#because he is my flipping muse and he is the one i always know i can draw | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

urhoneycombwitch · 1 month

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imagine being loved by me

🍯 honey flavour: your love has stood the test of time, thus far, but a party fit for a rockstar brings up some bitter emotions.

🐝 the bees: rockstar!Eddie x jealous!Reader

wc: 8k

cw: drugs and alcohol consumption, mentions of weight gain (eddie’s, in a positive manner), R has panic/anxiety attack, jealousy (talked about and resolved tho), softdom!Reader, softdom!Eddie, oral (E and R receiving), R has breasts + a V and referred to with she/her pronouns, P in V sex, cumming inside w/out protection

foreword: timeline is wobbly and may not align perfectly w canon bc I’m bad at math so shhhh suspend ur disbelief. based on this anon thank you v much anon <3

___

It’s the coldest January Hawkins has seen in ages. Snow banks sit high on the roadsides, air thick with snowflakes, three-AM fog brought in courtesy of the bitter wind chill.

Under the yellow floodlight of a nearby streetlamp, your boyfriend is sucking down the last of a joint while you stamp your feet against the gravel parking lot.

“C’mon, Eddie,” you whine, crossing the arms of your fleeced puffer jacket, bouncing on your heels to keep the blood flowing. “My toes are gonna get frostbite.”

“A touch dramatic,” Eddie replies, unbothered. The cherry of the joint between his lips burns orange, casting a warm glow over Eddie’s cheekbones, the twinkle of snowflakes caught in his bangs. “I told you to go in without me, princess. Warmer in there.”

“Without you? As if.” You pull the pity card, and it works, ‘cuz it always does- that boy has got to learn how to say no to you, one of these days.

Not today, though, because Eddie is tamping out the ember on the sole of his boot and crunching up the snowy path to sling an arm around your neck.

“Grub time,” he says against your hair, pressing his cold lips to the side of your forehead as you both make your way into Benny’s Burgers.

The heated air is a welcome relief, and save for a couple of old-timers at a side table, you and Eddie are the only customers in the place.

Benny greets you both from where he’s flipping patties on the kitchen grill, waving a spatula at the corner booth- “All yours, kiddos. Want the usual?”

You and Eddie call out affirmatives as you sink into opposing seats, unwrapping yourselves from all your winter gear as you go.

“God bless Benny Hammond for expanding his night hours,” you say, piling your green scarf on the tabletop. “This is a good tradition for us, y’know. Post-band practice smoking and coffee- very rock and roll.”

“I concur.” Eddie tosses his knit hat at you playfully. “You, my lady, have the most rock ‘n roll soul I ever did see.”

As Benny approaches with two mugs of steaming coffee, you muse aloud, “Not sure if the amount of sugar you’re about to dump in your coffee is very metal, per se...”

“Y’hear that, Benny?” Eddie grabs a fistful of sugar packets and shakes them indignantly. “My girl’s trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. How’s a rockstar s’posed to live in these conditions?”

“Lord knows,” Benny says, sardonic, setting the mugs down and turning back to the kitchen.

Eddie winces as his hands wrap around the heat of the mug, and you notice right away. “Your fingers splitting again? I have that salve that you used last time, but it’s back at the trailer.”

He puts his hand face-up onto the table, and you slip yours into his, the deep fingertip grooves from guitar strings rough against your soft palm.

“I’ll live. Plus, it’s kind of metal, right?” Eddie runs a calloused thumb across the back of your hand.

You squeeze back, give him a wink. “Very metal.”

Eddie’s been working himself to the bone lately. Trying to stay in school and not drop out is a feat in itself, but compounded with the band practices that have only ramped up in length recently, it’s a lot to balance.

He hasn’t complained at all, of course. It’s not really in his nature.

In the past few weeks, however, he’s been imbued with this near-manic energy, a renewed sense of purpose. In between your own fitful sleeps you often wake in the early hours of the morning to find Eddie hunched over his desk, pen flying across his notebook as he reworks an old song or outlines a new one. Not that you weren’t proud of him before, but seeing him apply this newfound passion to his music has been a huge source of joy for you.

And, if you’re being really honest, also a major turn on. I mean, the boy’s got swagger like no other, and you’re so glad he’s finally utilizing it on stage. Even if that stage is in the middle of a piece of shit dive bar. Still counts, in your book.

Benny drops off baskets of hot fries, a burger for Eddie, and a BLT for you. Methodic and familiar, you offload half your fries to Eddie’s basket as he slides his burger towards you for the first bite.

After a few minutes of peaceful eating, Eddie balls up a napkin in his fist and raps the table with his knuckles. “So, uh. Kind of have some news.”

You slot the ketchup bottle back into its metal holder and look up with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks suddenly nervous, knee knocking into the underside of the table as he bounces his leg compulsively. “You remember Paige Warner? Graduated in ‘81, brother is a baseball jock?”

When you nod, Eddie blows out a breath- his unease is kind of setting you on edge.

“What about Paige Warner?” you prompt.

“She moved out to L.A. for a job and she’s working this scouting gig for some bigshot record,” he continues, absently pulling the thin napkin in his hands into pieces, staring vacantly at the mess. “And she wants Corroded Coffin to record and send out a demo to the label.”

As the news sinks in, your jaw drops. “Holy shit. What?”

“Yeah.” Eddie’s fidgeting with the paper scraps now, still not making eye contact with you. “She wants us to start recording next week. I haven’t told anyone else, yet, I wanted to make sure you were the first-”

You interrupt him with an excited little squeal (drawing glares from the old guys across the diner) and shove up from your side of the table to throw your arms around Eddie.

“Holy shit,” you repeat, laughing as Eddie pulls you into his lap- “Eddie, that’s amazing!”

“You think so?” he asks, your enthusiasm allowing his own to creep in; He slides his hands to your denim-clad hips, his self-professed favorite stress toy (well, tied for favorite with your thighs).

“How come you were so nervous to tell me?” You ask him, gently, tucking his dark hair behind his ears so you can see his face better. “Were you thinking I’d react differently?”

He looks up at you wide-eyed, shakes his head- “No, no, I wasn’t worried about you reacting a certain way. I just… I’m just worried about what this’ll mean. You know. For us.”

“Us?” You echo, encouraging him to continue.

Eddie squeezes at your hips, presses the crown of his head against your collarbone like he’s mustering up the courage to speak. “Yeah, us. I know L.A. isn’t your dream- shit, I don’t even know if it’s mine- but you didn’t sign up to go on the road like this. You’ve got college to consider, and-”

“So I’ll take a gap year,” you interrupt, putting a hand to his cheek to make him look at you again, and when he starts to protest, you talk over him. “No, Eddie, I’m serious. I don’t know what the hell I wanna do with my life yet anyways. Following my hot rockstar boyfriend to a new town sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

He shakes his head again, and you can feel his dimples spring to life under your hand as he teases, “Gonna be my little groupie?”

“And more,” you confirm, giving him a kiss (chaste, so as not to invoke any more ire from the grumpy other customers) and sliding off his lap to return to your own seat. “I’ll be your assistant extraordinaire, if you want. Or bodyguard. Make sure none of the other groupie chicks get too close.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, fondly. “You’re the only groupie I need, sweetheart.”

Settling back into your respective seats, you both work on the last basket of fries while chatting genially about the future. Eddie mentions getting an apartment in Los Angeles, so there’s less of a commute, which branches the conversation into the logistics of a cross-country move, and then on to more important topics such as the alleged coolness of west-coast parties.

“Who’s your celebrity hall pass?” you ask, out of pure interest, dipping a fry into the well of ketchup. “Like, say you’re rubbing elbows at some famous muckety-muck’s party and someone catches your eye. Who’re you taking back to the motel for a slutty roll in the hay?”

Eddie snickers at your phrasing, then says, “I mean, preferably, my super hot girlfriend-”

You throw a fry at his head. “That’s such a cop-out answer. In this hypothetical, Joan Jett is in red leather petting up on you and you’re saying you wouldn’t take her up on a one-night stand?”

A laugh bursts out of Eddie, a real, proper one where he throws his head back. “Are you actively encouraging me to hook up with some bimbo at a random party? Without you? Unlikely scenario on all fronts, babe.”

This earns him another launched fry, and he squawks, trying to shake it out of its place caught in his hair as you reprimand him- “Joan Jett is not some bimbo, watch your mouth! And what I’m saying is, if you didn’t at least try to score us a threesome with her, I’d be pissed.”

“Okay, baby,” Eddie soothes you a tad derisively, likely a ploy to avoid more flying food- “if I meet Joan Jett I will do my level best to get her in our bed. Scout’s honor.”

He holds up two fingers and wiggles them obscenely, grinning when you laugh again. “All right, Nosey McGee. Who are you taking home from the party?”

You hum, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, contemplating the options. “I guess I could be talked into a night with Kirk Hammett.”

Eddie’s turn to launch a fry. “You slut,” he chuckles, “That was a way quicker answer than mine.”

“Okay, fine. If I meet Kirk Hammett, I promise to at least make a bid for threesome. Deal?” You extend your pinkie across the table.

Eddie loops his little finger into yours. “Deal.”

____

The memory of that cozy diner evening years ago fades as you shake yourself to the present.

You aren’t two highschool kids with lofty dreams, anymore- after Eddie’s recovery from all that Upside Down bullshit in ‘86, Corroded Coffin took off. Even though Paige didn’t end up coming through with any deals, Eddie and his bandmates fought like hell to get signed- and by the end of that year, a small record label in the heart of downtown Chicago had taken the bait.

Corroded Coffin turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to Arken Records; by the spring of ‘87, business was booming thanks to the help of Corroded’s debut album, The Banished Ones- their new single was a chart-topper for over 6 weeks. (Smash Hit magazine’s latest review was titled “Fresh Sound Rises from Dirt Nowhere.” You have the paper clipping saved in your ever-growing folder with “rockstar boyfriend!!!” handwritten in black ink.)

And in a few weeks, the band will set off on their first real tour, starting in Chicago and ending with a bang in an already sold-out show in Hawkins- Dustin, Steve, and the rest of the gang with VIP front-row seats, of course.

As much as you and Eddie have grown and matured in the past few years, the core of you both has remained the same. Eddie is still just as dorky, goofy, and caring as he always has been, while you’ve kept that tenacious spirit and quick wit that he fell in love with back in the early days of dating. Even now, with his popularity rising and his rockstar dreams on their way to coming true, Eddie constantly brings his focus back to you.

Pillow talks in cushy hotel beds, late night ramblings over post-show whiskeys, holding hands in the back of yet another cab- when he could be talking about the thousands of exciting things happening in his own life, Eddie is asking about you.

Did you talk to Robin last night, sweetheart? How’s ‘ol Birdie doin? What do you wanna wear to that dinner thingy tomorrow… could go naked for all I care. In fact you probably should because of feminism and all that. Did you sleep okay last night? Let me look at ya. You thinkin’ any more about those applications you got?

You’d taken a gap year to support Eddie, which you were happy to do, but with ‘87 drawing to a close, he’s been more insistent lately that you take a look at all your college options. Honestly, you’ve been enjoying the adventures that come with touring way too much to consider going back to the rigidity of school.

And plus, having the love of your life nearly bleed out in your arms in a parallel dimension has totally realigned your priorities. If folks thought you and Eddie were attached at the hip before…

He’ll likely argue you into academia, eventually. He always rolls high on persuasion. Damn him.

For now, you’ve got a party to attend.

Arken Records is playing host, on the last night of 1987- in celebration of Corroded Coffin’s success and to kick off the New Year’s festivities, they’ve rented out a house in east Chicago for the event.

Well, house isn’t the right word. More like mansion. Vaulted ceilings tall as a church’s, huge windows overlooking the Chicago river, a grand chandelier with flickering candles in nearly every room.

When you and Eddie had toured the place a few days previous, he’d made a joking complaint low in your ear about not having the time to fuck you on every surface. Your laugh had reverberated off the sweeping mahogany floorboards, mostly at the expense of Eddie’s poor publicist who’d happened to hear his comment. (Melanie had really been putting in overtime lately; you made a mental note to send her a very nice flower arrangement and vouchers for a spa trip.)

The party was in full swing by the time you and Eddie arrived, fashionably late, and he had been folded into the throng of other musicians and partygoers against his will pretty much immediately- which you’d expected. The last hour, he’s been throwing you piteous looks from his spot across the room, where he hasn’t had the chance to move an inch with the amount of people keeping the conversation going. You’ve slipped to his side a few times, refreshing his drink, letting him curl an arm around your waist as you perch on his knee, only half-focused on whatever story some producer is saying as Eddie’s hand trails up your thigh.

You’re back on the nearest wall again, sipping champagne, taking it all in. There are probably over a hundred people crammed into this banquet room, bass thumping through the floorboards, tables shoved to the outer corners making space for a makeshift dance space.

The air is hazy with smoke from various cigarettes and joints; as the night has progressed, the smell of freshly-applied cologne has been replaced with heady sweat as the dance floor calls more people to writhe and grind in groups and partners. Eddie is still stuck in the lone pod of living room chairs, surrounded by a rapt audience of people crammed in to hear him better over the blaring music.

He looks damn good tonight, in a cut-off black tee and his favorite ripped jeans, leather jacket hung on the chair behind him. Silver catches the light from every angle- on the chains at his hips, around his neck, glinting off his rings as he gestures animatedly mid-story. He’d asked you to do his eyeliner at the hotel earlier, and although it’s smudged and blurred at the edges now he’s still pulling it off. Tiny silver stars, hand-drawn with your eyeshadow brush, twinkle across his cheeks like freckles.

Eddie wanted to match with you, whined until you added a belt made of gold-plated stars to your outfit. You went simple, the gold to his silver- belt cinching your short black satin slip dress, delicate brass rings and bracelets around your fingers and bare forearms. The one piece of silver you are wearing is a chain around your neck, Eddie’s guitar pick nestled snug between your breasts.

You still resolutely refuse to wear heels, even after Eddie’s stylist cajoled you into practicing on stilettos for a disastrous media training session last month- tonight you’re in a chic pair of Mary Janes with the slightest suggestion of a heel. Compromise.

There’s a big laugh from the crowd in the corner again as Eddie knocks a hand into Gareth’s chest for emphasis, nearly knocking the younger boy off his seat. You stare unabashedly at Eddie’s forearms, biceps on full display; he’s filled out a bit since leaving home, his usually lean frame boasting a bit more weight and bulk now that he’s got consistent access to well-rounded meals.

He’s looking healthy, down right glowy. You’re thinking about that smattered trail of dark hair that slides down the crest of his stomach, now with extra padding enough to sink your teeth into. As if he knows, Eddie catches your eye from across the room and winks, cheekily.

You shiver and unconsciously press your thighs together, hiding your grin with another swallow of champagne.

The alcohol turns a bit sour going down, though, as a crimped-haired blonde girl worms her way to Eddie’s side, laughing a little too loudly at the joke he just told. When she places a manicured hand on one of his shoulders, the thin stem of your glass nearly snaps in your grip.

The thing about rockstars is they have crazy sex appeal. The thing about your rockstar is he’s only interested in you, something that has been proved many times over.

So why is tonight hitting you so hard? Why do you feel nauseous the longer Eddie lets some random woman’s hand stay on his bare skin when you know he’s going home with you, and only you?

Maybe it’s the alcohol, or the overcrowded room, or the memories of Benny’s diner still lingering like a bruise in your mind. Hard to pinpoint exactly. All you know is that jealousy is gnawing like a thing raw and seeking in the pit of your stomach, and if you don’t get out of this stuffy room soon you’re gonna do something tabloid-worthy, like cry in the middle of a New Year’s Eve party.

By the grace of some god you make it across the dance floor and into a side bathroom unscathed, the pulsing sound of the party blissfully dimming as you shut the door behind you. Your mind whirls as you grip the gilded sink for stability, blinking hard at the tears beginning to form.

You love having a boyfriend who’s larger than life. You love that he’s taking up space and getting to use that charm that was nurtured on the DM throne back in Hawkins. You’re so proud of him, you really are.

You’re just starting to hate the way other people’s surface-level love of him makes you feel.

Because that’s what it is, right? Just surface-level, you reason with yourself- the level of intimacy that you and Eddie have is unmatched, something that the newly-formed masses of admirers won’t ever get to experience.

Christ, can jealousy give you hives? You grab a handful of paper towels and soak them in cold tap water, then press the damp bundle to your chest, breath stuttering.

You’ve never been the jealous type, or the overbearing type- it’s a new feeling, and maybe that’s why it feels so scary. The more you try to tamp it down, the more it rears its ugly head, making you, in turn, feel embarrassed for having such a strong reaction in the first place.

It’s a vicious cycle that’s only seeming to gain speed as you realize you haven’t yet managed a full breath since coming to your hiding spot. Your lungs are pinched and burning as you drop the soggy paper into the sink, leaning into the lip of the porcelain to steady yourself.

There’s a knock on the door, and you choke out “Just a minute”, not sure if the person on the other side can even hear you over the music when Eddie’s voice leaks through.

“Baby? That you in there?”

Against your better judgment, you open the door, and he crams in the small space, locking it again behind himself.

“There you are, I saw you leave and thought you were getting a drink or something but then you didn’t come back and- are you okay?”

