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syrma-sensei · 7 months

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→ Hot Under The Helmet.

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pairing: soldier boy/ben x wife!reader.

rating: explicit.

warning: ben's pov, horny and angry ben, dom/sub undertones, aggressive sex, piv, fingering, oral (female receiving), breeding kink, glove kink, eventual fluff, antiquated mentality...

word count: 2.2k

summary: fucking his wife is the best way to ease his mind.

taglist: @zepskies, @deansbbyx, @kaleldobrev, @k-slla, @deanbrainrotwritings, @deans-spinster-witch, @homosexualferret...

→ masterlist | ao3

Soldier Boy didn't head back to his quarters in Vought's tower when the damned mission was over. He didn't want to spend another minute with his pathetic excuse of a fucking team nor did he want to be in the tower. He scoffed. A bunch of fucking clowns in a fucking circus. Sometimes he wondered if Vought picked them on purpose for the sake of insulting him and his legacy.

Instead, Soldier Boy made his way straight back home. He'd been on duty for a couple of weeks, accompanied with his teammates and other government soldiers as a backup to their mission — not that he needed either but protocols and marketing and Vought's bullshit.

Long story short, and as expected, The Twins fucked up, Noir tried to be the hero of the day, Swatto a fucking idiot, Mind Storm and Gunpowder fucking useless, Countess a fucking bitch. He had to handle it all by himself and fix everything his teammates dicked with. And he was pissed. Fuming. Raging. All he was seeing was red. And he could do nothing about it.

When Vought promised him a team to lead, he expected to have seasoned soldiers who knew how shit was done. Warriors who respected the missions and honoured their duty and privileged their country. Instead, he got fucking spoiled children to babysit. He wasn't in charge. The irony. His fucking helmet of forty years of dedication and service for this country granted him no say at the matter. It was fine, he'd tried to convince himself. He took it upon himself to train them and mould them into formidable soldiers like he was but to no avail. The fucking idiots thought the job was only to wave their hands and pose for fucking cameras at movie premieres!

Soldier Boy grumbled when he stepped inside one of his many properties. The one he shared with his wife. Their penthouse; their home. His pretty, little wife. He let a small smile slip into his lips when a mix of aromatic whiffs permeated his nostrils, his superhuman sense of smell enhanced the savoury scent. His stomach grumbled. Fuck did he really miss his wife's delicious cooking. Suddenly, his fury began to cease. Soldier Boy clicked his helmet off of his head absent-mindedly and set his shield aside before his lips quirked into a wicked grin.

It'd been a fucking fortnight since he saw her. Touched her. Fucked her. He was surrounded by dicks for far too long, and he craved pussy. Her pussy. He was consumed by the urge of destroying her cunt. And she'd love it. She'd always had. She liked it rough. She liked him ruining her, and leaving her unable to sit right for days. And she even dared to chide him when he went easy on her at the beginning of their relationship.

“I'm not fucking fragile, Ben. Don't you hold back.” She'd told him.

He smirked. She had no idea what he had in store for her tonight.

With many many years of experience under his belt, Soldier Boy stealthed his way to the kitchen where his wife was swaying her hips and humming a song as she bent over to check on the ribs she was roasting in the oven. Ben smiled proudly. He never let her do that job. The grilling. It was a man's job, the husband's job. So, to accommodate his wishes, she came up with this idea. To cook that kinda food in other ways. And being the expert cook she was, she did it extraordinarily.

His dulled eyes came to life with a lick of lust swirling within the green of his eyes when he traced the curve of her perfect ass. Fuck, his trousers began to feel too tight to his liking. Little did she know that she had a stirred brute standing behind her, waiting for the right moment to pounce on his prey.

Turning on her heels gracefully, a surprised gasp escaped her throat when her dilated eyes landed on her beloved husband. He was still in his supe gear except for his helmet and shield.

“Ben!” She trilled with a big smile, trying to balance herself from the surprise; he was hours early, “Welcome back, honey! Didn't think you'd be early—”

He cut her off with a burning kiss. Hungry and possessive. How he could cross the kitchen to her in such agility was still behind her. He smelled like earth and dust, blood and sweat. He smelled like a man should. Like a soldier should. Her core throbbed at his virile odour. His stubble grew bigger, and she liked how it brushed coarsely against her palms when she cupped his cheeks to kiss him back. She giggled against his mouth when his strong hands grasped her waist and lifted her up effortlessly and sat her at the countertop.

She clung to his neck, their kiss nourishing with vigour. His lips left hers temporarily to loosen her apron and toss it aside, then he removed her blouse and unclasped her bra. Ben crushed her lips again, his rough-padded hands kneading her tits, thumbs aggressively flicking her hardening nipples. His thumbnails grazing crescents on her darkening areolas. Ben's lips split mischievously when she let a wanton moan. His grin widened when the smell of her arousal reached his nose. Fuck. He loved it. He could already taste that on his tongue.

“Fuck, Ben!” She groaned when one of his hands trailed down to her shorts and slipped beneath her panties. He smirked when she instantly smeared his fingertips wet with her arousal. He let his gloves on; he knew she loved it when his gloved fingers fucked her relentlessly. She liked it when they were knuckles-deep inside of her, with the rims of his fingerless gloves grazing her clit. The little slut. She also liked when he fucked her in his supe suit. She took pleasure in submitting to his power. To him. He was a man worth submitting to after all, and he'd earned hers.

“Hmh, those fourteen days were rough on you, weren't they, baby girl?” He mocked, thick fingers spreading her folds open roughly. He loved to tease her and turn her into a mess. He relished in it.

She nodded hastily. It took a measured press of his thumb on her clit to turn her into putty in his hand. “Use your words, baby.”

“Y-Yes, Sir,” She whined, legs parting wider for him, “They were brutal.” She sobbed, burying her face in his powerful neck when he twisted his finger just right, her ankle snapped. He added another finger and she mewled.

“Ben, Ben! Sir, please!” She shrieked in delight, hands clutching at his gear. She gushed on his fingers and he fucked her through her high. He felt the tremble of legs. He was going to force another one from her. She should have asked for permission. She wasn't in control. He was.

She gasped when he didn't stop, “Ben, please don't—!” She squeezed her thighs shut, an attempt to cease the searing pleasure between her legs. His fingers were raw against her flesh. It brought tears to her eyes.

“Now you want me to stop?” He sneered with a drawl, curling a finger inside, her walls tightened in response. “Your pretty pussy doesn't.”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip, before she gazed up at him through half-hooded eyes, moaning, “Don't stop!”

Fuck, that shouldn't have surprised him. But it did. Fuck. She was really a slut. His pretty slut. She was practically inviting him to break her. Oh, he would. Deliciously so.

She squealed when he coaxed another orgasm from her. Begging him to fuck her more like a bitch in a heat.

“Holy fuck, baby, your pussy is squeezing my fingers tight!” He chuckled maliciously as he curled his knuckles again then pulled out.

With pearlescent tears adorning her eyes, she took his thumb into her mouth when he pressed it to her lips. Fuck, the way she twirled her tongue around his digit made him half-tempted to fuck her throat. He could do that later. Now, all he wanted was to fuck that needy, slutty pussy raw.

Ben shifted her up and flipped her on her stomach, her hot breasts squeezing against the cold marble. Shoving her shorts and panties down, he took in the sight of her ruined pussy. She was soaking, her arousal oozed from her opening down to her thighs in small rivulets. Unabashedly inviting him to feast on it. And how could he reject such an invitation? In a moment, he was on his knees, mouth wrapped around her slit, sipping from the sweet honey she had to offer. Seemed the act surprised her as she jerked in stupor with a squawk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Her knuckles went white when she grabbed on the edges of the countertop as he ate her out like a man starved.

The new gruff hairs on his face burned deliciously against her skin as his tongue flicked assiduously against her swollen clit. He lapped her heat with a flattened tongue before invading her sensitive drawers, slurping her through the mess of her dew and his spit.

“Ben…I'm cumming again!” She tried to utter, but all that came out of her mouth was a broken whisper.

Smirking again, he unbridled the wonders his tongue could do, and she was undone again; his soddend beard was a proof of what he could do to her.

