, he started talking about cars, but you’d long stopped paying attention. His lips were of much more interest to you than the words coming out of them.

Ending up in bed with Fernando felt inevitable. Later that night, you didn't care about the marks on your neck or the volume of your moans. You didn't care how tightly he held your hair or how your hips bumped against his. You didn't mind when he mumbled something about the condom, his words were all lost in the post-orgasm haze.

Three months later, you realized that maybe you should have cared a bit more.

Finding yourself calling Fernando and then showing up at the front door of his house in Lugano with a positive pregnancy test in your purse made you feel like you were in a bad serial drama. You were fully prepared for him to humiliate you and tell you that it couldn’t have been him, that he would have never gotten a woman pregnant on a one-night stand. A pit formed in your stomach as you braced yourself for the inevitable paternity lawsuit you would have to file.

To your surprise, though, he didn’t take the news badly. He didn’t look angry or shocked, but contemplative. He asked you a few questions about birth control and the morning after, but when you told him that you’d forgotten to take the morning after pill in the blur of the hangover the next day, he sighed.

— Well, I guess we're going to have a baby, then.

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

— What…?

He looked at you, his gaze serious.

— You don't want to? I mean, don't you want to continue with the pregnancy? Of course, I'm not forcing you to do anything, if you don't want to continue, we can look at our options and, and I’ll help you pay for the procedure, of course…

— No, no, I want to have this baby... In fact, legally I can't do anything at this point — you stuttered, shaking your head — I mean... Aren't you going to ask for any proof?

He knit his eyebrows together.

— Do you want me to take a paternity test to verify?

— No, not because I have any doubts, you were the only guy I had sex with in the last few months. It’s just — you said, letting out a nervous laugh — It’s just thought, I thought you’d react in a very different way.

— Different?

— I thought you would be pissed and that I’d have to leave here and find a lawyer — you said softly.

Fernando smiled, taking one of your hands.

— I always wanted to be a father. It’s not the most conventional way, but now that I have the chance, I won't waste it. You can count on me, Y/N.

He had been sincere in offering his support. It wasn’t just monetary, either; even from the first few doctors appointments, Fernando was nothing less than the best co-parent you could have asked for. He was sincere in his willingness to wade waist-deep into the world of pacifiers, dirty diapers, doctors’ appointments, and toys.

However, the joy of having him around didn’t come without a lot of sacrifice and sadness.

Before long, you realized that Fernando was incredibly famous, especially in Spain, his home country. Because of this, and his incredibly public persona as a Formula 1 driver, a lot of legal rules had to be established with regard to the baby. His best friend and business partner, Alberto, diligently drew up a document outlining a custody schedule, restrictions on posting any identifiable images of the child, a future move — paid for by Fernando — when the child came of school age, and an agreement not to disclose the child’s paternity. It was all to protect the privacy of you and your baby, Fernando said.

However, it was worth it, and still was, especially when you saw the sparkle in your son's brown eyes. He was named Leon Alberto Luis, after Fernando’s best friend and father. All the effort was worth it when it came to your little boy, the greatest love of your life.

— Yes, we biked a lot — Fernando replied, looking up at you after dropping your son's bag on the ground — We went all around Parco Ciani, didn't we, Leon?

The boy nodded excitedly.

— And what else did you do? — you asked, as you stroked his hair.

— We played football and papá ordered Japanese food for us...

— Calamari? — you asked, looking up at Fernando again.

— As always — he replied, putting his hands in his jeans pocket. Even after seven years the similarity between Leon and Fernando still caught you off guard. It wasn’t just the physical similarities, either, but their personalities were almost identical. They both were shy at first, but had a great sense of humor once they were comfortable with someone. Both of them were also incredibly witty, with intelligence and mischievousness in equal measure.

— That's good, my dear — you replied, kissing his head — Now, say goodbye to your father and go straight to the shower.

— Do I have to take a shower now? — the boy questioned.

— Yes, you do. I could smell the sweat as soon as the car pulled up.

— I told you she would smell it — Fernando said to your son, ruffling the boy's hair — Now come here, let me give you a kiss.

Leon walked over and hugged his father tightly, his face pressed against his belly. Bowing down a little, Fernando placed a kiss on the boy's forehead and murmured something in Spanish to him, who nodded his head.

— Don't forget to ask, okay, papá? — the boy said, toddling off to his room with his overnight bag. As you looked back up at Fernando, he seemed to have a sheepish look on his face.

— You have something to ask me? — you asked, giving a small smile.

— Yeah, you could say that — he murmured.

— And what would it be?

— I wanted to know if you could... Not that, it's... If you'd like to bring Leon to a race at the end of the month — Fernando stuttered, running a hand through his hair — You know, it's going to be my birthday on the weekend and … You know…

You clenched your jaw. It was a tense subject between the two of you.

The first and only time you took Leon to a race track was, in short, a disaster. It was at the end of 2018, when Fernando had decided to retire from Formula 1 to dedicate himself to other projects, and to spending more time with Leon. The last race would be special, and he wanted his entire family to be there, including you and his son.

However, the steps that Fernando and his team had taken so that you and Leon could enjoy the race in peace was all for naught when journalists began to speculate who the woman and child were who were accompanying the Alonso family around the paddock. In the end, the plan to watch the race from the McLaren garage went down the drain and you ended up hiding away in a small room inside the McLaren motorhome, trying to calm down a screaming four-year-old boy because he wanted to see his father on the track and not on a screen.

— Fernando…

— I know Abu Dhabi was a disaster, I know — he interrupted you — But it was stupid of me to take you to a place where I would be the center of attention, but this time it's different.

— Different how? As far as I know, your season has been brilliant.

The shadow of a smile appeared on his face.

— Are you watching it?

— Leon keeps me updated. He’s watched every single race. Six podiums in eight races, right? — you said, leaning against the doorframe.

— That's right — Fernando said — The last few races weren't so good, but I believe we can recover, and having you and Leon at the track would be wonderful.

— That's why he told you to ask me, right?

He pursed his lips before letting out a heavy sigh.

— Yes, Y/N — he replied — But, like I said, this time it will be different. My parents and sister won't be there, so it will be easier for you to blend in with the rest of the team’s guests…

— Look, Fernando, I would really like to…

— I asked for normal credentials, without my name, so that you can enjoy the weekend — the driver continued — Please, Y/N, it will be so good to have you there with me, and on my birthday...

— Fernando…

— He even told me what he's going to wear, it's going to be that lime green Kimoa sweatshirt...

— Fernando! — you exclaimed, interrupting him — I know you love Leon, that you want him around but, as you said when I got pregnant, we have to protect him from the media circus.

— I know…

— So you understand that taking him to the middle of a paddock for a race is not the best way to do this, right? I know you both love Formula 1, but we can't risk his safety and privacy because of this.

— But I want him to watch me race…

— And he watches you, Fernando, every weekend. He loves watching you on television, he screams every time you make an overtake. But we have to face the reality of it, and you know that it’s too much of a risk to his safety and privacy. You know that more than anyone.

— I know, which is why I took so many extra steps this time — he replied, running a hand through his hair — Forget about it, okay? When I get back from Spa, let's see about doing something together, okay?

— As long as it's not on a go-karting track — you said, laughing a bit.

— I can't promise that — Fernando said, putting his hand back in his pocket — See you, Y/N.

— See you, Fernando — you replied, as he turned and headed towards the elevator. After a few seconds of staring at his back, you finally closed the door, letting out a long sigh.

It was hard to be the person who said no. However, it was often necessary to curb the impulses of both Leon and Fernando and bring a rational view of the situation to make decisions. Of course, you wanted them to have the most normal coexistence possible, to be able to do normal things that fathers and sons did, but, above everything else, you needed to protect him, even if it meant having to deny what would probably be an amazing experience for the boy.

— Are we going? — Leon's voice broke you out of your thoughts. You turned around to see him in the hallway, looking hopefully at you.

— What?

— Are we going with papá to the race?

— Leon…

— Come on, mamá, it'll be nice. I swear I will behave, I will stay only with you...

— My love, you know it's not just that. There are other things…

— Is it because of Andrea? — he asked.

You swallowed hard, feeling your shoulders tense. It wasn't like Fernando's love life was any of your business, after all, your romantic relationship with him never went beyond the night Leon was conceived. However, you couldn't help but feel a certain distrust every time he showed up in the paddock with a new girl on his arm.

His most recent girlfriend was Andrea, a journalist who covered Formula 1 for an Austrian broadcaster. Even though Leon thought she was kind, and loved playing with her dog, a yellow Labrador named Bodhi, you always felt uneasy in her presence. There was something in the way she looked at you that made you uncomfortable, as if she was studying you, trying to understand your relationship with Fernando and Leon, if there was something more.

— No, it has nothing to do with your father’s girlfriend…

— Papá said she's just his friend now.

— What? — you asked, confused.

— Bodhi wasn't at papá's house when I got there, so I asked where he was and papá told me that he went back to Austria with Andrea — the boy explained — I asked if he was going to Austria too, and papá said no, because he and Andrea are just friends now.

You couldn't help but notice that Leon looked a little upset. You knew he loved dogs, but the fact that you lived in a small apartment prevented you from having a big one, which were his favorites. It also didn't help that Fernando had plenty of space to have a big dog, but wasn’t home often enough to care for one.

You brought a hand to your son’s face and stroked his cheek.

— You liked him, right?

— Bodhi was nice, mamá — he said — He was always happy to see me. Did you know he liked to lick my face?

You laughed, lifting the hair that fell over his forehead.

— And you loved letting him lick your face, didn't you?

— Yes — the boy said with a mischievous expression — I also liked playing ball with him and Andrea...

— Did he bring you the ball? — you tried to keep up the conversation, ignoring the mention of the woman.

— Yes, he would look for us and ask us to play. I always managed to throw it further than Andrea — Leon said, until his face lit up — Mamá, what if we go to the race and ask Andrea if we can visit Bodhi?

You paused, unsure of how to answer your son’s question.

— We’ll see, my love. Now, go take a shower.

With a hopeful smile on his face, the boy obeyed.

His smile was what made you want to kick yourself. Leaving the possibility of going to the race open was fueling the expectation that Leon had already cultivated within himself for a long time. Doing that just to break your son's heart made you feel like a terrible mother.

“Would it really be so bad if we went to a race?”, you thought as you dropped onto the sofa, looking at the photo on the end table. It was a photo of you and Fernando holding Leon when he was just a few months old, both of you looking at the boy with pure admiration and love. It was as if it was impossible to believe that you had been able to create something as beautiful and pure as Leon. It was precisely that innocence that you wanted to protect from the media monster that prowled the circuits, sniffing out stories and devouring its prey without mercy.

Leon couldn't become another victim. You wouldn’t let it happen.

Over the next few days, you managed to avoid talking about the race, dodging the question any time Leon asked. However, your efforts were in vain when Fernando made a video call with the boy, directly from his room in Budapest. He had no restrictions on seeing Leon, quite the opposite. There were very few days that Fernando didn’t speak to his son somehow. Most of the time it was through calls or text messages, and you were proud of them for managing to become close in spite of Fernando’s insane workload.

During the conversation about what Leon did during the week and in his football practices, your son asked the question you were most afraid of.

— Will I see you next week, papá? — Leon asked.

— Ah, well — Fernando stammered, his eyes seeming to search for your image on the phone screen — You know I'd like to see you, but it's your mom who decides that.

The boy turned to look at you, his face full of hope.

— Can we, mamá?

— Leon…

— Please, mamá, I'll behave, I promise!

You sighed. Something inside you told you that this wasn't a good idea, that it was too risky for his privacy. However, what kind of mother would you be preventing him from seeing his own father? What kind of mother would you be if you kept him trapped in a bubble? What kind of mother would you be to deny something so simple?

— Do you want to go see your papá race?

— Yes, mamá!

— Are you going to stay by my side the whole time and not talk to strangers?

— Yes.

— I mean it, don’t talk to anyone other than me, your papa, and your uncle Alberto.

— I won't talk to any strangers, I promise, mamá — he said, while Fernando smiled on the device's screen.

— Then we can go, my love — you said to Leon, who immediately looked at the cell phone screen with a giant smile on his face.

— Papá, I'm going to the race! — he exclaimed.

On the other side of the call, Fernando laughed at the boy's excitement, but the way his dimples framed his smile indicated that he was overjoyed with the news.

— Yes, you are! And we’ll have that waffle filled with chocolate sauce I told you about instead of the birthday cake.

— With candles for us to blow out?

— Yes, we will find some candles to put in it, okay?

The boy talked about what he would like to take with him and whether he could sit in the car, which Fernando was happy to confirm. At the end of the call, he blew several kisses to his father, telling him he would see him in five days.

Those five days that seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.

On the private flight that Fernando had hired to take you and Leon to Belgium, you couldn’t help but feel restless. Even with all the assurances that you wouldn't have any problems, you couldn't reassure yourself. Terrible scenarios came to mind, unprompted, each one worse than the last. By the time the plane approached the small airport in the region, your anxiety had reached a fever pitch.

— Mamá? — Leon's voice bringing you to reality — Are we there yet?

— Not yet, my love — you replied, looking at him — There’s still a little bit left.

— Is papá going to pick us up at the airport? — your son asked, as you took off the hood of the sweatshirt he had chosen that morning to fix his hair.

— Yes, along with Alberto and Fabri. And we will go straight to the circuit.

The joy on Leon’s face when learning that information was only exceeded by the joy on his face when he saw Fernando waiting for him on the landing strip, a slight smile beneath the hood of his black Boss sweatshirt. The hug between the two made something warm fill your chest, and so did seeing them laughing and joking like any other father and son.

— Thank you for agreeing to come, Y/N — he said, as Leon pulled his father's credential from his sweatshirt pocket and showed it to Fabri.

— It's the least I can do, Fernando — you replied, crossing your arms — And, considering he's your biggest fan...

You both looked at Leon at the same time. The boy was questioning Alberto relentlessly, wanting to know where his credential was and if it was the same as Fernando's. When your eyes met again, you knew that your concern was more evident than you would have liked.

— Look, I — you started, only to be interrupted.

— I know you're scared, especially because of what happened in Abu Dhabi. But rest assured, nobody will bother you.

— Are you sure? — you asked.

— Absolutely — Fernando said, before being interrupted by his son clinging to his arm.

— Let's go, papá! — Leon exclaimed, anxiously — I want to see the track!

The trip to the track was fairly short, with Leon excitedly talking about playing games on the Nintendo Switch in his backpack.

At the entrance to the paddock, you decided to separate, in order to avoid unnecessary attention. Giving Fernando one last kiss, Leon made him promise that they would meet inside so he could show him the car.

— Your passes are inside — Alberto said, handing you an envelope — I'll send you a message when Fer is free, ok?

— Perfect — you replied, before getting out of the car with Leon, as he waved to his father one last time before Fernando disappeared through the turnstiles.

The last time you’d come to a race, the paddock was incredibly crowded, but the fact that this was not the final race of the season and the weather was cold and dreary seemed to be keeping the crowds down.

— Where is everybody? — Leon asked you softly, gripping the pass around his neck.

— Well, there's nothing on the track today, so there aren't many people around here — you said — Which means we can make the most of it.

The boy nodded, holding your hand as you both walked past the rows of paddock buildings. However, when you were passing the structure set up by Red Bull Racing, you felt your phone vibrate in your purse. You let go of Leon’s hand to paw through the contents of your purse in search of your phone.

— Where, where… Here! — you said, as you unlocked the screen and saw that the call had gone to your voicemail.

However, that became a secondary concern when you realized Leon had run off somewhere. You felt your heart pounding as you started looking for the boy’s brown curls and gray coat. You had only let go of his hand for a second…

— Leon, Leon, my God, Leon — you stammered, about to scold him for not staying by your side even though he promised to do so on the phone call with his father...

— Mamá! — you heard Leon calling out — Here, mamá!

You turned around and found the boy waving at you a few feet in front of you. He was next to a woman wearing a pink coat and her hair in a ponytail, who was sitting on a bench. You walked toward him briskly, your words for him dying on the tip of your tongue when you realized who he was standing next to.

— My love, why…

— Remember I said I was going to talk to Andrea about Bodhi?

You blinked, looking up at Andrea, who had an embarrassed smile on her face and a cup of coffee in her hand.

— Good morning, Y/N — Andrea said softly.

— Good morning, Andrea — you replied, trying to mask your apprehension — I hope Leon isn't bothering you.

— No, never. Leon was just asking me about Bodhi…

— Can we go visit him, Andrea? — the boy asked, expectation shining in his eyes. Placing a hand on your son's shoulder, you were thinking about the best way to say that it wouldn't be possible to go to Austria to visit a dog when the woman gave a warm smile.

— Of course, I can talk to your father and we'll see a day for you to go play with Bodhi — Andrea said, looking up at you. As if she sensed your hesitation in the air, she added quickly — If your mother agrees, of course.

— Let's see, maybe during your school vacations, right, my love? — you replied, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, forcing a smile.

— Yes!

— Perfect. Now let’s go, we have a long day ahead of us and so does Andrea — you said, looking at the journalist with the hope that she would follow your lead.

— Yes, media day is always busy for me — she said, smiling — See you later, Leon.

The boy waved goodbye to Andrea and allowed himself to be led toward the Aston Martin motorhome as you gripped his hand extra firmly. During that short journey, you tried to focus on your own breathing and not on the anxiety that took over your chest and made your stomach turn.

— Mamá…

— Not now, Leon — you replied, trying to remember what color the facilities of the team Fernando was racing for that season were.

— Mamá, you're crushing my hand — your son protested, making you stop suddenly and bend down in front of him.

— Why did you do that?

— What?

— Why did you leave my side?

— Because I saw Andrea and you said we could talk to her...

You let out a long sigh.

— My love, you said you wouldn’t leave my side, remember?

— She wasn’t far from us…

— I know, but you can't run off alone here — you said, placing a hand on the boy's face — Imagine if it were a day with more people, how would I find you? You know that I love you more than anything and that losing you would be the worst thing in the world for me.

Leon pursed his lips, looking upset about what had happened.

— Sorry, mamá — he murmured.

— It’s okay, my love — you replied — Now let's go to the motorhome.

The rest of the day was divided between watching the activity around the track and catching glimpses of Fernando as he circulated around the paddock giving interviews, checking the car's assembly and meeting with the engineers. The highlight of the day was the trip to the garage with Alberto, who introduced you and Leon to the mechanics and allowed Mikey, their leader, to explain the car to the boy.

— Can I get in? — he asked with his eyes shining.

The red-haired man looked at Alberto, who gave a positive nod.

— Of course you can — Mikey replied.

With Leon settled in Fernando's seat and with his hands on the steering wheel that had been positioned just in front of him, the boy seemed completely ecstatic. It felt like he was finally in the right place, where he should have been all along. It was no wonder his grandfather, Luis, was so insistent that they consider getting him into karting as soon as he was old enough.

— You can't see anything from here — he said, looking at you. The mechanics working on Alonso’s car chuckled.

— The drivers are a little taller, so they can see the track — Alberto explained — But, when you're a little older, you’ll be able to see just fine.

Leon smiled, before looking ahead again and pressing his fingers on the steering wheel. It was impossible not to notice how much he looked like the pictures you’d seen of Fernando as a child, so much so that you made a point of taking a picture of him to show Fernando at dinner later.

However, you didn't have that opportunity.