He interrupts his own stream of consciousness when he notices the state you’re in. You give him a trembly smile, waving a hand dismissively.

“Yeah, all good. I’ll come back with you, just needed to pee.”

Eddie is not so easily thrown off the scent. He murmurs your name, sliding his hand into yours, looking at you with a wounded puppy gaze- fuck, you can’t have a breakdown. Not here, not on New Year’s in some knockoff-Playboy’s bathroom.

And certainly not in front of Eddie, who’s asking you to tell him what’s wrong, what happened, with an increasingly pleading tone that’s really, really not helping your whole Don’t Cry agenda.

Hoping your voice doesn’t break, you clear your throat and pull your hand from his grasp. “Nothing happened, okay? I just had too much to drink, feeling overly sentimental or something. I’m okay.”

You think your white lie was convincing enough when Eddie reaches back for the door handle, that maybe he’ll rejoin the party and leave you to have a good cry, but after poking his head out the doorway briefly he grabs onto your wrist, tugging you to his side and hissing “Quick!”

And then you’re both making a break for it down the mostly-empty hallway, Eddie pulling you smoothly past a wall of expensive-looking oil paintings before going through a set of double doors that lead to the outside.

It’s December in Chicago, which means a light layer of snow covers the terraced garden that Eddie is leading you through, stopping at a stone bench flanked by two scraggly bushes.

“Made it,” he huffs with exertion, dropping your hand to shrug his leather jacket off in favor of draping it around your own shoulders.

“You’re gonna be cold,” you sniffle, partly from the tears, partly from the crisp night air.

“Yeah,” he agrees easily, wrapping you in a hug. You press your forehead to his chest. “Got my girl to keep me warm, though.”

You stay like this for a few moments, his arms solid around you, breaths coming easier as the familiar smell of his tangy skin and that spicy bar soap he uses fills your senses.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks, gently, holding you at arm’s length to study your face.

When you shrug, unsure of where to start, he lets go of you and walks backwards, taking an unflinching seat on the snow-covered bench.

You gasp despite yourself, reaching to pull him up even as he twists out of your grasp- “Eddie, jesus, you’re literally gonna freeze your ass off. Get up!”

But he’s solid in his seat, widening his stance, boots planted on the ground- “I’m not moving until you tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, so you better start talking before my jeans freeze to the concrete.”

“It’s nothing,” you insist, but he’s giving you that look again, the one that cracks through the tough exterior every time, and you wrap your arms around yourself under the warmth of his jacket as you admit, “Okay, fine. It’s something. I’m just… having an overreaction.”

“To the shellfish?” he deadpans.

“No, asshole, to the blonde girl who was rubbing up on you earlier,” you snap.

Eddie blinks, genuine confusion in his voice- “There was a blonde girl… rubbing up on me?”

“She was petting your shoulder,” you continue, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the ground. “She was touching you, and I got- jealous, I guess.”

“Baby, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t remember her, at all,” Eddie emphasizes, spreading a palm flat against his chest in a gesture of sincerity, hair shifting across his shoulders as he cocks his head to the side.

His face is too familiar, too earnest for you to be able to say what you’re feeling without bursting into tears, so you turn on your heel, pacing a short loop in front of the bench, your breath hanging in misty clouds as you speak.

“It’s not even about her, necessarily. It’s about me and my stupid emotions. I’m not usually like this- jealous, you know? Like, I’m so proud of you, and everything you’ve accomplished, and I don’t mind sharing you, really I don’t, it’s just…”

You pause in your pacing, let your head drop back to look at the inky black sky pinpricked with stars, and your next words fall out like a confession.

“I just feel like I’m in mourning.”

You can feel his eyes on you still, as you loose the feeling that’s been caught tight in your chest. “It sounds so dramatic, when I say it like that. But I think that’s what it is. I miss when it was just the two of us, in this little bubble where no one knew our names and we just had each other.”

As the words leave your mouth, you scramble to explain, to soften the blow, hands tightening around your upper arms as you turn back to face the boy on the bench. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, or, like, a total jealous bitch, because I really love you and I hope you know I’m not- are you laughing?”

Eddie tries his best to stifle the laughter into his fist when he sees how indignant you look. He rises from the bench, still a bit mirthful, pulling you back into his space. “Sorry, honey, I’m not making fun of you, I promise.”

You’re glaring at him now, and he ducks to kiss at the lines between your brow before pulling back and saying, “I think what you’re feeling is normal, and I don’t think you’re overreacting at all. Remember that asshole at the Smith Center party who kept trying to get your number right in front of me?”

“Vaguely.”

“I wanted to punch his lights out. Make a real scene, kiss you sloppy in front of some cameras.” Eddie cups your face in his hands, soothing his thumb against the wetness of your lashline. “What I’m saying is, I get jealous, too. And I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“But…” there’s a well of emotions that you’re drawing from, and it’s not empty yet, one nagging thought still surfacing. “But these girls that are coming on to you, they’re like… really hot. I don’t look anything like them.”

Eddie frowns. “Are you seriously trying to make a case for yourself on the grounds of not being really hot? That’s not gonna hold up in court, gorgeous. I mean… have you even looked in a mirror recently?”

He lightly taps his knuckle against your head, trying to get you to crack a smile, but you’re not ready to give in yet.

“You don’t think you’ll get bored of me?” you whisper, dropping your eyes from his consuming gaze to the wyvern inked on the inside of his arm.

“Sweetheart…” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. The ink in his skin stretches as he slips a hand to the back of your neck, cold rings against your skin making you shiver. “I couldn’t ever get bored of you. Not in a million years. We've been through too much together for you to think like that, hm?”

He strokes his thumb down the column of your neck, those doey brown eyes on you again. “Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t ever be jealous, ‘cuz god knows it makes me hot under the collar when you are. But I’m sayin’ I never wanna make you feel like you need to earn me, okay?”

His thumb tracks back up to the hollow of your jaw, taps twice questioningly, and you nod, letting out a shaky, “Okay.”

When he kisses you, it feels like every other time- comfortable, grounding, familiar. His tongue presses against the seam of your lips, and you let him lick into your mouth, gripping at his arms, flushing hot as you give it back to him in spades.

With a short groan, he pulls back, a wet click as your mouths separate- “As much as I wanna jump your bones in this wintry wonderland, I think the snow might’ve actually frozen my balls off.”

You giggle, spanning your hands around the meat of his waist, kissing up into his mouth again- “Poor baby. Want me to warm ‘em up in my mouth?”

He gives a solid smack to your ass for that, his palm smoothing over the stinging skin with condescension when you yelp- “All dish and no take, baby? Not exactly fair.”

____

Despite your weak protestations that you both should probably rejoin the party, at least until midnight, Eddie insists on taking you back to the hotel.

“This party blows, anyways,” he says over his shoulder to you as he leads you back through the halls of the house. “If I hear one more Tears for Fears track I might throw myself into the river from one of the hundred balconies in this place.”

He manages to track down Melanie with some effort, winding his way through the throng of people to where she’d been chatting with a reporter, plucking at her elbow to get her away from the crowd and into the quieter hallway with you.

“We gotta scoot, Mel,” he tells her, really hamming up the charm as the young publicist widens her eyes. “Think you can get us a ride outta here?”

“Mr. Munson, you can’t just leave,” Melanie insists, frazzled. “Someone from Rolling Stone has been waiting for the last hour to talk to you, if you could just-”

“No can do.” Eddie shakes his head, mock-apologetic. “There’s been an accident. Of a personal nature.”

You manage to choke down your laughter as Eddie turns around to show off the dark stains on the back of his jeans. They’re just wet from the snow that he sat in earlier, of course, but it looks convincing enough to make Melanie blanch and pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I’ll have a cab out front in ten for you both. Please keep a low profile until then.”

Eddie gives a sharp salute and you mouth an apology at her before she retreats to find a phone.

Okay, so maybe add a hefty bonus to that Nice Things for Melanie list of yours.

____

One of the perks of having a rockstar for a boyfriend is the sweet digs- the label shelled out for Chicago’s finest penthouse suite; an entire luxurious upper floor with a private elevator, windows overlooking the far-below city lights, and a sunken bath big enough for two.

Also included? Soundproof walls.

A perk you’re very grateful for as Eddie walks you backwards into the room, sucking a mark with stinging teeth into your neck as you moan, then giggle breathily, admonishing- “Christ, Eddie, slow down. We have all night.”

Eddie pulls back just far enough to frown down at you, his hands slipping under the hem of your dress to squeeze at your ass. His rings are cold against your bare flesh, and he grins when you shiver. “Uh huh. Sure do have all night. You gonna take advantage of that?”

He wiggles his eyebrows, cheekily, but that smirk drops from his face in record time the second you shove him to the bed. As his knees give out in favor of sitting on the mattress, you steady your hands against his broad shoulders to swing yourself into his lap.

Eddie’s looking up at you, cinnamon eyes darkened with lust- it makes your stomach flip something awful. Your skin feels alight with heat as Eddie’s hands drip like water down your sides, then to your parted thighs.

You sigh into his mouth as his fingers trace the front of your underwear, the silk sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie says, equal parts admonishment and pitying as you squirm into his touch. “What’s got you this worked up, hm?”

He’s asking like he doesn’t know- like he didn’t tease you with filthy whispers and wandering hands in the back of the car the whole way here.

“Whaddya think,” you scoff, not quite ready to give in yet, enjoying the thrill of being cagey as Eddie hooks a finger to tuck your panties to the side.

He grins, simmering, enjoying the chase just as much as you. His middle finger swipes through your folds and you shudder in his arms, hands tightening into the meat of his shoulders as he brings the wetness up to your clit.

Eddie rubs quick, steady circles until you’re mewling, bucking hips grinding down to seek more friction. You can feel the wetness seeping out of your core, dampening his jeans as he licks back into your mouth, capturing the soft noises you’re making as he winds you up.

“Can’t believe a pretty thing like you has anything to be jealous of.” Eddie noses at the spot under your jaw, and when you let your head fall back on a hinge to grant him access, he sucks another mark into the column of your throat. “‘M all yours, sweetheart. You gonna take what’s yours?”

Truth be told, your mind went fuzzy the second Eddie got his hands on your clit, the consistent build of pleasure sparking between your legs rather distracting. You’d almost forgotten how the night had started, but you let the jealousy and possessiveness creep back in as you push at Eddie’s chest.

He goes down easily, toeing his boots off and lying flat on the mattress; big hands settle on your waist as you rest your weight into him, warm cunt pressing against the bulge of his clothed cock.

At a light drag of your nails against his bare chest and across his nipple, Eddie groans low, squeezing your hips and rucking into you.

“You’re all mine, Eddie, right?”

His pupils nearly eclipsing their soft brown irises, Eddie stares up at you like you hang the moon and stars every night just for him. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘M all yours. Lemme show you.”

Eddie pulls at the backs of your legs, helping you shuffle up his body until your knees are dipping into the mattress at either side of his head. Your core hovers just above Eddie’s mouth- you can feel his breath speed up on the inside of your thigh at this new position.

“Oh, fuck, Eddie- jesus… christ,” the last word ending in a moan as Eddie’s tongue licks a wet stripe through your folds.

He pulls you closer with an arm over each thigh until you’re sitting on his face, his nose hitting your clit with each tilt of his head. You’ve got no idea how he’s able to breathe down there but you’re hardly able to hold onto that thought when his tongue has started plunging in and out of you.

Automatically, your hands shoot out to stabilize yourself- one hand goes to the headboard and the other ends up in his hair, gripping the roots hard. Eddie groans, sending vibrations that make your cunt clench around his lithe tongue.

“Like the taste of my pussy, baby?” you coo down at him, regaining some of your breath to give him attitude.

Reaching a hand back to palm at his cock, you say “No one else can have you like this, hm?”

Eddie catches your eyes as he mouths wetly at your clit, then sucks it into his mouth. Your thighs shake around his ears, your orgasm unfurling in clenching ripples.

“Oh, yeah, Eddie, fuck, I’m coming- just like that, fuck fuck fuck…”

He doesn’t stop suckling at you until you’re gushing around his mouth, then pulling him off by his hair to make him stop.

Eddie heaves in a breath, kissing at the inside of your thigh, his lips and chin shiny with your release. “God, baby. Such pretty noises for me.”

“Mhm.” You shuffle down until your hips are aligned over his, then lean in to lick his mouth clean. “Gonna make some pretty ones for me, now?”

After helping pull his shirt off, Eddie whines softly as you press kisses down his bare chest, and by the time your mouth is pressing over that dark trail of hair that leads into his denim, Eddie’s begging.

“Please, angel, please- need your mouth. Do anything for it, baby, please…”

You rub your cheek against his bulge before pulling back to pop the button on his jeans, then help him shift them down and off his body. Once his black briefs join the growing pile of floor clothes, Eddie’s completely bare and at your mercy.

He gets on his elbows to watch as you mouth at the inside of his thigh, dark hair splayed around his shoulders, chest heaving when you ignore his leaking cock in favor of grazing your teeth against a sensitive spot. “Fuckin’- christ, sweetheart. Come on. Please?”

“Sound pretty when you beg,” you say, mildly, kissing across his heavy sack, hiding a smile when the contact makes him jolt. “Gonna do it some more?”

You keep eye contact as you take one of his balls into your mouth, watching his own eyes roll back so far you can see the whites of them as you use your tongue on him.

“-yeah, baby, yeah- just like that- fucking, fuck, you’re killin’ me…”

Eddie sounds wrecked already, and a hot flush of pride courses through your body at the knowledge that he could come from just this and it’d be you getting him there.

You mouth over to the other side of his sack, rolling the skin wiry with coarse hair against your tongue as Eddie moans above you. When your hand wraps around the base of his cock, starting to move in tandem with the pull of your mouth, Eddie makes a noise like he’s been punched.

A line of drool breaks and hits wet against your chin as you straighten up, settling yourself into the V of his legs and using his thighs as handholds while you begin to kiss up the line of his leaking cock.

He’s got a gorgeous dick, truly. Thick and long, curving slightly to the right, a pretty blue vein snaking up the underside that you lathe your tongue against, seeking out the salty brine at the ruddy head.

Eddie moans, brokenly, white-knuckled hands twisting into the sheets. When your mouth closes around the tip, his elbows give out, leaving him flat against the mattress as you work his length further in.

“Oh my god. Oh, fuck, baby. Please don’t stop. Please. Y’feel so good…”

You hum around the stretch of him in your mouth, relaxing your throat to draw him in a bit more. The spiky jealousy from earlier really is your biggest motivator here; covetous, you’re thinking back to all those first times with Eddie- trembling hands under your bedsheets back in Hawkins, stilted voices and giggles to cover up the awkwardness of trying to learn the other person’s body.

No one will ever know him like you do. No one will ever have all that shared history, those fumbling nights that slowly turned to lovesick days; memories of him on his knees for you, learning all the little things that make you tick, memorizing the song of your body.

The boy is all yours.

Your throat automatically constricts at the intrusion of Eddie’s cock slipping past your soft palate- his hips cant up, which you can hardly fault him for, patient as he’s been with your retrospective and teasing.

Before he can apologize you’re sitting up, wiping at the excess drool with the back of your hand and shucking your dress over your head, letting it and your belt fall to the floor with a soft clunk.

Eddie reaches for you again as you slide your panties down and off, and you let him help you up his body, your knees coming to rest alongside the lightly raised scar tissue at his sides. You stroke a hand down his chest, giving in to a moment of softness before seating yourself fully in Eddie’s lap.

His hands snap to your hips, a near-brutal squeeze as you sink onto his cock. The stretch is always an adjustment, but you’re so wet right now that he slides in easily, a breathy moan from the both of you as the walls of your cunt fit snug around his sizeable length.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” The crown of Eddie’s head is pressed back into the bed, veins in his taut neck on full display as your hips start to swivel, blunt nails scraping into the soft flesh of your waist. “Just like that, sweetheart. Fuck me.”

With your knees planted on either side of his body, you begin to bounce in steady, rhythmic earnest, going for gold, the desire to bring your boy to the babbling edge overtaking every other thought.

“Feel so good, Eds, so big… can barely fit…” There’s a wet squelch accompanying each bounce now, slick dripping down to the base of his cock, your vice of a cunt flexing with every movement.

“S’all you, baby,” Eddie rasps out, toes curling in the efforts to keep his orgasm at bay for awhile longer. “Got a perfect pussy. Takin’ me so well.”

He’s almost in delirium territory, with you chasing after that bright unwinding pleasure at both of your cores; your hips stutter, hands flat on Eddie’s chest to center yourself, a hunger that you can’t seem to satiate gnawing at the edges.

Eddie notices immediately, feels the falter in your motion and brings his hands to your forearms, rubbing a path up them soothingly- “What’s wrong, angel, hm?”

You’re not sure how to put it into words, wishing (not for the first time) that you could just rest your forehead against his and transmit all the complexities of your emotions through touch alone.

Instead, you sigh out the name that you use when you’re done with taking, a name that lights Eddie up from head to toe as you say it- “Teddy.”

In one swift movement, Eddie slips an arm behind your back and flips you to the mattress, his hair a curtain around both your faces as he leans in to whisper against your mouth- “Teddy’s got you. Arms around me.”