He licked her clean, and her overstimulated cunt shivered every time his tongue made contact with her flesh. She was trying to catch her breath up there, but he couldn't let her. He wasn't done with her yet. He had yet to be satisfied.

He heard her hum as she turned her face to make eye contact with him. A satiated look in her eyes as she smiled weakly at him.

“Ain't fair tho,” She croaked playfully.

He raised an eyebrow, “Hmm?”

Supporting herself with her arms, she managed to turn her body to face him, eyes immediately perching on the conspicuous bulge between his legs before her teeth dragged her lower lip inside her mouth.

“I'm naked, you're not.” Her hands trailed from his chest down to his zipper.

“Thought you liked me fucking you in this shit.” He drawled thickly as her nimble fingers undid his pants and freed his cock.

“God, you're so hard,” She giggled gleefully, “I do,” Her eyes flitted up to his face, “I like what kinda authority this suit holds. It's like fucking a god.”

His dick twitched painfully at her words. She was so good at this. He liked that about her. How she could tickle and caress his massive ego so easily. How good she made him feel so damn good about himself though he'd never admit that out loud. A god she wanted to fuck, then a god she would fuck.

His large hand roughly seized her jaws, her yelp was swallowed by his mouth. His dick was too eager to feel the warmth and wetness of her cunt as he plunged it inside of her.

“Oh, God!” She sang, her arms encircling his neck as he snapped his hips into her. Her hands fisted his short hair.

“No god, only me.” He groaned.

She cried his name as he bottomed out, he was fucking every ounce of anger out of his system on her. And she liked it. Her walls sucked him deeply, wanting more, and more he gave her.

He grumbled, “Gonna put a baby in you.” He wasn't asking. He was telling.

“Yes, Yes! Please make me a mommy!” Pride sprouted in his chest, and the immense feeling bolted down his spine and made his cock spring his load into her.

He didn't pull out right away, he waited for a few minutes. He didn't want his seed to spill out of her as much as appealing that would be to watch.

“You okay?” He asked her with concern.

“A bit thirsty, but I'm aces,” She blinked, sighing dreamily, “That was fucking sexy by the way.

He chuckled amusedly, reaching for the pot of water next to them and pouring her a glass, “The part you called me a god?”

She rolled her eyes as she gobbled down the water.

He arched his brow before whispering into her ear, “Roll your eyes at me like that again and I won't be letting you cum for a month.”

She choked on the water and he laughed deeply at her reddened face.

Suddenly, he became aware of the burning smell coming from the oven. She picked up on him sniffing and they looked at each other and say in unison, “The ribs!”

Her quiver didn't go unnoticed when he pulled out of her to let her check on the food cooking in the oven while he adjusted his clothes. He appreciated her nakedness in the kitchen, maybe he should ask her to wear nothing but an apron when she cooked. She'd look fucking sexy. His cock twitched at the idea.

His wife groaned in disappointment when she saw the ribs.

“Is it bad?” He asked, crouching next to her.

“It's way crispier than I intended.” A hand pressed to her forehead.

“I can handle crispier.”

“But, Ben, I wanted it to be perfect for you,” She whimpered and he smiled, “I know how much you like it.”

“Well, in your defence, happened when you were pretty busy serving me desserts before the main dish,” He winked.

She shook her head with a smile, “Y'know, you're surprisingly cheeky sometimes.”

“With you, I am.”

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #soldier boy fic #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys amazon #the boys smut

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endlessthxxghts · 7 months

Text

Take It Easy

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈10.2k

Summary: Your family throws an impromptu barbecue. You’re usually the one they throw every task on, but with today being your most painful period day, you say fuck it and leave them to fend for themselves. Only one other guest is invited today, and that’s Joel Miller.

Warnings: Age gap (23/43). Established relationship (to everyone but reader’s family). No physical description of reader besides outfit choices. Use of feminine pet names. LATINO JOEL MILLER (he’s canon in all my fics, sorry not sorry). Fluff with slight angst - getting caught, kinda (?) - happy ending, don’t worry. This version of Joel is always soft for reader, but I feel like he’s extra soft here. These idiots are so fucking in love (highkey jealous). SMUT 18+ MDNI: If you know the traffic light system for safe words, reader uses yellow at one point - but fluff & comfort happens immediately after. Dom/sub and Brat tamer/brat dynamics (subspace!). Daddy kink. Degradation kink (very brief). Making out/body appreciation. Masturbation (F). Oral sex (M receiving). Spit kink (I'm so weak). Exhibitionist kink - reader is being bold 🫣. Face fucking. Vaginal fingering. Lots of kissing (these two definitely have some sort of oral/kiss fixation istg). Soft unprotected p in v. Reader gets a surge of dominance, soooo ya get a glimpse of sub!Joel😏…...I think that's it. Let me know if there’s anything I missed. 🫶🏼

Author's Note: This can be read as a stand-alone, but I accidentally connected this a bit more than I intended to the What You Need fic. That fic talks a lot about reader's background/family dynamic and why/how Joel is the way that he is with reader. There's also some little details in here that might fly over your head if you haven't read What You Need. However, I genuinely don't think any confusion or such will occur if you only read this one shot. I hope you'll be able to enjoy all the same. Much love 💚

MASTERLIST || ONESHOT COLLECTION

“Can you prep the veggies?”

“Can you prep the grill?”

“Can you make the rice?”

“Why don’t I make the entire fucking dinner at this point?” You snap in the direction of the kitchen from your place on the couch, wrapped in blankets, snuggled with a heat pack over your lower belly.

“Well, if you’re offering,” your brother smirks.

You started your period yesterday, and the second day is always the absolute worst. Your flow is heavy, your cramps are excruciating, and your mood is all over the place. Today was not the day for an impromptu barbecue, regardless if there were guests or not.

You promptly give your brother the middle finger then pull yourself off the couch to make your way to the bathroom. You’ve filled up an entire pad, yet again, in less than 20 minutes.

You always do everything for your family, but today, you absolutely don’t give a fuck. Today is self care day for you — popping three painkillers then heading straight to the dark of your room.

You’re not entirely sure how long you fell asleep for, but the smell of charcoal smoke and sizzling steak is what wakes you up first. The next sensation that fills you is the sound of heavy boots walking from, what you assume to be, the back door to the kitchen. Joel. You’d know that walk anywhere. He’s taking on the tasks for your family that usually fall on your shoulders.

He called you this morning before everyone (including you) woke up, saying he’s excited to see you tonight. You grumbled sleepily, about to tell him you were just as excited when a searing pain ruptured in your stomach, causing you to gasp out in pain.

“Baby?” Joel called out, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Fuck, sorry, baby, it’s nothing,” you shyly say. He says your name. You start to explain, “I started my period yesterday, and-” but Joel cuts you off. “The second day is always the worst,” he states factually.

You smile to yourself, “Yeah, exactly.”

He tells you to get up and get a glass of water and some medicine to ease the pain, which you do, then he tells you to let yourself sleep in today, which you don’t.

“Fine,” he relents at your stubbornness, “but at least take it easy today, darlin’, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Miller, loud and clear,” you tell him.

You can feel his dumb fucking lopsided smirk through the phone, “Fuckin’ brat,” he snarls.

“Mhm, but you’re fuckin’ brat,” you correct him.

“Yes. Mine.”

“Mmmm,” you let out a soft moan at that. Mine. You love the way it sounds, the way he claims you. “I love you.”

His cock twitches at the sound you make, but he wills it stay down. He takes a breath before he responds, “I love you, baby.” He can’t get ahead of himself today. He needs you to take it easy. So he tells you exactly that, again, for the last time before he ends the call and lets you take on your tasks for the day.

Even though the mouth-watering scent of all the delicious food has completely pulled you awake, you stay in bed a little longer, basking in the sensation of absolute no cramping in the position you’re in. And as if on cue, Joel quietly knocks on your door, waiting for you to invite him in.

“Come in,” your voice cracks, still groggy from the hours of no speaking.

He enters softly, clad in that denim button up you love so much paired with some dark washed jeans. “Hi, darlin’,” he makes his way to place a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, then a longer one to your lips. “How you feelin’?”

“Better now,” you coo, completely enamored by how soft your big, burly man can be. “Food smells good. You helped them?”