Leon was already lying in bed, watching a cartoon on Netflix. Despite what you had agreed on, Fernando hadn’t been able to leave his meeting with his engineers in time to have dinner with you. His message fell like a bomb on his son's mood, and he barely touched the ice cream that Alberto had offered to share with him.

— Mamá?

— Yes, my love?

— Is papá coming?

You swallowed hard. The last message you had received from him stated that he was leaving the circuit, and it had been right after you arrived at the hotel suite. At that point, you had no idea when or if he would hit there, especially after that day.

— I don't know, my love — you said, running your hand through his hair — You know that this is still papá's job and he's very dedicated...

— But didn't he say when he's coming? — the boy questioned.

— He texted — you started, only to hear the sound of two knocks on the door. Looking back at Leon, you found his excited expression — Wait here.

You got up from the bed and went to the entrance of the room, feeling relief take over your chest when you saw that it was Fernando.

— Can I come in? — he asked softly, running a hand through his hair.

You nodded and stepped aside so he could come in. Smiling, the driver walked by you, kissing you on the cheek as he passed, before walking over to the bed. Leon had an enormous smile on his face.

— Papá! — he exclaimed, as Fernado lifted him up into an enormous hug.

— Hola, mijo. I came as soon as I could. Did you have fun today?

— Yes!

— What did you do? Tell me everything.

— Yes, it was really cool. Mamá and I stayed with Melina in the morning and she showed us everything inside. She even got us waffles!

— Does that mean you got the waffles? I always ask them, but they always say they don't have any waffles — the driver said, as you walked around the bed and sat on the other side of Leon — I think I'm going to have a serious talk with them.

— Maybe the waffles are just for the VIP guests, right, my love? — you suggested with a wink, which made your son laugh.

— Yes, only for special guests!

— But I'm their driver! — Fernando exclaimed, in mock indignation — I deserve waffles too!

— Don't you have a weight to keep, Fernando? — you asked.

— Yes, but that doesn't mean I can't eat waffles, especially with my son — he replied, before pouting — But I don't think he likes eating waffles with me...

Almost immediately, the boy laughed.

— I like eating waffles with you, papá…

— You mean we can eat waffles together?

— Yes! — Leon exclaimed.

— With chocolate sauce or honey?

— Hm — the boy thought for a few seconds — Mamá, could it be chocolate?

— Don't you think you ate too much chocolate today?

Leon looked away from Fernando, looking embarrassed.

— It wasn't that much...

— Yes, it was. And I have a photo to prove it.

— You do? — Fernando asked, raising himself on one elbow.

— Yes, I do — you replied, taking the phone that was on the bedside table. A few taps later, the plate of waffles was on the screen in front of Fernando, who seemed somewhat impressed.

— Did you eat all of that? — he asked looking at Leon.

— Yes, every last bit — you replied — He didn't give me any.

The driver laughed.

— I can imagine the sugar rush you had afterwards…

The conversation between you continued for some time, until Leon began to slowly close his eyes while his father stroked his hair. It wasn't long before he was fast asleep, with his face against Fernando's chest and one of his arms resting on his waist in a hug.

— Y/N? — Fernando asked softly.

— Yeah?

— Was Leon very upset that I couldn't have dinner with you?

You pursed your lips.

— Well, a little. He was really looking forward to seeing you and telling you everything but…

He snorted, looking at the boy.

— I didn't want to stay late — Fernando murmured — But tomorrow there's only one practice session before qualifying for Sunday, so I couldn't avoid it...

— He knows that — you said — I told you that, as much as it's fun, it's still your job and you're very dedicated to it. And you can't win if you don't dedicate yourself, so we have to understand and support you, even if it means you're far from us.

The driver looked up at you, his expression completely unreadable.

— Do you think I'm dedicated?

— That's a stupid question, Fernando.

— I just want to know your opinion — he smiled.

You rolled your eyes.

— Yes, I think you are dedicated and I admire you for that.

— You admire me, huh? — the driver asked in a suggestive tone.

— Professionally speaking — you said, the emphasis in your words causing a giggle to escape his lips.

— I also admire you a lot, Y/N.

— Professionally speaking?

— Personally speaking.

You stared at him in silence for a few seconds, trying to read between the lines of his words. However, the smile on his face made you completely lose your train of thought. It always did.

— Well, thank you — you managed to say, before your eyes found the face of his watch, which indicated that it was already past 11 o'clock at night — But I think it's past your bedtime

— No problem, I can stay a little longer…

— I'd like to rest, since I've had to deal with your son all afternoon.

Fernando laughed.

— He's also your son, in fact, he has a lot of you in him — he said, as he carefully got up from the bed, placing Leon's arm close to his body.

— I know that. But I prefer to highlight your participation so you can understand why I need a good night's sleep.

— And you will have it, I'm sure — Fernando replied, before heading towards the door of your suite. However, before leaving, he turned and smiled at you — Good night, Y/N. See you tomorrow.

437 notes · View notes

leclucklerc · 5 months

Text

Check Point MV1 - 02. Bad Decision

Pairings: Max Verstappen x Actress!Reader

Summary: Going to a Grand Prix in the midst of an emotional turmoil is not something she recommend to anyone.

Word Count: 3.3k

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This is wrong, she thought as she entered the highly populated Grand Prix entrance. She could see countless of cameras, as well as the scream and gasps that trailed after her as more and more people realized her identity.

This is wrong, she thought, as she took a picture with her dad in front of the Ferrari hospitality. Both in the prancing horse color – blazing red.

This is wrong, she thought as she stared at the huge picture of Charles Leclerc. Smiling and staring at her. Smiling and staring at her, just like years ago when the three of them – her, Charles, and Max – is still the best of friends. As if, this simple picture could read her deepest thoughts.

This is wrong, she thought as she decided that staying in the Ferrari hospitality is the wrong move – all the stares, all the whispers, Charles’s face being everywhere - and decided that it’s time to run away – the very thing that she did best – before she met any familiar face.

This is wrong, she thought as she bumped into someone. Protest already on her tongue before she looked up, only to see familiar familiar blue eyes staring at her.

Oh, she thought.

This is wrong.

This is right.

Max Verstappen stood in front of her, decked in a Red Bull polo shirt as well as jeans. There’s a cap perched on top of his head, the number one blazing on it. A clear mark about his position. A clear mark to the world that he is the world champion.

That the little Max that she had known for year had reached his dream.

What a bittersweet feeling.

“Hi?” said the woman, throat suddenly too narrow to say anything. As if, she’s not used to talking to someone.

Or maybe it’s because it is Max standing in front of her. Max with his blond hair. Max with his blue eyes. Max who always has that warm smile on his face every time he sees her.

“Y/n,” breathed out Max. “It’s been a while.”

God, she wants do die.

In hindsight, going to the grand prix is a bad idea. She knows that. Her father knows that. Everyone knows that.

But fuck, her pr manager doesn’t know that or he refused to know that.

Max looks good. She had always known that Max is a cute kid but grown up max looks really good. Maybe it’s the world champion shine, maybe it’s because he finally grown out of his baby fat, or maybe it’s just for the simple fact that he carried himself differently than before.

More mature. More confident.

But yeah. Max looks good.

(Maybe he looks good for the simple fact that he’s Max. The Max that had teased her countless of times. The Max that had accompany her throughout her childhood.)

It’s been years since she saw him directly. It’s been years full of missed calls and failed meetups. It’s been years and years of running away and refusing to acknowledge the elephant in the room between the two of them.

“Yeah,” she said, eyes fluttering everywhere. Desperately trying to find any kind of distraction that can get her out of this situation. “It has been a while. 4 years?”

“Five,” said the male instead, eyes locking at hers and Y/n just can’t look away. She had always been weak for those blue eyes after all. “It’s been five years since I last saw you.”

Guilt bubbled inside of her. This feeling that had been eating her up ever since she entered the Grand Prix gates. This uncomfortable feeling that had been nagging her nonstop as more and more people realize her attendance.

The almost terror like feeling that she felt when she saw her name trending on top of the race itself.

“I-“ she started, wanting to search for some kind of excuse just to get out of this situation. “My dad is waiting for me at the Ferrari hospitality so-“

A hand shot up, grabbing her hand. Effectively rendering her from getting away.

Max seems familiar with her tendency to just run away, that’s why he immediately caught her. Not wanting the female to walk out of his life once again.

“Max-“ said y/n, staring at the hand that’s holding her own. “Can you let go-“

“No,” answered the male before he started dragging her. “It’s been years since we last talked, we will be having a proper conversation right now.”

“The race is about to start!” protested the girl, struggling. “And I know you have media-“

The male snorted at that. “Well then, I just got an excuse to bail on media appearances then.”

“Max!”

It was not long before they arrived in a pretty secluded spot, behind all of the team trailers that anyone barely use. Y/n is a bit surprised that Max knows this kind of place, considering how big his daily entourage should’ve. But at the same time, remembering how the male sometimes have to retreat to a quiet place after a chaotic day, she’s also not surprised that he knows this kind of place.

A place where he can be alone. A place, where no one can interrupt his moment of silence.

The male finally stopped dragging her, though his hands are still locked around her own tightly. As if she would run away if he ever loosened his hold. As if, that if he let her go once again, y/n will go and disappear. Refusing to meet him for years and years.

They stared at each other, not even daring to touch the elephant in the room.

Finally, it was Max who broke the silence. “It’s been a while” he said again, hold tightening. “I almost forgot how you looks like.”

Y/n knows that it’s a lie, considering how much the media loves her face. Though, she also knows that it’s also Max’s way to lessen the tension. To make things a bit lighter.

“And I didn’t forget yours,” she finally answered after a few moments of silence. “I see that you had become the world champion,” At this, she stared pointedly at the number one plastered across his cap.

Max too seems to notice how her attention had shifted. The male reached out, taking off the cap from his head. “Ah, yeah,” he said.

“It looks great on you,” she blurted out, not thinking much. “I mean, the number one. It fits you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” replied y/n without missing a beat. Because isn’t that what Max had always wanted? To have the number one. To become the world champion. To gain a bit of a freedom from his father.

(She blatantly ignored that it’s also Charles’s dream to become a world champion. She too, ignored the fact that it also used to be her dream to become a world champion.

Ignorance is a bliss, an y/n follows that phrase like a devout believer.)

A small smile appeared on Max’s face at that. “Here,” he said, putting the cap on top of her head. “I also thought that you look great with the number one.”

Ah, she thought. Legs going a bit weak.

That statement brought out so many memories of her childhood. Of her spending her time in the racing track. Of her racing with both Max and Charles. Of those blissful days of her childhood where racing was still an integral part of her life.

She had always wanted this. To have the number one. To be the driver that has the honor to wear the number.

The memories of her dad blazing red Ferrari and the number one plastered across it appeared inside of her head. Of Max’s now very own Red Bull and the number one plastered across it.

It was such a reminiscence of her childhood. Of the beautiful days full of blissful childish dream.

Going to the grand prix is a bad idea.

“Thank you,” she said, voice a bit wobbly. “I’ll- wearing a Red Bull cap with a Ferrari racing jacket can cause quite a scandal. This should stay between us.”

Max let out a small laugh at that. “A secret between us two?” he said, a teasing tilt on his tone. “How scandalous.”

Y/n snorted at that, feeling amused. “We have plenty of secrets between the two of us,” she said, reminding him of all the unspeakable things that they had shared during their childhood years. “Like during that time when we have our ski trip in second grade-“

“And we promised that we never talked about it again, right?” cut off Max.

The female let out a laugh at that. Max too, seems amused.

She almost forgets the tense atmosphere that had engulfed them beforehand. She had almost forgot the now broken friendship between them. Of countless childhood memories being down in the drain. Of her, desperately trying to salvage and destroy it at the same time.

Y/n is indecisive. She knows that she’s indecisive.

Sometimes, she felt sad that her bond with both Max and Charles had become like this. Frayed to almost oblivion. That the strong friendship that they had forged from years of years being rivals to each other in the karting track becomes nothing but acquaintances.

Though, sometimes, she too felt grateful that their bond becomes like this. That there are no more reminders of what could have been. No more remainders of her now broken dreams and broken-

“What happened then?” asked Max, after their laughter subsided. “What the fuck happened to us?”

Yes.

What the fuck happened to them?

She too, doesn’t know.

“I-“ she started. “I think we just grew up,” replied the woman, blurting out the first bullshit that appeared inside of her head.

Max furrowed his eyebrows at that. Not believing her at all. Y/n doesn’t even believe herself too.

“Bullshit and you know that” he said, calling her out for that shitty answer. “Y/n we grew up together. The both of us knows that it’s bullshit.”

“I mean,” she said again. “We grew up together but we haven’t met each other for years-“

A hand grabbed her wrist. It’s a tight grip, indicating that the male in front of her doesn’t want her to escape this conversation. “And,” he started, blue eyes boring into hers. “Why do you think that happened?”

“i-“

“I reached out,” he said. “Me and Charles tried to reach out to you for years! We even reached to your dad, but you never seem interested to talk to us anymore!”

She knows. She knows that the both of them had visited her childhood home a year ago. She knows because she had tried to find any possible reason to not meet them, much to her dad dissapointmen.

“Max-“

“I know that you’ve been making your name in Hollywood, jetting off here and there and becoming incredibly busy- but do you really not have the time to at least talk to us once these past years?” asked Max. There’s a faint tremble on his tone. Something that is so unlike the man.

After all, Max had always been confident. He had always had that self-assurance that he’s the best. That he will become the number one in the world.

To hear him, sounding shaky and emotional like this is-

“I’m sorry,” y/n finally said. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She doesn’t know what the stare Max is giving her means. She doesn’t know what the prolonged silence between the two of them actually means. She doesn’t know anything.

Y/n doesn’t know how to say sorry properly. She doesn’t know how to mend all the broken bonds and friendships that she had broken all these years. She doesn’t know how to face her childhood best friends properly after years and years of avoiding them.

She really doesn’t know anything.

She only knows how to run and run. To hide away from the reality in front of them. Always stubbornly try and avoid them like a plague.

“Is this because what happened in 2015?” asked the male finally. “Or is it because Monaco 2016?”

Both.

She wants to say both.

2015

“What do you mean you’re not racing anymore?”

Y/n stood on the Toro Rosso garage, regretting her decision wholeheartedly. In front of her, stood her best friend, clad in the standard polo uniform of the team and staring at her as if she’s grown a second head.

“Like, literally,” she replied, nervous.

Max continues to stare at her. “Are you sick?” he finally asked after a few moments of silence. “That’s why you’re taking the season off?”

No.

No, it’s not because of that.

“No,” she said after another silence passed between the two of them. “It’s… I quit racing.”

“What do you mean you quit racing?” pressed on the male further. “You’re in the Ferrari driving academy!”

Red appeared inside her mind. The prancing horse with yellow background. She could almost imagine her dad, laughing with Ferrari merchandise donning around his body. She too, could almost see the various Ferrari memorabilia scattered around her childhood house. Of fast red cars and your dad winning championships with equally red race suit. Of the academy who had given her the chance to be a driver.

Of the place, where she cried and cried until her voice became raw. The beautiful scenery of Maranello became nothing but a blur as she slumped inside an almost abandoned alleyway all those months ago.

Of her dad, winning and celebrating with that red race suit. The symbol of the prancing horse proudly on his chest.

Of the academy that made her realized that y/n is not the chosen one.

“Last night I dropped out,” blurted out the female and she regretted it immediately at the sheer shock and disappointment that appeared on Max’s face. “It’s… I decided that I’m not going to race anymore.”

The male scrunched his eyebrows together as if she had done something unfathomable. And maybe it is to Max. After all, racing had always been everything to him. He had dedicated so much time and effort in this sport that the mere thought of quitting is something that he can’t process.

And- and y/n gets it.

If she were in max’s position, she will also have the same reaction. After all Max is the youngest driver to ever debuted in Formula One. He had skipped the lower category and went straight towards a seat in Toro Rosso. He had advanced further compared to y/n and Charles.

He’s the chosen one. The very person that fate had chosen.

It’s not her.

“But why?” he asked, voice small. As if, he was afraid what her answer will be.

And y/n, y/n found herself to be conflicted.

She should have told him about all the mounting pressure that she had to bear in an almost daily basis. The dread that she always felt as she saw her dad’s name all around Maranello. The gazes full of expectations – of great things, of changing histories – that people would always direct towards her. The friendly gestures – fake or real – that people had shown her to get into her good grace.

The pity on their eyes when they realized that maybe she’s not talented enough. That maybe, she won’t be the person that’s going to change Formula One.

The scenery that had become nothing but a blur one month ago. Of the loud crash that had reverberated across the air as she remembers nothing of it. Of her waking up in a hospital room, alone.

Of her trembling hand as she reached out for the steering wheel. Of the pounding heart and the unsteady breath.

Y/n should’ve had said that. After all, both are the victims of a too heavy last name. The both of them are the victims of a too big expectations. Max would have understood if she told him all of this. Hell, he would’ve even advised her on what to do. To help her.

But y/n didn’t tell him that.

Run, her mind whispered.

Run, before it’s too late. Go and escape before it’s too late.

(“This world is a cruel place, dear,” whispered her mother as she cradled her face softly. Y/n could see the painted lips – dark red, a symbol of independence and allure – curving into a small smile. “This world is a cruel place for a pretty thing like you.”

“Why?” she had asked, not understanding what the older woman is trying to say.

“You will know,” answered the woman. “Never show your true feeling. Never give your heart easily. Protect yourself.”

Y/n stared at her, as the older woman continue to stare at her too.

“By the end of the day,” muttered the woman as she held her close. “The only one you can trust is yourself.”)

Be a coward and run away.

Don’t give your heart too easily.

Protect yourself.

“It’s…” she trailed off instead, doesn’t know where to start. “I got an offer… for a movie.”

The both of them stared at each other amidst the silence. Max stared at her as if she had gone crazy and maybe she is. Maybe she did go crazy.

A mad woman. A mad woman who is bearing the too heavy burden of her last name.

“A movie,” said Max finally. “All of this, just for a movie.”

It’s not just a movie, she wants to refute. Because it’s a movie from a famous director. It’s a movie that offered y/n a lead role. A movie with amazing script and star-studded cast. A movie that already got an Oscar buzz even though it hasn’t even been released yet.

So yes. It’s not just a movie.

It’s a chance for y/n to be the chosen one. To be someone that fate chose.

It’s a movie, that will give her a chance to forget about everything. To forget about her trembling hands and the awful memories. The movie that will make her forget about Maranello and the prancing house.

After all, her mother had always said if you’re successful enough, everything will become enjoyable.

All she needs is to become a successful enough actor. If she managed to do that then maybe she can forget-

The three of them, laughing at the karting track. Of the intense and yet enjoyable rivalry between the three of them.

Stop.

She needs to forget.

But she knows Max wouldn’t get it.

“I-“ started the girl. “I just think that there’s no place for me in Formula One,” she said.

Max scoffed. “How do you know when you didn’t even try?” he hissed out. “You- you were so close! Sauber will open a seat for you!”

And, oddly enough, that made her mad.

Because not everyone is Max Verstappen. Not everyone has an overwhelmingly talent like Max Verstappen. Not everyone can become a Formula One driver at 17. Not everyone can turn all the pressure and expectations into something that they can be proud of!

(Because that’s what happened to her. Unlike Max who decided to face it head on, y/n decided to run away.)

“How do you know that?” she asked instead, voice rising. “How do you even know I have a future here!?”