You’re quick to obey, looping your arms around Eddie’s wide shoulders. He slides one hand up the back of your leg, pushing a knee up until it’s at your chest, mouth dropping open briefly when the new angle allows the head of his cock to kiss against that gummy upper wall of your cunt.

“Bored of you,” he huffs, recalling your words from earlier with disdain. “You’re talkin’ to the guy who memorized the first six chapters of The Hobbit just to recite for your bedtime.”

A quick thrust of his pelvis into yours has your stomach clenching in anticipation, brows on a tilt and knitting together as Eddie grins down at you. “Got a wicked attention span, baby. Lemme show you.”

He starts slow, agonizingly so, every inch of his thick cock dragging in and out, wetness pooling down your ass and probably the sheets, too; errant thoughts of housekeeping are rapidly erased as Eddie begins snapping his hips into yours in faster tempo.

He’s working to find that spot, the one that turns your brain to mush and is guaranteed to cause full-body muscle fatigue from the force of your orgasm. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pushing into Eddie’s chest, one arm still supporting your lower back as he laughs hoarsely, half-amazement and half-pride.

“That’s the spot, huh, sweetheart? Atta girl. M’all yours. Take it. Good girl…”

With each thrust, the wiry patch of hair dusted across Eddie’s pubic bone grinds slick and filthy against your clit. You’re so close to the edge now, a wave of pleasure cresting as you look up at Eddie.

There are two thin tracks of black makeup trailing down his face from where tears have made a mess of his eyeliner; rosy spots of flushed color in his cheeks, eyes like twin pools of chocolate, locked with yours as he rocks into you.

He’s learned the song of your body so well, knows every chord to strike- his hand leaves your leg to grasp at your breast, calloused palm against pebbled nipple sending more shockwaves through your body, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you sing for him.

“All yours,” you gasp out, and it feels like victory when his hips stutter and the cresting wave crashes around you both at the same time.

The pleasure roils through your gut, clit throbbing and cunt spasming around Eddie’s cock as he spills into you.

A wrecked, broken string of moans leaves you as you ride out the highs together. Eddie presses his forehead to your collarbone as he chants your name, twitching out the last of his spend, warmth blooming inside.

The quiet that follows is filled with shaking breaths, soft kisses, murmurs of “good job, sweetheart” as you both float back down to earth.

Eddie stays in you for longer than usual, his draped weight a grounding comfort as you trail gentle fingertips up and down his skin, lovingly against the scars that interrupt the smooth flesh of his back. Through the closed windows, you can hear the distant sounds of car horns and the deep boom of fireworks.

Sometime in the last foggy hour of lovemaking, 1987 has given way to a new year.

Eddie pulls his heavy head up from your chest to press kisses to your collarbone. “Happy new year, lover.”

You tuck his hair behind his ears, hands squishing lightly at his cheeks to bring his face close enough for a kiss. “Happy new year to you. Hell of a way to kick it off.”

Eventually, Eddie extricates himself from the intoxicating heat of your body (with minimal whining) and brings a warm washcloth to tenderly wipe away the mess between your thighs. Once you’re both cleaned up, he stretches out against the sheets, pulling the covers up as you hook a leg around his waist and snuggle in.

“So I was thinking,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “I wanna take a trip back to Hawkins. Before the tour.”

Your hand stills in its rhythmic circles against Eddie’s chest; heart in your throat, you tilt your chin up so you can gauge Eddie’s reaction. “...yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie picks up your hand on his chest, twining his fingers with your as his other hand settles on your bare hip beneath the sheets. “Could visit Wayne for a few days, fool around in that twin bed like we’re teens again.”

He grins at your giggle, taps playfully at your hip- “Gonna parade you around all our old haunts. You’ve gotten even hotter since we left, babe. Gotta really rub it in the faces of those Hawkins Tigers burnouts whose best dates are their own left hands.”

You snort, and Eddie looks pleased again, but then sobers a bit before saying- “I mean, I’ve got my piece of home with me. But I think it could be good, to visit. Just the two of us.”

You’re quiet for a moment, a longing for home that you’ve managed to ignore these past few years resurfacing. “Can we get high and go to that diner? I mean, Nell’s isn’t as good as Benny’s was, but I’ve been craving a Hawkins milkshake.”

“Christ.” Eddie hides his smile in the crook of your neck, dimples springing to life. “You could ask for the Mona Lisa and I’d find a way to get it to you. Fries and a milkshake, that all I need to keep my girl happy?”

“Yeah,” you reply, a contented noise as Eddie settles against your chest again. “That’s all I need.”

___

thank u thank u for reading if you made it this far have a little kiss from me to you <3 xx lulu

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie

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adoregojo · 2 months

Text

secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

#blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #isagi x reader #bachira x reader #reo x reader #chigiri hyoma x reader #chigiri x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #reo mikage x reader

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cevansbrat0007 · 3 months

Text

The Scent of You

Summary: Ari loves the sweet scent of you, which is why he's content to live between your thighs.

Warnings: Smut, Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Begging, Oral Sex (fem rec), Pussy Spanking, Slight Chase Kink, Light D/s themes, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for @curls-and-eyeliner. Hopefully this is okay, ya'll. I'm honestly not sure if it worked the way I intended. Part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

It’s no secret that Ari adores you, but you’ve learned over the course of your relationship that he is particularly fond of the way you smell. Your natural essence of spiced, sugared vanilla draws him in like a moth to a flame.

Which means he was always looking for a reason to touch you – to pull you close and breathe you in. Whether he’s hauling you against his broad chest to bury his nose in your hair while you’re cooking dinner, or he’s busy cascading soft, sweet kisses along the delicate column of your throat when you’re both snuggled up on the couch.

Your scent is like a drug. It calls to him – like a siren’s song – demanding that your handsome Bounty Hunter give in and help himself to his next hit.

This man is hooked on you and it’s honestly one of the most exhilarating things you’ve ever experienced. Growing up, you’d never dreamed someone would desire you like this; that anyone would want you in such an all-consuming way.

“I’m going to burn the chicken if you don’t cut it out.” You hum, smiling when you feel his brawny arms tighten around your waist. “And then we won’t have anything to eat but mashed potatoes and asparagus.”

“Mm. Then maybe we’ll just have to order-in.” His warm lips dance along your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Beast.” You try again, intending to issue a light reprimand. Instead your voice comes out soft and breathy.

“You can feed me my dessert while we wait.” Ari’s long, talented fingers travel to the waistband of your pink sleep shorts, lightly tugging at the drawstring. “Just think about it.” You briefly lose your train of thought as you find yourself trying to remember if you were even wearing panties.

You’re pretty sure that you’d neglected to put them on again after your shower. At the time, you’d told yourself that you were trying to save yourself from having to make another trip to Victoria’s Secret.

It wasn’t your fault that your Beast wasn’t always house-trained. He was the kind of man who had a propensity for ripping off your underthings and tucking them into his pocket. Which meant you often had to make adjustments to your wardrobe.

And all of it because the scent of your arousal drove him wild.

Your musings are interrupted when a sudden pop of grease splashes out of the cast iron skillet, just missing both you and your man. “Alright, hands to yourself now, Beast. We’re working around hot oil and I’d feel terrible if you got hurt.”

Jesus H. Christ, you should’ve picked another day to fry this incorrigible man some chicken.

Ari nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, gently nipping at your pulse point. “I just need a fix, baby. One little hit and I’ll be good for the rest of the night.”

“Ari…” You blow out an exasperated breath as you reach for your tongs to flip your meat. “You don’t even know if I’ve showered or not today.”

“Don’t care.” He grunts, one big hand reaching into your shorts to possessively cup your increasingly damp pussy. “You know I love how you smell. Almost as much as I love the way you taste.” Ari lips move on to kiss along the shell of your ear. A shudder courses through you when he tugs the sensitive load between his sharp teeth.

“I’m proud to wear my girl.”

Your thighs clench of their own accord, your empty walls clenching around nothing. Apparently your body was just as hungry for him as he was for you.

“Y–you can’t go around just saying things like that.” It comes out as a whimper as your cheeks heat, meanwhile Ari busies himself with grinding the heel of his lightly calloused palm against your already throbbing clit.

“Why not, Duchess? Am I being too crass for you?” He teases as his free hand comes up to knead your breast, squeezing with just the amount of roughness he knew made your knees weak. “Turn that shit off and come feed me. I’ve been dying to get between those thighs all fuckin’ day.”

“But–but…” Your eyes flutter closed even as you reach for the knob that controls the burner, switching it off. Maybe he was right. You hated to waste this, but you could always try again another day.

Preferably on a night when your very persistent Beast was working late.

“There we go. I knew my woman wasn’t the type to let me go hungry.” Ari murmurs, releasing his grip on your now very wet pussy in favor of tugging down your shorts. A growl rumbles deep in his throat as he watches them fall to the ground at your feet. “I knew you couldn’t be that mean.”

“You owe me chicken alfredo from Guiseppe’s, you animal.” You snarl, removing the pan from the heat.

“Consider it done, baby.” You could tell without looking at him that he was obviously pleased with himself.

God this man was an absolute menace. But he was yours, which meant you had to keep him. Hell, you were pretty sure that if you ever tried to put him up for adoption you were pretty sure he’d find his way home.

Back to you. Wherever you were.

Feeling bold, you wiggle out of the Bounty Hunter’s grasp, only to be surprised when he lets you go.

“Bet you can’t catch me.” You challenge, making a sudden dash for the stairs.

Of course you knew he’d catch you. But sometimes you liked running from your Beast – because he was the type to always give chase which would only add spice to the proceedings.

And just like you knew he’d be, your Bounty Hunter is on you before you reach the fourth step. A scream escapes you – but you both know it’s one of excitement. After all, Ari Levinson was every inch the predator. It’s why you lovingly referred to him as “your Beast”.

“Gotcha now, Duchess.” He hisses, a heady mix of exhilaration and pride coursing through his veins. And that’s when you finally notice the impressive tent hidden beneath the fabric of his light gray sweats.

God, you had a feeling this man was gonna wreck you tonight. You just hoped you’d be able to walk in a straight line come tomorrow morning.

Ari takes that moment to flip you over before gently maneuvering your body in such a way that allows you to slide down a couple of steps.

“Yeah, you caught me.” You breathe, your body aching for him. And then you part your thighs, feeling more than a little empowered when you notice the way his imperious gaze darkens with lust at the sight of your glistening cunt. “Now…what are you going to do with me?”

Grabbing the edge of your nightshirt, you slowly pull it over your head, baring your breasts. If this man wanted you and was so willing to *ruin* your dinner for it, then who were you to deny him?

Immediately, Ari buries his face between your slick covered thighs, his powerful hands coming up to quickly throw your legs over his muscled shoulders. A deep, satisfied groan of appreciation escapes his throat as he sucks your pulsing clit into his warm, waiting mouth.

“Holy shit!” You cry, burying your hands in his soft, chestnut strands. “Sir, please!” Your body begins to tremble as you’re treated to the most sensual of assaults.

One thick finger gently prods at your entrance, seeking refuge in your slippery cunt. At the same time, you feel Ari release your sensitive bundle of nerves, content to lap at it with his wicked tongue.

“That's it now. Fuckin' drench me, Bird.” He orders softly, his voice coming out slightly muffled.

And then pauses he pauses again – this time to nuzzle his nose against your slippery folds. Your entire body quivers when he takes a deep breath, inhaling your scent and reveling in your wetness.

“My fuckin’ pussy.” Ari snarls, his flat tongue dragging a long, greedy swipe along your cunt. “Mine.” He pulls away long enough to slap your core in silent demand.

“Fuck yes!” You agree, eagerly rocking your hips in time with each delicious lash of his tongue. He swirls it over your little bundle of nerves, making your toes curl.

“Would wear you all day if you’d let me.” His nimble fingers begin to work you over, stretching you in the way he knew would make you crazy. “Proud to wear my girl.”

“Omigosh!Omigosh!Omigosh!” You wail, your velvety walls clenching around his fingers as he pumps them in and out of you.

“Promise to always feed me when I need it, little Bird.” You feel his teeth lightly graze your clit once more, loving the way it makes you thrash and moan.

That’s right. This man was breaking you down on your living room stairs. And it was so good that you couldn’t even be bothered to make yourself give a proper fuck.

Dear God, this was the most exquisite kind of pleasure.

“Don’t you dare let me starve.” His fingers curve inside you, expertly finding your spot.

Holy fucking shit your man was making one hell of compelling argument, as evidenced by sweet cries and your shaking legs.

“Never.” Your thighs tighten around his head, threatening to smother him even as you gush around him.

Just the way you knew he fucking loved.

“There we go -- yeah, that’s it.” Ari rasps, smacking your right flank, reveling in the way you clench around him as you continue to ride his face. Meanwhile, you’re busy writhing in your man’s arms, trying not to escape his grasp as that familiar coil of pleasure begins to tighten in your belly.

You know he knows you’re close. So he picks up his pace, clearly enjoying the way you’re coming apart under his feral loving.

“I just need one good one from you – just one good one to start. And then I’m gonna give you my cock.” He increases the pace of his fingers, not missing the way your head is thrown back in complete submission. “And after that, I’ll order you dinner.”

“Fuck, Beast!” You pant, your eyes rolling in the back of your head. "Whatever you fucking say - ooh!" Your open palm slaps against the wall as you try to run. But his grip is too strong.

Instead he simply chuckles before pausing his feast long enough to press one hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh - his teeth scraping over your damp flesh as he takes you higher and higher.

“And while we wait, I’m gonna go ahead feed you my cock.” He quips with a feral flash of teeth. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure you eat every bite.”

END

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 11 months

Text

Erotomania

Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Spencer discovers that his girlfriend has a stalker

Warning: Stalking, obsession, creepy basement, weapons, cursing

Word Count: 3.6K

Masterlist

“Thanks,” I smiled at the barista as she handed me mine and Spencer’s coffee. Well… while my drink was coffee his was just cream and sugar with a little bit of caffeine.

“Have a nice day,” she wished before turning her attention to another customer.

As I headed for the door a fellow customer on their way to work held it open for me. I gave him the same thanks with a smile as the barista, heading for my car.

Arriving at the office I delivered Spencer’s drink to him. “One milkshake for you,” I announced teasingly.

“Actually a milkshake is characterized by it’s mixing process when it is whipped until it’s frothy,” he informed, taking mild offense to my comment.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I dismissed, taking my seat at my desk across from him. “Oh, by the way, I made reservations at Francesco's for Friday but if we aren’t able to make that we have a reservation at Town Kitchen for Sunday.”

“Sounds good but our anniversary is on Saturday,” Spencer informed gently.

“Yeah but I don’t want either of us to be upset if we have to miss the reservation on our actual anniversary.”

Spencer smiled to himself. While Y/N wasn’t like him in the way that he had millions of facts spanning thousands of subjects memorized, she always thought of everything. “That’s why I love you. You always think of everything.”

“And I love you because you know everything,” she smiled.

“Ugh, love,” Emily gagged as she approached.

“Aw, did Sergio not want to cuddle last night?” I teased her about her cat.

“Shut up,” she scoffed.

I laughed, reaching into my bag for the case files I was working on last night. As I pulled the stack out I noticed a bright blue post-it note sticking out of one of the files as if it had fallen in. Pulling it out and flipping it, I noticed some words written on it.

Have a nice day, Y/N

My first thought was that maybe it was something Spencer slipped into my bag last night but the handwriting didn’t match. This was messily scrawled while Spence’s handwriting was neat. Still, it seemed like the most logical conclusion. “Spence, did you leave this?” I asked casually, sliding it over to his desk.

Upon just glancing at the note his brows furrowed. “No, where’d you find it?”

“In my bag. I know that’s not your handwriting— or anyone else’s on the team— but you seemed to be the most logical explanation.”

“Maybe it was a cop on the last case who had a crush on you,” Spencer shrugged, trying to dismiss any jealousy.

“Maybe,” I mused, thinking back to the behavior of the officers from Utah. Nothing seemed to stick out but my attention wasn’t exactly focused on any of the police there. Shrugging I crumpled it up, tossing it into the trash bin under my desk.

“Conference room,” Hotch announced from his little balcony, tearing me from my thoughts about the note.

Three days later we landed back in Virginia just in time for Spencer and I to make our anniversary dinner. “L/N for two,” I told the hostess at Town Kitchen. Our reservation was at 7:00 and we had arrived at 7:06.

“Just in time,” she commented, grabbing us our menus and leading us to our table. We sat down graciously, thankful that they hadn’t given away our table.

“I know it’s not the most romantic to be doing this in the clothes we just spent three days in but I’m glad we could do this,” Spencer smiled, reaching his hand across the table.

I placed my hand in his. “Me too.” As much as I loved our impromptu date nights that consisted of takeout and whatever was on TV of the station we were working out of, it was special to be able to have a proper date. “It’s almost like we’re a normal couple right now and not two FBI agents.”

“Do you wish we were normal?” he asks.

“Not in the slightest,” I smiled.

“I’m like 99% sure I have all your Dr. Who DVDs in a drawer in my living room,” I said, unlocking my apartment door. “Grab a bottle of wine and some glasses from the kitchen and I’ll start the DVDs?”