He’s sitting at the side of your bed now, facing you, so he can rest his arm across you. “Only your old man. Carried in the food as he finished puttin’ em in the trays,” he says as he draws little circles on your arms.

You hum in response, too content at his presence. Still unable to use your voice, you tug on his arm, silently asking for him to hold you for just a moment before you eventually need to get up.

“They all left, by the way,” Joel soothes.

You finally have the strength to lift your head up, a quizzical look on your face.

“Your brother needed an herb, your dad s’more charcoal, obviously your mother drove ‘em. I don’t know where your other siblings are, though,” he explains.

“Oh.” You look up at him. “So what you’re saying is,” tugging harder on his arm to pull him into your bed, “you can freely cuddle me until then.”

He chuckles at that, giving into your pull, and wrapping his hand around your jaw to pull you into yet another sweet kiss. He’s laying down next to you now, and you take the opportunity to completely entangle your limbs into his, your head tucked into his neck.

Your family is gone for another forty-five minutes from that point on, and you two spend each minute just completely wrapped into each other, sharing sweet, wet kisses everywhere both of you can reach. His thigh supplying light pressure between yours at your core, spurring you both on just enough but not to the point where you lose all self control.

There’s something about the way you two can touch each other like this. With past partners, they always wanted things to escalate. To undress you and devour you at any sign of affection. But with Joel, it’s natural. Of course, his body will react in ways that show he physically wants more, but truly, he just wants to adore you and appreciate you and love you. And in the moments where those three words aren’t enough, he shows it in the other pure way he knows how to.

You’re too distracted being consumed by Joel’s touch, but as sharp as an eagle, he immediately perks at the sound of your family’s arrival. He slowly pulls away, trying to savor the kiss as much as possible. Finally it breaks, and you immediately pull your bottom lip into your mouth, trying to savor the way he feels and the way he tastes. He gives you a look of pure love and devotion—a look you know is only reserved for you, a look you’ll never get tired of. “Time to get up, darlin’.”

“Ugh,” you whine out, “Okay, I’ll meet you out there. I’m just gonna change, baby.”

He pulls you up out of bed and straight into another chaste kiss, “Want me to make you tea?”

“That sounds lovely, baby,” you blush at his attentiveness. You’ve been spoiled rotten by him for the past year, but you still get so flustered every time. “But I think we’re out of what I normally drink-”

He stops you with yet another kiss. “I bought a box of that peppermint blend before I came.”

You can’t stop the way you absolutely fold for this man, evident in the shaky breath you take and the way you completely stumble on your words, “Y-yeah, o-okay, yes, please.”

He smiles and nods, walking directly to your kitchen without another second to waste.

God, he deserves some fucking head right now, you think to yourself as you quietly giggle.

You make your way to your bathroom, taking a quick body shower because those several hours of sleep, plus the way Joel was on you for 45 minutes, had you looking like a murder scene down there. You dry yourself off, lotion up, and change into some loose black sweats and a fitted, light blue baby tee.

You look a lot brighter after your rest; Joel was right in telling you to sleep in, you needed it. Not that you’d ever tell him. He doesn’t need anymore ego boosts. Ya see, what’d I say, darlin’? you can hear his Texan twang scolding you already.

He looks up from the kettle pot boiling before him to see you perched on the bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island, bright eyed and awake, watching him make your tea. “Thank you again, baby,” you softly say.

He comes around behind you, setting your mug in front of you accompanied with three soft kisses peppered to the area where your shoulder and neck meet. “Of course, my sweet girl. You ready to eat? Everythin’ is set up out back, and everyone is out there, too,” he sighs, “already eatin’.” He says, annoyed at the fact that no one thought to call and check in on you, let you know that the ritual of eating together already started. You’re used to it by now, but seeing his reaction reminds you that it’s not normal for your own family to treat you this way. You smile a little sadly, trying to think of how you want to go about this. Usually you just wouldn’t eat, but with Joel around, you know that’s not going to fly.

“How ‘bout,” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head still resting on your shoulder, “I go out there, make a plate big enough for us both, and I come back in and we share?” He could easily get you your own plate, but he knows your family. They’ll jump at any opportunity to shit talk you when they don’t understand the entire situation. Getting you your own plate and serving you when he’s a guest in your own home could inspire that, and he really doesn’t want you to experience that right now.

You lean into him, turning your head a little to place a kiss to his cheek. “Okay, baby,” you smile, “yes, let’s share.”

He comes back inside to you snuggled on the couch again with a pullout table propped right in front. He snuggles up right beside you, placing your legs right on top of his, keeping you secure with a hand on your thigh.

The plate is filled with a mountain worth of food. You already know three-quarters of that is going down his bottomless pit of a stomach, laughing to yourself at the thought. One thing that wasn’t on the original menu for tonight was on his plate. It also just so happened to be one of your comfort foods whenever you weren’t feeling good. “W-who made the mashed potatoes?”

Joel looks up at you sheepishly. He thought he’d be able to pull it off. He didn’t just go to the store, before he came, for your mint tea. He also went to get the ingredients for the mashed potatoes recipe you love so much. Within the almost two years he’s spent getting to know you, he’s recognized that every single time you’re feeling under the weather or falling into some type of depressive slump, you’re either eating or craving it. “I, uh- When I went to go get your tea… I figured I’d get ya your stuff for this, too. Made it before I came to wake ya up.”

“Joel…” your voice cracks and your eyes tear up.

How is it that after 23 years of life, you’re finally experiencing what it means when someone loves you? And you’re not talking romantic, you’re talking pure, genuine love. Love that you should’ve received from your parents, your siblings. They have never once shown you the consideration of making you your favorite meal, or fixing you a cup of something warm when you’re not feeling well. They have never shown you what it means to appreciate someone, in any of the love languages. The only person that has shown you remotely anything is your mother, but even that is limited because she cowers behind the directives of your father. You see her try, and you feel selfish not to appreciate it. But is it selfish to just want to be wholly loved by the people who created and raised you?

You pull the fork out of his hands and set it back on the plate. And in an instant, you completely throw yourself on him, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, legs tightly hugged between his own. He loses his balance and lays straight back onto the couch, letting out a grunt at the landing, with you on top of him. You push into him for a kiss, your noses smooshing together as you lick inside his mouth with a sense of urgency to show him how much you love him. Once the initial shock of you pouncing on him wears off, he immediately wraps himself around you, tightening his hold to pull you in impossibly more. His tongue dances with yours, one arm wrapped around your middle and another secure around the bottom of your ass.

You adjust to straddle his hips, sitting up and pulling him up with you by the collar of his denim. You break away from him just for a minute, heavy breathing and eyes dark, and you let your hand glide down his chest, swiftly undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses as you go. You make your way down to his belt, unbuckling it with such a need that he can’t help but just watch you. You slip the belt out of the loops, letting it fall to the ground, and you’re scooting back more to situate yourself in between the tight space of his legs. You palm him through his jeans, feeling how absolutely hard he is, which elicits a deep groan from the man above you. With that, the button and zipper of his jeans are undone. You bring your hands up back to the hem of his jeans, looking back up at him for his approval.

“Sweet girl, ya know your folks are right outside,” he tries to warn but fails with the way his voice wavers with need.

You look to the back door that’s twenty feet away, curtains completely drawn, and look back at him. “You and I both know none of them are coming back inside for a while,” you raise your eyebrows in defiance.

He is truly at war with himself right now. He could let you do what you want, knowing you get off just as much as he does when you give him head. Or he could situate you back to your original positions and finger a few orgasms out of you, and he just pulls away from you if someone were to walk in — the safer route. Or. The safest option being he bids your folks goodnight and you let them know you’re going out for the night.

Though, the latter would just be too easy. He knows you both revel in the risk, in the act of sneaking around. Which is why he finds himself scooting forward to the edge of the couch, and you take the hint loud and clear. He wants you on your knees for this. He meets your stare once more, both of you sparkling with mischief. “Well? Darlin’? Best get on with it then, huh?” Followed by him lifting his hips slightly so you can tug his clothing down, his tip red and aching.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp out, “been thinking about this since you left my fuckin’ room, daddy, I want you so bad.”

Your admission spurs him on more, and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Go on, darlin’. Prove it to me. Show me how fuckin’ bad.”