“Because you have!” exploded Max. “You belong here! Not in some place like Hollywood!”

“But I love acting!” said the female.

“You also love racing!”

The both of them stared at each other. The tense silence between the two of them only stopped when someone knocked the door towards Max’s driver room.

It was not long before an employee of Toro Rosso appeared. “Um, Max?” asked the man, peering around the room cautiously. It seems he realized the tense atmosphere between the two of them. “We’re going to start soon?”

“Yeah,” replied Max, “I’ll- I’ll be there soon.”

The employee left and Max turned his attention back to her. “Stay here,” said the male. “We’ll talk, after the race.”

Y/n gave a stiff nod as the male left the room.

She silently stared at the white walls, letting the silence enveloping the room as she sat there silently. It was also then when she turned her attention towards the door.

Well, she thought, grabbing her bag.

Y/n had always been good at running away anyway.

taglist!

@mynameisangeloflife @dl-yum @hockeyboysarehot @stopeatread @cha-hot @ironmaiden1313 @unlikelythingbasement @sofs16 @laneyspaulding19 @poppyalice2001 @drewismypookie @chiliwhore @ilove-tswizzle @woderfulkawaii @sialexia @celesteblack08 @thewannabewriter @ririyulife @luisie

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my-love-is-sunlight · 14 days

Text

Love recipe

Sanji x gardener!reader

fluff!!!!!!!! Stablished relationship, gn reader, from my gardener!reader series but can be read as a stand alone, I recommend this

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: In which you find Sanji’s cook notebook

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

An endless sea of boxes filled your room in the Sunny, when had you accumulated so much stuff in your time with the strawhats? You didn’t know

You were the kind to keep everything, even the tiniest things held so much memories and meaning that you just couldn’t leave them behind

But you were starting to regret it

A week ago you and Sanji had finally decided to tell the crew that you were dating

After being met with all of your crewmates groans of defeat as they handed a couple berries to Nami you realized maybe you were a little more obvious than you thought

Regardless they were happy and a little relieved that you two had finally settled down

“So is the dumb cook finally moving out? We are tired of you leaving every night to our quarters,” Zoro was quick to ask you looking dead in your bashful eyes, red blush rushing to your face

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Sanji screamed at the swordsman in your defense

As much as you tried to brush the matter off or deny the accusations everyone had witnessed how at very ungodly hours of the night you’d slip into Sanjis bed to sleep soundly and turning back to your own at sunrise thinking no one noticed

“OR you can move in with us!” Your Captain chimed in but his idea was immediately shot down by your boyfriend

So he moved in your room, something you were happy about but right now, as you choose what to keep, throw away or store in boxes to make space for Sanji, was giving you a huge headache.

You sat cross legged in the middle of your floor between boxes looking like cat in hiding as Sanji walked in with a couple of more boxes in hand, settling them on the ground glancing at your form and smiling in endearment

“Almost done my love” he spoke up making you bend backwards and smiling at him

“Let me get up and help you with the rest”

“Absolutely not” something about you even lifting a finger in his presence always made him shiver, there was no way he was gonna allow you carry his heavy boxes, he knew you were capable, he just didn’t wanted you to

It was the third time you had offered to help him so you just gave up and giggled before returning to your task as the blonde went back to make yet another trip from the boys quarters to your room

You let out a defeated sigh as you finally finished up choosing everything that you decided to get rid off. As you got up with the box you tripped over the others that surrounded you making you lose balance, in an attempt to save yourself from a nasty fall, one of Sanjis boxes opened and some of his belongings scattered across the floor

“Dammit” carefully you place your box aside as you hastily take your boyfriend’s personal stuff and return them into the box, not wanting Sanji to think you were snooping round his personal belongings

As you delicately put his box aside, a notebook lays on the ground that you seemed to have missed to put away, you take it but instead of storing it, your hands explore the markings on the cover

‘Sanjis cookbook’ it read in his neat handwriting, you smile to yourself before slowly opening it, the notebook was well loved and you didn’t wanted it to break apart at your touch. The pages were filled with different recipes the cook had came up with during the years, it was sweet how noticeable was the change in his notes when he joined the strawhats, suddenly more intricate and lively dishes appearing on its pages. It was obvious how much he enjoyed being the crews cook, this was a trait of him you always had loved and admired. The cook had created dishes, drinks and pastries inspired by every crew member, some just being fun experimental ones, while others attended to their nutritional needs

Some really tasty meat recipes made for Luffy

An orangy strong drink for Nami

Boring rice-balls with a hint of sake for Zoro

Coffee infused pastries for Robin

Chicken a lá Soda for Franky

Taroyaki for Usopp

Sweet cotton candy for Chopper

Curry for Brook

Some of them with your name on it eventually show up but were all about either your diet or changing some ingredients up in meals you didn’t quite like or would upset your stomach, even your favorite vegetable soup was in there with a marking on it with your name. Expectancy bubbled in your stomach as you waited for dishes made not for you, but inspired by you to appear, but as you kept on reading the pages of everyone’s meals except yours a frown plastered on your lips

“Oh” you thought, maybe you weren’t good enough to be Sanji’s muse. Of course you knew he loved you endlessly, he would assure you everyday and you’ll see it in different ways he had to tell you ‘I love you’ without even speaking it.

The way he would patiently show you how to cut ingredients in the kitchen so you could help him and spend quality time, or the names he’d call you that sweetened your days, how he would always be on your call and foot for whatever you wished or needed, the dreamy look you’d spark on his eyes and even just the full on attention he’d offer you, as if you were the only thing in the world

But still, one would think you’ll at least have one dish dedicated to you after all the love he exuded in your presence

As you gave up and started to close the notebook, you saw a page near the end with your name on it, making your eyes grow wide in joy. You open it to find not a dish, but a whole different section of the notebook just for you, the cook had even drawn tiny hearts after your name

Pink dusted your face and a bright smile grew on your lips as you admired the dishes Sanji had crafted with such love and dedication, recognizing some of them and even remembering how he had asked you to taste test them in the past. You were moved, over the moon wasn’t enough of an expression to understand how you were feeling, no one had ever shown this much appreciation for you, small tears peaked at the corner of your eyes of the fullness you felt. How could you ever return such a gesture? Such love declaration that you didn’t even were supposed to know about?

You return the notebook to its rightful place before standing back on your feet and taking your box towards the door that slowly opened revealing your tall blonde handsome of a boyfriend with the last box

“Sorry it took so long sunlight, Luffy asked me for another snack and I ha-“ he was cut off by the biggest warmest hug he had ever received in his life, dropping the box as your hands found a spot on his neck and your lips pecked his before hiding your face in his neck, your feet tip toeing so you could reach

The action took Sanji by surprise, making him blush and stand frozen in place at your sudden affection that he still found difficult to come around, always being used to be the more affectionate one until you showed up and made him know how much loved he deserved back

“Is everything alright my love?”

“Yes darling, everything’s amazing”

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Omg they’re back I’m so happy!!!! Hope you enjoy and remember you can request anything you wanna see about these two or just anything One Piece related technically

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munsonsmixtapes · 11 days

Note

what about Eddie with a sunshine!reader who accidentally ate one of his edibles? So now he has to take care of them?

Thanks so much for your request!

Eddie x sunshine!gender neutral!reader

word count: 1,931

cw: reader accidentally eats a cookie that was made with edibles

The house you shared with Eddie was empty when you got through the door. His car wasn’t out in the driveway so you assumed that he had gone to band practice. You had been on complete opposite schedules with him having shows practically every night and you working late nights at the hospital.

Eddie had been nothing but proud of you for going after you wanted. He would brag about his significant other being a nurse to anyone who would listen. He knew how hard you had worked to get where you were and was elated that you had been doing what you had always dreamed about, even if that meant not seeing you as much as he would have liked.

You trudged into the kitchen after a long shift to find something to eat. Your shift had been so busy that you hadn’t had time to eat so now you were ravenous. You noticed a container of chocolate chip cookies. You assumed Eddie had made them and ripped it open, taking one for yourself. You bit into it as you set your bag onto the counter on top of the lid that had a sticky note on top of it that you probably should have read beforehand.

You opened the fridge for something real to eat and your eyes lit up as you saw a pizza that Eddie must have ordered while you had been at work. You pulled out the box and opened it, your eyes getting wide as you noticed that it had your favorite toppings and that not a single slice had been eaten.

That made you realize that he had ordered it just for you and the thoughtful gesture made you tear up. It made you miss him. You hadn’t seen him in a week and your heart ached for him. You really wished he had been there with you.

You took a couple slices from the box then put it on a plate, returning the box to the fridge while you finished the cookie. You noticed that it had a funny taste to it, but you weren’t sure how long they had been sitting there, so you assumed that maybe they were just getting old. It wasn’t like the taste mattered to you that much. You were just hungry.

You ate your cold pizza at the counter in silence. You were so hungry that you had no interest in heating it up nor going over to the couch to find something to watch while you ate. You just needed to have something on your stomach so you could go to sleep.

Your ears perked up at the door opening and you leaned over to see if you could get a glimpse at who it was even though it could have only been one person. You heard Eddie before you saw him, his loud boots tapping against the hardwood flooring as he walked across the house.

“There’s my honey,” his voice rang out and you whipped around. Your faces lit up as you saw one another and you made a beeline for him, your pizza completely abandoned.

You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist and he was quick to catch you, letting out a chuckle at your excitement. You threw your arms around his neck while his wrapped around your waist. You pressed your lips to his in a lingering kiss and he was quick to return it.

“Missed you, honey,” he murmured against your lips.

“Missed you more,” you replied.

“Not possible,” he captured your lips between his once more before burying his face into your neck, breathing in deeply. “You smell so good.”

“I smell like the hospital,” you corrected and Eddie just laughed.

“No, you smell like you,” he pulled back to look at you. “And you smell good.” He carried you into the kitchen and set you down on your feet, but snaked his arm around your waist, not quite wanting to let go of you yet.

He eyed the pizza on the counter and took the slice you had partially eaten and took a huge bite. He didn’t even care that he hadn’t liked any of the toppings, he was just hungry. He had avoided getting dinner on the way home in the hope of seeing you.

“There’s more in the fridge.”

“But this is right here,” he took another bite then held the slice out to you. You bit off a bite and the two of you smiled at each other, enjoying each other’s company, wanting to soak the small amount you were sure you had with each other.

His smile faltered though, when he caught sight of the opened container behind you. His hand slipped from your waist and moved you out of the way. He reached for the container and held it in his hands, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Honey,” he said slowly, trying to keep his cool. “Did you eat a cookie?”

“Yeah,” you nodded and Eddie set the container back down on the counter.

“Shit.” He ran his hands through his hair and turned his back to you, pacing to the other side of the kitchen.

“Eddie,” you called after him, wanting to know the reason why he had been freaking out. It was just a cookie. What was the big deal?

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, his back still back to you. Now you were panicking. What was so bad that he hadn’t wanted you eating the cookies?

“Eddie, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Y/n, these cookies,” he turned back around to face you, resting his hands on your shoulders. His eyes bored in yours, wanting you to know how serious he was. “They’re special cookies.” You still weren’t getting it, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Special?” Your head tilted to the side.

“Funny cookies.” He changed up his wording so you’d hopefully catch on, but you still weren’t getting it.

“Funny?” He realized that he was going to have to spell it out for you and was hoping that you wouldn’t be mad at him.

“They have edibles in them.” Your eyes widened at his words and you turned to look at them. Now it made sense why you were feeling a little floaty and giggly. You had assumed that it was because of your long week and lack of sleep.

“So that’s why they tasted so weird. Why didn’t you put a note on them? You always do.” Eddie knew that you weren’t as into getting high as much as he was so he always made sure to put little labels on the things that had been laced so you knew exactly what you had been getting yourself into. He had done it to avoid situations just like this one.

He moved over to the other side of you and spotted the edge of the lid under your bag and pulled it out, holding it up for you to read. You stepped closer to get a good look at what he had written and nodded your head at the sticky note that had in fact informed you that he had warned you. It was just an unfortunate accident.

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” you buried your face in your hands in embarrassment.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged. “Now, c’mon, honey, let’s go to bed.” He picked you up with ease and let you get comfortable while he carried you to your shared bedroom.

He gently laid you onto the bed and was quick to lay next to you, not wanting to leave you alone while you went through your high. You hadn’t experienced it very often, so he knew it would have a bigger effect on you than it would have on him.

He watched you as you let out giggles, checking to make sure that you were okay. You were giggling like a maniac and he actually thought it was quite funny seeing you that way. You were usually pretty giggly sober, you always having something to be happy about, but now you just seemed so carefree, like you didn’t have a single fuck to give.

“Do you wanna change into something more comfortable?” He asked and you nodded enthusiastically. “Gotta use your words, bub.”

“Take ‘em off,” you held your arms up. Eddie removed your scrub top and then the shirt you had on under it before replacing them with one of his many band t-shirts. He then moved to your pants, taking them off in one quick motion then looked back up at you.

“Do you want new underwear?” He had no idea the last time you changed and wanted to make sure that you were comfortable throughout your high.

“No,” you shook your head. “Changed them at work. Can I wear some of your boxers?”

“Course you can, honey.” He went over to the closet and grabbed the pair of boxers that you usually gravitated towards and put them on, trying his best to be gentle.

He then pressed his lips to your forehead then scooted into the bed next to you. You rested your head on his shoulder and his cheek leaned onto the top of your head. Your legs tangled together and one of your arms rested on his stomach while the other one laid underneath his back. One of his hands rested on top of the one that was on his stomach while the other scratched on top of your head.

“You wanna watch a movie?” He asked, his voice softer than it usually was. “It might help take your mind off how you’re feeling.”

“I know something that will take my mind off how I’m feeling,” you winked and he knew exactly what you were referring to. As much as he wanted to give in and have his way with you, he sure as hell wasn’t going to do it when you weren’t in your head enough to consent.

“Honey, believe me, you have no idea how badly I want to, but I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“You don’t want to fuck me,” you pouted.

“No,” he shook his head. “I want to fuck you. Like, you have no idea how much, but I can’t do that when you can’t fully consent, honey.”

“Oh.” Even in your high state, you supposed that made sense.

“But trust me, as soon as you’re sober again, we can go to town,” he winked then reached for the remote. He turned on the TV and changed the channel to your favorite show.

You let out a cackle and it startled Eddie in the silence between the two of you. You were laughing so hard that you had completely moved away from him, lying on your back, laughter escaping from your mouth like crazy.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie asked, leaning over to see what had you in absolute stitches.

“Nothing,” you managed to get out through your giggles.

“Nothing, hm?” He asked, moving some of your hair out of your face.

“I’m just happy,” you replied. “And I-” you paused. “I love you.” Your laughter died out and it gave Eddie a chance to see your blown pupils.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he responded, leaning down to press a short kiss to your lips.

“Now I’m hungry.”

“Alright, sweetie. Let’s go get you a snack.” He picked you up from the bed and carried you to the kitchen to see the kind of snacks you had and did it with a wide smile on his face.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x gender neutral reader

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piscesirko · 1 year

Note

omg bella angst with a happy ending, they're good friends, reader likes him, there's rumours about bella with a girl, she's upset and keeping distance, bella trying to figure out what's wrong, something like this if possible?

ty for the request!!!! this is a little longer than i expected but who cares! enjoy some bellaaa:)

-hurt/comfort, bit of angst, pining, cliche confession lol, fem reader

it hurts you to ignore her this way.

she’s your friend.

best friend. for god knows how long.

and best friends are supposed to be there for each other. to help, and support, and care for one another when no one does. it's the principle — and you shouldn't want for more.

(you shouldn't want to hold her hand when you'd walk side by side. you shouldn't want to push the stranded curls off her forehead and stare deep into the umber of her eyes until everything dissipates and you're both left floating into this void; you shouldn't want to kiss him suddenly when he smiles. and you definitely shouldn't want to wake up beside him every morning and tell him that you love him.)

the thing is, they're normalized now. everyone does it when they know everything remains platonic. but you don't want to hurt yourself that way knowing he didn't feel the same. you couldn't bear the heartbreak.

so when you dawned upon that realization, or maybe when you've come to terms with the fact that the devil on your shoulder was right—that you're in love with him—you'd gone insane. your mind filled to the brim with possibilities of what might happen if you told him the truth. and each one increased the anxiety in your chest even more.

you tried to act like everything was okay. you acted normal around them . you talked like you used to. hung out like you used to. bella would hang an arm around your shoulders, rub her knuckle on your hair and laugh with you like you used to.

up until last week.

the picture of him with some girl on social media and articles. bella with a smile so bright it's familiar, and you realize that she’d only smile that way when she’s with you. and god, she’s laughing with a girl. a pretty girl; it's mind fucking to be hurt this way by just staring at an un consented image.

you drowned in unreasonable jealousy. because why should you be jealous if he's not yours? why should you be jealous in the first place? you fool yourself. you're only jealous because he didn't spend time with you, not because he was with some girl.

some girl.

some pretty girl.

and while you wallow in self-pity, you ignore them. for both your sakes. before you do something that could ruin everything.

bella does their nightly texts — hey! how are you? and you'd respond curtly than go on a long rant. obviously he'd wonder what's wrong, but he'd let it go on the first night.

hey, what's up?

hey can we talk?

hey i miss you :(

until three nights later when you flat out ignored her and it had gotten to the point she started texting your friends. and the same reason was used: you're busy. you're asleep. your phone died. you're out of town for work.

you're in love with her and got stupidly jealous at the sight of her someone else.

so it brings her here.

a week later, outside your door with nothing but questions formed from his confusion and frustration. bella knows you're by the door looking through the peephole by your shadow beneath the minuscule gap beneath the door. you see her sigh heavily, holding back an eyeroll.

"i know you're there, (y/n),"

"fuck," you whisper, standing back on your heels and let your hands fall and raise between your side and the doorknob.

"just— let me in, please? i just want to talk." you hear him sigh faintly. "please?"

you take a huge deep of breath, hand shaking as you twist the doorknob. you're first greeted by the cold air from the hallways, before your eyes land on bella’s hunched figure. covered solely in a pair of blue sweats and a white shirt, her chain hung on her neck.

"hey," he exhales, relieved. "thank god you're alive. thought someone might have kidnapped you and pushed you off a cliff.

you frown. "well, that's specific."

bella comes in when you step aside to make way. he removes his shoes, placing them beside the door as he wipes his feet on the mat. "i was worried." he says. "until i saw you hanging out with our friends while you were ignoring my texts."

it's amusing how quick her tone changed, almost as if she hadn't been worried in the first place as she quickly returns to being irritated by your ignorance. you shrug. "i- i was busy."

"busy with what?" despite the irritation, their voice remains soft, their patience speaking for them.

"work," you laugh a little, tone pitched as you hand waves in the air. "i was busy with work. and- and catching up with others. that's all." bella furrows his eyebrows. "sorry if i ignored your texts. i'm...i'm sorry."

"that's okay," he murmurs. "just wished you would have told me. i thought that i might have done something to make you mad. i was worried."

he's only saying that because he's my friend. best friend.

"sorry," you say again. "just got caught up with things,”

"yeah with partying," it's obvious that he's bitter. and somehow, it pisses you off that he's pissed off for being ghosted. "didn't even bother to invite me,"

you scoff, turning around. "why would i invite you if you're with some girl?"

it was a sarcastic remark, your mouth speaking before you could think. your voice meant to fool her into thinking that it meant nothing. but bella knows what's up—especially with the strain in your voice as you said the last word that was followed by a sardonic chuckle. her face falls, furrowing her eyebrows at you.