“Sure,” Spencer agreed with a smile. “Assuming you can find them,” he teased.

“They’re more than likely there,” I defended, finally getting the door unlocked. “Go,” I laughed, pushing him towards my kitchen. I went towards my TV stand, starting to go through my drawers. By the time I concluded that they weren’t in there Spencer was already sat on the couch with two glasses of wine. He had an amused look as I turned around to face him. “Let me check in my room.”

As I walked in I stopped abruptly, finding the floor covered in photos and post-it notes. Horror filled my chest. “What the fuck?” I must have yelled it because Spencer was running to my side. Upon seeing all the photos, he was immediately dragging me out of the apartment.

Once we were out in the hallway, Spencer kept pushing me towards the stairs while pulling out his phone. “What are you doing?” I asked as he ushered me out into the parking garage.

“I’m texting the team to come to your apartment but we’re leaving for now,” he explained, opening the passenger door to my car. “We can’t just wait in the apartment. Your stalker may have been waiting around.”

“Okay, yeah, good idea,” I agreed through my hyperventilation. Reaching into the glove compartment I grabbed our guns. We had stashed them there for dinner.

Spencer sped out of the parking lot, parking on the street two blocks away before sending our location to the team. “Okay they’ll be here in a few minutes and then we can go investigate the apartment,” he explained. I only nodded along. Normally I’d be much more rational than this but I was in so much shock in terror I couldn’t think straight. “Hey, hey it’ll be okay. No one’s going to hurt you. The team will be here soon and we’ll find this person. We’ve dealt with erotomaniacs before.”

“You think this is an erotomaniac?” I asked, scared.

“Based on the note I saw earlier and I didn’t notice any threatening imagery in your room. We’ll know more when we get a proper look,” Spencer tried to soothe.

Soon enough the others were pulling up to our location, Hotch and Morgan wearing their bulletproof vests. “Morgan and I will go in and clear the place. Then we can call CSI and have them collect any forensic evidence,” Hotch explained. His gaze and tone then softened as he looked at me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “just a little shaken up.”

He pursed his lips, nodding and unsure what to say. He looked back up at Morgan, nodding as they both walked towards my apartment.

JJ and Emily were both fretting over me as Morgan and Hotch searched the apartment. To my relief they called soon saying there was no one in my home.

Entering again, I made a beeline for my bedroom, wanting to see the photos. As I entered, Hotch was already there, observing the photos and notes spread out on the floor. They were all of me taken from a distance away with a zoomed in lens. There were several of me just going about my life in various stores and coffee places. But the most horrifying ones were of me and Spencer. If he was able to, it looked like the unsub just cut my boyfriend out of the pictures but the ones where Spencer was too close, his face was angrily scribbled over. Among the photos were notes ranging from I miss you, to I’m going to kill him.

By now Spence had entered my bedroom with the rest of the team. “I think we’re dealing with an erotomaniac.”

“Looks like it,” Derek agreed. “I assume you haven’t noticed anyone lurking around?” he asked me.

“No, nothing. The first thing I noticed was as a note in my bag that said Have a nice day, Y/N. We just assumed it was from a cop in Utah but this?”

“You definitely have a stalker,” Hotch concluded. “The question is how did he manage to avoid detection of seven FBI agents and why now?”

“Maybe Y/N and I’s anniversary?” Spencer suggested.

“Well that’s the best we’ve got for now. We’ll let CSI search for forensic evidence, meanwhile let’s all head to the office so we can start forming the profile.”

Back at the office everyone was treating me like well… a victim. “I’m fine,” I insisted as I felt of their lingering gazes. “We need to work on our bedside manner because I hate this.”

I got a few muttered sorry’s until Spencer came and sat in front of me. “Okay Y/N we’re going to try a cognitive interview.” I nodded, closing my eyes, allowing myself to be open to Spencer’s words. “Okay, go back to the day you found the note, what were you doing before you found it?”

“I was getting us coffee,” I answered, bringing the coffee shop to mind.

“Okay, describe it for me. What do you see, smell, and hear?”

“It’s crowded- and loud. The machines are whirring and people are talking.”

“Okay, does anyone get close to you? Close enough to put something in your bag?”

As I’m standing in line I feel a guy brush up against my bag. I hadn’t thought much of it because it was crowded and I thought he was moving to let someone pass. “Yeah, I’m getting in line, I’m near the door, and this guy brushes against my bag behind me.”

“Can you see his face or give any description?”

I strained hard in my memories, essentially begging myself to be able to turn around enough to see him. I open my eyes, looking into Spencer’s hazel ones. “I can’t see his face but based on his body… he’s white, roughly middle aged, medium build.”

Spencer smiles, taking my hand. “You did good. C’mon, let’s go tell the team.” I let him help me off the seat as we headed towards the conference room where the others were discussing theory. “He’s a white male, middle aged, with a medium build,” Spencer informed. “He slipped the note into Y/N’s bag Thursday morning.”

“Okay so average guy, probably feels too average and therefore inferior since erotomaniacs tend to be obsessed with those perceived to be above them,” Derek pieced together.

“So maybe a working class or blue collar guy?” JJ suggested. “Store clerk, janitor, any mechanic, plumber, electrician you’ve interacted with in the past few weeks?”

Before I could answer Rossi jumped in. “Or months, possibly within the last year? There were a lot of photos.”

“Nothing significant I can think of but I know it doesn’t have to be significant to me for it to flip the switch for them,” I explained.

“Garcia, start compiling a list of middle aged white men who work here as janitors, live in L/N’s building, work at shops she frequents,” Hotch looked at me expectantly for a list. I nodded, silently agreeing to write one up. “I know it’ll be a broad list but it’s a place we can start.”

“That’s not even covering all the places we traveled in the last year,” Emily added. “This is like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Ooh report from CSI. There were no finger prints and absolutely no sign of a break in or picked locks—and I know an FBI agent isn’t leaving her windows or doors unlocked—leading them to believe that the stalker somehow got ahold of a copy of your key.” I felt nauseous at that news. “As for the notes, they’re currently working on handwriting analysis for any other stalking cases in the area, so far nothing. As for the photos, they were shot on real film and developed in like a darkroom so I’ve already cross referenced photographers and frequent buyers of darkroom supplies with the list I have so far. When Y/N gets me that list of frequent stores I will cross reference those as well.” Penelope took a big breath, having not breathed the entire time she was talking.

“Y/N get started on that list, Reid and I will head to the coffee shop to see if they have any security footage of this guy,” Hotch ordered.

It was hard for Spencer to watch the security camera footage. He and Hotch watched as the shady looking man slipped the note into Y/N bag and proceeded to hover around her as she waited for her coffee. It was a busy morning in the already cramped coffee shop explaining why Y/N hadn’t noticed his too-close for comfort presence.

I shuddered watching the man follow me around the coffee shop. I’m a highly trained FBI agent, how did I not notice him?

Sensing my unease, Spencer stepped closer, squeezing my hand in reassurance. “Have you ever seen or noticed this man before?” he asked softly.

“Nothing I can remember,” I confessed shyly, feeling like a failure for never noticing him.

“Garcia’s running his picture through facial recognition software. If he has a criminal record, we’ll find him,” Hotch assured.

I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. “I need some air.” Everyone looked after me, hesitant. “I’ll stay in the building I just can’t be around this,” I gestured to my pictures, “anymore.”

They all looked hesitant but no one stopped me as I exited the office, heading to nowhere. I had no specific destination, I just wanted to walk around.

Upstairs, Garcia ran into the BAU conference room. “Guys, guys, I got a hit on facial recognition. Our stalker’s name is Michael Garrison and the reason he didn’t show up in my initial search is because his juvenile criminal record is sealed. When he was 15 he got a restraining order against him from a senior at his high school and when he was 18 he got another one from a teacher also at his high school. During these trials it came out that he was also stalking middle school girls while in high school. As for him now… he works as a janitor here. Now, he’s not scheduled to come in today but I have a feeling he’s not sticking to that schedule,” she said nervously.

“No he is not, babygirl,” Derek confirmed. “Reid, call Y/N.”

“Already on it,” he confirmed, holding the phone up to his ear. But when her phone began to ring on the very table they were standing around, every heart rate in the room spiked.

“Everyone, split up,” Hotch ordered, everyone already headed for the door.

I pressed the elevator call button, ready to head back upstairs when a custodian came up beside me, also waiting for the elevator. I have him a soft smile of acknowledgment before looking back at the elevator call button. Once the door opened I stepped in first, followed shortly by him. Before I could reach to press the button, he was already pressing his floor, the basement. “Where to?” he asked.

“Seven, thanks,” I answered as the doors closed. But once they closed he made no move to press the button. Confused and hesitant I stepped forward to press it, only for him to step towards me as well. “Wha-”

“Finally, we’re alone,” he said with a big smile.

“What are you-” I began to ask, backing away as far as I could, cursing myself for not bringing my phone or gun.

“I knew you’d come find me once I left those notes.” The elevator dinged and opened to the basement, I just hoped someone else would be down here. I looked out into the dark basement hesitantly. His face fell seeing my hesitation. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a government issue gun, one he had probably swiped from an agent. “Go on,” he urged, carelessly waving the gun around.

I hesitantly walked past him, never taking my eyes off of him. “Where are we going?”

He followed me out of the elevator, gun pressed against my back, making me shudder. “I have a space down here,” he answered. We walked down a very long, very dark corridor until we reached a maze of stairs and pipes. Continuing down we reached what looked like an old, forgotten broom closet. Inside was a single dingy lightbulb which he tugged on, illuminating the repulsive room. The walls were covered in mysterious grime and scattered around the walls were pictures of me. I shuddered before looking at the absolutely repulsive mattress on the floor.

Scared but curious about how I got here. What set him off? How did I catch his attention? But I’d need to do this subtly. I pretended to look at all the photos in awe, as if touched by his infatuation. “You did all this, and the stuff in my apartment for me?”

If he was a cartoon I’m sure the hearts in his eyes would double in size. “Yes, yes, of course!” he confessed excitedly. “When I saw your picture on his desk, I knew you were the one.” Based on the way he said ‘his,’ I knew he was referring to the picture of Spence and I at the beach on his desk. “You’re so pretty,” he mused, stroking a finger down my face. It took everything in me not to slap his hand away. “And your notes… I knew you loved me too.” Against my will, a look of confusion must have crossed over my face. His eyebrows furrowed a little. “You know, the ones you left on your desk for me to find! In that glittery ink.” He rushed over to a box, pulling out half a dozen notes. I recognized Penelope’s handwriting and glitter gel pens. The messages came from a time when she was teasing Reid and trying to steal me away from him as a joke.

You should be with me

I love you <3

I’m leaving him for you, do the same for me?

I looked up at my stalker nervously, completely unsure what to say. Seeing how unstable this guy was, I knew the safest thing would be to agree. “Oh yeah, I forgot about these.” It took me swallowing my every ounce of pride to say the next words. “It had been so long I was scared you wouldn’t do anything. Like… I’d be stuck with Spencer forever.” The man visibly melted at my words.

“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry you felt that way.”

Before he could say anything, the door burst open, revealing Emily with her gun. I nearly sobbed in relief seeing her but before I could react, the stalker’s arm was around my neck, pointing the gun at my head. “I found Y/N, Garrison has a gun!”

Soon enough the rest of the team showed up, including Spencer. “She’s safe with me!” Garrison insisted.

“Then why are you pointing a gun at her head,” Emily countered.

He lowered the gun, pointing it at my teammates who weren’t wearing their vests. I nearly screamed when he pointed it at Spencer. “Tell them we’re fine, that you’d rather be here with me!” Garrison demanded like a child.

“Come on Garrison, you know this isn’t rational,” Derek interrupted. “Look at her, she’s terrified.”

“Shut up!” he screamed, moving the gun towards Derek. “Tell them!”

“I’m fine guys!” I told them. Grabbing at his arm that was wrapped around my throat, I began to plea. “Please let me go. I can’t breathe, we can talk about this. We just need to settle some things so we can be together.”

But he only tightened his grip, I began to feel a little lightheaded. “No, he’ll just steal you away from me.” The gun was once again trained on Spencer.

“I won’t, I swear,” Spence promised, putting his gun away. “We were never really a couple. It was all just a ruse to make you jealous and catch your attention.”

Suddenly his grip loosened and I fell into a coughing fit. “Really?” he asked. Realizing I had fallen at his feet he dropped the gun, crouching down. Next thing I knew Garrison was being pushed back by Derek while Emily pulled me away.

I was immediately pulled up into my boyfriend’s arms. “Thank god,” I heard him whisper as I sobbed into his shoulder. I clung to his shoulders, a sobbing mess as he hugged me tightly, nuzzling his face into my neck.

Behind me I could hear Garrison’s shouts. “No! I trusted you! I loved you! You lying bitch!” he continued to scream profanities at the top of his lungs as Derek dragged him out, not shy about roughing him up a bit.

“Reid, take L/N home. Take the night off too,” Hotch ordered. “Glad you’re okay,” he said to me before following the others upstairs.

That night I couldn’t stand the idea of being alone but fortunately Spencer didn’t mind. He stuck by me all night, whispering assurances and sweet nothings whenever I got scared.

Masterlist

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer #spencer x reader #reid #reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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sluttywonwoo · 11 months

Note

Pt2 of my skz thots coz oof I've been waiting for someone to ask. This is a soft thot but a thot none the less. Soft lazy( and very handsy) morning sex with Chan that's filled with giggles and heart eyes and cute ruffled curly bed head🥺

-🐈‍⬛

“it’s too early…” chris moans, rolling away from you.

it is early. but you want him.

you try again, rolling him onto his back and snuggling up to him. he grumbles but doesn’t complain, thinking you’re going to let him sleep. you lay yourself across him, positioning yourself in a way that you can slot his thigh between your own.

the pressure alone makes you sigh in relief. you’d woken up aching and had been trying to wake your sleeping rock of a boyfriend for the better part of twenty minutes.

you’re not very subtle about it, not trying to be, as you grind down on his thigh. chris catches on right away, heaving a sigh.

“baby…”

“please,” you whine. “please, i need you.”

“do you?”

“yes, fuck, please.”

he’s fully awake now, you can feel him hard and twitching against your thigh. you know he’s only teasing you by pretending to be drifting in and out of sleep but it frustrates you nonetheless.

“chris!”

he cracks one eye open and grins cheekily before pouncing on you. you scream as he flips you over and climbs on top of you, laughing through the kisses he plants all over your face.

he’s already naked (because that’s how he always sleeps, although when is he not naked when he’s home—) and is quick to pull your panties to the side so that he can tease you some more with his cock.

“not gonna fuck you just yet,” he mumbles, shushing you when you whimper in protest. “gotta stretch you out first.”

“no, i’m so wet already. you’ll slide right in,” you assure him.

“you sure?”

“mhm.”

he pretends to think about it as he jerks himself off, smirking at the way you’re practically tuning out everything he’s saying and just staring at his dick. “you know, normally i’d still finger you and make you wait for it just for being a brat and waking me up but i’m feeling nice this morning.” he brings a hand to your chin and forces you to look up at him. “ready, baby?”

“god, yes, put it in already.”

“so needy,” chris muses to himself, chuckling. he’s met with practically no resistance as he pushes into you. “jesus christ, you are soaked. what’s got my baby so worked up this morning? hm?” he asks between kisses to your neck.

it isn’t until you feel him nip at the spot he’d just kissed that you realize he’s expecting an answer. “ah! uh, i don’t… i don’t know,” you mumble. “just woke up needing you.”

“yeah? wasn’t a dream?”

it’s hard to think straight with the way your boyfriend’s rolling his hips into yours but you try to string together a sentence anyway. “don’t think so… i don’t remember a dream.”

“s’okay, baby. you don’t need a reason. i was just curious.”

“oh… ok.”

chris laughs and strokes your hair fondly. “you’re so cute, baby. love when you get like this for me. now let’s make you cum so we can get back to sleep.”

#answered #anon #🐈‍⬛ anon #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan smut #chan smut

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a-small-writer-in-a-big-world · 4 months

Text

Drawings: cbf!soap x reader

On the walls in your room are drawings from Johnny.

Ever since you met him all that time ago in kindergarten, he had been drawing art. It seemed like any moment he wasn’t doing his homework or work in class he was drawing.

You watched all the time, since you sat next to him in every class, and admired his work with a deep sense of wonder.

In the fifth grade he drew you a picture of your favorite Disney princess. In the sixth he drew you a picture of your favorite music artist. Every drawing he gave you in middle school was something that you liked, something that you told him you enjoyed.

In high school his art style changed. He started drawing more realistically, with more purpose and soon his art started looking pretty professional.

Freshman year he drew you your favorite flower. Sophomore year he drew you a beautiful landscape.

Junior year he drew a picture of you but didn’t expect to give it to you.

It wasn’t the first time he had drawn you. In fact, since he could remember he was always drawing you when he knew you weren’t looking at him.

You were his favorite muse. He studied you any chance he got and lost himself in your eyes. He had so many drawings you he could almost make a timeline of you growing up with them.

Every sketch of you was another piece of him he wish he could give you.

One day he made a mistake.

“Draw…a cat!”

“On it.”