You pull yourself up to stand on your knees for a moment, and murmur a quiet come here to him, urging him to lean in for a second. He pulls closer, stopping an inch away from your face. You open your mouth for him, tongue sticking out and flat. He gets the hint, and before you can even register, his hand is on your jaw, tilting your head back and opening you wider, and he spits.

You use all your self control not to swallow it right here and right now, desperate to feel any kind of warmth from him slide down your throat. You have other plans right now. You close your mouth and let your own spit generate, absolutely giddy with want to please your man. His eyes are fixed on you, knowing your next plan of action, but still stunned all the same at how fucking filthy his sweet girl is. You pull yourself back, hovering your mouth over his erection.

You open your mouth and just let the combination of both of you fall from your mouth, sliding down his cock like the sweetest of syrups that you can’t wait to lick up. As the amount of spit starts to really gather, you grab him by the base and start stroking up and down his length, putting extra emphasis on his tip, running your finger over his slit for good measure. He lets out a stuttered groan at that, and you take that as your queue to finally put him in your mouth. Running your tongue in the same pattern your fingers did his tip, making him hiss in your ability to make him fold at the smallest of touches.

You keep this pace for a good while, using your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down in the speed and pressure that you know brings him to the edge fast. The sounds coming from your throat mixed with the slick feeling of your hand pumping him has your pussy absolutely dripping for attention. Fuck it. You slide your other hand down into your underwear, and begin to play with your clit, not wanting to go any deeper for fear of getting blood all over the place. Joel wouldn’t mind—of course, he wouldn’t—but you would, so you give yourself just enough to ease the aching need between your legs. Your moans get louder now that you’re touching yourself, your throat adding a delicious vibrating sensation to him.

His eyes were shut at how fucking amazing you’re taking him, but with the sounds you’re making, he can’t help but make sure all his focus is on you. And god damn, when he sees you touching yourself so prettily while you’re being such a good girl making daddy feel so fucking good, he can’t help but cum at the sight. “F-fuck, sweet girl, holy fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, “It turn you on that bad to have my dick in your mouth, huh?”

You pull off of him with a pop, making sure you keep as much of his cum in your mouth as you can—because there’s a fuck ton—and you fix your stare into his dark eyes as you swallow every last bit of him. “So fucking good, daddy, I-” you break off into a moan, your hand that was pumping him now gripping his thigh to maintain your balance as you continue the ministrations on your pussy.

“Cum for me, baby, show me how good it makes you feel to be daddy’s little slut,” he demands. You gasp out at his words, that demand being what really throws you over the edge. Your clit pulses underneath your fingers, you feel yourself gush out, your blood and cum making you feel impossibly messier, and with that, your body goes rigid.

Joel leans forward and grabs onto your jaw, keeping you upright while you come back down from your high. You’re so far gone that you don’t realize he’s peppering your face with kisses, uttering sweet nothings until you’re back with him. He gently pulls your hand from your pants and settles them into your lap.

“I’ve got ya, baby,” he kisses your lips softly.

“My sweet girl,” he kisses your jaw, “I love you,” another kiss at your pulse point below your ear. He feels your body begin to relax.

“Atta girl, baby,” he whispers before reaching down and settling his other arm underneath your legs, positioning himself so he can pick you up in a cradle position. He stands and carries you to your bathroom, settling you on your feet for one moment so he can pull your sweats and underwear off of you. He guides you down onto the toilet, kissing your forehead and muttering a quick one sec, baby before he steps out. He comes back two minutes later, and you’re still in subspace but slightly more grounded, and he kneels down in front of you, instructing you to lift one foot at a time.

He went to go get you a new pair of underwear and some gray sweatpants. He already stuck another pad to your underwear, too. The action fills you with such an overwhelming feeling that you can’t help the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks. He looks up, knowing everything you’re saying and feeling by your gaze alone. He cups your cheeks with both hands, rubs his thumb to wipe the stray tears, and kisses your forehead, your left eye, then your right, your nose, and finally your lips, all in an attempt to seal every ounce of love and adoration he has for you.

“I love you,” you finally say, leaning your forehead against his, and just take a moment with his hands on you. He pulls back again with a kiss to your forehead, and he grabs the wipes on the counter, encouraging you to lean back a bit, so he can clean you properly.

“Wait, no,” you meekly say, trying to grab the wipes from his hands. He knows you get embarrassed at the fact that he sees you a little gross like this, and you know he truly doesn’t care. Usually he relents and lets you do it yourself, but tonight, he’s doing everything for you whether you like it or not. He raises one eyebrow at you, and that’s all you need to bring your arms back down in defeat. You lean yourself back a little, spreading your legs open, and let him clean you up.

When it comes to other activities during your period, you usually are uncomfortable. But with Joel? With him, you don’t mind. You actually love it. It’s in moments like these that remind you how irrevocably in love you are with this man.

Afterwards he stands you up, pulls your bottoms on, and turns you towards the sink and washes your hands for you. He really wasn’t kidding at how easy he wanted you to take today.

He carried you back to the couch and wrapped a fluffy blanket around you. You threw yourself on him in the middle of your guys’ meal, so after he settles you into the couch, he transfers your shared food to a real plate instead of paper and warms everything up. He does the same to your peppermint tea.

After everything is warmed, he settles back onto the couch beside you, pulling your legs up onto his thighs and holding you above your knee to secure your position. You go to reach the fork, but Joel is quick to swat your hand away, taking the fork and feeding you a bite of your mashed potatoes instead.

“I told you,” he scolds, “to take it easy today.”

You frown, “And I have been! You’ve literally been taking care of me since you got here.”

He sets the fork down, reaching for your tea and lifting it up to your mouth. He’s not gonna respond until you take a sip, which was much needed as your belly immediately calms at the heat. You take one more sip as he begins, “You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy.”

You cough on the fucking liquid still traveling down your throat. You were not expecting that to come out of his mouth. You try really hard to will yourself not to fucking burst out in laughter because you know how serious he was with this statement. So instead, you settle for your typical smart ass remark. “It wasn’t?” You asked. “Seemed real easy to me,” you add as you take the fork from his hand and take another bite of the yummy food before you. His eyebrow shoots up and you give him a lopsided smirk in return.

“Watch it, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his hand up, thumb and forefinger pinching at your chin to force your eyes into his. He gives you a bruising kiss, one that entices him to bite at your bottom lip as he pulls away. You can feel yourself slipping again. He’s not done with you, he’s just giving you a moment to refuel.

“I’ll be good,” you softly whimper as you chase for his lips. “I’m not so sure about that,” he responds as his grip on your chin gets tighter, forcing you stationary and a few inches too far from where you want him to be. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes gloss over as you whisper out a small I promise, to which he says, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He lets go of your face completely and continues feeding you, alternating between the food and your tea. As the next bite he prepares for you reaches your mouth, something that has never happened before decided to occur. Your mother comes inside the house, and her first sight as soon as she came in was you, completely wrapped around Joel, and him feeding you.

Your jaw freezes, his grip on your leg tightens out of instinct to protect you, and it’s a staring standoff between the three of you. Joel doesn’t realize he’s still holding the fork up until his hand starts to shake, so he gently sets it down on the plate. It’s you who speaks first. “Mom, I-”

But it’s your mother who wants the first word. The first two words, actually. “How long?”

Your heart is beating out of your chest, and the only thing keeping you from full blown panic is all the ways you’re in physical contact with Joel. “I can explain, mom, I-”

“Flower,” she says to comfort you. She’s not mad? you think. Your heart immediately calms, but now you’re just confused. Growing up, your mother always called you her flower. She used it predominantly when she wanted to help you regulate. You’ve always been full of anxiety and other strong emotions. Flowers are strong and beautiful, and show exactly when they need support. And when they are given the support they need, they flourish. That’s you. You are a flower. Her flower. But now she can see, there’s someone else tending to you. And she is not mad.

“A year and some change,” you softly say. She looks between you two. Then she steps forward. “Look,” she breathes. “I know our family hasn’t been the best in showing love or appreciation. And they obviously haven’t been the best at fending for themselves-”

“Amen to that,” you say, and she chuckles in appreciation. She continues.