"what are you talking about?"

you clear your throat, scratching your forehead. "i dunno. it's social media bella. one day you're in a famous show and the next people with cameras follow you around."

bella frowns. "what?"

"come on," you spin around to face him again, laughing incredulously at him. "people saw you with a girl. who you've been with for the past week. so why would i invite you?"

"because i'm your friend!"

"you were with some girl!"

"that doesn't even make any sense!"

their voice raises, but not loud enough that it hurts your ears. your face wrinkles, throat swallowing your words that the only thing that leaves your mouth are defensive scoffs as your hand drops to your side, turning back around to walk somewhere. "you- you were busy."

"bullshit—hey!," bella pivots his way in front of you, blocking your way to your bedroom, hands on either side of the doorframe.

"don't lie to me, (y/n). look- if i did something that hurt you, or made you pull away from me, just tell me. please?"

she’s desperate now, affliction in her plea. a heavy rock rises to your throat, hands to a fist on your sides. bella’s eyebrows raise, leaning down slightly as if to encourage you to speak. confined with the difficulty to choose between the truth or not, and you sigh heavily.

"you did nothing, okay?" you shrug his hands off, your index finger picking at the skin beside your thumbnail. "everything's fine. it's my fault. "

"then talk to me," he adjures, his hands clueless as to where it should be. "please? if—if you want some space for whatever it is that happened, fine. just tell me, and i'll give you that space.”

her patience makes your heart ache, because you feel guilty for lying to the person so tolerant and understanding. you hear the desperation in her voice. loud and sad as it yearns for your truth to feed his clueless mind, worried of the wrong she didn't do. you look away from bella, at the wall where you trace its small bumps, and you huff.

"it was because of the girl,"

bella’s back straightens, his bottom lip jutting out slightly as his eyebrows return to its place. and suddenly he's perplexed. "oh. why?"

"i—"

"do you not want me to hang around her?" he asks. "are you jealous that i spent the week with her...?"

"no! no, i don't want to be telling you who you should hang out with. and no, why would i be jealous?" the white face paint's beneath the sink, and there's a red wig in your closet, 'cause you look like a fucking clown.

bella scoffs. "then what is it?"

"god, okay, maybe i was a little jealous," you quip, throwing your hands in the air. "maybe- maybe i got upset that my best friend's with another girl. but not because she's taking up his time, but because she's pretty! pretty enough that i'm jealous of you? no, but could be 'cause she is hot. but yes, i could be if i didn't like—“

you pause, your brain telling you you've been talking too much, because bella’s got her head ducked and eyebrows raised to listen. and if you looked closely, her lips are twitched up slightly in bemusement. you close your mouth, glaring at her.

"if you didn't like?" he smirks. "you like someone."

"no i don't."

"yes you do."

"what makes you say that?"

"you said it."

"like can mean anything. i mean, i like your mom because she's nice. i like you because you're my friend. like doesn't mean like like, because i like anyone. and liking anyone doesn't mean i like like them."

"what?"

"fuck!" there's a boulder in your throat, hard and prevents the air from slipping through. you don't find his amusement entertaining, and you're trying to swallow that rock down your throat while he's looking at you like that.

— all innocent and happy, eyes wide as they stare at you like, like you're important.

like they’re in love with you.

they’re not.

bella’s smile falls, noticing the tears at your waterline that makes your eyes all glossy.

"hey. what's wrong? is it something i said?"

"no," you push him aside, stepping into your room and sitting on the bed right in the middle. "it's not your fault. it's never been your fault," the heel of your palms are pressed against your eyes. you hear him shuffle until you feel him kneeling in front of you, gentle hands wrapping around your wrists.

"then what is it?"

you whimper. and when she tugs your hands off your eyes and replaces it with her own thumbs, letting your fat tears wet her calloused skin, it makes your heart hurt even more, with the fact that she’s so gentle and caring.

"i like you,"

three words. something he's heard before but not in the way that he thinks. "yeah, i know. i like you too."

"no, bel," you close your eyes, nails lightly scratching at the bracelet on his left wrist. "i like you."

there's a soft sigh that leaves them that begins the silence between the two of you. the way their hand stays on your face but weakens in the slightest; the way her eyes narrow in anxiousness as they waited for your confession. you mistake this his silence as disgust — that you'd liked your best friend as something more. and you wonder what would have happened if you told her that you loved her.

you didn't have to. because you spoke again. "i...love you."

it's what makes him fully remove his hands on your face, feeling the burn his touch left behind (or maybe it was just the sudden sweat on his palms). he sits down on the carpet, cross legged, a soft thump of denim to wool. bella breaks his eyes away from you to look at your knees in a quiet state of shock. his lips parted in the slightest.

"oh..."

"you know what," you sniffle, licking your lips as you stand up, wiping your tears with the side of your hand. "i'm just gonna go."

bella, who's still processing everything, looks up at you. "you live here."

"i didn't say i was gonna leave for good, dumbass—"

you're startled with the sudden feeling of her lips on yours, befuddled with her speed from sitting to standing. bella holds your face in his hands, flesh rough but touch gentle as he keeps you close to him. and your eyes are open, sense of touch heightened that you can feel every fibre of her as she pressed her mouth harder against yours that it renders your eyes shut and your hands on the softness of her hair.

his mouth opens to part yours, his breath fanning on your face and some into your mouth, his forehead resting against yours. bella’s thumbs drag across the dark circles beneath your eyes, his eyebrows furrowing before he lets out a chuckle.

"i'm sorry," they murmur. “i just kissed you,"

you open your eyes. "it's alright,"

your hand drags from his shoulder to his chest, watching as he slowly looks at you.

dark eyes bright with glee, a ring of doting arousal on the corner of their irises. bella angles your face back, neck straining slightly so they’d get a better view of you. "i like, well, i love you too."

they chuckle when a slow smile comes to your face. "really?"

"fuck yeah" he wrinkles his nose. "i've loved you since that first chemistry read"

before you respond, she kisses you again, a deep inhalation of your scent as her nose dig on your face. her lips are soft, cherry, hot and feverish when they move with yours and break in a soft click.

"you're amazing," she murmurs. "beautiful," a kiss, "smart," another, "unfathomably lovely," and a last. "i love you. that girl you saw? she's just a friend. she's nothing compared to you."

you shake your head, laughing. "christ in hell, bella."

"i love you," he repeats. "yeah? i'd post it on instagram or whatever. i love you."

"i get it—"

"i love you."

"i know," you kiss his nose. "i love you too."

#bella ramsey x reader #bella ramsey blurb #bella ramsey #bella ramsey fluff #bella ramsey angst

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room-surprise · 3 months

Note

Hey! Fun question, how do you think an in-canon kabumisu confession would go? People keep portraying mithrun as blunt and straightforward about their relationship, but would he be scared to tell kabru in the chance that he'd say no and leave? Is the desire to just be in a relationship with kabru, or is the desire of not wanting to scare him off greater than that? I'm so starved on the lack of post-canon kabumisu content, they make me go crazy

As usual, I'll try not to go into TOO much detail because then I won't be motivated to write fic about it... and I AM planning to write a post-canon Kabumisu fic anon, so don't worry. I'll get there eventually :3

They make me go crazy too 😔

I think Mithrun's a complicated guy with complicated emotions. Even when he was "empty" in the dungeon he actually showed a lot of feelings - smug satisfaction, annoyance, anger, even a little bit of subtle happiness.

So while I DO think he will still be blunt in general, I also think it's a mistake to assume that means he doesn't feel things and won't have anxieties and insecurities just like any other person.

Mithrun used to be WILDLY insecure, and jealous, and paranoid. He just stopped caring about anything, but if, like the end of the manga suggests, he is going to try to START caring again, he will then start to have feelings, too.

I think Mithrun is intensely aware of his own "undesirability", that's one of the reasons he's BEEN so depressed. Most of his self-worth before the dungeon hinged on being "better" than his brother, and better than other people. Then he looses that (or maybe he was never actually better at all!), so what does he have left? And now his youth is gone too, he's middle-aged and lost his "best years" to depression. He's disabled, he's scarred, he's a bastard that nobody wants.

It's a pretty huge fall from "most eligible bachelor in the empire"!

So I think no, he won't just bluntly tell Kabru that he likes him. It will take Mithrun awhile to realize how he feels, and once he does, he'll be afraid to reach out, so he's going to do what I call "playing silly little elf games". He's going to try and flirt via writing letters and sending gifts, to hint that he likes Kabru.

Luckily for Mithrun, Kabru also knows how to play Silly Little Elf Games (he's an Olympic champion), so he picks up the signals and starts reciprocating, though he's also uncertain and worried that he's misunderstanding. Captain Mithrun couldn't be flirting with him, could he? But... what if he is?

(I will go into Kabru's feelings at a later date anon i promise.)

I think the thing that will ultimately push Mithrun to act is the fear that he'll miss his chance. Mithrun realizes Kabru is a limited time deal that he can only enjoy for the next 60-something years, and he wants every minute of that time for himself, no matter how much it will someday hurt to lose Kabru.

And he also knows that Kabru is very handsome and charming, and he can't expect Kabru to wait for Mithrun to get himself figured out. Someone else will swoop in and snatch that man up, so Mithrun has to hurry.

ALL OF THAT SAID... I think their confession is a lot less of a confession, and much more "we have both been picking up these signals of interest for months/years, and finally one of us pushes it a little bit further than we've ever pushed it before and we acknowledge the unspoken thing that has been growing between us."

Maybe it's a hand resting on someone's leg, or a gentle touch on the arm. Maybe it's leaning in so their shoulders touch. Maybe it's looking into each other's eyes a little bit longer than normal.

Probably it involves both of them admitting "Spending time with you makes me happier than anything else in the world. Whenever we're apart all I think about is when I'm going to see you again. I spend hours composing letters to you in my mind. I want us to spend our days together, no matter what shape that takes."

It's very vulnerable and scary for both of them, and I think they're both DEEPLY relieved after they finally get it out, and they don't get rejected. They know each other so well, and they're so good at reading people - they both thought that the other might feel the same way, but it's so scary to take that leap of faith and hope that they're right.

And just for the record, I think that Kabru worries about if Mithrun will be interested in sex or not, because sex is something that matters to Kabru, but what if Mithrun just doesn't have any desire for it?

And so before they get into a relationship Kabru has a long hard think about it, and decides that even if they never have sex, he wants to be in a romantic relationship with Mithrun anyway, because just being around him makes him feel happy, and understood, and like he isn't alone anymore. There's someone who sees him as he is, all the good and the bad, and says "I love you anyway."

And Kabru decides that he's willing to just jerk off for the rest of his life if that's the price of this relationship that he wants.

Luckily for Kabru, I think Mithrun does want to have sex with him, but I like to think that Kabru thinks through all the possibilities and decides that no matter what they end up doing together, being with Mithrun is worth it.

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #kabru #mithrun #kabumisu #my stuff #theories #kabrun

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

Text

Little drop of your love

requester: Can you possibly do a Azriel X reader where they are newly mated and the IC and them go out at Rita’s and someone hits on her?

a/n I had so much fun writing this it's almost illegal...

warning: mention of sexual themes, creeps in the club

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It has been a month. A whole month since you last saw your family. The mating frenzy has been so intense, since you and Azriel accepted the bond, that even Azriel has positioned all of his works. There was no way you two could be without one another for longer than five minutes. If it wasn't him between your legs, then it was you on your knees looking up at the spymaster or Azriel with your legs over his shoulders as he ate you out. Never before had you felt such a strong desire to be this close to him. Even with him buried deep inside you, you still felt like he wasn't close enough. It's like you wanted to crawl inside his skin. Somehow completely melt inside him and just becomes one body and soul.

In the beginning, you couldn't care less that it was just you. That's all you wanted, and you cursed Rhys out for interrupting you two. Even the thought of Azriel being anywhere but in your bed made you physically sick, as if you were going to die if he spent a moment elsewhere. But as the weeks passed and the initial craziness faded, you two spent more time laying in bed laughing and cuddling. That was when you realized how badly you two neglected your friends. You knew deep down that they would understand, and in the worst-case scenario, you two might just get teased. Maybe get a prize for being all up on each other for the longest time. Yet it still made your heart ache a little. You missed the girls. And boy, oh boy, how many stories you had to share with them. Not to mention that you missed messing around with Cassian. He had always been like a brother to you. Yeah, an evening just getting wasted with him and talking absolute nonsense was long overdue.

So when Feyre gently knocked on your mental shields, you had to hold yourself back from screaming from excitement. The rest of the family was planning a trip out for a night at Rita's. You two were invited, of course, and as Feyre said, that would allow everyone a chance to celebrate your mating bond since there was no time for that prior.

"Az, come on, I want to put on something nice and have fun with our friends." You, of course, agreed to the offer without informing Azriel about it, leaving him all grumpy in bed now. "You've been wearing my clothes, ain't that nice?" His hands were once again resting on your hips as he laid practically on top of you, nibbling at your neck from time to time.

"Yes, but I miss our family. Don't you?" He has always been a huge family man. There was not a single family dinner or gathering that he missed. You knew he loved them without a doubt, so this was still the mating bond speaking from within him. "You weren't complaining about that an hour ago", "Azriel", the male-only laughed, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as you squirmed beneath him.

But after long hours of trying to sway him your way and thanking him for agreeing afterward, you managed to convince him to finally go out. And in all honesty, who was he to deny your wishes? Azriel was ready to do anything for you if that would make you happy. You were his priority now. His mate. His equal. The other half that he had wanted to find for so long.

Azriel felt like a whole new man. Even Cassian had pointed out that his brother was smiling more. Well, at first the general had asked if he wasn't sick, earning a vulgar gesture from the shadow singer. But everyone could see just how happy and full of life Azriel had become once you stepped into his life. One by one, you broke through all of his walls and, with your gentle and slow love, showed him a whole new meaning of life.

Azriel was happily sitting by the fireplace, smiling to himself, thinking of all the memories you two had shared when he heard the sound of your high heels approaching. And all he could do was let out a low growl as you gave him a little swirl while biting your lip. "I think we won't make it out the door," Azriel said, taking hold of your hand and spinning you around one more time, admiring how the black material of the dress, accompanied by white pearls, fitted your body simply perfectly.

"We're matching," your hands had come up to rest on his chest, feeling the soft material of the black shirt he was wearing, "And it's honestly rude how you manage to look so sexy with just a shirt and a couple of undone buttons," smacking his chest playfully, you moved to pull away, pouting slightly. "You're the sexiest when you're naked, but this is outrageous," bringing you closer to him. Azriel placed a loving kiss on the crown of your head, "You look breathtaking, my love."

Smiling brightly, you wrapped your hands around his neck. Even with high heels on, you barely got to meet his lips without stepping on your tippy toes. Azriel leaned in, pressing his lips against yours, not caring about the red lipstick you were wearing. Within seconds, the kiss got more passionate, and Azriel's hands started scrunching up the material of your silk dress. "Az, you'll mess up the dress before we even get there," you grumbled, pulling away from him. Brushing your fingers against his lips so you could wipe away the red tint covering them. "Good, they know you had some action before you came there, and they'll stay away," you shook your head, rolling your eyes as you two walked out.

The club was stuffed when you got there. And with you being out for the first time in quite a while, the sea of bodies and the drumming of the music instantly made you want to step away as an overwhelming amount of stimulation flooded your senses. Azriel instantly draped his hand over your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. His other hand held yours as you two stepped forward. He could feel your emotions loud and clear. Sending some comforting strokes of love through the bond, feeling as your body instantly became less tense as his body pressed to yours.

It was a question in itself. But somehow, through all of the sounds, you heard the loudest shriek that Mor had let out once you two came into view, immediately running your way. Feyre and Nesta follow one step behind as they all embraced you. Once you were practically swallowed by the females, Azriel stepped aside and went to join his brothers, who both had the biggest smiles on their faces. "Look who finally graced us with their presence," Rhys chirped, handing Azriel a glass. "Reeking of sweet, sweet sex," Cassian added, earning a shove from Azriel in return as the two males laughed. "I'm surprised she's walking", "I'm not an animal, Rhys", the spymaster gave his high lord a look before turning his attention to you. You haven't yet crossed the distance towards the private nook. The girls still twirling you around as if you were the most unseen creature ever. Azriel would have asked them to stop and leave you alone, but the smile on your face as you all giggled among each other is what stopped him. His lips curve up as he watches you.

"Come on, we need it in millimeters", "And don't forget the details", "No, tell me if he's into some kinky stuff", they were all talking over one another, and you found yourself laughing so hard your cheeks started to sting. "Should I be concerned that all you bunch care about is my mate's cock?", you teased them in return, earning multiple eye rolls and growls.

"It's for research!", Mor whined from beside you. "Fine, he has the biggest wingspan for a reason. Never seen anything like that in my humble life," you said, Nesta fell back on the plush material of the sofas as the girls once again erupted into fits of laughter. "Does he treat you well, though?" Feyre took a hold of your hand, squeezing it softly. "He's perfect," you said, turning your attention to the boys and instantly catching Azriel's gaze. Even while he was still talking with his brother, his eyes didn't seem to leave you. "I feel like a princess. He's the best." Smiling at your high lady, you leaned into her embrace.

As the night went on, more and more drinks were poured, and saluted by everyone. You were sitting on Azriel's lap, his hand loosely wrapped around your lower body, as everyone watched Cassian peel his shirt off as he performed quite a lap dance for Nesta. It was hard to tell the difference between her wanting to kill her mate and just wanting to rip the rest of his clothes off.

"Someone needs to save his poor soul," Azriel laughed in your ear, kissing your exposed shoulder, "I'll go get us some drinks and grab him a water," Azriel was almost up when you pushed him back down on the seat. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own", the spymaster shot you a warning look before you leaned in kissing him softly, biting his lip as you pulled away. Azriel cursed under his breath just as you walked off, smirking like a cat.

Most of the people in the club were wasted. It shouldn't have surprised you, given how late it was. But that also meant that the club was starting to get less stuffy. The crowd was still big, but at least it felt like there was a tiny bit more breathing space. You shouted your order to the bartender, who complimented you in return. Wishful fool, you thought to yourself as you smiled at him, grateful that he turned away to mix the different liquors without a second glance. You were still laughing to yourself, thinking how badly you were going to tease Cassian tomorrow, when you felt someone come to stand next to you. You would have ignored it, but the closeness of the stance made you frown as you turned to look its way.

The male was pretty tall, but nothing compared to Azriel. Light hair, bright blue eyes. Ah... Everything you hated the most in males. You stepped to the side, but he took that as an opportunity to catch a hold of your hand, making you turn his way. "What a pretty flower has landed on my way," you cocked your head to the side, "More like you landed yourself here," the male whistled back, a smirk on his face. "And she has an attitude. Do you carry that into the bedroom as well?" Your eyes went big as you gaped at him, "Excuse me?", "You heard me, you like to be a little brat?", his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you closer to him, your hands instantly came up to push against his chest so he wouldn't get too close. Turning your head to the side as you closed your eyes. But not even a moment later, the hands were ripped off of you, as you fell into someone's embrace. Looking up, you saw that it was Cassian, who now looked way soberer than he did a few minutes ago. Returning your gaze to the front, you noticed Azriel's back, wings already perked up as he towered above the male.