Johnny had asked you to give him something to draw, semi-stuck in art block due to the stress of school. He flipped through his journal and a piece of it he had torn fell on the ground.

Before he could pick it up, you had and he felt his stomach hit the hells below.

“You drew me?”

You were staring at the page with unreadable eyes that were stuck to the sketch of you smiling. He didn’t have to look to know that’s what it was because he had ripped it out to hide it from you.

“Yeah…” He couldn’t say anything as he fidgeted with his pencil, nearly snapping it in half.

You were quiet and he felt like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Can I keep it?” You wondered and his eyes widened.

“What? Why?”

“Because…I really like it.”

You rubbed your thumb over the sketch, a small smile pulling at your lips as he watched warmth spread in your eyes. You looked giddy, like he had gifted you something priceless and it made his cheeks burn.

“Ye can have it.” He couldn’t even distract himself with drawing.

“Is this the first time? This can’t be, there’s no way.”

“It’s not.”

Johnny’s mouth went dry when you looked at him with shock. He was really hoping you didn’t find him weird for doing drawing you and he refused to let you know how many times it took him ti perfect you on paper.

“You made sure to get my good side right?”

Johnny couldn’t help but laugh at that. Relief washed over him at the admiration in your eyes and he shook his head.

“Every side is your good side, bonnie.”

That picture is the only one framed on your dresser.

A/n: figured I’d give some fluff

Tags: @elysian0612

#childhood best friend!soap #cbf!soap #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x you #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish #soap x reader #soap x you

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marlynnofmany · 2 months

Text

Playing Translation Telephone

“Hi,” I said as the door slid open. “Captain Sunlight wants to know how your translations are going.”

Coals sighed. “They’re going. This one’s a mess.” He shook his lizardy head, brick-red scales dull in the light by the doorway. That part of the translation suite was always dim because Trrili liked looming in the shadows there.

But today she was at the workstation in the back, surrounded by glowing screens and a cloud of irritated hisses. “I think we missed a language,” she announced, snapping her pincher arms and angling her antennae into a scowl.

“What, really?” Coals asked. He ran a hand over his head, scales clicking quietly. “How many is that now?”

“Sixssss,” Trrili hissed.

Coals grumbled something I didn’t catch, and walked back over to the workstation.

Curious, I followed and let the door shut behind me. “What kind of project is this one?”

“Old records of a multi-species colonizing effort,” Coals said from his floating chair with the tail hole. “The originals are lost, and all that’s left is this jumble that’s been translated through a succession of languages, none of which they bothered to write down. And they want us to figure out what the originals actually meant.”

“Sounds tricky,” I said. Each of the screens held writing, most in languages I didn’t recognize. Some were notes in the trade language we all spoke, and I was amused to see how much swearing was in Trrili’s notes.

“It is very tricky,” Trrili agreed, jabbing a little wrist finger at the screen in the middle. “The grammar doesn’t match the words, and the idioms are an utter tar hole. It’s anyone’s guess what culture came up with some of these details.”

“I’m pretty sure the bit about rocks is a Strongarm saying,” Coals said. “It makes more sense than a Frillian interpretation.”

“Yes, fine, probably,” Trrili said with an irritated wave of her pinchers. “I’m stuck at this part that goes off on a tangent about the family arrangements of the wildlife. It’s clearly significant, and at least one layer of translation wanted to make sure the full interpretation was spelled out, but that just makes it more confusing.”

“How so?” I asked. I’d gotten the job on this ship because of my animal-care knowledge, so maybe I could offer some insights. I peered at the screen.

“This part,” Trrili said, “Is a recounting of a colonist’s experience in retrieving goods from a shuttle that crashed in a lake. The water creatures seem to have complex social arrangements, and somehow that relates to their behavior toward this particular colonist.” She folded her pinchers and leaned back, glaring at the ancient diary. “Of course this had to be written by someone disinclined to speaking clearly.”

“What kind of behavior is it?” I asked. “Are we talking mating advances, or aggressively protecting the young, or—?”

“Aggressive,” Trrili said immediately. “This word means mouth, possibly teeth specifically, and in the grammatical arrangement that it’s currently configured into, it has to be saying that the thing bit the colonist.”

Coals flipped through documents on another screen. “Do we know what the official name for the creature is?”

Trrili hissed. “Not even close. That’s what this whole tangent is: an attempt at describing it. I’d love to know if it was the original colonist or someone later who decided it would be helpful to tell us that this creature’s ancestors rejected social bonds.”

“Rejected how?” I asked.

Coals brought up another document. “I’ve got something on the legal system of the original colony. Sounds like there were multiple types of family arrangements at play. Possibly this colonist was just musing on a similarity to their own life.”

Trrili hissed. “How does that help us? I don’t see any accounts of this person’s family life, or even their species. We have no way to know if their own parents performed the socially-accepted rituals or not.”

“Wait,” I said. “Is this about the animal’s parents not doing a certain ritual? Like marriage? Is the colonist calling the fish a bastard?”

Both of my alien coworkers looked at me. Coals asked slowly, “That’s an insult in human circles, isn’t it?”

“Yes!”

Trrili threw her pinchers skyward and stalked away from the workstation. “Of course it is. You people are sentimental about everything, including reproduction. This would have been so much simpler if we’d known from the start that there was a human layer to this.”

“So what does it say?” I asked. “The colonist went into the lake to help with the crash, and got bitten by a bastard fish?”

Trrili was walking in circles hissing, so Coals scooted in front of the center screen. “Going by what we’ve figured out so far,” he said, “The colonist was trying to move salvage from the shuttle. Walking through shallow water. The water creatures were of many bright colors — it goes into detail about that, comparing them to refractive prisms and seaspray — but they kept their distance as long as the colonist kept moving. Pretty sure this part says one came in for a bite as soon as the colonist stood still. And that’s where we go off on an elaborate description of the creature’s family arrangements.”

I grinned. “‘Dear diary, today I waded through a lake and got bit by a rainbow bastard fish. Terrible experience; wouldn’t recommend.’”

Coals looked closer. “It does actually say something like that afterward,” he admitted. “There’s a suggestion that the next person to enter the water wear protective clothing.”

Over Trrili’s aggravated hissing, I said, “That colonist might have been a human.”

“Might indeed,” Coals said. He scrolled up through a page of notes. “That could actually shed some light on a couple other spots, now that you mention it.”

Trrili appeared beside us. “Bring up the part about the colony leader mating with someone’s mother.”

I laughed. “I can tell you right now that that’s an insult. The colonist is likely complaining about the boss, not describing something that actually happened.”

Coals looked at Trrili. “Told you we need an insult chart.”

Trrili tilted her head dramatically. “That’s so much work!”

“So’s this,” Coals pointed out. “How about you take another look at what we’ve got so far here, and I’ll start a list of common human insults.”

Trrili took a position in front of the screens, hissing quietly.

“I’ll be happy to help,” I said to Coals. “My people are very creative on that front.”

“So I gather,” Coals said. He scooted over to me, digital notepad at the ready. “And not one of those insults revolves around eggs. Mindblowing.”

“Well,” I said with a tip of my head. “There is the thing about teaching your grandmother to suck eggs. That’s kind of an insult.”

“What?” Coals said. “Never mind. I can tell this is going to be a long list.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #The Token Human #humans are weird #haso #hfy #eiad #humans are space orcs #translations #in spaaace #thanks to the random person who commented on a previous story #with a mention of their encounter #with what they named the #Caribbean Bastardfish #'oh hey' says I #'what a very human thing to name it. hmmm...'

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topguncortez · 2 months

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[ DISCUSSION ] for our muses to talk about kinks and figure out their boundaries together with Jake and Shy! Wife, please, they are my favorites

Let's Talk About Sex - Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey HC

warnings: sex, daddy kink, small lactation kink, size kink, virginity, brief mentions of threesomes, voyuerism, watching porn, mentions of sexuality, mutual masturbation, sex in public places, mentions of body hair, quickies, cum kink

note: I know you probably wanted a fic out of this, but the best I could give ya was a headcannon without it being 97000 pages long. I hope you enjoy!:) also I would love to dive more into Shy!Wifey's sexuality and how she navigates it with Jake. So don't be afraid to ask about that!

g's slumber party || opposites attract masterlist

Jake hated the saying "it's always the quiet ones," but in his experience. . . it usually was the quiet ones

When Y/N had met Jake, yes, she was a virgin. It wasn't that she was holding out for her wedding night to swipe her v-card. Sure, she was religious but she wasn't religious in the sense of "Sex before marriage is a sin."

For her, she just never felt comfortable going there or even thinking about going there with the guys she dated before Jake. Actually, for a while, she thought there was something wrong with her. She never got those warm feelings or that "rush of heat" to her core like the books said. Until she met Jake.

It still took Y/N some time to get totally comfortable with Jake. Their wedding night wasn't one straight from the romcoms and fairytales. It was a night of going slow, figuring out what she liked and what felt right. Y/N tried to fight through the pain she was in cause she wanted Jake to have a good time, but he could see her wincing. The night eventually came to a standstill with Jake refusing to go on because Y/N was near tears from the pain.

It also didn't help that Y/N was so in her head about how she looked. Should she have worn something sexier for him? Was her double chin showing? Should she have shaved or gotten waxed? Did Jake mind body hair or was this repulsing him?

The next morning, Jake sat her down and asked her "What do you like in bed?" All Y/N could do was shrug, meekly telling him "I don't know."

So, Jake suggested watching porn. He found a couple of amateur videos that he thought Y/N would like, and they watched them together. Y/N looked at them as though they were sex education videos while Jake was fighting off a stiffy the whole time.

"This? Gets your rocks off?" Y/N asked, looking at him. Jake couldn't help the boyish grin on his face, "Well. . . yeah. What about you? What do you like?" She took his phone from him, searching through the porn site until she found a video she liked. Jake was surprised to see it was two females, half naked and covered in oil.

Their second attempt at having sex together went better than the first. They had been doing some stuff together, mutual masturbation, oral sex, dirty text messages throughout the day, even the simple act of laying next to each other naked, getting comfortable with one another, all seemed to help. Their second attempt went much better than the first.

Ever so slowly, they started experimenting more and more. It started with doing more positions in bed, Y/N wanting to be on top to watch Jake's face as he came. Or her asking him to pull her hair. Or flipping herself over onto her stomach.

The first time "Daddy" slipped out of her lips, they both paused, both equally frightened and turned on. Jake felt his heart in his chest as he was trying to figure out what to do, but it was as if Y/N could read his mind, "Do that again, daddy, please." And who was Jake to deny her???

As if Jake couldn't get anymore possessive over Y/N. It was bad enough that she had his wedding ring on her finger, his last name as her own and the tattoo of his callsign on her ass. . . Jake also had to make sure she was stuffed full of him. He didn't know he could love the sight of her swollen cunt, dripping with cum.

"You like watching it, don't you?" Y/N asked, breathlessly as Jake's green eyes were looking between her legs. He smirked, leaning down and licking her, "Of course I do. . . Cause one of these days. . . I'm gonna get you so full of me, it'll knock you up."

Then, enter Baby Seresin number one, and their sex life totally changes. Not only does Jake develop a breeding kink seeing his wife grow and swell with his child, but his sex drive and Y/N's sex drive is through the roof. Quickies, anywhere and everywhere.

"Do you know how much trouble well get in if Penny finds us?" Y/N pants against his lips one night at the hard deck, "She'll forgive us once we tell her she is an honorary grandmother," Jake tugs down the top of her sundress, her swollen breasts popping out, "Fuck. . . look at you. Getting all ready to have my child. To be able to feed them. . . I love you like this," Y/N quickly slaps her hand over her mouth as Jake's tongue swirls her nipple before pulling it into his mouth.

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devilmayfamily · 1 year

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Can I request a shy S/O who has a crush on Vergil/Dante/V and they draw the boys secretly in their sketchbook with little notes like "saw him in those dark blue jeans again he's so beautiful" or "how do I tell him I love him?" etc. The boys stumble upon this and they're so flattered they blush to their chest.

Why is this literally me lol. Hope you enjoy!

Dante

Your sketchbook was filled with sketches of him mostly during training since it was the only time his focus couldn't ver towards you at any given moment

You've indirectly gotten better at drawing action poses and the male torso because of this and the fact that this man goes full Grey Fullbuster and takes off his shirt to train

The other time you're able to draw him is when he's asleep, a magazine covering his face

One particular position you found him laying in had you write a note of "Idk how he's sleeping like this" next to the sketch of it.

Dante has noticed you with this sketchbook and hadn't thought anything of it until he realized he never sees you drawing him in it

His curiosity got the better of him one day and decides to take a look while you left it unattended.

The first few pages were as he expected, sketches of Shadow when she was around, the girls of the team, and even some of the orphanage kids playing from when you would visit Nero and Kyrie

Towards the middle of the book, he found all the sketches of him you'd been hiding

He looks over every single one and reads all the little notes you've left behind

He finds the whole idea of you sketching him cute and endearing

Seeing a particular sketch of him asleep, face facing you, with the note "He looks like he gives nice cuddles" has his face a flame, red tracing all the way down his neck

You drew this scared up man so soft, it was like he was looking at someone else

Vergil

You find going unnoticed by Vergil to be easy

He's always either reading or beating up Dante when not on missions

Vergil finds your sketchbook when he mistakes it for his collection of poems on a particularly sleepy morning

Opening it, he's taken back by all the drawings

It's obvious you have some skill

As he turns the page, he finds an entire spread dedicated to him reading

At the very bottom of the page it reads "he's always reading this thing, i wonder what secrets it holds"

Vergil softly smiles, a faint heat resting across his cheeks wondering if he could share a piece of himself with someone again

He was ready, wasn't he?

Flipping the page he finds a spread dedicated to him cooking, fighting, even simply being dressed up in a suit

"I'll admit, he's sexy in a suit"

Vergil's face sets a flame, the man shutting the sketchbook and replacing it finally with his poems

You become curious by the new sets of suits in the coming days but never complain

Griffon stole the sketchbook when you left it unattended

He scolds the bird for digging in your private processions but with a little coaxing from Griffon he looks inside

He's not surprised to see sketches of Shadow and Griffon, the bird boasting about how good he looked

As he turns the page, Griffon teases him for the bright pink blush that spreads across his face upon seeing sketches of himself

"My beautiful muse" is written in a beautiful cursive next to a sketch of V smiling

He flips the page expecting to find something different but it's more drawings of him

"May he ever know how he sets my heart a burning"

V can't help but adore you right then

He smiles, closing the sketchbook as you approach

He looks up to you, his smile causing one to spread across your own face

Griffon makes some comment about leaving you two to it before disappearing

#dmc #dmc5 #devil may cry 5 #dante dmc5 #dmc vergil #dante sparda #devil may cry #v #dmc v #dmc5 v #vitale #dante x reader #vergil x reader #dmc v x reader #vitale x you

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cameronspecial · 3 months

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Let Me Write About You, Angel

Pairing: Frat!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Writing About Their Sex Life

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.8K

Summary: Rafe and Y/N finally get to take a class together, but maybe she didn't choose the right class to share with him.

Masterlist

Y/N knew she shouldn’t have let Rafe take an elective with her. She should’ve called it fate when they didn’t get into the same class during the fall semester, but Rafe was very determined to be in the same class as her. She honestly does love being able to spend time with him during class; it’s just that maybe a creative writing class isn’t the best for both of them. Rafe respects her boundaries during class, letting her focus on taking notes and listening to the professor, so that isn’t the problem. No, the problem is that Rafe hates creative writing as a whole. He isn’t great with words and the only topic he wants to write about is his angel. So far he is skating by with his assignments; however, he needs to do decent on his final portfolio to pass the class. Y/N makes it her mission to make sure her boyfriend passes and she is starting to regret it. For the past assignments, she didn’t have time to go over his work before he submitted it, so she was unaware of the recurring theme in all of his work.

Rafe’s eyes bore into her as she read over his work, anxious for what she had to say. He doesn’t care about passing. If he doesn’t pass, he can always let his dad’s money pass hands to change that F into a B. Except this is a little different, Y/N wants him to do well so he wants to do well. Y/N glances over each word and heat starts to build inside of her heart.

I don’t believe in religion,

yet I do believe in Angels.

Because I found mine,

And she is absolutely divine.

I live for her smile.

She makes my life worthwhile.

She stole my heart

Because she is a work of art.

His poem has no structure and isn’t long enough per the assignment requirements. It does rhyme, yet she has to admit it isn’t very good. She is sweetened up by the fact that he chose her as his subject. As she reads the rest of his pieces, she notices how she is his only subject. She finally reads the last piece and looks up at him with a soft smile. “You wrote about me,” she states, flipping through the pages. He nods, “Yeah, you are my muse, Angel. Do you like it?” “It’s really sweet, Rafe. I just don’t know how I feel knowing that you wrote about our sex life for your short story and that our professor is going to mark this,” she explains. He flashes a proud smile, “Yeah, I think I really captured your beauty in that one. I was thinking about reading that one during our last class when we can share our work. Show that guy, who sits in front of us who keeps looking back at you, just how satisfied you are with me.” Y/N’s eyes widen to saucers and she shakes her head. “Rafe, please don’t read this in class. In fact, I think we need to work on some of these pieces because you can’t only write about me,” she begs, turning the stack of papers so he can read her feedback. He frowns, “Come on let me write about you, Angel.”