“Thank you, by the way. For everything you do around here. We both know none of it would get done around here if it weren’t for you. I try to help you as much as I can, but obviously not enough. If you can pull everyone’s weight around here, which you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, then I can at least pull my own and whip them into pulling their own, too.”

Your eyes are watering, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Joel feels it. He brings his hand around to rub small circles into your back. You’re so grateful he’s here. “I love you,” you say to your mom.

“I love you, too, flower, but I’m not done. I also know that I’m not too great at using my voice. Defending what’s right. But you’re the one person in this family that’s given me the inspiration to fight for what I believe in. You give me strength, and constantly seeing this family pull you down lower and lower as the years go by breaks me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.”

Tears begin to fall, both on your face and your mom’s.

“And in this last year, and some change, to be exact,” she smiles as she recalls your answer from earlier, “you have been the most vibrant flower of the entire garden. In the gloominess of this house, you continue to grow, and I’ve been dying to understand what changed. And now I see why. And I have never been more grateful for another human—the first one being you—until he entered your life.”

You and Joel both look at each other, his eyes have a hint of gloss to them now, too.

“So,” your mother says as she reaches for the tissue box on the counter and walks back to hand you the box. “I won’t tell a soul. It’s not my story to share. And remember. I will always have your back. Always. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to tell me about such a beautiful relationship, but we’re here now and I need you to know that I will forever support what makes my flower happy,” she looks to Joel, “and that’s you. I will support both of you until my flower decides on something different.”

Joel’s face turns into a scowl, half joking and half pissed at the thought of you leaving him. “Which, I have a feeling isn’t gonna happen, so you can calm yourself, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” your mother adds after seeing his boyish reaction that would normally scare anyone but you, and apparently your mother.

You lose your shit at his new nickname, and all the emotions just flow out at once. You pull yourself off of Joel and run into your mothers arms, needing her comfort. She holds you like that for a few seconds before she says, “Okay, go, I think Mr. Grump needs your comfort now. Absolutely no way I’m doing it.” You laugh and squeeze her one last time before she grabs something in the kitchen and heads back outside. You make your way back to Mr. Grump, straddling his lap. Before she opens the back door, though, she calls out your name.

“Yes, mom?”

“I’ll cover for you, hon,” she says nonchalantly as she goes back outside.

You and Joel stare at each other for a moment, too shocked to take action on the opportunity that just presented itself to you. Then, it finally hits. You pull him into a kiss that’s downright feral, your hips grinding down on him on instinct. “Take-” you say as you try to break away from the kiss, but you’re too drunk on him to completely pull away, “t-take me home, baby.”

He grunts in response, and stands up with you completely wrapped around him. He heads for your front door.

“Baby, Baby, wait, not here,” you say breathily as you go back in for another quick kiss, “through the garage.” He looks confused for a second before he remembers. The front door camera. The left side of your driveway being the camera’s blind spot. Immediately he reroutes.

You would think the first thing he does is bring you to his bedroom, but no. He sets you on his couch, molding your body into his signature position for you that makes you sit on your heels, palms up on your thighs. He could’ve easily told you he wanted you in position, but again, he told you to take it easy.

Although the position almost always forces you into subspace, you’re confused and coherent enough to question him, “Baby..?”

He steps back, looking down at you with his eyebrow raised, “Don’tcha remember, sweet thing?”

“You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy”, he said.

You promised you would be good.

To which he assured you, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He sees the moment it clicks in your head, and immediately his hold is on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He whispers, “Color?” Still demanding but with a hint of softness to it. You tilt your head further back, trying to make your lips touch him more, “Green,” you say.

He pulls your chin into him and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue tangling with yours. He pulls away, breath slightly shaky, but he composes himself quickly and stands straight up, letting go of any contact with you.

His couch is either really low to the ground, or he is just one big motherfucker. Either way, you sitting on your haunches on his couch like this while he stands straight up in front of you makes your head in direct eye line of his crotch. And you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from it. You see his tent forming, and you’re smart enough to realize what lesson he’s about to give you.

“Told you to take it fuckin’ easy today,” he says as he slowly unbuckles his belt, “didn’t I, baby?”

“Yes, daddy,” you say quickly, not wanting to piss him off more.

“But ya didn’t,” his belt falls. “Did you?”

Your spit thickens. “No, daddy.”

His belt is on the floor, and he’s reaching to undo his button and zipper. “My good girl was jus’ too fuckin’ eager to have my dick in her mouth, hm?”

You lick your bottom lip, catching the drool you didn’t realize was pooling out of your mouth. Like Pavlov’s fucking dogs, he’s got you trained. You let out a whiny mhm in response, already completely blissed out at the prospect of what’s about to happen. He settles for it, this time.

He pulls his jeans down, just enough to pull himself free. He leaves his boxers up for now while he explains. He walks closer to you, his hardness one lick away from you, and forces you to look up at him again. “You’re gonna take my cock in your mouth again, sweetheart,” he says.

You eagerly cut him off, “Yes, please, thank you, daddy, I-”

He shuts you up by pushing his thumb in your mouth. “But you’re not gonna move or do anythin’, besides sit prettily for daddy,” his grip on your jaw tightens, “ya understand me?” He slides his thumb out and spreads your spit across your bottom lip and down your chin.

“I understand, daddy,” you say, your eyes completely glossed over. Out of instinct, you fold your hands behind your back, signaling to Joel your complete submission to him.

“Such a good girl when you remember how to be patient,” he says as he stands back to his full height again. He gets impossibly closer, crowding your face. He pulls his boxers down, and his erection springs free, the tip landing against your lips, smearing the pre-cum across it. It takes everything in you not to lick it up—you can’t, he needs to give you your next instructions. He hears your silent pleas, and as he settles his hand at the back of your head, fingers grounding themselves into the roots of your hair, he tells you, “Open.”

Knowing how rough Joel can get, you take a deep breath, relaxing your throat, and you open wide, your tongue laid flat out, slick with the drool that’s been forming since the noise of the belt buckle hit your ears.

His other hand is holding himself at the base, guiding himself into your mouth. He taps his tip on your tongue a few times for good measure, before pushing himself all the way in. You feel your gag reflex coming, but you take another deep breath through your nose, urging your throat to relax a little more. It does. He pushes slowly in until your nose is flush with the patch of hair above his length. All you wanna do is unclasp your hands and reach for his thighs to pull him into you tighter, wanting to engulf his scent into you, but you can’t. All you can do is take what he gives you while sitting pretty like the good girl you are.

He starts to pull back a little, and that naturally makes your throat contract, forcing a groan out of him and more saliva out of you. He lets go of himself, and now both hands are on you. He taps your cheek, asking you to look up at him. “Hands behind the entire time. Any touch on my thigh signals red to me, okay?”

You nod your head as best you can with his grip on you and let out a little moan for good measure. At your signal, he completely and utterly wrecks you with no hesitation. And you take it exactly as he gives it, just like you promised you would.

The more he thrusts, the more spit that builds, leaking from your mouth and down your chin. Your eyes are shut at the feeling of him abusing your throat, but he won’t have that. You feel his other hand not tap your cheek twice. Your eyes fly open and land on his dark ones. “Those eyes stay on me,” he grunts out at a particularly rough thrust. You whimper out at his words, trying to convey your apologies for doing something that could make him mad. “No, it’s alright, darlin’,” he says, his pace never faltering. “I- fuck- wasn’t specific enough,” he grunts, “but ya know what I expect now,” his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. “Isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

Your eyebrows furrow and try to emphasize with your eyes that yes, eyes on you, daddy. He understands. “Atta girl, baby,” he breathes out, pulling out momentarily to give you a breath.

You choke out a little as he pulls out. He softens, concern laced in his voice, “You okay, amor?”

“Yes,” you say weakly, “I promise, please. W-want more..” You open your mouth wide again, tongue positioned perfectly for him to slide back in.

His eyes fall dark again and there’s that signature lopsided smirk. He guides himself back into you, completely, and his hand from your cheek glides down to wrap around your throat. “Shit, amor, you feel that?” He squeezes at the base of your throat. “I’m all the way fuckin’ in there, baby,” he says, falling back into a rough pace, feeling the outline of his dick glide in and out of your pathway. “You’re takin’ me so-” he lets out a pained grunt. He’s close. “-so fuckin’ good, shit, baby.”