"Oh little lad, I would step aside if I were you," Rhys warned him, knowing that this could escalate rather quickly. "Maybe you should mind your business; I was getting some," Azriel stepped forward, lifting the blonde by his shirt. "I will send you flying into pieces if you say even a single word," the shadow singer grunted through his teeth. You tried to reach for him, but Cassian wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer to his chest. You tried to protest, but you knew that it was mainly for keeping you safe in case Azriel completely lost his cool. Not only to protect you but also Azriel, knowing that he would never forgive himself if, in the heat of the moment, he hurt you by accident.

The shadows were swirling all around the place. The poor male's feet were dangling in the air as Azriel glared at him. And if looks could kill, the sorry fuck would be six feet under. "You ever decide to touch my mate ever again, and I'll make you eat your own hands, understood?" The male only nodded his head, squirming in the tight grip of the spymaster. "I asked you a question, shitass!" Azriel roared, making the glass bottles at the back bar shake ever so slightly. "Yes, I'm so sorry, please," the male pleaded, almost crying. Azriel threw him across the room without a second thought as he turned to you.

Cassian instantly let go of you, stepping aside, as well as raising his hands up. Yet Azriel didn't miss a chance to also growl at his brother. You took a hold of your mate's hand, dragging him into the back room for some privacy. Luckily, the place was empty as you closed the doors behind the two of you. Azriel was still breathing heavily. You knew, you could tell from the way he was clenching his fist that he was fighting against the urge to go back there and beat the daylight out of that male. You approached him, stepping in between his legs, your hands running through his perfectly made hair. Azriel let out a deep breath as he nuzzled his face into your stomach, hands gripping your sides as he breathed in your scent.

He needed to ground himself. To pull himself out of the blinding rage. He refused to be violent in front of you. Of course, you knew what Azriel did. You knew that very well, but that didn't mean that he wanted to welcome his dark side into day-to-day life. "I'm all okay. I'm here with you," you mumbled softly, thankful for the dimmed-out music that allowed you to keep your voice nice and soft. "He...", Azriel spoke, but his voice died down as he clenched his jaw tightly.

"He's a doomed creature with a death wish," you said as you gently nudged Azirel's head up to meet your gaze. "You could have been seriously hurt. He could have... ", "I'm here, you saved me, and I'm alright," you said, placing both of your hands on either side of his face as you bent forward, resting your forehead on his. "I promise that I'm fine, Azzy," yet his eyes still searched you as if he was trying to find a lie in your words. Shaking his head, he pressed himself closer to you once again. You ran your fingers up and down his neck, scratching him ever so slightly.

"We should have stayed at home," Azriel groaned, but you quickly cut in, "That's not true. We had a fun night, and we'll continue to do so," you said, pushing him back into the soft pillows as you moved to straddle his lap.

"What do you think you're up to, sweet girl?", he asked, but you only smirked as you pressed your finger to his lips and said, "Saying thank you to my knight in shining armor." The darkness in his eyes was replaced with a lustful look as he moved his hand under the skirt of your dress. Eyes going big as his fingers came in contact with your bare hips. A mischievous smirk paints your lips as you lean forward, leaving kisses on his exposed chest. "It's your lucky night, little bat. I came bearing gifts," the shadow singer only shook his head as he flipped you two over, "You're so going to pay for this, gorgeous."

#azriel x reader #rhys x reader #cassian x reader #azriel x you #acotar imagine #acotar x reader

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mviswidow · 10 months

Text

all's well that ends well

Maria Hill x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: A couple of months after being rejected by Maria, R gets hurt during the Battle of Sokovia and it brings them back together. Pretty angsty with some fluff at the end and plenty of best friend Nat.

Based on this request from a while back but I decided to finish it up. I would love to write for Maria more so if you have any ideas please send them my way <3

“I’m so sorry.”

Maria’s words repeated in your head every day since you bore your heart out to her.

The worst part was probably that she had never told you if she reciprocated your feelings. She’d just insisted it wouldn’t work out; it wasn’t worthwhile. You couldn’t believe what you saw between the two of you was imagined. It couldn’t have been.

You saw her through the glass door of one of many conference rooms, sitting outside, waiting to speak to Fury while you were in your meeting with him.

You should have been happy. You had just been promoted and were going to be an Avenger, yet all you could think about was a girl who didn’t care about you enough to be honest with you.

You did your best to block Maria out of your mind for the remainder of the meeting, attempting to soak up the moment. This was the kind of thing you’d been working towards since you started at SHIELD Academy.

You needed this. You needed a win. Having such a huge distraction would be great for you, and the opportunity to learn from a legend such as Natasha Romanoff was incredible.

You moved your belongings into the Avengers Tower during the following week. Your bedroom was right next to Natasha’s.

Per Fury’s request, Natasha trained you multiple times a week and reported back to him on your progress.

The more time you spent training with her, the better you got to know her.

Before you knew it, Natasha had become your closest friend. After feeling crushed about Maria, she was exactly what you needed in your life - someone unwavering.

Natasha knew what it was like to be alone. You did too. Maybe that was why the two of you clicked so well.

She was also very excited to have another woman in the tower. Before you it was her and the rest of the boys.

You spent most of your free time with her. She helped you heal your heart.

With some time, you no longer felt your stomach churn every time you saw Maria at work.

You were starting to feel okay.

You knew Natasha and Maria were friends, but it wasn’t something you really ever thought about.

You were reminded of the fact when they hugged to greet each other at Tony’s party a couple nights after you helped the Avengers obtain Loki’s scepter from Strucker.

You stood awkwardly behind Natasha until the redhead moved on to greet another one of your colleagues and Maria’s eyes landed on you.

Anxiety bubbled up in your chest as you gave her a polite smile and a loose hug.

“Maria,” you nodded.

“Hi,” she smiled, though it didn’t nearly reach her eyes the way it used to when she spoke to you. “I haven’t really gotten a chance to congratulate you since you got promoted.”

You didn’t expect a conversation.

“You’re looking good out there.”

You could feel your cheeks turning red, “Thank you.”

There was so much you wanted to say to her. You held your tongue, though, you would only hurt yourself.

Before either of you had a chance to say anything more, Natasha returned and began to speak to the brunette. You tuned out their conversation quickly as the only thing you could think about was how terribly you missed everything about Maria.

After a minute, you excused yourself to the bar, promptly ordering two shots and throwing them back.

You were soon joined by Tony and Thor who you ordered drinks with to celebrate your victory. When Steve joined the three of you, you took another shot with him. It was not long before you became a little too tipsy for a work party faster than you’d realized what you’d done.

Upon noticing you hadn’t seen Natasha since you arrived at the party together, you scanned the room for red hair.

You found her sitting on a chair, listening to a conversation between a couple of people, and clumsily sat yourself on her lap, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Someone’s been busy,” she said with a smirk that turned into a smile.

“Oh yeah, I can’t say no to an open bar.”

“Obviously,” she teased and you saw a glint in her eye that made your heart pick up. “You seeing anyone lately?”

You rolled your eyes with a knowing smile, “Prying while I’m drunk, Nat? I didn’t think that was your style.”

“That’s not a no,” she pressed on.

“You’re very nosy. But no, I haven’t even thought of that since… since I joined.” You thought back to what Maria told you. “Besides, I don’t need a distraction or anything.”

“I dunno,” Natasha shrugged. “doesn’t hurt to have some fun- and seeing someone doesn’t mean you have a distraction in your life. There’s a person behind the big, strong, Avenger everyone sees. Being human doesn’t make you weak.”

Your eyes flitted to Maria who was across the room, engaged in a conversation with Steve, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance, “You should tell that to her.”

Natasha’s face crinkled in confusion and she followed your line of sight, her eyes widening as she turned back to face you, “What is that supposed to mean?”

You groaned and had to stop yourself from facepalming, drinking made you loose lipped, “I’ll tell you about it sober, we’re not getting into this now.”

The last thing you thought you would have to do that night was fight sentient fucking robots while intoxicated. You thought you had been holding your own well enough but got knocked to the floor when a bogie hit you in the head.

Your ears rang loudly and you’d been sure the stupid piece of metal was about to kill you as you held your head in agony until you heard gunshots and it never came.

You had Maria to thank for that.

The next time you found yourself being thrown to the ground by a bogie was in Sokovia. You weren’t so lucky this time, you landed on a sharp piece of metal that lodged itself in your abdomen as your chin slammed into the concrete ground.

You cried out in pain as you tried to get your bearings, knowing that if you didn’t act quickly you would die.

Searing pain coursed through your entire body as you reached to unstrap your gun from your thigh. Hot tears ran down your cheeks and mixed with dirt and the fresh blood on your chin.

You shot the hunk of metal until it collapsed on the floor. You were grateful the lifeboats were taking people from the floating island to the helicarrier every couple of minutes and hobbled over as quickly as your body could go in this state.

Every breath and step you took was excruciating. The only thing you could think about was how badly you wanted to survive.

The moment Steve laid his eyes on you, he gestured to Natasha and ran over, picking you off your feet and carrying you the rest of the distance. You let out a sob of relief when you no longer had to rely on your feet carrying you the rest of the way, not knowing how much further you would have been able to make it.

You heard him speaking over comms and vaguely caught Natasha’s response, telling him to take you onto the helicarrier for medical attention while she continued to direct people onto lifeboats.

“You’re going to be alright, okay?” Steve murmured, and you couldn’t tell if he even believed himself.

Nonetheless, you nodded into his neck and let your eyes close.

You woke up in a bed with an IV attached to you. You were grateful that the lights were mostly turned off, besides a lamp in the room, keeping your eyes from hurting too much.

Your whole body ached, your stomach especially, and you groaned restlessly.

Natasha was sitting in a chair to your right reading a book and Maria was beside her, her eyes closed. When Natasha heard you, her head snapped up from her book and she let out a sigh of relief, taking your hand. “Hey, you’re okay.”

She offered you some water and gave you medication that was left for you in case you woke up, “This should make you feel better, you’ll probably be a little drowsy soon but the pain should go away.”

“Thank you, ‘Tasha,” you smiled gratefully as best you could.

“You scared me, you know - all of us, really,” She said, her voice a little shaky. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Me too,” you chuckled.

Natasha smiled softly and cleared her throat, “I’ll come check on you again soon but I know Maria wants to talk to you.”

She nudged the brunette awake gently, nodding in your direction, “Hey, she just woke up a couple minutes ago.”

Maria muttered a ‘thank you’ to Natasha for waking her up and moved to her previously occupied seat when she left.

“You feel okay?” she asked when the two of you alone, and you figured she was avoiding whatever it was she actually wanted to say.

“No, I was impaled, I feel like shit… Why are you here?”

Maria’s eyebrows raised for a second, caught off guard by how blunt you were being, and took a breath, “I wanted to apologize.”

“For?”

“When I rejected you. I -”

“That’s not necessary, Maria, I really don’t want to rehash this.”

She shook her head and clenched her jaw, “Please. I - I was wrong.”

You quirked a brow. That was new. It wasn’t every day Maria Hill was wrong about something. And it definitely wasn’t every day Maria Hill looked like she was about to cry.

Maria took your silence as permission to continue, “I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry you had to almost die for me to admit it. I was so afraid to let myself love you because I was terrified knowing that something like this could happen to you. But when I got the call I realized that I could die never knowing what it’s like to kiss you.” Her voice broke as she finished her sentence. She let out a breath to steady herself as a tear streaked down her face.

You reached out your hand to the edge of the bed, palm up. Maria put her hand on top of yours and you squeezed lightly.

Her breath hitched and tears welled in your eyes while you watched her lips turn downwards as she tried not to cry. “I’m so sorry,” Those words sounded different this time.

Your heart ached for her. You nodded, understanding. “I know… it’s okay.”

She swallowed and wiped her tears, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips, “Why don’t you find out what it’s like to kiss me already, hm?”

#maria hill #maria hill x reader #cobie smulders #marvel #secret invasion #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #sapphic #wlw #steve cameo #i love maria hill so much

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pedropascallme · 4 months

Text

People Worth Saving

Pairing: Emmett x f!Reader

Summary: "You bit the bullet and wandered closer to the dome, quiet footsteps aided by your worn-down sneakers and a strong will to find some security in this new space. Before you managed to lean down, to open the hatch and slide down into the waiting abyss below, something grabbed your jacket and pulled you back. The urge to cry out was tamped down by your will to live, and by the hand that quickly covered your mouth."

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI) age gap (reader is 19-20), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), mentions of death, child loss, general Quiet Place II angst, you know the drill, etc, etc. If I missed anything please let me know!

You had distant memories about your childhood, and the hammock that your father set up in the front yard between the two tall trees that had been there longer than the neighborhood had. He had gotten lazy, setting it up one summer and then never taking it down; it sat through sleet and snow and sunshine in the same spot.

Even if it got wet, you didn’t mind. You loved that hammock.

You realized early on that if you swung your legs over the side and swayed back and forth, you could use it as a swing. Pumping your legs hard and building up momentum only to leap off at the last second and fall in a heap at the end of the lawn. It drove your mother crazy with worry about skinned knees and concussions, but you were so full of joy in the moments of adrenaline leading up to the landing.

In the fall, when the leaves changed and fell and the trees became dormant, your father brought out the rake to clear the driveway and the path to the stairs. He piled the leaves high, and you always managed to completely destroy his hard work; swinging in the hammock and launching yourself into the dry, dead leaves, you created an explosion of autumn colors around yourself, feeling the solid crunch under your body. You’d laugh and laugh, and when your father had seen what you’d done, he would laugh, too, raking the leaves back up to repeat the cycle again.

You didn’t even care that for the rest of the day you found small twigs in your Pippy Longstocking-style braids, or that the leaves made your clothes smell musty until your mother threw them in the wash. You were too young to care about anything but having fun.

Now dry leaves terrified you.

Walking through the field felt like a death sentence, and every step you took was carefully calculated to avoid detection. Your heel would land softly in a patch of dirt, then your opposite foot would land sideways on the grass surrounding an obvious booby trap. You had no idea if it was still operating, if whoever had put it there was still checking it or if they were even still alive, but you didn't want to test any theories.

You longed to crunch the leaves under your feet, to feel the simmering nostalgia under your skin come to a boil and create your own pile to jump into—to feel free again from the burden of the world and of survival.

You made it to the entrance, concrete and dry, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Though the building was huge and likely easy to hide in, and the interior was empty enough to create a dull echo with every step, you still found solace in solid footing. Part of you wanted to scream out a greeting, to see if anybody would reveal themselves—perhaps the creator of the traps outside, or someone who had found said creator and done to them what most people do now when they come across an unsuspecting second party.

Screaming was off the table, for obvious reasons, but that didn’t stop the voice in your head from repeating hello? Over and over until you couldn’t remember if you had said it out loud or not.

You took several light steps to explore your surroundings. It had been a factory, maybe, or a foundry; it was mostly machinery and empty space, but you could imagine the people that must have once taken up space on the now-empty floor around the large pillars and appliances.

You couldn’t imagine that many of them were still breathing.

There was a dome shaped trap door on the far end of the building, and you felt the urge to explore further; it had been too long since you’d been able to rest in a sturdy, isolated place, and the itch to know what was behind the hatch made you feel unreasonably confident in finding safety with whatever it was. A bed, maybe. Something soft and warm and capable of helping you forget the constant state of fear you lived in.

You bit the bullet and wandered closer to the dome, quiet footsteps aided by your worn-down sneakers and a strong will to find some security in this new space. Before you managed to lean down, to open the hatch and slide down into the waiting abyss below, something grabbed your jacket and pulled you back. The urge to cry out was tamped down by your will to live, and by the hand that quickly covered your mouth.

You breathed heavily into the warm hand that now sat on your lips. The other hand of the person who now held you captive tightened around the base of your jacket, pulling you further from the promise of any dream you had created that lay beyond the underside of the trap door. You couldn’t turn your head, relying now on your eyes quickly darting side to side, trying to use your peripheral to catch a glimpse of whoever the hands connected to.

“No.”

It was a man’s voice, shaky and frightened but clearly attempting to reprimand you. You kept breathing, trying to find a way out of the situation, or at the very least a way out of your current position. You slowed your breathing, trying to still your body, making yourself malleable and light in his hands so that he assumed you would submit. You felt his hand loosen its grip on the fabric around your back, and in the same moment you swung your leg back, digging your heel into his shin as best you could from the angle before stomping on his foot when your leg came down.

His hands flew to his face, covering his own mouth in an attempt to silence his yelp at the sudden pain in his leg. You turned around, grabbing his wrists limply and forcing your fingers into his short hair to pull him down to you. You saw him wince under the handkerchief he wore across the bottom half of his face, bright blue eyes, worn down and tired, narrowing at you. You stared at each other until he gathered his bearings, straightening his legs and overcoming the pain you had caused him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” You whispered as menacingly as you could, refusing to become a shrinking violet in the presence of this stranger after everything you had gone through. He moved his hands slightly, as if to shrug, before you realized you had him trapped with his palms over his face and thus left him unable to speak. You dropped his wrists, and his arms fell to his sides, but you kept a vice-grip on his scalp.

“Get out.” He kept his sentences short, you noticed from the three words he had spoken, and you understood why.

“Why?” You weren’t going to make this easy for him.

“You can’t stay here.” Four words. New record.

“Why?” You pressed, bothered that he seemed to think he had a right to the entirety of the building despite its size.

“It’s mine.”

“Don’t see your name on it.” He rolled his eyes at you, and you tightened your grip on his hair, earning another pained look from him. “And you don’t seem to be in any position to be giving orders.”

“Took me by surprise.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” You were dry, not wanting to give in to any banter he might try to pry from you. “Look, I haven’t eaten in two days, haven’t slept in three, and I don’t think either of us wants to make a scene given the current climate,” you nodded your head toward the door, implying that you’d leave him for the wolves if you had the chance. “Let me stay. One night. Then…”

“One.” He repeated, not bothering to acknowledge your sob story or the implication that this would be a fight for later. “Can you let go of me now?” You let go of him, pushing his head slightly as you loosened your fist. He straightened to his full height and rounded you. “Were you followed?”

“If I was, we’d be dead by now.”

“By people?”

“If I was, we'd be dead by now.” You persisted.

He let out a long exhale before nodding, bending to open the hatch and offering a hand to help you into the room below. “Ladies first.”

You exhaled sharply, biting your cheeks, and grabbing his outstretched hand before lowering yourself into the fluorescent lighting that awaited you. You retracted your hand as soon as you made it down one rung of the ladder.

It was small. Not small—it was actually bigger than most rooms you’d slept in for the past few months, but it was built like a classroom; high ceilings and minimal furniture, the lights flickered above you and you jumped when you heard the hatch close with a loud creak and crash.

“S’alright,” the man dusted his hands off on his jeans, “can’t hear us down here.”

There was a tunnel built into the wall, and you noticed a rag tied to the handle.

“What’s this?” You fiddled with the fabric before he came over to brush you off of it.

“Even quieter in there.”

“How’d you figure that out?”

“Trial and error.” He said simply before turning his back to you and slumping into the couch that lay in the middle of the room. He removed his handkerchief, sharp features only slightly hidden now by his unkept beard.

You wandered around, taking in the meager furnishings and the machinery. You had no idea what this room was meant to be in the building’s prime—maybe some sort of safe room, some sort of storage area. Who cared, really; now it was just another waste of perfectly good silence.

“So,” you started, still speaking softly out of habit and mild distrust, “are you going to, uh, get me to let down my guard? Kill me in my sleep?” You picked at the paint that was peeling off the wall.