“You can, but if you want to pass, you have to choose three other topics to talk about. You can choose one piece to keep about me.”

“But I only want to write about you. Plus, I can’t choose because they all have to do with you so I love them all.”

“I know. Maybe we can alter the topic so it is still about me but not as obvious. My favourite is this sudden fiction. Your stream of consciousness is really good and you bring the scene to life with the senses. So let's see what you can write about for your other pieces.”

Rafe nods at his girlfriend’s suggestion. His heart flutters at the thought that she likes one of his works. He takes a second to seriously consider what she says and a light bulb goes off. “How about for the poem, I write about the future family that we can have?” he considers, already writing down the lines he is thinking of. She reads over what he writes and a smile blooms across her face. “That is a great idea. Now, we just need to look at two other topics.”

———

Y/N is studying in the library when Rafe comes rushing to her with his phone in his hand. “Angel, Angel. Look what I got on my portfolio,” he announces. His phone shoots before her eyes and she has to hold his hand to keep it steady. Y/N looks at the screen, reading the B- on display. She claps her hand in celebration and then wraps her arms around his neck. “This is amazing, Rafe. I am so proud of you,” she kisses his cheek. He revels in her pride, “It wasn’t all me, Angel. I have you and your brilliant brain to thank for the help. You make me smarter every single day.” Rafe couldn’t feel more lucky to have such an amazing girlfriend, who helps him grow as a person and succeed.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @queen-shadow22 @victory-in-the-llama @drewsmusee @starkowswife

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verysium · 4 months

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how bllk boys would react when u draw them, could either be rlly good or rlly SHIT u choose idk (plz include barou and the itoshi bros) 😊😊😊 i love you and ur works, and the way u write the boys and ur content makes me laugh fr, one of my fave bllk authors mwjahaja 😓 have a great day, ily:3 and the icks post made me smile like all of ur posts do!

thank you so much anon ♡ this ask had me contemplating very seriously, so apologies if it's a bit late:

sae is definitely awestruck in some way, even if he doesn't immediately show it. i think i talked about this in a previous headcanon, but he has a deep-seated admiration for artists who can grasp abstract concepts because he himself cannot. he would be somewhat flattered if you drew him since he's never considered his own appearance to be particularly inspiring. would be appalled if you considered him your muse. like....why? to him, his looks aren't anything of importance (clearly he is blind.) would probably say your drawing was inaccurate but then hang it up by his nightstand so he can look at it every night before he goes to sleep. if you're a full-time artist, he probably keeps a little stash of your gifts in a small box beneath his bed. sometimes if he's having a bad day or he lost a game, he goes back and flips through them just to make himself feel better. secretly loves the way you draw his bangs and the little swoop you do in your signature.

kaiser corrects every single detail in your drawing. stands behind you and gives you little pointers here and there. he should have an 8-pack, not a 6-pack. his jawline isn't sharp enough in your initial sketch. poses shirtless in front of you so that way you can encapsulate the full extent of his sexiness. shows off your drawing to every living creature in existence. "isn't he handsome?" like...🙄 yeah, michael we know. he's probably the hardest to draw because of his tattoo, so i think he genuinely appreciates it when you put in the effort to capture his intricacies. will never admit this but he's low-key proud of you and your talent (mostly just your ability to make him look good.)

rin is one of those people who doesn't understand hyperrealism. like why does he need a highly detailed sketch of his face when he can just take a photo and print it out? i don't think he understands art in general. probably despises modern art too. he'd take one look at a rothko painting and be like....i could draw this too...in my sleep. similar to sae, i feel like he's just numb to the sentimentality of gift-giving. doesn't understand why you would waste your time drawing a little picture of him, but it does make his heart feel strangely fuzzier, so maybe he'll keep it this one time. lo and behold, months later he now has a collection of your drawings he doesn't have the heart to throw away. refuses to let isagi or anyone see them because they're meant for his eyes only.

yukimiya has impeccable taste. in fact, he's probably an artist himself. i think it'd be cute if you both drew little sketches of each other throughout the course of your relationship. but neither of you ever knew until you gifted him your sketchbook for christmas, and he was like....guess what...i drew you too. thinks you're pretty even when you don't think so. sometimes when you're having a coffee shop date, he scribbles a portrait of you on his napkin because the sunlight hit your cheek just right in that moment, and the birds were chirping, and he fell in love all over again. i think it's also tragic that he's slowly losing his eyesight, so he won't be able to enjoy your drawings and the vibrant colors you infuse into them. that's why he treasures them even more. probably thumbs over the pages from time to time. memorizes every stroke and line.

isagi likes the way you always draw that little tuft of hair that sticks up on the top of his head. it looks like a cute little bean sprout. he pins your drawings up above his bed next to a polaroid of you two in germany. buys you a professional art set for your birthday. if you're a digital artist, he buys you a new tablet and stylus.

bachira adds his own doodles next to yours except he makes a chibi version of everything. always pesters you to include his little fangs. uses the boldest combination of colors. he would definitely be a messy artist. paint everywhere. fingernails perpetually stained a different color. you both draw during class, so when you two trade notebooks to actually study......there aren't any actual notes.

barou acts like he doesn't know what to do with your drawing of him but then the next day you visit his house, and he's already put your artwork in a fancy picture frame. refuses to let anyone else even stand within a ten meter radius next to it because he doesn't want their "nasty fingerprints" all over your beautiful masterpiece.

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realisticfanfictions · 3 months

Text

Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress - Part 4.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader: Part One, Part Two, Part Three.

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: Initially going into this, I was planning to have the fishmen come in and have the Mihawk fight, but it was a bit more important to set up some more character dynamics before I moved onto 5k words of action scenes. So here's a nice bit of LORE(tm) and a bit more about how Y/N thinks. Next part I promise is 100% action, and I can't wait to show ya'll what I've come up with for Y/N's weapon! It's so cool.

Word Count is 3,421. Hope you enjoy!

Tag list (comment to join!): @siriuslyblackonback @jvhoons

"So, you're really going to fight him?"

Zoro, not looking up from cleaning his swords, nodded. "It's my dream." He explained, observing the blades for any damage. After he challenged the swordsman, the next few things happened rather quickly. The scramble to get Luffy as if that'll somehow convince him to stand down, the captain instead supporting his first mate's goal, and Nami storming off upset. It all passed by in a blur, and now you were alone with Zoro in their ship.

You nodded and turned to look out of the porthole, observing the calm seas that rocked the boat. "I guess dreams are worth dying for." You sighed and leaned back in your chair. "Sucks you met Mihawk too early."

His jaw tightened, and set down his sword. "If I run now, I'll never become the world's greatest swordsman."

You hummed and watched him through the reflection on the glass. "Honour, huh?" You mused and nibbled on the tip of your thumb. "How ridiculous. You're just like Sanji, uncompromising."

"Don't compare me to that shitbag." He snapped and sheathed his sword, clicking it shut in its scabbard. "Speaking of, why are you with him?"

Confused by his words, you looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"He cheats on you, doesn't he?" He questioned and turned to face you, leaning against the cabinet. "He seemed pretty friendly with Nami a couple hours ago."

You chuckled. "That's just Sanji. He's obsessed with women. It's more," You thought of the words. "It's like having a dog that you love and care for, and though you go up and pet other dogs, you don't abandon your own dog for some random one on the street."

Zoro's eyebrows raised. "You do realise you just called yourself a bitch, right?"

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off. "Shut up. He's just chivalrous, that's all."

"Well, I'd be watching him if I were you." He walked over, his long strides making it seem effortless to reach you. "Guys like that don't tend to keep only one dog."

You opened your mouth to retort, but shut it and stood chest to chest with him. "Just focus on not dying, alright?" His eyes squinted ever so slightly, and he leaned down close to you, gazing directly into your eyes. "What are you doing?"

He stares for a moment, and then straightens himself back up. "Nothing."

You quirked an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm going home to my boyfriend."

"Wasn't trying to make a move." He retorted and stepped aside, letting you walk past him. "(Y/N)?" You placed a hand on the door frame and turned. "Be careful."

You looked him up and down. "Try not to die."

Mihawk's eyes haunted you like a ghostly presence that you couldn't shake off. It was like you could feel those piercing eyes all over your body, every inch of skin was tainted and you hated it. You always have.

The door to you and Sanji's shared room creaked open, and you popped your head inside. You didn't know what to expect, but Sanji jolting himself upright on the chair that sat in the corner of your room wasn't exactly one of them. The door softly clicked closed behind you, and you slowly walked up to him, his eyes on you the entire time as you sat on his lap. You positioned yourself sideways and leaned your head against his chest, reveling in his warmth when he wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss against your scalp. Sanji's thumb rubbed circles in your thigh, more of an anxious gesture than anything, as he pressed many more kisses against your skin. You sighed and relaxed into him. "I may have overreacted." You started, ripping the band-aid off. "And I apologise."

He nodded. "Thank you for that. Sorry for not finding you sooner."

You shook your head against his chest. "I was drinking, you would've killed my buzz." You paused. "But I guess it was ruined anyway."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

He stopped when you held up a hand. "I didn't mean you, Sanji." You opened your mouth, but couldn't find the words. Or rather, you found them, you just didn't want to share them. "A man came asking after our new chore boy."

You felt Sanji tense under you. "Are you okay?"

Mihawk's eyes restraining came to mind. "I'll be fine," You picked at a loose thread. "But Zoro won't."

Your boyfriend's hand stopped and pulled back to look you in the eye. "Zoro?"

"Luffy's friend, the guy with the swords. The idiot challenged him to a duel."

Sanji's head tilted. "Why?"

You let out a small sigh and untangled yourself from him, walking a couple feet to your dresser and pulling out a change of clothes. "Because they're idiots with a death wish." You said as you peeled off your top with a groan. "Fuck. Thank God I don't have work tomorrow."

He watched you for a moment as you shimmied out of your clothes and slipped into some pajamas. "Sweetheart, I'm not really comfortable with you drinking with pirates. I mean, it's a bit dangerous-"

You scoffed, pulling an oversized shirt over your head. "They're not pirates," You said as you tugged the shirt down, barely bothering to notice it was a gag shirt with an octopus on a bowl of rice. "Hell, they barely qualify as sailors." But when Sanji didn't respond, you paused. "Oh, you mean was I drinking with Zoro." You turned around to face him. He was leaning forwards in his chair, leg bouncing. You sighed and walked over to him. "He was just my drinking partner, and he's most likely going to die tomorrow." You run your hand through his blond locks. "It'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

"I'll have to trust you then." He said with a smile, then laughed when your gentle pat turned into a frantic scratch. "Hey! Not the hair!"

A smirk split across your face. "I don't know, Sanji. You might just have to trust me!"

He chuckled and grabbed your hands, pulling you forward onto him and wrapping you in his arms. "You know what I mean."

"I guess I'll just trust you-"

"Yep!"

"And trust that you're doing a good job! And- Sanji!" You squeaked when your boyfriend ambushed you with a barrage of soft kisses pressed across any bit of skin he could reach. "You tasteless toad! You're two tablespoons of terrible!"

"Two tablespoons of terrible." He repeated in a strange voice and you giggled when he tried to tickle you. "Oh no! The tickling toad has come to torment you!"

You push his hands away and trap his face in your hands. "You twat." You smiled and gave him a lingering kiss.

When you parted, he gave a soft smile. "And you even ended it with a 't', brilliant."

You quirked an eyebrow. "You weirdo."

He mirrored you. "And I somehow love you."

"But weirdly, you love me very weirdly."

He nodded. "Birds of a feather."

"If we're birds, you're a flamingo."

"Why?"

"Because if I wasn't dating you, I'd think you were a bit of a flamingo."

He gasped. "Then you'd be a penguin, because you bring me rocks."

You leaned back and gave him a look. "Because I bring you rocks?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you even put them on me. And you help me get my rocks off."

He laughed as you hit him. "Sanji! That's so bad!"

Your hands were caught and you were pulled into his chest, both of you giggling and stealing kisses from each other while occasionally snuggling impossibly closer. Sure, you might be a bad person - but you liked who you were with Sanji. And that's all you really cared about.

You lied. That night you couldn't sleep with hundreds of thousands of millions of thoughts racing through your mind. You felt like you were a greyhound chasing down a slightly too-fast rabbit, every time you got close, sleep just slipped through your fingers. Your gaze drifted from the ceiling where you were counting the nails in the boards, and over to your boyfriend. His sleeping face made a million butterflies emerge from their cocoons in your stomach, your heart beating against your rib cage like an angry gorilla. But something about this wasn't right, and you couldn't go to sleep without doing something about it.

Careful to not wake your peaceful boyfriend, you slowly lifted his arm from around your waist and placed it on his pillow, heart aching at the sight of him trying to seek your warmth. Even in sleep he wanted to be close to you. Grabbing your pillow, you gently tucked it under his searching hand and he brought it to his chest with a soft groan, the smell of you satiating him.

You rolled out of bed and tip-toed over the squeaky floorboards, wincing every time the floor made a sound. After looking back each time and taking moments between each footstep, you made it through the door and quickly shut it behind you. The early morning's chilly air struck you, but you ignored the goosebumps rising under your skin and continued on. It felt strange walking without your heels clicking against the floorboards, but you weren't looking to make noise, or look fashionable in this instance.

The Overnights were rooms for guests who've either had too much to drink, or who pay extra to stay overnight to hookup, or just to stay, again, overnight. You passed by the many in-use rooms filled with snoring and other unseemly sounds, rolling your eyes at the disgusting slobs behind the doors. A room stood out amongst the others, however, and you knew it held what you were seeking. The aura that emanated from it was unmistakable.

You reached into your hair and pulled out a bobby pin, sticking it in between your teeth to open it and then jammed it into the lock. All the locks were the same on the Baratie, and you only had to jimmy the locks, moving the pins frantically within, to open it without much effort. The door clicked open and you gently pushed it open.

When you stepped inside, you felt it. The blade at your neck. Without a second thought, you pushed it from your jugular and grabbed the silver candlestick on the hallway table, holding it firmly as the blade was struck against it. It sliced through with ease and a sharp burning went through your cheek, knowing that if you hadn't moved your head, it would've went through your eye. "You're slow." Came the hauntingly beautiful, yet unsettling voice from your nightmares.

You hissed and shoved his sword away from your face. "You haven't seen me in seven years, and the first thing that comes from your mouth is criticism? How shocking."

"Six." He corrected, and the room was suddenly bathed in a low yellow hue. Dracule Mihawk was a terrifying man. His golden, ringed eyes glowed in the dim light and when they looked you over, it felt like he was observing your soul and picking it apart with the grace one would picking the petals off of a flower. Those eyes locked onto yours. "It's been six years."

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him. The room was a similar layout to your own, with the only difference being the minimalist design and abhorrent amount of red wine. You knew the latter didn't come from the room. Rather, they came from his personal stash that would deem any other man an alcoholic. But Mihawk was simply old-fashioned, born in the wrong non-vampiric century if you will.

He sheathed his famed black blade Yoru in one smooth motion and danced past you, sitting gracefully in his armchair and crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes drifted over to his hat hung on a hook and reached out to run your fingers against the silky feather. "Don't touch it." The old swordsman warned behind you, picking up his book and flipping over the next page. "I despise disorganisation. It needs to be acceptable for my duel tomorrow. Or rather, in the upcoming moments since you have woken me up at such an ungodly hour."

Despite your reluctance, your arm retracted almost on its own. "You were already awake, asshat." You turned around and crossed your arms. "And it'll be creased anyway, so it doesn't matter if-"

"Not necessarily." His words were as sharp as his gaze. "If we go by that barbaric logic, it doesn't matter if a man is murdered since we all die in one way or another."

You scoffed and returned his look with your own glare. "I'm not too sure, you're more experienced when it comes to murdering men."

Mihawk picked up his expensive crystal wine glass, and took a long, silent sip of his Tarapaca. It was placed back down onto the table with a clink. He leaned back in his chair which squeaked as he did so, and interlocked his fingers. "Why are you here, (Y/N)?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

His head tilted for a moment, before righting itself. "I'm here for Monkey D. Luffy."

You hadn't realised your shoulders were tensed until they drooped down. "That's it?"

He nodded. "I am only here as an obligation to Garp to collect his grandson."

To your annoyance, your throat tightened. "I thought that was an excuse."

"It wasn't." The man you hated sat in his chair completely unbothered. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before drifting back to his book. He flipped the page. "'But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, by what and in what manner Love conceded that you should know your dubious desires?'"

Pathetically, you felt stinging at the corners of your eyes. "'And she said to me: “There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.”'" You breathed in through your nose. "Inferno, by Dante Alighieri."

"From?"

You cleared your throat. "Divine Comedy."

"What year?"

You took in a breath and shook your head. "1321?"

He said nothing and turned the page. You stood silently, wanting to run but having no strength to do so. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours. "Is that all?"

A chill ran over your skin, and you were once again reminded of the kind of man he was. There was a lot you wanted to say to Dracule Mihawk. So much hatred and anguish that you had to endure, all the suffering handed to you by the well-manicured hands of the greatest swordsman in the world. You hated him. "Unless you want to say anything?"