Your throat constricts again, and that feeling is what sends him over. For the second time today, all of your senses are being consumed by everything Joel: his taste, his smell, his touch, the downright sinful sounds that grace your ears, and you take it all in, eagerly. Both hands release their hold on you as he pulls out of your mouth, and you’re quick to lean into his hips. His hand shoots back to the nape of your neck, pulling you back like a mother does to her puppy.

“You’re fuckin’ insatiable, you know that?” he says, out of breath, still trying to compose himself from the soul-sucking he just took from you. You give him a blissed out giggle, “You jus’ taste so yummy, daddy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “Well, so do you, babygirl, so it’s my turn now.”

Immediately your ears perk up and your body goes rigid. The thought of him giving you head with the flow you have right now doesn’t sit right with you. “Yellow,” you shakily whisper.

He lets go of the back of your neck and falls to his knees to match your eye level. “Oh, honey,” he cups your face, “Please tell me how to make it better. Do you wanna stop here, mi amor?”

Your body relaxes at his instant reaction. You’ve only ever had to use a safe-word with Joel twice. Today, included. And in each rare moment, he does what every caring partner and proper Dominant should: validate, comfort, and communicate. He has never given you any reason to be scared or feel disrespected. This is Joel we’re talking about here. You’re safe in his presence, always. The thought puts you at ease, but it also makes you feel a little ridiculous at using a safe word for something that could easily be communicated without it.

“Wait, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you or anything, it’s something so tiny and stupid, I should’ve just communicated instead of going straight to the code-” you quickly start panicking as you ramble on, but he’s quicker. He pulls you off the couch and into his lap, holding you in a tight embrace, knowing the pressure is what helps pull you away from your panic attack. He’s muttering it’s okay, you’re okay and I’ve got ya, as he kisses the top of your head. As soon as he feels your body relax in his arms, he speaks. “Darlin’ girl, please look at me.” You do, teary-eyed.

“I completely forgot you were on your period. I was too in the moment, and I had a lapse in judgment in my words. I’m sorry. You should not be the one to apologize, ever, if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation like this. The safe words are there for a reason, okay? Use them. They are there to keep you safe, always. Thank you for speakin’ up, my love.”

You nod your head at his words, too emotion-filled to respond with anything else right now. The only thing you can offer is a whisper of a “Thank you, I love you,” but that’s enough for him.

He gives you a soft kiss to your lips. “How would you like to continue, beautiful girl?”

You think for a moment, and the way that his hand feels wrapped around you starts to make your arousal build again. All you can think of are his big, calloused hands all over you. In your mouth. On your thighs. In your warmth. Screw the bloody mess, he doesn’t care. You squirm at the thought, and he feels you falling back into your space again. His cock stirs beneath you. He tightens his grip on you to coax you out of your thoughts. “Fingers,” you squeak out, your cheeks flushing red instantaneously. He grins, but his eyes stay fixed on you, hinting at you for something more. Then, it clicks. “P-please, daddy, need your fingers in me,” you say, voice trembling with need.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he says as he pulls your thighs around him and brings himself to full height. He leads you to his bed, setting you down on the edge with a kiss to your forehead and a quick one moment, sweetheart.

He leaves to return back with a large bath towel and lays it across the center of his bed, dark blue to match his sheets. He situates pillows for your head and leaves a smaller one out, just in case. You feel his weight shift the bed, and he’s walking toward you on his knees. You lean into his touch the moment his hand makes contact at your lower back, and he’s guiding your shirt off of you. He takes that same arm, wrapping it around your waist, and leans down to situate the crook of your knees over his other arm. He’s carrying you up higher to the center of the bed, completely removing any opportunity for a thought to run through that head of yours. He wants you focused on nothing but the way he’s going to make you feel.

Once you’re laying down on your back, he makes his way down, placing soft kisses on your belly and all over your thighs while he slides your bottoms down your legs. Once you’re completely bare, Joel situates himself in a way that he’s never done before. He lays next to you on his side, shoulder propping him up, so his hand is underneath your head and he’s still looking down at you. He grabs onto your thigh closest to him, and he hooks your leg atop of his, opening you up.

The level of intimacy and vulnerability of the way you two are positioned against one another has your mind reeling, absolutely aching to be consumed by him. Joel is always sweet and soft with you, but this is completely on another level. It doesn’t feel motivated by a feral need to rip each other apart. The motivation lies in the pure need to feel. To feel you against him, consumed in the entirety of love and raw emotion. To feel him against you, filling you with a genuine intimacy and devotion you both know only he can provide you.

He brings his other hand up to gently cradle your face, and he leans in to slot his lips against yours, his tongue running along your bottom lip, swallowing the faintest of whimpers that slip from your throat. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, keeping him close, deepening your dance of lip and tongue. His hand drifts away from your face and takes his time to grasp and show attention to the rest of your body.

He takes one of your breasts in his hand, massaging it with a care that causes your fingers to curl tighter in his hair. He shows the same attention to your other one, then flattens out his entire hand to run down your sternum and belly, positioning his hand on the pathway down for his middle and ring finger to be the first that make contact with your sex.

And when it does, neither of you can hold back the groan that leaves your mouths. He’s too enamored by you to let his lips leave yours, but you have a feeling your filthy-mouthed man would make a comment about how wet you are for him. You know you’re right when he completely bypasses your clit and down to your entrance, eager to get his fingers covered in you, so he can spread it all over you.

You pull away for a moment, both of you out of breath and pupils completely blown. “You see how good you make me feel, daddy?” His fingers reach your clit again. “I’m so fucking wet,” you moan out, “and it’s all because of you- all for you, daddy.”

“Baby, please,” he grits out, his fingers leaving your clit after a few more circles, dipping into your entrance with ease. “So fuckin’ good to me, but fuck, stop talking,” he breathes, hips involuntarily thrusting into you, “need you to soak my fingers first, amor.”

You shoot him a smile that gives him butterflies, and then you’re pulling him back in, needing to feel him everywhere he can possibly manage.

The pace of his fingers are perfect, constantly hitting the spot that’ll get you there in no time with the heated sensation of lips. His hand behind your head moves down and wraps underneath your waist, pulling you in flush with his body. He needs to feel every part of you. Your leg closest to him—the one hooked around his leg—comes off of him, and now you two are completely laying on your sides, facing each other.

His fingers leave you for a moment to hike your other leg up and around his waist, your pussy inches away from his center. His fingers find you once more, and the angle is impossibly deeper. You’re whining out now as you rock your hips against his hand. He knows you're close with the way your breath shakes. He reaches his thumb up to circle your clit, and you break away from his lips, throwing your head back at an instinct, exposing all your sweet spots for his mouth to reach. As his hands continue working you to the edge, he gives you the final push when he latches at the base of your neck where your shoulder meets, and he litters the area in wet kisses and painfully delicious bites.

Oh, fuck, daddy, yes,” you moan out, your vision going white and your body going rigid. Your climax hits you so hard that you don’t realize his fingers left you, your thighs still convulsing and hurtling you through your high. You can faintly hear Joel, muttering his sweet whispers, as he always does.

“Oh, fuck, that was so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”

“You’re beautiful, yanno that?”

“I love you, my pretty girl,” he places a kiss right atop your heart.

Still, your mind is floating somewhere in narnia, so he understands when you don’t reply right away. You’re not even completely back from your orgasmic haze when he pulls his boxers completely off, throwing them somewhere in the room, and his aching cock is resting against your core.

“Darlin’ girl,” he brings his hand up to guide your limpless head to look at him, “I need you to use your words f’ me, honey, please give me a color,” he says, the softest you have ever heard him.

You give him the smallest smile back, but it’s so full of love and admiration. You’re lightly nodding your head yes, trying to will your vocal cords to respond. “G-gre..” you let out.

He stops you with a kiss, “Okay, honey, okay, that’s all I needed,” and another kiss, “Can I give my baby what she so desperately wants now?”