“Not as long as you’re out by tomorrow,” he almost smiled, “and for the record, I’d only kill you if you were awake. Only fair that you see it coming, at least.”

“Cute,” you huffed, “And now that I’m down here what makes you so certain I’ll leave?” You were testing him, trying to see if there was any truth at all to what he was saying. He didn’t look like a killer, granted neither did you before day one; he was tall, compared to you, at least, and lanky. He clearly hadn’t had access to a razor since he’d been down here. He folded his arms where he sat on the couch, pleasant-ish small talk paired with closed off body language. You couldn’t see any weapons within arm’s reach, and if you had to guess you would say he only learned how to use whatever gun that he owned—if he owned one—when everything went to hell.

“Guess I’ll leave it up to trial and error again.” You liked his eyes, you decided, and the way the blue of his irises was so pronounced against his pale skin and brown hair. Maybe you even thought he was handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you might let him buy you a drink and see where it took you. You kept walking in circles around the room in silence, figuring that if he had anything worth saying he would come out and say it.

You stopped at a small table, something your mother would’ve gawked at in an IKEA as if she would actually ever buy it after looking at the price tag. There were pictures, hand drawn sketches and scribbles and faces in black and white. Some of them had color, faded, and worn by time, but still clear as day in the part of your brain that bothered to register the details.

“These are nice,” you were first to speak again, “you draw them?”

“No…” he looked like he was struggling to find the words to say what he wanted to, “My—my wife…” He trailed off, and you knew immediately that she was no longer in the picture, whether it had been before or after the invasion. Still, you felt a twang of disappointment; maybe for him, for his lonesomeness—or maybe for you, for your own.

You picked up a sketch that looked to be of two young boys, and even on the washed-out paper they looked like the man behind you. You turned, paper in hand, unsure of whether you wanted to speak to him about it, dredge up his memories.

But what's a little friendly conversation between new anti-companions?

“Yours?” You leaned over the back of the couch, holding the sketch in front of you so he could see what you were talking about. He reached for it, and you noticed a slight tremor in his hand before he took the paper from you.

“Yes,” he breathed, “yeah.”

“Look like you.”

“Better looking kids than I ever was,” he chuckled, low and solemn, “better behaved, too.” You watched on as he studied the picture, before he stood up and placed it back on the table behind the couch. “I was—um…y’ever seen the movie The Mist?”

“Yeah…” You wondered what exactly he could be building up to.

“When they—my sons—they…the first day…" You could feel his breath, not because of proximity, but because you knew the same pain. "And I was so, so scared that I would wake up on day two to find that everything had returned to normal, and everything was going to be ok, but they would still be…like at the end of that movie.” He folded his arms again, “but now I, I mean this is—god, I guess I’ve never said it out loud, uh…maybe…it’s good they didn’t have to see…this.”

You nodded, remembering how that movie ended; your parents had let you watch it, not knowing what it was about. You had nightmares any time it got foggy until you were ten or eleven. “Yeah,” you looked at him, making eye contact for a solid few seconds before averting your gaze. “I—my parents, and…my brother…” you didn’t know how to phrase it, feeling as though he had already said it all, “I get it.”

You didn’t tell him you had turned 19 in the week leading up to doomsday, that you had been sitting on the hammock that shaped your childhood and thinking about the joy of being small enough to jump into the leaf pile your dad was raking when you saw the first meteor strike town, or that the last words your mother screamed were “I’m sorry.”

It just didn’t seem right; sometimes grief is better explained through the silences.

“I’m Emmett,” he broke you from your thoughts, “And I’m…sorry for—if I scared you. Up there.”

You said your name, realizing it was the first time you had introduced yourself to anybody in over a year. You reached out your hand and he took it in a firm shake. “Pleasure.”

He smiled, a genuine, full smile this time. You decided it suited him well.

“You sleep on the couch?” You broke free from the way he was analyzing your features, trying not to focus on what he might think of them.

“Usually, yeah,” he leaned against the arm of the sofa, “but I’d be ok to sleep on the floor if you want.”

“No—that’s nice, but no, you don’t have to.” You hoped he saw through your lie, how desperately you wanted to rest on something soft. “I’m only here for the night, anyway, remember? Don’t want to…shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

“You can…” Emmett looked at you, then over his shoulder toward the couch, “I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his forehead, lifting his messy hair before trailing down to stroke his beard, “you can stay, I just—can’t be too careful, you know? And I didn’t, I was worried you were—”

“Gonna kill you?” You smirked, and he smiled again.

“A little, yeah.” He looked at you, and you realized how close you’d gotten to him over the course of your conversation, “Stay as long as you want.”

“Does this mean I get the couch?”

“I think that’s fair.” He moved, grabbing several pillows from the couch, and dropping them on the floor underneath it; his makeshift bed would, at least, be mildly comfortable if he could help it. “You got here when the sun was setting, I’ve been up since it rose,” he sat amongst the pillows, trying to lay them out in a manner suitable for him to rest on, “So, if you don’t mind, I’m about ready to get some sleep.”

You nodded, dropping yourself onto the couch and grabbing the thin blanket draped over one of the cushions; it was threadbare, and fraying, but you didn’t care—too focused on the fact that you’d be able to sleep in a quiet, comfortable spot. You watched Emmett flick a switch in the corner of the room before he returned to his mess of pillows, and the lights dimmed. If you squeezed your eyes shut you felt like you might be able to hear your parents watching television in the other room, like you were in your own bedroom eavesdropping on their hushed conversations; safe, known.

But it wasn’t any of that—not really. In the back of your mind, you worried about the lack of exits in the room, the fact that you still didn’t know whether or not Emmett had a weapon, the looming threat that remained just above you. You looked at the ceiling when you opened your eyes, wondering if anything had followed you, wondering if they would figure out how to unscrew the hatch and find you in this echo chamber of a building.

“Emmett,” you managed to whisper through your anxieties, “Are you awake?”

“It’s been five minutes,” he sounded tired, and you realized that the dryness of his voice wasn’t due to any disinterest in you, but lack of use. “I’m still awake.”

“How do you know this is safe?” You picked a loose thread from the blanket and watched it unwind in your hands.

“It’s safe.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You tried to drop it after that, ignoring the fears that you carried with you from past encounters where you were assured of your safety, only to wake up and find that you had to keep running. “And they can’t hear us?”

So much for dropping it.

“They can’t hear us.” You heard him turn over on the floor, and you shifted to face him. Even in the darkness, his eyes were piercing, and you had no trouble finding them with your own. “I’m certain. I promise.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” he shook his head, “only fair to be nervous.”

You nodded, lying back down, and pulling the blanket to your chin. It didn’t really do anything, and the chill of the room seeped into you even after you shifted to make yourself more comfortable. Maybe it was because you kept moving, or maybe he felt it too, but Emmett addressed you again.

“Cold?”

“Yeah,” you didn’t bother hiding it. Once the world went to shit there was no real reason to keep up the niceties of denying discomfort to your host. At sleepovers hosted by your friends, you would’ve said no, I’m perfectly comfortable, and breathed into your hands until the sun rose, and your mother picked you up with a sweatshirt and a bagel fresh from the toaster. Now? Fuck it.

“Would’ve been warmer in here when the building was still in use,” he began to ramble, and you thought it was so dad of him to feel the need to explain the history of the building you slept in when all you really wanted was some comfort, “machines and bodies moving, and, I mean, the heat generated from these things would’ve been crazy.”

“Emmett,” you cut his monologue short, your face peering over the couch cushions and down at him, “are there more blankets?”

“No…” He seemed embarrassed, almost like he was worried he was disappointing you.

“Are you cold?”

“Not really.” He closed his eyes.

“Emmett.”

“A little.” He sighed; his eyes opened again.

You sat up and patted the couch, unsure of why exactly this was the solution you had landed on, but feeling like it was worth a shot. “Come.”

“Are you sure?” He hardly seemed hesitant, moving to join you almost immediately, but still trying to gage whether or not it was an empty offer.

You nodded, moving to make room for him behind you. When he first settled onto the couch, you recognized that this was the first time in ages that anybody had touched you—that anybody had come close to you. Heat radiated off of his clothed body and you couldn’t help but inch closer to him, bodies tangling together on the small sofa, trying to find peace. You wondered if he felt the same catharsis that came with sharing a sleeping space; if he was just as in awe as you were at how perfectly your bodies seemed to fit together, curving to appeal to the needs of each other and your individual comfort. Emmett’s arm draped over your abdomen, his hand brushing the hem of your shirt, and you sighed, unable to hide your content at the feeling of him shielding you from the wider world.

“When was the last time you…” you whispered, trailing off when you realized how awkward the question would sound.

“Hm?” His response was muffled, his face all but buried in your hair.

“When was the last time you touched somebody?” You but the bullet.

“I…must be months, now.” He didn’t think too long about it, “What about you?”

You turned in his arms, careful to not disturb the cushions too much under your weight. You were face to face with him now, with little room to do anything but breathe. “I don’t remember.”

You didn’t mean it in any sexual sense; really you were just curious as to how much physical affection anybody was getting given the current state of things; how long had it been since any two people had the time to just hold hands? And really enjoy the touch and weight of the other’s hand in their own, fingers interlocked? But deep down you knew there was an implication to your words, a desperate implication that you hoped he would pick up on, and that, if he did, he would understand your want, and fulfill it wholeheartedly.

Emmett’s hand strayed from your waist to brush your cheek, the back of two fingers caressing your skin, and your patience broke; you held his wrist with both hands, a parallel to the way you had trapped him earlier when you considered him a threat, and lowered it to your lips. You could feel the callouses he had built up, the roughness of his palm versus the soft skin of the back of his hand. You gave each finger a delicate kiss, waiting for him to break away, waiting for him to move back to the floor and tell you that you absolutely had to leave tomorrow, to hell with what he had said earlier.

But he didn’t.

He watched, transfixed, as you slid one finger into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip and releasing it with a quiet pop. You let go of his wrist, and looked up at him with hooded eyes, half-expecting a look of disgust.

His mouth was open just enough to see the edges of his top teeth, eyes focused on your lips, and you felt that his breathing had picked up, though that could have been a trick of the surrounding quiet.

“You like that?” No, he was definitely breathing harder. You could hear it in his words.

“Yeah,” you sighed, relieved by his words, the bright eyes staring back at you in the dark room seemed entirely untroubled with your actions, “Do you?”

“Yeah.” His fingers moved to trace the shape of your face before landing on your chin, lifting you slightly higher to allow him access.

No time was wasted in the moments that followed; his mouth attached to yours in one natural movement, and he immediately granted your tongue access to him when you began licking gently at his lower lip. You felt spit and teeth, and you could hear your heart in your ears, its rhythm in your face as he nipped gently at you, your lips getting puffy from use.

Arms wrapped around your waist again, this time to haul you up and over Emmett’s body, his motion encouraging you to straddle his waist. You planted your hands on his chest before reconnecting your lips to him, determined to explore every inch he offered you from your new vantage point. His t-shirt, stretched and worn, exposed a sliver of his chest, and you were quick to suck marks onto his collar bones and just below them. He groaned at the contact, hands traveling lower down your body in order to undo your jeans.

“Work with me baby, c’mon,” Emmett clumsily undid your fly as you licked over any skin you could reach. He pulled at your hair to bring your line of sight to his, and the stinging pressure on your scalp made you moan, “Help me out here, I’ll give you what you want.”

You straightened out above him, grinding your hips into his as you stripped down; jacket, shirt, and jeans following once you had made enough room for yourself to remove them. You returned to your rightful place on his lap, continuing to grind down onto him to relieve the building ache in your core. The friction he gave you was just right, and it helped to hear him groan when you dragged your hips up and down at just the right pace, his cock twitching in his pants at the weight and the angle.

His hands came up to paw at your chest, squeezing the tender skin before leaning forward to wrap his lips around your nipple. Your back arched, and you could only guess how pathetic it looked, coming so undone, so easily, for a man you had just met, clearly more than ten years your senior.

It was desperate and needy, and you didn’t care; you deserved this. Both of you deserved this.

You felt teeth brush against your pebbled skin, making you grind down harder atop him, letting the tip of his clothed cock catch your naked cunt and relishing in the sensation. He removed his mouth from your nipple, pulling you down to him to reconnect your mouths and give you a deliberately sloppy kiss full of tongue.

“Off,” you pleaded between gasps of air, fingers skimming the edge of his pants, “Take them off.”

Emmett huffed, and you sat back on your knees, giving him the space to sit up and remove his shirt, before he stood to take off his jeans. You waited for him to rejoin you on the couch, to continue what he had started there, but he kneeled in front of you instead, pulling you legs apart and holding them wide open.

“God,” one of his hands fell forward, gently placed low on your stomach, his thumb toying with your swollen clit and puffy lips, “Fuck.”

He dove into you, mouth open and wanting; you felt him come into contact with your hole and you jumped, head back and eyes closed as genuine pleasure washed over you. You placed a hand on the back of his neck to stabilize yourself as he began to fuck you with his tongue. The muscle lapped up your slick, pushing back into you, and repeating the process, his thumb still massaging your clit.

“Yeah, like that,” you whimpered, back arching off the couch. The hand still on your thigh ensuring that your legs would stay open for him reached up to squeeze one of your nipples; it was rough, and all the movement and friction he was giving you was utterly relentless. The overstimulation left you reeling, and you put your own fingers in your mouth to muffle the screams you wished you could let him hear. “Just like that, Emmett.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, one breath and you were a goner, bound to free-fall.

"I feel you," he let a trail of spit fall over your cunt, and when he spoke you could feel the prickly hair of his beard against your thighs, "squeezing me so tight—cum for me, baby, c'mon."

He sped up his movements on your clit ever so slightly, and you felt your legs begin to tremble, body light and head full of stars. You came with ease, the most relaxed you’ve felt in ages was with Emmett’s face buried in your cunt, lapping up what dripped from you like it was his only water source.

You nearly had to pry him off of you, fist in his hair while you came to from your high as he continued to enjoy himself vicariously through your pleasure.

“Come,” you steadied your breathing, “come here.” And he listened, but not before allowing himself a final taste, dipping his tongue into your center, rising to meet you face-to-face in another deep kiss. You could taste the sweet tang of your cum on his tongue, and it only drove you further into the fucked-out fugue state you were experiencing; you gripped his shoulders, pulling him closer and moaning into his mouth.

There was no rush, no bell to beat or timeframe to fit into, but you wanted so badly to see him come undone for you; you raised yourself up on your knees, and you felt them dig into the couch, the pattern of the fabric marking your skin as you pushed Emmett down. He sat, beckoning you to straddle him. You felt a shred of embarrassment, clambering to position yourself on top of him, an awkward feeling you hadn’t felt since high school, but it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered right now except him.

“Slow,” you finally settled, feeling his length brush against you from below, and with your head resting against his shoulder you could feel your own breath rebound against your nose. “Need you to go slow.”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, reaching down to fist his cock and line himself up with your entrance, “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You began to lower yourself, the feeling of his swollen head nudging your hole made you suck in a sharp breath; you bent your legs further, taking more of him, letting him fill you completely on your own terms, and he guided you every step of the way with his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, breathing hard against the crown of your head.

Maybe it was because of the tension, or because you so craved the connection—to hear him respond to you and what you alone were doing—but you dropped down quickly on the last few inches, feeling him deep and rough against your cervix, earning a choked groan from Emmett in your ear.

“Fuck, good, baby, that’s right.” You preened at his words, holding your position for a while longer to get accustomed to the stretch you felt before finally raising yourself up slightly just to inch back down his shaft again.

You felt full, stretched out and used—but in a way that was so positively welcomed; it had been too long since you were able to enjoy yourself in any capacity, but this act was certainly the most fun.

“Feel good? Like riding me like this?” Emmett tilted his head back, grabbing a handful of your hair to pull you from the crook of his neck. You stared at him, and he at you, hellbent on watching as you liberated yourself from the nerves and anxieties of the world around you—he craved your bliss as much as you did.

“Yes,” you squeaked, still bouncing on his cock, legs getting sore at the exertion in such a tight space, “So fucking good, Emmett.”

He moaned, eyes fluttering closed and hands moving to grip your ass. You could feel his blunt nails dig into your skin, and you expected—hoped—that there would be bruises to show for it tomorrow.

“Getting tired?” He whispered when he noticed the short breaks you took between moving up and down on his cock to simply grind down onto him, moving your legs around his chest awkwardly in an attempt to shift your weight. You nodded, thighs burning from exertion, and he sat up, kissing your forehead before lifting you gently off of him and moving you to lie back on the couch. Emmett took his time crawling over you; he kissed your thighs, your stomach, the space between the plush skin of your breasts, before finally he had you completely engulfed underneath him, giving you soft kisses as he slid himself back into your warmth. You lifted your hips to meet him, moaning at how he fit with you, how you could memorize every ridge and vein of him like this.

And then he started really moving.

You felt him pull out, the slight pressure of the tip of his cock pressed gently against your entrance, taunting you, before he slammed himself back into your waiting cunt. It was deep, and rough, and you clawed at his bicep to ground yourself to him.

Emmett let out deep moans, forehead pressed against yours while he drove his cock as far into you as he could, and your logical side went completely out the window; you whined, yelped at the pleasure coursing through you, mewled for him louder than you should have, but neither of you seemed to care.

“That’s right,” he closed his eyes, focusing every part of himself on you, “give me another one, let me feel you.” His fingers latched onto your clit, watching intently at the way your face contorted at the friction combined with the feeling of his cock inside of you. He drew tight circles over the bud, letting you buck your hips up into him to signify how much pressure you needed at a given moment.

“Gonna—I’m gonna cum,” you whispered, then, louder, “Emmett, I’m gonna fucking cum.”

He didn’t say anything, just applied more pressure to your clit and gave you longer, slower thrusts. He watched as you began to tremble, your mouth falling open with small whines of his name. He sat up, cock still buried in your heat, thrusts slowing as you opened your eyes to the white-hot satisfaction of your orgasm. Overstimulated didn’t begin to cover it, but you didn’t want this to end.

His thrusts were getting sloppier, not in the sense that you could feel his rhythm falter, but his hips stuttered slightly every time he was fully sheathed in you, and you could tell he was holding back, trying to make this more about you than about his own release.

You pulled him down, nuzzling his neck and placing sloppy kisses on his pulse point as you whispered to him: “Want you to cum,” your lips grazed the shell of his ear, “Please, Emmett.”

You were proud that it seemed to only take your pleading whispers for him to lose himself to the finish he longed for; his hips snapped rough against you, and you could feel his chest heave against your own when he allowed himself one more moment inside of you before pulling out to finish in his fist.

His cum was warm, a perfect contrast to the sweat cooling on your skin, and his growl of your name was music to your ears. He fell forward, head cushioned by your breasts while you both focused on your breathing. Your fingers found the hair on the nape of his neck, thumb brushing the part of his beard that curved just under his ear.

You were in the perfect space between tired and satisfied.

“Thank you,” Emmett murmured into your skin, punctuating his words with soft kisses.

“Thank you,” you echoed, unsure of what to say now that the heat of the moment had passed. “I…I needed that.” You paused, “I liked that.”

“Me too,” he whispered.

“I don’t want it—I don’t want this to be the only time.” You felt immature for some reason, all but begging for this to happen again when you didn’t even know if you’d see next week.