His eyes held yours for a moment. "Goodnight."

"Go fuck yourself." You practically grew fangs and spat venom at him. Spinning on your heel, you kicked the wall where his hat hung and stormed out of the room.

A scream bubbled in your throat. Your nails dug into your palms, and your lips were bloodied from ripping them open. He had no- you couldn't- he was such a-

As you turned a corner, you felt something pinch the base of your skull and you whipped around. Pulling your gun and aiming it, you locked eyes with the other swordsman in your life. Zoro, bathed in moonlight, turned his attention from his swords to you. The rag he was cleaning his blade with stopped and he was focused solely on you. "I think I know who you are."

You scoffed and shoved your gun back in its holster. "Well, apparently most people don't, so I'll take anything at this point." He was quiet, and your lips tightened into a smile. "Want a drink?"

The door opened with a click and Zoro whistled. "Nice trick."

You put the bobby pin back in your hair with a smile. "Thanks." The Baratie after-hours was a sight to behold, but the bar was even better. You smiled at Zoro and guided him around the front of the bar where the shutters were closed.

"Thought you said it's open all night."

You looked behind you as you bent down to the latch holding the fish's mouth closed. "I said you couldn't get anything on tap around three in the morning," You unhooked the chain and pulled it free from the floor. "Didn't say that the bar was open. Come help me." You shuffled to the side to make room for him, and grabbed onto the shudders. He appeared by your side and hooked his fingers under the shudders next to yours, you both nodded to each other and grunted as you lifted the shudders. You expected it to be heavier, but with Zoro it lifted with surprising ease. The moonlight poured in and illuminated the bar, shining through the empty bottles of booze and creating a kaleidoscope of colours.

The green-haired swordsman chuckled and looked around. "I've never been in a bar after hours." He sat down on a nearby couch normally reserved for V.I.Ps. "It feels naughty."

You shrugged, walking over to the bar and reaching over. "Yeah well, if we're caught I'll probably get fired, so don't fuck around." Your fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle and you hoisted it to eye-level. "You a rum guy?"

He smiled and gave a half-shrug. "I'm a booze guy."

"Good answer." You said and carried over two shot glasses for the both of you. Sitting down, you tugged off the cork with your teeth and poured yourselves shots. You raised your glasses. "To you dying tomorrow."

His eyebrows raised. "To me surviving tomorrow." He corrected and clinked his glass against yours, keeping his eyes on you as you took a shot together. He sighed, flicking his head and nodding. "That's good."

You nodded and sniffed. "It's very good." You filled your glasses again. "Only the best shit for the only guy that knows me." You gulped it down, and didn't wait for him to finish before filling yours back up.

He chuckled. "I'm the one dying tomorrow, and here you are drinking like it's the end of the world."

"Yeah, well," You sniffed and swirled around the liquid in your glass. "My life kind of fucking sucks at the moment. So, I think I deserve to get shit-faced."

Zoro tilted his head and licked his teeth. "I bet you had a miserable childhood."

You laughed and leaned back, tears pricking at yours eyes as you nodded. "Understatement of the century." You said under your breath and looked up at him, forcing a smile. "I grew up on some private land owned by nobles."

He nodded. "You said that."

"Yeah, but what I didn't tell you was I wasn't born there. My Dad, being father of the fucking year, didn't want to care for a baby so he dumped me with some workers. Then, when I truly got attached to my family and finally was accepted as a member of the community, he just came back and picked me up. Like I was some type of broken watch he left to be repaired." You shook your head and reveled in the burn of the rum as it slid down your throat and warmed your stomach. "And ever since then, he's just tormented me. Even when I got away from him, it's like he's always there just watching me - waiting for me to mess up. And you know, all the shit that I did to make him proud of me? Every late night reading libraries' worth of books just in case he quizzed me on it in the morning. Every lesson in combat styles, or how to sense others, whatever the hell that means. Most of the scars I have are from trying myself to him. But never once was I told 'Good job (Y/N)', or that he was proud of me. He never even smiled at me." You finished the shot and placed it down onto the table. "And you know what fucking sucks? After all this time, all the anguish he's put me through? All I want him to look at me and tell me that he loves me."

Zoro looked at his glass and his mouth tightened into a fine line. "I know the feeling." His eyes drifted back to yours. "To shitty parents?" He offered, raising his glass.

You chuckled and shook your head, but poured yourself a glass and raised it. "The shittiest."

A/N: Um, okay this was pretty heavy and it took me a while to write because I wanted to make it actually matter. I think there'll be a few more parts and then we'll be finished with the Baratie saga! Then, I might take a break and do maybe another series/one-shot while I properly plan the next part. We'll also be naming this series! The poll has concluded and within the next couple of days, we'll be figuring out the name! Comment down if you have any suggestions, or want to join the tag list! <3

P.S: When the Baratie saga is done, I'll release it all as one part so that it'll be easier to re-read. It'll be a bit of its own thing, so stay tuned haha.

#sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x y/n #opla x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #opla zoro #opla

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jennaimmortal · 5 months

Text

Musings on OFMD Season 2

I’m feeling a bit sad today for the OFMD writers. After rewatching S1 & 2 a couple times, it’s become blatantly clear to me that Izzy’s arc this season was a very obvious love letter to both Izzy fans & the great Con O’Neil. Izzy was very clearly written to be an obstacle to Ed’s healing & personal growth, a snare that Ed needed to be freed from, albeit with plenty of nuance hiding under the surface. It would have been much easier for them to kill Izzy off while he was still the toxic, abusive, sadomasochistic terror of S1E10.

Instead of taking the easy route, though, the writers flipped the trope on its head! They utilized every bit of the potential buried beneath Izzy’s super fucked up shell. This season Izzy got

• a fully fleshed out redemption complete with terrible consequences of his 1x10 actions

• a realization of the possibility of another way of thinking & existing that he’d spent all of S1 running from & trying to destroy,

• genuine love & support from his crew mates which he was actually able to accept,

• exploration of the long abandoned softer side of his nature,

• an apology from Ed w/o first offering one of his own,

• a powerful, devastatingly poignant speech that mentally demolished a new nemesis, and finally

• a beautiful, meaningful death in the arms of the man he’d dedicated so much of his life to, known that he was truly loved by him & completely accepting of the fact that Ed’s love was not in the form he’d always hoped for.

It was so much more than we could have hoped for, and was very obviously done in service to the MANY fans that had fallen in love with Izzy even after S1, as well as to give Con a storyline worthy of his immense talent. Considering the face that Izzy was never going to end up becoming the show’s third protagonist, it was more than we could have hoped for!

OFMD has two protagonists, Stede & Ed. All the secondary character narratives that haven’t directly involved Ed and/or Stede have been icing on the cake, but the cake has always been the Gentlebeard love story. I feel like some people forget this, expecting them to treat the secondary characters as if it were an ensemble show instead of a show with leads.

Izzy’s arc really was an amazing gift! The writers gave us this incredible journey for Izzy this season, and what did a disgraceful number of people do? They attacked David directly, insulted the entire show, the writers, & other characters, even wishing actual harm & misery to other characters or even to David himself!

While I know that comparatively speaking, the percentage of show fans who reacted this way was relatively small, it was still an astounding amount of hatred & vitriol thrown at the people who had obviously worked very hard to give Izzy fans something beautiful to hold on to after his inevitable death. Much of the discourse honestly shocked me, considering the fact that OFMD isn’t even an adaptation of another work.

When fans get angry at shows written as adaptations of books, it’s a bit more understandable for them to have extreme reactions. They’ve had certain ideas and headcanons about characters they’ve felt very strongly about for a long time. It can be really jarring & painful when expectations like that aren’t met, the characters or plots are taken in totally different directions, or even excluded entirely.

OFMD, however, is an original creation. This is David Jenkins’s story. These are David Jenkins’s characters. He knows his story, his plotlines, his characters far better than anyone else does because they came from HIS brain! So while we as fans can have our own interpretations & head canons, they are always going to be at risk of being proven totally wrong by the ACTUAL canon.

One of the worst aspects of fandoms, in my opinion, is the way people become so proprietary over the story & characters, insisting that their own interpretations & theories are the only correct ones, which is exactly what happened with Izzy. Fans’ individual & collective interpretations, theories, hopes, & other head canons became concrete & true in their minds. So much so that when the actual story didn’t meet those expectations, so many of them lashed out in some truly unpleasant, sometimes hateful ways.

My only hope is that the rest of the fandom’s love, appreciation, constructive criticism, heartbreak, pain, joy, & excitement has been enough to drown out the deluge of vitriolic comments directed at David & the other writers.

If you stuck with me through this unintentionally long diatribe, thank you! Maybe take a moment to give the writers some comments or replies on social media, showing your love! I know I will!

#our flag means death #ofmd #ed teach #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #ofmd izzy #izzy hands

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justfandomwritings · 2 years

Text

You'll See Why (Peter Ballard x Reader)

Pairing: Peter Ballard x Female!Reader, implied Steve x Reader (Does not really factor into the story)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: mostly just fluff and angst that doesn't require a content warning. General content warnings consistent with Stranger Things

Summary: It couldn't be him. She refused to believe it. Eleven had to be wrong, had to have the wrong person. It wasn't that he wasn't capable of something like this; in the back of her mind, she knew he was. More, it was that she didn't want to face what it meant about herself.

Masterlist. Ko-Fi.

There was a familiar face staring blankly up at her from the page… she knew this face.

“Well, he looks evil,” Steve mused, looking at the drawing over her shoulder.

“He was 001… He was the first. They built the lab to contain him.” Eleven explained.

(Y/n) was holding up the sketch Eleven had drawn of the patient from Hawkins Lab, who Eleven knew as 001, that Nancy had discovered was Henry, that they all called Vecna.

(Y/n) knew that face.

“(Y/n)?” Dustin touched her shoulder. “(Y/n), are you okay?”

She heard her brother’s voice talking to her, and yet somehow she didn’t register it. He felt, he sounded, so far away.

It felt like an out of body experience, like her thoughts were no longer contained inside her brain, like they were swirling around her in a cloud, consuming her entire world. This was not Henry Creel, could not be Vecna. Eleven had to be wrong. She knew this face, and she knew it all too well.

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“Hi Peter, I see they let you out again. The usual?” (Y/n) smiled brightly.

Peter was her favorite regular at Benny’s, not that he was all that regular. He came in once every couple weeks or so. She assumed whenever the lab could spare him, though he always referred to it as a “reward” for good behavior. Benny’s menu was hardly “reward” worthy. It was decent. Benny was a good cook, but it was just regular diner food. She could think of four other diners in Hawkins that served the same fair, though Benny’s was certainly the closest to the ltab.

He wasn’t a particularly nice regular. He tipped very well, which she appreciated, but most regulars do or they wouldn’t be regulars anymore. Mostly, he was her favorite because he was an enigma. He worked for the Hawkins National Laboratory up the road, and he was very cagey about his work and himself.

“No coffee,” Peter amended without looking up from the papers in front of him.

(Y/n) scribbled haphazardly on the ticket and slid it across the window to put on deck for Benny. There were a couple tickets ahead of it, and that gave her extra time.

(Y/n) dragged the stool out from behind the register and plopped down directly in front of Peter, propping her elbows on the counter and looking at him expectantly.

Peter rolled his eyes but kept them trained on his work. This was (Y/n)’s usual routine any time Peter came into the diner, so he didn’t need to look up to know she was staring him down.

“Must you watch your customers so intently? I feel like a subject in the lab.”

“Only the interesting ones,” (Y/n) dismissed. “Now tell me; how’s the lab?”

Peter flipped over one of the pages mindlessly. He hadn’t processed all the words, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen if (Y/n) had anything to say about it. He kept up the appearance of reading though to hold her interrogations to a minimal. “It is in its usual state. I am nothing but a humble nurse for the children being experimented upon and tortured within its walls.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. It wasn’t the kind of joke she would have made, but she let it slide. “Yes, of course, but how is your work?”

“Why would you care to know?” Peter dismissed the question.

“Because I’m bored, and like my brother always says life is a curiosity voyage.”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Your brother sounds foolish.”

“Hey,” (Y/n) reached up and smacked Peter lightly on the side of the head, causing him to jolt. He stared at her in utter disbelief, as if no one had ever touched him before in his life, which she found very hard to believe. He was far too high and mighty, full of himself, not to have been bullied as a kid. “That’s my brother. Only I get to mess with him.”

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Nonresponsive and zoned out was not a good thing to be in Hawkins, Indiana in 1986.

“She’s infected with Vecna!” Dustin began to panic, “Quick someone get my headphones from the desk,” Dustin pointed to the desk behind Max, who practically threw the headphones in her rush to get them to Steve as Dustin ran to the small shelf and began digging through Mike’s cassette tapes.

“No, no,” (Y/n) shook aside the memory as quickly as she could manage. “Dustin,” she called to her brother, “Really, I’m fine!”

“Like hell you are,” behind her, Steve forced the plastic strap of the headphones around her neck. “Seriously? How hard is it to find Pat Benatar!” Steve shouted.

“Again, I’m fine,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, wrenching the headphones off.

They couldn’t afford to waste a pair on her now. She could feel things coming to a head. Over the last 24 hours, virtually all of them had had to procure a pair of headphones and wrap them around their necks. Only Steve, Dustin, Eleven, and herself hadn’t heard the ticking of a clock at some point yet. A low drone of noise was filling the room as songs played from the necks of the other occupants.

“Really!” She insisted to the skeptical crowd of teens staring her down, “no ticking. I was just…” In addressing the room, her eyes found Eleven’s, “remembering something.”

Eleven’s eyes seemed to see right through her, and (Y/n) hesitated for a moment, wavering in whether revealing this information was a good idea or not. Everyone else in the room was staring at her, eyes darting now and again to Eleven.

It was too late to back out now. She took a breath and, watching Eleven’s face intently for her reaction, said the name.

“Peter Ballard.”

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“Hi again Peter, I’ll put the usual on for you.” (Y/n) greeted him with a wave as he came through the door.

This time, when Peter walked in, Benny’s was empty except for herself and Benny. He had his usual folder full of papers tucked under his arm, stamped with the fancy Hawkins Lab’s seal on the cover declaring it was privileged information.

“Thank you,” Peter took up his usual counter seat.

He had a way of being both extraordinarily polite and also incredibly rude at the same time. It was like he had spent his entire life being lectured on manners without actually having a single social interaction in which to use them.

“Benny!” (Y/n) called loudly over the order window, “Peter’s usual!”

Benny was somewhere in the back. With the diner being empty, Benny had ducked out to rearrange the stock while he left (Y/n) to mind the front. “Give me just a minute!” She heard her boss shout back.

“So!” (Y/n) whipped around, leaning back against the order window, “Gonna tell me how work was today?”

“Tiresome.” Peter clipped.

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow, “That’s about as descriptive as you’ve ever been. Was it coworkers or your human test subjects?” She said the last part teasingly.

Peter paused for a moment, still not looking up from his papers, but he seemed to consider her question longer than he usually would before dismissing her. “Boss.” Having answered, Peter immediately went back to flipping through pages, only adding under his breath, “Not that I would call him that, persay. He’s more like my worst nightmare.”

(Y/n) chuckled and approached, taking up her usual seat across from him. “Tell me about it. Last week, Benny didn’t let me off early on Friday even though it was my mom’s birthday, so my little brother recruited his friends to try to bake her birthday cake instead of waiting for me and almost lit my house on fire.”

The word fire seemed to catch Peter’s attention. He still didn’t give her the time of day or meet her eyes, still seemed to think that she was too beneath him for that, but his head did cock to one side. He was listening.

“What’s so nightmarish about your boss?”

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“What do you mean you ‘know’ Vecna?” Dustin demanded.

“He came into Benny’s from time to time,” (Y/n) felt like she was retreating into her skin. Eleven, Mike, Eddie, Max, the whole room. They were all watching her with dark eyes, watching her like they were watching the enemy.

Dustin was staring at her in utter shock. He didn’t notice the looks from his friends or the fear in her eyes. He was still trying to comprehend this massive piece of information.

Only Steve’s hand, resting with a firm grip on her shoulder, was keeping her grounded in the room, keeping her from bolting out the door like a frightened deer.

“And you talked to him? You knew him?” Max joined the questioning, her tone far closer to interrogation than Dustin’s disbelieving one.

(Y/n) shrugged defensively, “Lots of people from the labs came in. We were the closest restaurant. He said he was a nurse. I didn’t know he was the literal devil.”

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“Your boss sounds like a dick, no offense.”

“None taken.” Peter had talked to her. He had actually talked to her. Granted, they were complaining about their bosses, which was the oldest and most basic form of bonding in the book, but still. It was something. “He is.”

“Well,” (Y/n) hopped down from the seat she had taken on the counter while he recounted his tale of woe. “I’m gonna start cleaning up if it’s all the same to you.”

Peter waved his hand down the length of the counter and immediately reverted his eyes back to his papers that were off to the side of the plate he was presently eating off of.

(Y/n) smirked to herself as she pulled out her rag. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. She’d be damned if she wasn’t going to keep poking at him till she got the answers she wanted.