The prospect of the sensation your body is about to go through because of him ignites a fire in you. It forces you to come back down from your haze, so you can register every second of him in his entirety. Your neck straightens and your eyes open fully, pupils blacker than he’s ever seen. “Yes, daddy, please give it to me,” you say with a neediness more than anything. His lip quirks up in a smirk. “What my baby wants, she gets,” and he’s pushing your hips into him as he pushes into you, his tip notching at your entrance. You hiss, reveling in the stretch he gives you regardless of how much he works you open.

There’s a stigma with Dominants that they are always so calm and collected, always composed and never in a state of neediness and desperation like their submissive counterparts. However, that’s simply not true. In every please, in every whimper, in every cry; in every orgasm, in every act of brattiness, in each use of the honorific; in every demonstration of pure submission: there is a Dominant, willing themself not to give in and give their partner everything they need. There is a Dominant about to break because one more plea from the submissive’s mouth has them ready and willing to forgo every single plan they had for that particular scene.

And that’s exactly what Joel does here. He had a plan for you, even after you used your yellow code, but with the way he’s wrapped around you tonight—you have the power. You’re calling the shots. He exists simply and solely for you and your pleasure. Nothing else matters.

He bottoms out, and both his arms are wrapped around your waist, both of you completely aligned with one another. “How do you want me, baby?”

“I don’t care,” your forehead falls into his, “I just need to feel you, please.”

With your words, he’s thrusting into you with a calculated intention. You needed to feel him, you said. So he pushes in not too fast but not too slow, and hard. He buries himself to the hilt every single time, and it’s like he put you in a trance. Your eyes softly shut, trying to stay open to look at him; your eyebrows are pulled together; and the only sounds falling from your mouth are moans and whimpers and sweet nothings only he’d be able to decipher with your babbling. You feel everything in this angle, with his rhythm. You feel every vein, every ridge, you feel his tip kissing every sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously stealing the oxygen from your lungs. He feels so fucking good. Your leg hooked around his waist squeezes tighter on instinct, and he groans at the feeling. Seeing you completely desperate and at his disposal nearly finishes him right then and there.

Your hand is at its usual spot for tonight, wrapped tightly in the curls at the base of his neck. You're meeting his thrusts now, and it heightens the sensation tenfold. Both your breaths are hot and heavy, mingling into the thick air of Joel’s bedroom. You’re nearly at the edge again, you both are, but you need a little more of a push. “Baby, t-touch me, please,” you say with more breath than your actual voice. He sounds absolutely pained, “I got’cha, baby, I got’cha.” His hand leaves your waist, the other tightening around you to compensate for its absence, and his fingers are back on your bundle of nerves, circling at the same rhythm that he’s pulling in and out of you.

A gasp leaves your throat, and every part of you that’s wrapped around him pulls him in impossibly tighter, “fuck, just like that, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you ramble on in an almost incoherent whine. You can feel your words and sounds spurring him on as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s close, too. Then it clicks, you realize what you meant earlier when you said you needed to feel him first.

His fingers speed up and so do his hips. “C’mon, darlin’, such a good fuckin’ girl, give it to me, soak my fuckin’ cock,” he grunts out, now chasing his own release.

Not stopping your movements, you unravel your arms from him and you push down on his chest, pushing him onto his back. You’re on top of him now, your movements only faltering momentarily as you situated yourself to straddle him. You grab both his arms, the one working your clit and the other on your waist, and you bring them up above his head. You pin them there with your own hand, your body leaning over him and adding to the momentum as you bounce on him. “No,” you say, almost a growl, “Need you inside me first,” sucking his bottom lip.

He fucking whines. “Need you inside me first, then I’ll give you what you’re looking for.” You switch off into a grind of your hips, moving back and forth as the feel of his pubic hairs rub against your clit causing your pussy to flutter on him. He feels it and his hands flex to move from your grip. Your hold on him tightens. You have the power. You lean down, licking a pathway up his neck and making your way near his ear. You whisper, “Stuff me full of you, daddy, and I’ll fucking soak you, I promise.”

“Fuck!” He growls as your hips speed up, and now he’s the one seeing stars. His face and neck flush into a bright red as he floods you with his release. And as if right on queue, the warmth and the feeling of him in you and seeping out of you is what finishes you. The constant stimulation on your clit from his pubic bone along with the angle his dick continues to prod at, you’re creaming and soaking him, just like he wanted. His thighs and even the area below his belly are drenched with the mixture of your guys’ fluids, and he can’t help but gawk at the scene before him.

You are completely surrounded by the product of your two’s arousal (plus a bit of blood, but he doesn’t care), you continuing slow grinds as you work yourself through your orgasm, and the way that your head is thrown back in pure bliss—he’s entranced by it all. His cock is nearing the line of painful overstimulation with you still on him, but he really can’t find himself caring enough to get your attention.

He thought he would never be into giving up his dominance, his yearn for control. But now that you’ve given him a taste at what you’re capable of, fuck, he feels downright insane if he didn’t want more of it.

You realize he may not be used to the oversensitivity as much as you may be trained for, so you bring yourself to a halt and slowly slip off of him. You bring your eyes to meet his, and you can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth, seeing the goofy, blissed out grin on his face as he looks at you. You lean towards his head and give him a sweet kiss to his lips and his nose, and you softly tell him that you’ll be right back but to stay here with a slightly more demanding tone.

You quickly go pee in his en suite bathroom and wipe your bottom half down. You grab a pair of his boxers he leaves for emergencies under the sink (you let out a little chuckle at the fact), and grab a pad from the box he also leaves under the sink, for you, and stick it onto his underwear before shimmying it up on you. You grab another washcloth and soak it in warm water and walk back to the bed. You sit yourself up next to him and start wiping him down. As soon as you finish, you try your best and throw the washcloth, aiming for the sink of the bathroom, but you fail, miserably. It lands with a wet plop on the side of the toilet, centimeters away from landing in the toilet’s bowl. “Eh, that’s good enough,” you say to no one in particular as you nudge him to bring his hips up so you can take the towel out that he placed earlier to catch any of your blood drippings. You place it in the hamper, then you bring yourself to lay back down, cuddling into Joel.

He turns so you both are facing each other again. His head propped up on his hand. His other hand runs up and down everywhere he can reach.

“W-was what I did at the end there… was that okay?” you ask meekly as you slowly bring your eyes up to his.

He lets out a hearty laugh, shoulders shaking. You weren’t expecting that kind of reaction. “Honestly,” he says as his fingers come to a stop and he just lets his arm wrap around you lazily. “I was really shocked when you flipped me over, but then,” he pauses for a second. Really just to spur you on more than anything. “I was so fuckin’ turned on and achin’ for you. I’d just about let you do anythin’ to me if you treat me like that, darlin’,” he says as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips.

He pulls back and your gaze is away from him and your cheeks are as red as he was earlier. A shy smile paints your face. He brings his fingers up to your chin, “Oh, come on now, no point in gettin’ all shy on me now is there, my dirty girl?”

You give him the best reprimanding face you can muster (which he finds beyond adorable), and you parrot a common phrase he uses with you when you’re a brat, “Watch it, big boy.”

He laughs at your antics, but you see his cock twitch at the pet name. Your eyebrows shoot up. “Joel!” you say, actually reprimanding him this time, but you genuinely don’t know what for.

His hand shoots to cover his mouth, an attempt at stopping his burst of laughter at your reaction. He lets go of his mouth after a moment and pulls you closer to him. He places kisses all over your face while you both giggle and let yourselves fall from your high together.

He abruptly stops his kisses to look at you. He doesn’t say a word. “Yes?” you ask, curious of that mind of his.

“Ya know how much I love you, right?” he asks, genuinely.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good hint, baby.”

“Good,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“And I love you so much, you do know that, right?” you offer as you bury yourself into his chest, inhaling his musk mingled the faint aroma of you.

He repeats your response back to you. You smile in his chest. It’s you who places a kiss atop his heart this time.

You both stay wrapped up in each other for a few more hours before your tummy begins yelling at you for sustenance. Though, until that happens, you two lie in each other’s arms, wondering what you did to deserve such an all-consuming, raw and genuine love.

Your mother was right. You really were the brightest flower in the garden, and it was all because of your big, macho man, who was actually as soft and cuddly as the clouds that bring water for the garden. Ever since he entered your life, he made sure those clouds poured all their attention on you. Giving you all the water and nutrients, all the love and care that you would ever need.