“Doesn’t have to be,” he whispered, “we don’t have to leave,” he looked up at you, tracing your features with his eyes, “You don’t ever have to leave.”

You grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. He squeezed it back.

You fell asleep without a care, thrilled to be in the position you were in, in every sense of the word; Emmett stayed on your chest, the weight of his body on yours only adding to the reassurance and calm you felt.

You had a dream that you raked your own pile of leaves, and jumped into them.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #a quiet place #a quiet place part ii #a quiet place ii #a quiet place 2 #emmett #emmett x reader #emmett x you #emmett a quiet place #emmett fanfiction #emmett smut

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just-a-creep-babe · 1 year

Text

A Demon’s Ache — Part 5

Eyeless Jack x Reader Smut

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss thank you so very much luv ❣️❤️❣️

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Check out my patreon if you’d like to support me!

Masterlist: x

The door to your room is closed

He feels like a creep staring at it from across the hall, but he needs a moment to think before trying to talk to you

He’s never liked confrontations, always too worried about saying or doing the wrong thing, but he has to do this–he knows he does

Besides, not only has he promised Hoodie, but he’s also promised himself that he’d make things right again

Because ultimately, the thought of having somehow hurt you, whether intentionally or not, breaks his dead black heart

And despite everything that’s happened recently, despite all the heartache and yearning, he’s missed you

He’s barely had any time to hang out with you, to see you, to hear your beautiful voice

God, he misses your smile

He runs his fingers through his hair

At the end of the day, it’s you, he reminds himself

He knows you’ll listen to him, and he knows you’ll take him seriously

He shouldn’t be worrying so much, it’s just stressing him out

But before he can approach your room, he hears footsteps coming down the hall

He sighs, waiting for the person to pass

He’d rather not have anyone listening in on your conversation, if it can be avoided

Nat walks by, the clock in her eye tick tick ticking as she moves past him

She offers him a cursory glance, and for a brief moment, she almost seems to pause

But then she keeps walking, apparently ignoring him for the most part, and he watches her go before his sight lands on your door once more

He sighs to himself again

He knows he can’t keep stalling forever—it’s getting ridiculous

Ruffling his hair one last time, he walks up to your door, raises his fist, then takes one last deep breath to steel his nerves and ready himself

And that’s when your scent hits him

It nearly dazes him, knocking the wind out of his lungs and leaving him utterly breathless

It’s not the first time he smells your arousal, but it feels like it’s been so long since the last time

And it’s so utterly mouthwatering

His first instinct, though entirely inappropriate, is to lean in closer to your door

He hears you—quiet, breathy little sighs and whimpers filling the space beyond the door—and the horrible thought of someone else pleasuring you flashes to mind

Jealousy burns in his chest

He closes his eyes, pressing his ear to the door, straining to hear if you’re alone

It’s none of his business, he knows that

Really, it’s a huge violation of your privacy

But civility be damned—his instincts are too strong, too possessive to ignore them

Thankfully, he doesn’t hear anyone else, nor does he smell them

He only hears your angelic sounds, only smells your delicious scent

He hears what he can only assume to be your cunt squelching noisily

And he wonders what could’ve possibly gotten you so riled up

Are you thinking of him?

Are you remembering how his mouth had felt between your thighs, how his fingers had felt teasing at your slit and then slowly sinking into that perfect little cunt of yours?

He swallows thickly, the idea igniting an all-too-familiar rush of heat through his body and down to his groin

Maybe you’re imagining more than that

Maybe you’re imagining how it’d feel for him to push the entirety of his stiff length into you, fucking it in and out, in and out of your fluttering walls until you’re panting and mewling for him—just like now, but louder and greedier for more

This is fucked, he realizes

Not only is he listening in on something personal, something private, but he’s doing so while having some of the filthiest fantasies possible

He was supposed to talk to you, he was supposed to make things right

But now all he can think about is mating you, breeding you

He wants to taste you again, feel your cunt clench around his tongue, your arousal sweet like honey and entirely too addictive as he laps it all up

He releases a quiet, shaky breath

There’s no way either of you are in the right headspace for an important discussion

He should leave

He should respect your space and come back some other time when the both of you are ready for it

But then you make a cute, desperate little whimper, and the sound goes straight to his throbbing erection

Fuck

Fuck, fuck, fuck

He’s torn

He doesn’t want to leave, not when staying means he could hear you reach your climax

But he knows he should

He’d be no better than BEN if he stayed

He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to memorize the sounds you’re making before leaving

And he swears he’s about to leave, but then your moans get louder, your breaths heaving out in shuddered curses, and he thinks fuck, he can’t walk away

Not now, not when you’re about to cum

He leans up closer to the door, straining to hear every little noise escaping you

The smell of your arousal is so, so sweet

You’re intoxicating

You cry out, sounding oh so wonderfully close to your peak

But then… nothing

He furrows his brows in confusion, leaning up even closer against the wooden surface

Silence

Well, not complete silence

He can still you breathing heavily, but it’s clear you’re no longer in the midst of pleasuring yourself

You huff, and then he hears shuffling, like you’re moving around

He decides he’s cut it close enough, and he should really get out of here by now

He doesn’t make a single noise on the way back to his room

His dick is throbbing in his jeans, which feel way too tight around his erection

Despite that, he can’t stop himself from wondering about you

Could you not make yourself cum?

The next day, after breakfast, he returns to your room

He decided the best course of action was to confront you bright and early in the morning, just to make sure nothing could get in the way

And he’s about to knock on your door when he hears it again

You’re moaning

Fuck

Just like yesterday, he can’t resist leaning in, trying to hear more, trying to inhale more of your addictive scent

It’s his instincts, he tells himself

His instincts make it damn near impossible to ignore you and walk away

He needs to hear you, he needs to breathe in your scent like every breath will be his last

You sound so filthy

His perfect little mate, so wrapped up in your search for release that you’re not even trying to be quiet

You almost sound like a pornstar—lewd and desperate, just begging to be stuffed full of cum

He swallows back a groan

He didn’t take care of his need yesterday, opting instead for a distraction, because he’d felt too guilty jerking off after spying on you

But now he’s twice as horny as he’d otherwise be

And combined with how openly shameless you’re being, to the point where he’s certain another creep would be able to hear you if they walked past, he realizes how badly he needs this

So even though it’s extremely risky, out in the open corridor right in front of your door, he can’t resist reaching down to palm himself through his jeans

It’s a recipe for disaster, he knows it is

It’s like he’s just begging for trouble at this point

Not to mention how fucking perverted it is, and how you’d probably actually want nothing to do with him if you ever found out

But he’s so, so horny

And the sounds you’re making are utterly sinful

From beyond the very thin door, he hears you gasp

“F-fuck! Fuck!~”

And god, palming himself suddenly isn’t enough

With a quiet grunt, he tugs his erection free, feeling his stiff length throbbing in his hold, and he imagines how fucking adorable you must look right now

He pictures you lying back in bed, your legs spread wide apart, showing off just how wet your perfect cunt is

He pictures you with your hand between your thighs, trying to rub away the ache throbbing at your core, trying to finally reach your orgasm

Maybe your free hand is at your tits, toying with your sensitive nipples, while your back arches and you whimper because it feels so good

Or maybe you’re imagining that Jack is with you now, and he can reach so much deeper inside your tight little walls, and he can feel you up and touch you as much as you want--as much as you need

He works his hand up down his shaft faster at the thought

He wants you, dear god does he ever want you

Your moans grow louder, almost like you somehow know what he’s doing and you’re encouraging him

Or, at least, that’s what he pretends, just so that he doesn’t feel half as perverted as he otherwise would

As he otherwise should

He inhales deeply, and he has to stop himself from releasing a snarl that could very well get him caught

You whimper, another string of curses escaping you, and he realizes, similarly to yesterday, that you must be getting close

Your breaths are shallow, your sex squelching noisily with arousal he would love to taste again

He strokes himself in tandem with the sounds you’re making, trying to match your pace as best as he can imagine, and he knows that he should try to make this as quick as possible

The longer he waits, the riskier it is

More precum beads up his slit, which he uses to smear over the tip of his cock, and the feeling has him groaning

He pictures you on your knees in front of him, giving cute little kitten licks to the underside of his tip

He imagines you taking his length all the way down your throat, choking and gagging but never once pulling away because you’re so eager to please him

He thinks about you and every single dirty thing he wants to do to you

Your cries grow more frequent, more impatient

He’s surrounded by you; your moans, your scent, your likeness invading his mind until it’s all he can think about

And then the tension in the pit of his abdomen snaps, and his cock throbs and twitches in his hold as he cums

He has to bite back another groan, brows furrowing, as he imagines cuming inside your fluttering cunt instead of in his fist

Cum splutters past his clenched fingers, dripping down, and if he was any more coherent, he’d panic at the mess he’s making right now

But he’s too preoccupied trying to listen in, trying to hear if you’ve reached your orgasm as well

He can only assume by your frustrated sigh that you haven’t

And as he’s leaning in, he suddenly realizes, someone’s coming this way

This time, the panic does set in

He frantically looks around—there has to be somewhere he can hide

A few feet away, he spots an open closet door

But he can hear the footsteps getting louder, and he doesn’t know if he can make it

Thankfully, he just barely manages to close the door behind him as the person passes the spot he was at mere seconds ago

It’s Nat again, and if he wasn’t hiding in a closet, trying very hard not to breathe so heavily with cum dripping from his hand, maybe he’d wonder what she’s doing here again

Her room isn’t even in this area

She glances around, and he flinches at the thought that she might see some kind of evidence of what he did in front of your door

Tick tick tick tick tick

He holds his breath and closes his eyes, listening to every second ticking by from her stopwatch

The sound grows louder, and he nearly has a heart attack as she approaches his hiding spot

He wonders if there’s anything he could say, anything he could do to stop her from telling you

But then the sound grows distant once more, and her footsteps finally move away

He waits a few minutes longer just to be absolutely certain he’s in the clear, and then he silently returns in front of your door, tries his best to clean up the most obvious parts of his mess, and sneaks back to his room as quickly and quietly as he possibly can

Next time, he tells himself, he’ll talk to you next time for sure

#creepypasta #eyeless Jack #eyeless jack x reader #creepypasta x reader #crp ej

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pedgito · 1 year

Text

𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 — 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary: based off this request. eddie’s used to being everyone’s dirty little secret; quick hookups spur rumors spread around school that have you more than curious and eddie has to admit, he’s just as curious about you.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), cheerleader!reader, reader is also new to school, teasing banter between reader and eddie, strangers with benefits (joke, but also true), lots of horrible sex experiences with a clueless eddie (he’s just eager to please), reader having similar interests with eddie, fingering, mostly clothed sex, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 5.5k

Eddie learned quickly that rejection came in many forms, not necessarily when he expected, but it was always there, waiting to creep up on him. His hard exterior wasn’t something that was always there either—and he wasn’t even sure if you could call it that. But, he was great at theatrics, an amazing actor, and if there was anyone better at masking their feelings—sadness, or what have you. It was him.

When he loses his virginity to the girl down the road, quick and hurried in the driver’s seat of his van, he feels like he should do more—maybe even take her out on a nice date. Truly, he should’ve done that first, but she wasn’t interested. So, after a short few minutes of unskillful thrusts, seethed inside a girl he doesn’t know much about, he comes with a pitiful groan until she can’t stand it anymore, pulling herself together swiftly and bidding Eddie a clipped, excusable goodbye.

The second time is…better? It’s the beginning of senior year—the first time, and it’s sweeter, not much longer, but Eddie isn’t as clueless when it comes to listening to his partner’s needs. And she’s just a kind, helping him figure out what she likes, bossing him around in a way that he’s too afraid to admit he likes—and he makes her come, which is a miraculous feat in itself. The sex is a little lackluster and Eddie still feel the needs to apologize. She promises him it’s okay—but she’s out of his trailer before he can even utter another word.

It doesn’t take him long to realize that he’s somewhat of a commodity—not in the positive way, but the idea of everyone wanting a piece of the freak. He was a novelty prize, another notch on the belt. Eddie didn’t really care that much, the sex was worth it, even if he had to hide how badly he wanted more than just that.

The other girls are whispering at the table when you lean toward Chrissy, her eyes linger on Jason a few feet away.

“Haven’t you heard?” One of them asks, “He’s huge—Janice wouldn’t shut up about it for a week. He didn't let her come first, though.”

“It’s always the weird ones.” Another replies, flipping their prestige ponytail over their shoulder. “If you can get past the cigarette smell—maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.”

“No—no way.” A smaller redhead butts in, “He looks like he showers once a month.”

You give Chrissy a quizzical look, to which she quickly answers, “They’re talking about Eddie. Eddie Munson.”

She points a few tables away, a gaggle of rowdy boys surrounded together and laughing loudly at something Eddie had said, his feet pressed against the bar under the table as he leaned back, arms crossed behind his head.

You'd noticed him the first day, a hell of an introduction, his voice bellowing down the hall as he chased down a younger student. Dustin was his name, if you remember correctly. He'd collided into you harshly, forcing you to the ground. An apology dies on his lips before it can even come out, helping you up wordlessly before disappearing just as fast.

Your palm raises to rest against your chin, lips pursed in concentration. His side profile is mesmerizing, the soft point to his nose, pillowy lips, “Is it true?”

“About his…” Chrissy, bless her heart, she couldn’t utter the words, quickly shaking her head, “I wouldn’t know.”

She pauses for a moment, chewing on her lip.

“He’s not mean, though.” She tells you quietly, “I’ve talked to him a few times—he’s not what people say he is.”

“Oh?” You ask, intrigued.

“He’s easy to talk to.” Chrissy admits, “It’s—it’s not important. But hey, you should try and ask him about his D&D club, I know you told me you play it—“

“Isn’t that against cheerleading rules?” You say jokingly, though it could be considered social suicide.

“I’m cheer captain.” Chrissy reminds you. “They might not like it, but I don’t care.”

You smile slightly. Chrissy was a warm light in this rather dark, dull school. She’d dragged you into her circle the second she spotted you a month ago—her personality was infectious, you couldn’t explain it.

“Okay,” You agree, “I’ll see what it’s all about.”

Eddie spots you in the doorway, hand posed to knock on the already open door, offering a subtle, but polite smile.

“Uh—hi,” You start awkwardly, “I was wondering if your club still had room for one more, but I know it’s the middle of the year and if—“

“Are you free after school?” Eddie asks, hands pressed to his hips, “Say—seven-ish?”

You laugh softly at his brazenness, instantly hooked by his unnatural charm, “Uh—I have cheer practice, but I should be able to make it. Are you sure I don’t have to like…try out or something? Pass a test?”

Eddie snorts, “So you’re a Chrissy disciple?”

“Hey—no.” You start with a stern tone, “Chrissy is sweet—“

“I’m joking,” Eddie interrupts, shaking his head, long curls flowing over his shoulders, “no, there’s no test. Just show up.”

You tilt your head slightly, “Okay,” You nod, “I guess I’ll see you then.”

“We start at seven, doors locked.” Eddie tells you, “If you’re late, you’re out.”

You give a weak, two finger mock salute. “Oh, I’m very punctual, don’t worry.”

And to your own credit, you show up five minutes early. Part of you was hoping to beat the obvious stares of the rest of the group, but you should’ve expected they’d already be seated and ready to go.

“She lives to see another day,” Eddie boasts lowly, already deep into his DM voice—you can’t help but chuckle at it, taking the free seat next to him at the table, “they didn’t eat you alive for wanting to come here?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” You shrug.

Eddie’s always been everyone’s dirty little secret, so it doesn’t surprise him when you decided to omit your Hellfire club meeting to your stuck-up friends.

“Uh, who’s she?” A younger kid asks, curly hair tucked tightly under his baseball cap. Dustin.

You and Eddie both say your name at the same time, causing you to turn your head to look at him.

“I…never—“ Told him your name, is what you try to say, but Eddie interrupts just as quick.

“You did, remember?” Eddie interjects, and you’re inclined to agree, given how his face flushes red with embarrassment.

Fine. You’ll bite.

“Oh, yeah,” You agree with ease, “sorry—I completely forgot.”

The campaign goes off without a hitch and you defeat whatever big, bad monster Eddie had concocted for the night—your steadfast and quick thinking cements you as a temporary part of the group, but while the group immediately takes to you, they’re still weary to newcomers. It made sense. They all seemed like good, genuine friends—unlike the people you surrounded yourself with.

Eddie approaches you after while you’re rummaging through your bag for something, pulled from your panic as he speaks beside you, everyone having already left.

“Chrissy mentioned you before,” Eddie explains without elaborating, “that’s how I knew.”

You nod slightly, “It checks out.” You offer with a soft laugh, “She’s mentioned talking to you a few times.”

Eddie smiles tightly, eyes wandering around anxiously. If you didn’t know, he wasn’t going to say. The last thing he wanted to do was rat Chrissy out for buying from him, not that it wasn’t already blatantly obvious.

Eddie huffs softly, a chortle, “—said you weren’t like the others, I guess that’s partly true.”

Your hands still, shoulders slumping as you looked over at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re still one of them,” He teases kindly, ringed finger motioning pointedly toward your cheer outfit, “it’s like a cult, isn’t it?”

He isn’t wrong, but to be bunched in with that group, it’s blood boiling.

“You don’t know me,” You tell him carefully, “I’m nothing like them.”

Eddie shrugs, taking the hand that’s tucked securely behind him and throwing a blob of cloth your way. You catch it clumsily, clutched to your chest as you stare down.

“I guess we’ll see,” Eddie grins, cheeks dimpling at the corners, “—we wear them on Friday’s.”

It’s a conflicting issue with your uniform, but nothing you can’t handle. It’s almost like he’s daring you to wear the shirt, brand yourself as a nerd in the eyes of everyone else. A freak, just like he.

You unzip the top of your cheer uniform, snug half-tank hidden underneath. Eddie doesn’t even have the courage to look away, despite how bold you’re being. You slip the shirt on over your head, the quarter sleeves rubbing at your elbows. Eddie’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“What?” You ask innocently, “It’s Friday, isn’t it?”

Eddie snorts a laugh, turning on his heels to grab his own bag, keys jangling in his hand.

“You drive?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Uh, no,” You reply, dismissing your bag and zipping it back up, “I usually ride with Chrissy…and Jason.”

“Bummer.” Eddie retorts humorously.

You laugh at his comment, subconsciously agreeing.

“They’re already long gone, I imagine.” You admit, staring at the clock on the wall that read close to nine.

“Do you need a ride?” Eddie ask curiously, now making his way back toward you.

You smirk at the offer, shaking your head.

“I’m a big girl,” You assure him, “I can walk.”

Eddie makes a noise of disapproval, shaking his head.

“Forgive me if I’m being too forward,” Eddie begins, “but there’s no way I’m letting you walk alone this late. My uncle would kill me if he found out I let a girl walk the streets of Hawkins at night without offering her a ride.”

You sling the bag over your shoulder, “Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him—or you, I guess.”

Eddie’s not letting up though—eyes softer, pleading slightly. Normally you’d run the other direction, but Eddie had a strange aura to him; intriguing, comforting, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

You cave, releasing a quiet sigh. “Fine.”

Eddie smiles then, arms extending as he bowed forward, motioning toward the door. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”

There’s a stark difference between the Eddie everyone talked about and the Eddie in front of you—you were more partial to the latter.

Eddie bounced with energy, unabashedly moving to the rumbling off the heavy rock music that played through the speakers, it’s only when he sees your eyes on him that he tones it down, shifting slightly in his seat as he mumbles a soft, “Sorry.”