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

It was Nancy who turned the whole scene into a proper interrogation. Though, perhaps given her profession, it was more of an interview. She waved the kids away from the seat in front of (Y/n) and took up a spot front and center in her vision.

“Tell us everything you know about him. Start from the beginning.”

(Y/n) took a breath and recited the facts as coldly and emotionlessly as she could manage. “His name was Peter Ballard. He came into the diner once every couple weeks. Everyone else from the lab came in groups, but he…” Her voice cracked for a moment, and she hoped everyone else in the room saw it as nothing more than the nerves it was, “He was always alone. He barely talked to me. The others said he was a nurse, and that he never talked to anyone in the lab either. He always brought files with him to read. It took months for him to even bother making eye contact with me.”

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

“You never went to a proper high school?”

“No,” Peter droned. He still acted thoroughly unamused with her presence, but he had started more readily answering her questions.

(Y/n) huffed and leaned back on her stool, tilting away from him. “Well, that explains so much.”

Peter’s eyes shot up from his paper, and for the first time he met her gaze. Not exactly an angry expression, but at the least a doubtful one, colored his face as his eyebrows drew together. “How?”

“Well,” she let the legs of her stool fall back on the floor with a crash as she leaned forward towards Peter, “Sure, you didn’t have to deal with assholes on the basketball team shoving you into lockers, or girls on the cheer squad making fun of your clothes. But you also never found a group of friends with the same niche interest as you, or a guy to bond with over your mutual hatred of some bully, or a cute girl who thought you were the cutest thing since God invented puppies.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed.

“No, I’m serious,” (Y/n) immediately dismissed his expression. “Sure, there are giant swathes of humanity that are the absolute worst, but there are some humans who are really great when you give them the chance. And you,” she poked a finger into his chest, “never did. You were aware that some people sucked, but you didn’t hang around long enough to find the ones that didn’t before you decided to write all of us off as intolerable.”

Peter pursed his lips and turned back to his files. He wasn’t going to continue this line of conversation.

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

“That’s really all I know, Nancy. I swear.” (Y/n) huffed.

“There has to be something though!” Nancy jumped up from her seat and began to pace, “It can’t be a coincidence that you knew him. Can it?”

“I didn’t know him,” She emphasized. “We didn’t exactly bare our souls to each other and get matching tattoos. We were friendly. He came in every couple weeks, ordered the same thing. Towards the end he started making small talk, but that was it. Small talk. He didn’t exactly spell out for me that he had dreams of becoming a mass murderer.”

“Yeah, but what are the odds that you would get wrapped up in all of this?” Jonathan pointed out. “It sounds like you’re the only person he talked to outside of the lab.”

“Pretty freakin’ high, Jonathan,” (Y/n) huffed. “If you haven’t noticed, Hawkins isn’t a metropolis. It’s a pretty small town, and weird shit keeps happening. We’re all wrapped up in it at this point.”

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(Y/n) froze, staring at Peter as he approached his usual seat at the counter. She’d clocked him instantly when he walked in, and instantly had known something was very off.

He looked more or less the same, all white outfit, holier than thou expression. His hair was in its usual blonde waves, and he seemed more or less as agitated with his own existence as he usually did.

“H-Hey Peter, Usual?” (Y/n) asked.

“Yes, please,” Peter replied.

And in that moment she realized it. That moment when he sat there, still looking up at her expectantly, waiting for her to put his order in. That moment when he didn’t look down.

No files.

(Y/n) rushed the order in to Benny and whirled back around to join Peter. There were a handful of other people in the diner, but they were all regulars who’d already gotten their food and knew their way around. She was completely unbothered with doing her rounds to their tables.

“Why no files?”

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Aren’t you the one who’s always bugging me to talk to you?”

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“He’s not here,” Dustin dropped the flashlight back to his side with a huff.

They had gone to the Creel house again, hoping to find where in the Upside Down Vecna was. Now that they had Eleven, with her powers back no less, they wanted to lure him to a place they could face off against him.

“(Y/n),” Lucas called over the bannister from the second floor. “Did Vecna ever mention anywhere else he liked to go? Or somewhere else in Hawkins he felt connected to?”

“No!” (Y/n) shouted back with a huff, “If he’s not here he must be at the lab!”

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

“So?” (Y/n) smiled, “Thoughts?”

“It’s… cold.” Peter mused.

(Y/n) huffed and pulled back from where she was leaning on the counter. “That’s it? It’s cold? I thought you were going to actually help me? You know, useful feedback?”

Peter slowly pushed the mostly-full milkshake away from his plate. “I never agreed to help you. You only assumed I would when I came in.”

“Yeah! For a free milkshake!” (Y/n) threw her hands up, utterly exasperated with him, “You have to have more thoughts than ‘it’s cold’. I’m making Benny put milkshakes on the menu, and it’s my ass on the line if they aren’t good.”

“It’s sweet.” Peter added, picking up another fry and taking a bite.

“Ooooh! Thank you so much! That’s so much more helpful.” She bit back sarcastically.

Rolling her eyes, (Y/n) snatched the milkshake away, slurping through Peter’s abandoned straw. She made a face, “Oh, ok… that is sweet.”

Peter didn’t meet her eyes, but he waved his hand and made a face that very much said ‘told-you-so’.

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It didn’t look like anyone had been in the lab since Eleven closed the portal. The bodies had been cleaned up, no doubt by the military coverup team, but the broken glass in the screened in room surrounding the old portal was still strewn about the floor. Hopper’s gun Bob had left in the control room was still on the desk. There were even still spatters of blood every few feet along the walls and stains from dried up blood on the floors.

“So,” Robin murmured quietly to (Y/n), “This is what Round 2 looked like? Man I am so glad I just had the Russians.”

“It doesn’t look like he’s here either. Doesn’t even look like he’s been here at all. There’s no portal,” Will assessed, turning back to the room.

“Fuck!” Mike turned, kicking a wall. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He wasn’t at his old home. He wasn’t at the lab. He wasn’t at any of the places he’d opened portals that they knew about. (Y/n) was at a loss. There wasn’t anywhere else to look.

He must be hiding, hiding somewhere completely random with absolutely no connection to him. It was the logical thing to do if he didn’t want to be found, but it just didn’t make sense. Sure, Eleven said 001 was a creature completely void of any emotion, set to the singular purpose of restoring order to the world by ridding it of humanity.

But (Y/n) knew that wasn’t true. Hell, the Party should’ve known that wasn’t true. 001 had slaughtered an entire lab in an instant he was so blinded by rage, not even giving them the option to join them that he’d given Eleven. When he became Vecna and was sent to the Upside Down, the first place they knew he’d gone was home. Max had seen the disassembled pieces of the Creel house in Vecna’s inner hideout in the Upside Down. And Henry had talked to Nancy about her visit to his father, about how he’d vengefully plotted his demise.

Even the Peter (Y/n) knew was riddled with emotions, most of them negative, but still they were there. Even when he was putting on a neutral face, she always knew he detested humanity. He hated his job. He…

He’d teased her about her milkshakes, about how much she talked, about high school, about her brother. He’d…

(Y/n) bolted for the door. “Steve, get the keys! I know where he went!” She shouted.

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“So why don’t you ever sit with them?” (Y/n) asked, nodding with her chin over Peter’s shoulder to the lab coats at the table behind him.

They weren’t literally wearing lab coats, but in her mind everyone who worked in a lab was supposed to be wearing a coat. So that’s what she called them. In actuality, they were all dressed almost exactly the same as Peter.

“I mean, I know you hate them, but even you have to get lonely sometimes.”

Peter picked up another fry and put it in his mouth, avoiding her question.

“There must be someone tolerable enough to eat lunch with.”

“I eat with you.” Peter told her, “Do I need someone else?”

(Y/n) felt her cheeks turn a little bit pink, and she tried to swallow it down. “Well no, but you must have friends. Someone at the lab? Or someone from when you were a kid? I know you were homeschooled, but still. Everyone needs friends.”

Peter snorted, and (Y/n) wasn’t sure if it was at the idea of him needing someone or at the idea of having a friend. “Well, I regret to inform you that I just have you.”

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There was a portal, up against the wall of the diner, behind the counter right where she used to sit when she would talk to Peter.

“Dead on, (Y/n).” Steve patted her shoulder, joking, “He must’ve really liked the eggs.”

Grilled chicken with a side of fries and a coffee. Always the same food; didn’t matter what meal it was. (Y/n) didn’t bother to voice that though.

“It’s one of the basketball players,” Dustin pointed out.

A pair of broken, twisted out of shape, legs were sticking out from behind one of the couches the kids had dragged into Benny’s after it was deserted.

“It’s bigger…” Eleven murmured, taking a step forward towards the portal.

Mike caught her arm, pulling her back away from the portal.

(Y/n) didn’t join in, the banter or the analysis. She was staring at the portal.

It was right where she used to sit, literally right there. If Peter had been there, and she’d been in her usual spot talking to him, all she would’ve had to do was tip her stool back, like she always did, and she would’ve fallen straight into the Upside Down.

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“You’re gonna fall over if you keep doing that,” Peter pointed down to the legs of her stool.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and continued to totter back and forth on the back legs of the stool. “Then I’ll knock my head in and get off work early, and you won’t have to put up with me. Sounds like a win for both of us.”

The front legs of the stool slammed to the ground, and (Y/n) stared wide-eyed, mouth ajar, at Peter.

Peter’s eyes had a fire to them she had never seen. There was something there, something behind his usual disinterested, annoyed expression. Something dangerous.

He had a vice-like grip on her wrist, and (Y/n) was positive that she was going to have a ringed bruise around the bone there in the morning from how tightly he held her and how hard he’d jerked her back forward. Her arm was stretched out across the width of the counter, practically touching his chest he’d jerked her so far back.

The shock in her face seemed to douse the fire in his. “Sorry,” Peter cleared his throat, dropping her wrist.

“N-No, it’s okay.” (Y/n) dismissed haphazardly. “Didn’t realize I was worrying you.”

Under his breath, so quietly she wasn’t quite sure she heard him right, Peter whispered, “Of course you worry me.”

“What was that?” (Y/n) asked.

“Nothing, just don’t want you dead on the floor. The hassle of finding another friend is unappealing.”

“Well,” (Y/n) smiled, though not as brightly this time as she usually did, “you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

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Vecna.

A grey body, void of skin and hair and a face. Vine-like Tentacles protruding from his back, whipping back and forth in all directions as if they had a mind of their own, encircling the party, drawing them tighter and tighter into him.

She knew what Eleven told her, knew the story of how Vecna had come to be, but she just couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t see Peter under there, inside the monster.

She couldn’t see Peter batting away Eleven with a vine, without a care in the world for her scream as she went flying back into a deadened tree.

Not Peter, not her Peter.

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“I’m sorry.”

(Y/n) looked up, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in. She’d been too absorbed in the math homework splayed across Benny’s counter to notice anything other than the mental image she’d been constructing of going to watch all of her friends graduate knowing she was going to have to repeat senior year.

“Oh Peter, I didn’t hear you come in. Usual?”

Peter sat down in front of her, which was not in his usual seat. “No, I only… I came here to talk, to apologize, and say goodbye.”

“Wait you’re leaving?” (Y/n) dropped the pencil from her hand. “Are they moving you out of the lab? What’s going on?”

“There’s been a… development. And soon my services will no longer be required.” Peter caught the pencil (Y/n) hadn’t heard rolling across the counter and carefully balanced it back in place in front of her textbook.

“W-Well, where are you going?” She tried, and failed miserably, to hide the disappointment from her tone, “I’m sure they have phones there. I’d hate to leave you with no one to pester you every week.”

“I can’t tell you.” Peter smiled, actually smiled. (Y/n) didn’t know if it was unnerving or endearing. It was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. She got the occasional snear, once in a while a smirk if she was particularly amusing that day. But he never smiled, certainly not like this, sad, disheartened, like he was sorry he had to go. “That’s why I came. I know I scared you last time I was here. I… I showed too much of myself, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Peter, you don’t have to apologize.” (Y/n) reached out, hesitantly and took his hand. “Not for being yourself at least.”

“Oh but I do.” Peter dismissed. Turning his hand over, Peter took hers in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Maybe one day you’ll see why.”

And as easily as he slipped into her life, he was gone.

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“Eddie,” She whispered from their hiding place behind the rock, “whatever happens, can you promise me something?”

“What?” Eddie whispered back to her.

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment before she peeled herself away from the rocker’s side. “Hold Steve back.” Turning to Jonathan on her other side, she patted his arm. “And don’t let him and Dustin do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

(Y/n) was usually an anxious, hesitant person. She was an extrovert to the extreme, but she was also very risk averse. She was the type of girl who walked with her eyes on her own feet, and her arms brought in across her chest at all times. She didn’t exude surety or confidence ever. The three words her friends would use to describe her were skittish, excitable, and self-conscious. With Dart, Dustin had taken the lead trapping the monster in the cellar. In the Byer’s home, she had cowered behind Steve, from the demodogs and from Billy. In Starcourt, her brother had practically dragged her down to the Russian base. She had been the one driving the distraction car, all too happy to put distance between herself, Dustin, and Steve and the Mindflayer.

She was not fearless like Nancy or powerful like Eleven or a natural leader like Steve. In the face of monsters and spies and alternate dimensions, she was scared, like any normal person would be.

But this, she’d convinced herself, wasn’t a monster from an alternate dimension. A monster, maybe, but one she knew.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?” Jonathan tried to grab at her arm, but she moved faster, ducking out of the way as she came running out from behind the rock.

Vecna was baring down on Eleven, standing in front of Lucas, Mike, and Dustin with her arms wide as she tried to push him back.

“(Y/n)!” The shout came from somewhere behind her, but she didn’t look back at Steve as she heard him running after her.

“PETER!” She came to a stop under him and shouted up into the air, at the body in the center of the mass of tentacles.

His head turned, slowly, towards her. “Peter, come down here!”

“(Y/n),” he said, seemingly to himself.

She should’ve been afraid, quaking in her boots afraid. But for once, she just couldn’t seem to manage it.

Somewhere in the distance she could hear Steve shouting, shouting at her, at Vecna, at Jonathan and Eddie for holding him back.

“Peter!” She called again.

The tentacles seemed to whip back and forth through the air, splaying themselves out flat on the ground and slowly encircling where she stood, as they lowered their master to the ground.

“NO!” Dustin tried to jump, but without instruction needed Lucas and Mike grabbed him and held him back.

“Peter, you don’t have to do this.”

“Peter is dead. Your friend,” he spat the word, “saw to that.”

“I know she put you here, but I don’t think Peter’s gone.” A tentacle slithered at the back of her heels, and (Y/n) took a step closer to Peter.

“You always had such idealistic notions.” He snarled, “This is what I am. Not Peter, this.” Two of the tentacles whipped out from the circle they had formed around (Y/n), and latched onto her wrists, wrenching her down to her knees.

(Y/n) shook her head, “I don’t believe that.”

The tentacles tightened around her wrist, and she bit back a whimper in disgust as they began wrapping themselves slowly up her arms.

“Society is a scourge (Y/n). The real curse is not me; it’s humanity.” Peter began walking towards her, the tentacles around her dragging her to meet him.

“Then why haven’t you cursed me? Killed me?” (Y/n) asked, “Everyone else has heard the clock ticking, Peter. But here I am.”

The tentacles were wrapping around her chest now, gluing her arms to her sides. Peter, Vecna, did not respond. He stood directly above her now, her bound defenseless at his feet.

“If Peter was dead then you wouldn’t be listening to me right now.”

One of the tentacles wrapped itself around her throat, but she didn’t feel it constricting her at all. It was like it didn’t know what to do.

“Let them go, Peter. They’re just kids. Scared, little kids like Henry used to be.”

Steve was still shouting and struggling with Jonathan and Eddie, and in her peripheral, it seemed Eleven had joined the boys in holding back Dustin.

“I’ll stay.” She whispered loud enough for only Peter to hear. “We’re friends right? I’ll stay here, with you. But you have to let them go. Leave them alone, leave Hawkins alone.”

Peter blinked. “You wouldn’t leave your brother.”

He sounded like Peter, the dark, raspy voice of Vecna was gone. He sounded young again; he sounded whole.

“I’ll leave him to protect him. Peter, you live in this place free of people and the society you hated, and it’s still not enough. You never wanted to be alone.” The grip the tentacles had on her was loosening, and (Y/n) tried to stand. The tentacles melted away as Peter saw what she wanted to do. “I’ll stay here, with you. You won’t be alone… But you have to let them go.”

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“NO!” Dustin shoved forward and began pounding on the wall where to portal used to be. “No!”

His fingers tried digging into the wallpaper, into the wall. It had to be there; it couldn’t be gone. He could get back to her. They could save her.

The rest of the party watched in utter silence as Dustin scratched and clawed at the wall, trying to open the portal back to his sister.

No one tried to stop him, or intervene. They were all too stunned to speak, too stunned to move.

The only noise in the room was Dustin, screaming in despair at the wall, and Steve, quietly sobbing in the corner.

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Note:

Thanks for reading! If you like this, please go read my Eddie Munson fic. I'd really appreciate it! I think it's even better than this one, and it meant a lot to me writing it. I look forward to knowing what you think!

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