You watched with amusement, adoring the way he fell into the tune of the song, never caring who was watching. Eddie’s learned to brush everyone’s opinions aside, no matter if they bothered him or not.

“Nono, I get it.” You quickly soothe his worry, shaking your head, hands clutched in your laps where your legs were crossed in the seat. “Black Sabbath is really good.”

“No way,” Eddie says with a half smile, feeling like he’s being pranked. He’s got one hand clutched on the steering wheel, head turned toward you slightly, “you listen?”

You shrug, “When I can—my parents would disown me if I brought any type of vinyl like that home. They’d say I’d switch to the dark side and started worshipping the devil.”

“So it’s Blondie and Madonna for you, huh?” Eddie asks, an exasperated nod coming from you.

“I have a few tapes for my Walkman—Exodus, Whitesnake, but it broke a few months ago.”

Eddie takes a left in the opposite direction of your house, turning down a dark road.

“Eddie,” You say slowly, eyes flicking up toward the windshield, “where are we going?”

“Quick detour.” He responds, head tilted over his shoulder, lashes fluttering as he blinked, the ever apparent charm oozing from his tone.

You really couldn’t understand the rumors now.

“Defenseless girl with a stranger in their car,” You’re being dramatic, mostly at the expense to make Eddie laugh, but also to calm your rapidly beating heart, “middle of the night—all alone, are you sure you’re not a murderer?”

“Not a murderer,” Eddie confirms, “Or a devil worshipper, or any of the other stuff everyone says about me.”

“You seem to claim the freak title.”

“It’s subjective,” Eddie counters, “people like to treat it as if it’s a bad thing. I don’t see it that way.”

A silence settles, the music filling the lull.

“I have a spare Walkman that I don’t use,” Eddie tells you, the dark road venturing into light, a small neighborhood lines with trailers, “I was gonna lend it to you.”

“That’s mighty trusting of you,” You say, eyeing him suspiciously, “what if I lose it?”

Eddie shrugs, leather rubbing against itself on his jacket. He pulls to a stop outside of the trailer, his home you’re assuming. “I guess I’m trusting you.”

And if Eddie was flirting, you were oblivious to it.

He definitely was.

“You can wait here if that makes you feel better.” Eddie offers, hand pressed to the door handle.

You take a quick glance around, unsettles by the eerie silence, a culdasac covered in trees and a forest that stretched for miles. Not a chance. Besides, you were curious.

“Nope,” Your lips pop, swinging the door open before he can even process your response, when your feet hit the ground you turn toward him, an expression of wonder crossing his face, “—give me the grand tour?”

Eddie shakes his head in disbelief, following your actions and taking the lead toward his front door, your softer footsteps following closely behind.

“You thought I was gonna murder you a few minutes ago,” Eddie says as he fingers with his keys, slipping the key into the lock, “what happened to that?”

You shrug, “I’m trusting you,” Eddie turns to you slightly, eyes downturned toward the gravel, you peek up on your tiptoes as his hand turns the doorknob, “don’t make me regret it.”

“Sorry if it’s a mess,” Eddie feels the need to say, even if he doesn’t mean it. He was used to living in chaos and filth, both and him spent minimal time in the trailer if they weren’t sleeping or eating a quick dinner—it was his sanctitude, but he didn’t like being cooped up all the time, “—and for the smell.”

Your nose scrunched up in question—it smelled overwhelmingly like cigarettes, the ashtray on the counter filled to the brim, and faintly of black coffee and liquor. It wasn’t bad, not by any means, but it wasn’t something you were particularly used to.

“Back here.” Eddie nods, playing with the ring of his left hand as he lead you toward the backend of the trailer, door opening to revealed another cluttered room.

The mess seemed more…organized. Less haphazard throwing around and more like an overicumulated mess of items that Eddie wasn’t able to part with. The walls covered in posters and self-made art, shelves covered so deeply you couldn’t see the original wood finish, his bad half made and stained in certain spots. It’s so typical and predictable to his personality that you can’t even be surprised by it. Eddie quickly scatters about, shoving a pile of clothes into a laundry basket and kneeling down to sift through his cabinets, pulling out a small plastic box.

You take a seat on his bed, smoothing the blanket out under you before you plop down, feet kicking at the shaggy rug. You spot the guitar a moment later, in all it’s glory, it was beautiful.

“That just for show?” You ask, pointing toward the item hung on the wall. Eddie turns to you, then to where you’re pointing, a wide grin breaking out on his face.

“No,” He says proudly, making a small ‘ha!’ sound when he finds what he’s looking for, “I’ve played since middle school.”

You spot the second guitar nestled in the corner. A true collector he was and Eddie Munson surprised you once more, proving he was more than the silly rumors everyone spoke about him.

Eddie slides the Walkman into your hands, pushing on his knees as he rose, “Do you play?”

You shake your head furiously, “Absolutely not.”

Instead of urging you out of his room, Eddie takes a careful seat beside you, palms outstretch behind him, legs crossed at the ankles. You tried and failed to ignore the small sliver of skin that peaked out below his shirt, a patch of hair disappearing under his belt line, the obvious ridges of toned muscles visible underneath his shirt. Eddie seems to notice, waiting a few seconds longer before leaning forward, eyes catching yours.

You offer a friendly smile, a hint of your thighs peeking out further underneath your skirt as you crossed your legs, rubbing your hands over your exposed calves.

“Can I ask you a question?” You ask timidly, curious brain getting the best of you. “But, don’t take it the wrong way.”

“You make fun of me for being a cheerleader,” You tell him, an obvious observation, “but you’ve fucked half of my friends.”

Eddie ignores the idea that he’s being talked about so openly amongst you, instead asking, “Are they really your friends though?”

And he’s right on the nose, because he’s not that clueless, “No, but—why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m nice to everyone,” Eddie defends feebly, earning a deadpan look from you, “—well, most.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I try not to judge people off of initial impressions and the shit people say about them,” It’s exactly what you’d done to him in the beginning, “why can’t I be nice to you? Do I need to have some sort of hidden agenda?”

“Do you?” You challenge.

“No—no,” He shakes his head, voice cracking slightly, “you’re a sweet girl but I would never—“

“Fuck me?” You ask crudely, smiling at him salaciously.

“Take advantage of you,” Eddie corrects you swiftly, “or try to make you feel uncomfortable—why, do you feel uncomfortable?”

“No,” You shake your head, slipping the Walkman to the floor beside your feet, “I guess I’m just curious.” You shrug, hand tucked under your thighs, legs squeezing together slightly as Eddie flexes his arms from where they rested against his knees. You could smell him from this angle—and yes, he did smell like cigarettes, and a little like weed, but he also smelled like cheap cologne and leather, a concoction of scents that invaded your senses and your brain, a pulse sent straight to your core.

“Of?” Eddie asks with a soft laugh.

“They say you’re, well,” and suddenly you feel shy, gaze flicking to his crotch, causing Eddie to glance down in response, “—considering how much I have to hear about your dick, I just wanted to know if the rumors were true.”

“So that’s what you ladies do all day?” Eddie asks, tongue resting against the ridge of his top lip, eyes narrowing on you. “Talk about me?”

“Not me,” You correct, “Them.”

Eddie’s been enough situations like these to know where it leads and you’re a pretty girl, all imperfections and quirks included, Eddie can’t help but buy into whatever game you’re playing at.

“And what do they say?” Eddie asks, a soft and curious tone to his voice.

“It’s nothing nice, usually.” You tell him, face scrunched up, “Do you really want to know?”

“I’ve gotta confirm the rumors somehow, don’t I?”

You smile to yourself, eyes turned down to your feet where they shift against the rug. “They talk about how you don’t shower and you stink and you can’t make a girl come—not that it’s possible for any man to accomplish that.”

Eddie opens his mouth to speak but you continue.

“But, apparently your dick is huge—so that somehow makes up for it.”

These aren’t the types of talks he has with Chrissy—a girl much more innocent than you. It’s a peek inside the inner workings of a group Eddie’s never cared too much about, but it’s intriguing nonetheless.

And for once, Eddie’s at a loss for words.

“You’re—“ Eddie says with a hint of disbelief, breathing out a laugh.

“Not like most girls?” You ask expectantly, “That’s cheesy—you’re better than that, Eddie.”

“No,” Eddie responds in turn, chewing idly at his bottom lip, “—I was going to say you were hard to figure out.”

Eddie pauses, considering how mortifying it might be to admit what’s rattling in his brain—he takes his chances.

“I have a confession to make.” Eddie admits, urged on by your attentive look, eyebrows raising in question. “I might’ve been the one to ask Chrissy about you—not the other way around.”

“Eddie,” You tease, “do you have a crush on me?”

Eddie laughs, “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Then?”

“I saw you that first day—before Chrissy swiped you up, before I pushed you down in the hall. I knew.”

You laugh at the memory fondly, but whatever he’s getting at, you’re not following.

Eddie elaborates, “You’re not one of them.” He flicks at the loose threading of your skirt, black shorts hidden underneath for your modesty, “It’s cute, though.”

Your nimble fingers grasp his wrist before he can pull away, cold chain pressing against your fingers from the leather band wrapped there. You were quiet, but your mind was screaming, yearning for something you knew you shouldn’t indulge in.

“I can show you,” Eddie suggests, his hand relaxing in your grip, rising up the side of your thigh to squeeze, guiding your legs apart gently until they’re no longer crossed, “if you want.”

You nod, barely a jerk of your head, letting Eddie switch the dynamic, his palm covering your own hand, guiding it over the seam of zipper, the hard line of his cock pressed against the material. That was enough to prove his point, but a touch wasn’t enough—not when he was already this hard, having not even touched you; hard at the mere thought of you.

“Eddie,” You say on a shallow breathe, eyes lifting up towards his—those wide, wet doe eyes staring right back, curls framing his face in a way that softened his features, “do you…want to?”

Fuck. The word couldn’t leave your lips, caught in your throat as his cock pulsed under your touch. Eddie doesn’t think twice, of course he does.

It’s a rushed, “Yes.” a gruff tone followed by Eddie releasing your hand to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you toward him in a searing press of your lips, fighting for the dominance you give to him so willingly, leg hiking over his lap until you’re settled over the middle, knees pressed into the old mattress where they bracketed his hips.

Eddie’s kisses are hot and overwhelming, gusts of breath against your lips as his tongue pushes inside, mewling desperately as you returned the fervor, delicate hand reaching under his chin to tilt his head up, disconnecting your lips for a brief moment.

“Condoms,” You tell him, “do you have any?”

Eddie nods tensely, eager lips wanting to reconnect. You pull back teasingly, a toothy grin growing on your face.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” You remind him, “so—we should probably hurry this up.”

Eddie tries to ignore the reoccurring theme in his life—and he’d held out a small tinge of hope that maybe this could be different. He was willing to swallow the pain, be the bigger person.

“Okay, okay,” He stammers, leaning away to grab at the open condom box on his bedside table, avoiding your amused gaze as he rummages inside, yanking the small foil packet from the box, “uh, should we—“

And suddenly he feels like a blushing virgin again, shrinking underneath your gaze. You looked at him intently, analyzing every part of him. You weren’t sure what type of guy Eddie was and you weren’t going to let yourself forget this so easily.

“No, here’s fine,” You assure him, perched at the edge of his bed, “—let me, hold on—“ You stand for a brief moment, slipping your underwear and shorts down in one quick moment, leaving you bare underneath that skimpy cheer skirt. Eddie tries not to stare, to linger, but his hands press along the tops of your thighs, warm palms kneading into the skin, staring up at you with an awestruck gaze, not realizing you’re speaking to him until you’re judging his shoulder, “—your pants, Eddie. Unzip them.”

“Shit, yeah,” Eddie comes to, shaking away the daze, “sorry.”

Eddie struggles with the clasp of his belt, leaned back slightly as he fumbles with it. You can’t stand his anxious, shaking hands and assist him, yanking the belt away with a snap when it’s finally free, climbing back on his lap as he yanks at his jeans, pulling them down far enough to free his cock, aching as it arches up toward his belly in all it’s glory—you could easily say the rumors were true, the tip blushed a soft pink as the precome that leaked from it stained his shirt.

Eddie squeezes gently at the soft mound of your ass, rubbing your cunt against him for a brief second, his breath heavy as he exhaled.

“I know we’re on a time limit, but I don’t want it to hurt,” Eddie interrupted quietly, hands traveling around to press against your hips, forcing you to sit fully on his lap, feet tucked up behind you against his knees, “Can I touch you?”

He was right—the thought of taking him inside of you so suddenly, it was daunting.

“Mhmm.” You reply softly, a melodic hum.

Eddie slips a hand under your skirt, eyes locked on your face to watch your reaction, brow furrowing at the first touch of his middle finger of your clit, circling briefly before gliding through your folds, dipping inside you carefully. He pumps once, twice, your slick wetting his finger as he pulls back out, the friction enough to have you whimpering out loud—and if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, Eddie introduces a second finger soon after, your hand squeezing at his broad shoulder, steadying you as your body shook with his movements. His mouth was hung open slightly in concentration, eyes half-lidded as he watched you sigh and lean back into his hold, a solid hand pressed into your back to keep you there.

Your hips rock against his hand, a gentle movement, eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming sensation—his skilled touches and you’re absolute inability to not be turned on by simply being in his presence, let alone like this. You weren’t sure you’d be able to handle waiting for his cock, the laugh that slips from his chest enough to send you down a spiral. But, he’s pulling away just as quick, the sound of a foil packet ripping in the close distance.

He slips the condom on wordlessly, gaze locked on the space between you both, the rubber snapping slightly as he struggles to be swift, face scrunching up in concentration.

Eddie’s always been one to try and take his time—though that isn’t always the case, like now, but he still wants to make things enjoyable, as difficult as that may be for something as nonchalant as a quick fuck.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Eddie says softly, breath hot against your neck as he lifts your hips with one hand, the other steady or his shaft as he guides himself toward your entrance, pressing gently, “I’ll slow down.”

“You really underestimate just how much I can handle.” You joke teasingly, breath hitching as he pushes at your hip slightly, tip of his cock breaching you.

It isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as you’re expecting, the first gentle thrust of his hips—the stretch stings, but it’s nothing but a dull ache amongst all the other things you’re feeling. Warm, calloused hands on bare skin as they sneak under your Hellfire shirt, wrinkled and smelling of Eddie like he’d had it shoved away in his bag for weeks. Soft, wet lips pressing against the underside of your chin from where Eddie’s head is tilted up caused by the small height difference from where you’re positioned in his lap.

His features are more noticeable like this, rough from a distance but even softer up close—chocolate brown eyes staring up at you so wantonly, blinded by pleasure. His hair is mused around his face, bangs askew from where he’s pushed them away slightly, having reached a length a little more uncomfortable than normal. He’s present and watching, gauging every reaction you have, thrusting his hips a little faster until you’re moaning out, desperate hands burying into his untamed hair and pulling, his lips leaving your skin and his neck pulled back taut.

“Fuck that’s—“ Eddie sighs, another subtle hair pull from you as he stretches his thighs wider, forcing you to fall against him in support, “—no one’s ever—“

You gasp, laughing against his face from where you’ve leaned slack against him, lips dragging along his cheek, “No one’s ever pulled your hair? You’re kidding?”

Eddie shakes his head with difficulty, chuckling as you pulled a bit tighter. “That’s a fucking shame.” You tell him honestly.

Eddie nods in agreement, hands spreading out over your thighs as he squeezes, forcing himself impossibly deeper, nudging a spot inside of you that has you keening forward, a choked off moan leaving your mouth.

“Again,” You gasp, “Fuck, do that again.”

Eddie smirks, devious edge to his expression as he thrust into you harshly, your face burying into his neck at the motion, muffling your cries.

Eddie mimics your actions, ringed fingers winding into your hair and pulling, forcing your face away from his neck, whimpering at the speed of his thrusts, clenching around him in desperation. Eddie’s incredibly noisy, something you had been too distracted to pay attention until he’s holding you up, forcing you to look at him. He’s daring, bold—confident considering the circumstances. He barely knows you—but he knows well enough that he’s already addicted. Addicted to you noises, your subtle expressions, your ability to keep up with him in conversation and give back just as much as he gave, it was refreshing despite how he knew things would end.

It was rushed, grabbing hands, irregular thrusts that were driving you mad, animalistic in the way Eddie’s teeth grazed against your jaw, sucking a light bruise into the skin—you weren’t quick enough to tell him you didn’t like marks, but you also couldn’t find it in your to care. But, you were despair touch, desperate to come, so you opened your mouth and begged, embarrassed over how pitiful you sound.

“Your hand—“ You say rushed, pulling at his wrist. Eddie nods jerkily, letting you guide his hand toward your cunt, his thumb pressing over your clit suddenly, knowing just what you need, “fuckfuck, Eddie—“

“Trying to prove those rumors wrong, sweetheart.”

You let out a strained laugh, dying out on a loud moan as Eddie rubs quick circles over your clit, alighting a bundle of electricity the starts in the pit of your stomach and hits you hard, hips rocking needy against his hand.

Eddie follows after just as fast, moving his long arms to encircle your waist, coming undone under your touch with a whine, mouth hung open slightly as he breathed out a harsh breath that swallowed up by you, a soft kiss pressed against his lips.

A silence drags over, nothing but the combined sounds of your breaths until Eddie finally speaks, breaking the blanket of tension.

“Thoughts?” He asks timidly, helping you off of his lap slowly, hips aching as you stood. “Concerns?”

You huff a quiet laugh, reaching down for your underwear and slipping them back on. “Shut up,” You say fondly, wiggling your hips until they’re set, watching as Eddie moved around the room to dispose of the condom, fixing his pants back up, “—it was good.”

He’s waiting for the but—but it never comes.

“I really need to get home though,” You remind him, offering a subtle smile, “if you don’t mind.”

“Uh, yeah—“ Eddie replies awkward, returning to your side and leaning down to grab the Walkman. In the midst of everything, you’d completely forgotten it, “—let’s go.”

And you feel like an idiot, anxiety and nerves running through your body. If you don’t say it now, you’ll never get it out.

“How early do you get up in the morning?” You ask randomly, watching as Eddie pulled a confused face.

“Eight.” He answers simply.

“But, school starts at eight fifteen—“ You shake your head, hands held out to stop him in his place, “—anyways, do you want to stop for breakfast on Monday?”

Eddie pauses, stricken with shock.

You notice his uneasiness, “Or not.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, suddenly realizing that silence isn’t an option in this situation, “No, no, no—We can, we totally can.”

“But?”

“I don’t really—“ Eddie stops, trying to mince his words down, “girls don’t typically stick around to hang out, you know?”

“That’s ridiculous,” You laugh slightly, “oh—you’re serious?”

Eddie nods, “I’m just surprised, is all. But yeah, I’d love to.”

“Thank god,” You sigh, “another morning in the car with Chrissy and Jason and I was going to lose it.”

Eddie makes a face, asking for you to elaborate, eyebrow raised subtly.

“They’re so grossly in love.”

And love—you just couldn’t stand it.

“So, pick me up at seven?” You ask hopefully, arms crossed over you front, Walkman gripped in your hand.

Eddie smiles wide, “Sure.”

Eddie’s so used to rejection and abandonment that he almost can’t believe it’s true, but you’re living, breathing proof. But like he’d suspected, there was just something special about you. Something different.

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#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #my writing #1kfic

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