Forever.

End note: Thank you so much for reading! As always, your support is always always appreciated. There's no amount of words to describe how grateful I am for how much love I receive from you all. You're all too amazing. Feedback is also greatly appreciated, whether it's praise or constructive! Anything and everything helps me to be the best writer I can be. I love you all so very much💚💚💚

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justlemmeadoreyou · 10 days

Text

2. the offer (restaurant owner!harry x chef!y/n)

(part 1 here)

summary: as you settle into the grueling routine at Haus, you find yourself seeking out any moment of praise or feedback from harry. you two develop an understanding, but it's still hard to focus when he's being...him. safe to say, it ends contrary to what you would have done if you were still the 16-year old smitten fangirl.

words: 5k

warnings: flirtations, some inappropriate behaviour, cursing

finally managed to use this pic in a fic!

***

"Keep your eyes on your own work, newbie!" Thomason's gruff yell made you jump, nearly burning your knuckles on the hot grill.

You whipped your head around guiltily to see the grumpy head chef scowling at you from across the kitchen line. His eyes followed your sheepish gaze to where you had been not-so-secretly watching Harry chatting easily with the maître d' by the kitchen's swing doors.

Feeling your cheeks get hot, you stammered an apology to Thomason before fully focusing on the sizzling food under your tongs. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the burly man roll his eyes in disgust before barking at someone else down the line.

Ever since that surprisingly nice interaction with Harry a few nights ago, you found your wandering thoughts kept getting...preoccupied whenever you had a free moment. You hated to admit it, but some unprofessional part of you kept replaying his words praising your potential while those kaleidoscope green eyes held your gaze with seeming sincerity.

Just remembering the slight rasp of his voice was enough to give you butterflies in your stomach anytime Harry was nearby. You tried to push those feelings down with shame, scolding yourself for entertaining even a hint of inappropriate conduct.

This was your dream job, your long-awaited chance to finally prove yourself in a real professional kitchen. Getting distracted by your silly childhood crush could derail everything you'd worked so hard for.

But despite your internal pep talks, you couldn't quite shake the electrifying tingles that spread through your body whenever Harry was within fifteen feet of you. As embarrassing as it was to admit, just his nearness alone was enough to make you flustered.

You blinked hard and refocused with renewed determination on assembling the line of beautifully seared steaks. Keep your head down, you firmly reminded yourself. Don't mess this up over some silly fantasies about your boss!

As if testing your resolve, you looked up from garnishing the plates to see Harry striding through the pass, easy grin in place. He opened his mouth to speak to one of the sauce cooks but seemed to notice you watching. His lips curved a bit smugger as his jade eyes met yours from across the sizzling line.

With a subtle but obvious look up and down your body, Harry winked before turning to murmur his instructions. Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as an unexpected spike of nerves shot through you.

Was...was Harry actually flirting with you? Or had you just been so obviously drooling over him that he was amused to throw you a bone? Your face burned as you ruthlessly shook the thoughts away.

In any case, this was no time for getting flustered - the height of Friday night dinner service was upon you. With sheer willpower, you blocked out everything except perfectly executing each plate and order. Harry Styles was now off-limits in your mind.

Until, that is, you heard Thomason's gravelly shout over the din: "Styles! We need you over here!"

You risked a quick glance to see the head chef gesturing for Harry's attention from across the kitchen. With one last considering look in your direction, Harry sauntered over to join Thomason at the expo station just as the evening's first orders began flying in.

You watched, trying to be subtle, as Harry fell effortlessly into the choreographed rush. He moved with an easy confidence as he inspected each dish, adding a sauce here, delicately plating a garnish there. His broad shoulders flexed under his snug black t-shirt as he reached over cooks, communicating with nudges and gestures.

This kitchen was clearly his domain; Harry commanded the space with the born ease of a natural leader. You stared, captivated by the smooth fluidity of his motions, the barely contained power in his lean, tall frame. It was mesmerizing watching him work like a master conductor.

Without seeming to think about it, Harry's brow would furrow in concentration whenever a plate arrived at his station. His gaze would rove over each element, those full pink lips pursing as he scrutinized the arrangement intensely. There was something utterly gripping about watching him wield that intense focus on each dish, his large hands deft and precise.

Your mouth went dry as you caught the shift of taut forearm muscles beneath tanned skin as Harry wiped an artistic streak of sauce. He gave a curt nod to Thomason, his chiseled jawline tightening in approval.

You realized this raw charisma and talent was putting on an entrancing performance for you...almost like a private show if you let your thoughts wander inappropriately. Smacking your forehead sharply, you earned a concerned side-eye from a nearby cook. Yanking yourself back to the present, you redoubled your focus on the tickets before you. No more watching Harry, not when you couldn't afford a single mistake.

Despite your best efforts, the rest of the evening flew by in a blur. You cooked and plated automatically with precision...yet couldn't stop tracking Harry in your peripheral vision.

You saw him ducking out to handle a special order, then return with a rare olive oil for a dish alteration. You watched him joking with the bread server before snatching a buttery roll to taste the fresh bake. No matter where you turned, Harry always seemed to orbit nearby, that addictive charisma and easy grace undercutting your indifference attempts.

By the time Thomason finally called for station breakdown, your knees wobbled from the marathon stress combined with subtle Harry overload. You couldn't even feel good about handling such intensity because you were so emotionally drained.

As the crew began the process of cleaning and sanitizing, you heard a polite throat clearing behind you. You turned, already flushing, to find Harry watching you with an unreadable expression.

"Uh, hey," you croaked, shocked at your own cracking confidence around him. Harry arched one perfect brow but said nothing, seemingly waiting for you to gather yourself.

You swallowed hard before trying again. "Was...was there something you needed, Harry? I'm just about to start shutting everything down."

A slow grin spread across his lips as his eyes crinkled at the corners. For a strangely open moment, you felt like you could see straight into Harry's core - the intelligence and intensity normally hidden behind his lazy facade.

"You did brilliant tonight, you know?" he murmured, looking you up and down consideringly. "Thomason worked you hard, we all did - but you kept steady through the chaos no matter what."

Your stomach clenched with surprise at his open praise, tingling warmth blossoming outwards.

"O-oh. Um, thank you?" You winced at how flustered and uncertain you sounded.

But Harry's smile only deepened as he took an unhurried step towards you, decreasing the distance to mere inches. You could now catch the woodsy, leathery notes of his cologne taunting your senses.

"Nothing uncertain about it," he murmured, voice lowering an octave. His eyes traveled over your face before lingering on your chest. You felt unable to breathe under that smoldering gaze. "You're really getting the hang of this kitchen, aren't you?"

Despite your racing pulse, you bristled slightly at the implication. "Well, I still have a long way to go to be the cook you and Thomason are."

Those full lips curved at one corner. "True - but we both see the potential there, don't we?" Harry's voice had taken on a low, gravelly timbre that made something in your belly stir.

He took another casual step forward, crowding you back until the counter dug into your thighs. This close, you could see the gold and amber flecks in his green irises, feel the clean warmth of his body heat between you.

"You've got a long road ahead," he continued, so close now his words rasped against the side of your neck. "But I'd be lying if I said I haven't noticed how quickly you're accelerating."

The way he said that last word made you shiver despite the kitchen's heat. Harry's gaze dipped to your parted lips, then flicked back up, intense.

"Tell me," he said in that same rumbling baritone. "Would you be open to my...personal mentorship? I could help get you up to speed even faster."

His meaning slammed into you like a shove. Was Harry...propositioning you? In an utterly inappropriate way that could get you fired?

Heart pounding, you could only gape at him, at a total loss. Part of you screamed at how wildly wrong this was, how you needed to shut it down immediately. This was your celebrity chef boss, for God's sake!

And yet, another part of you was utterly enthralled by the clear want in Harry's gaze, the visceral attraction crackling between you. All you'd need is to give a single nod and you could potentially experience pleasures you'd only fantasized about with one of the world's most desirable men...

Harry must have seen the conflict on your face because his lips twitched in a knowing smirk. Another half step forward brought your bodies almost flush, the hard planes of his chest brushing against your soft curves through his thin t-shirt. Your breath caught at the heated friction.

"Tell you what," Harry purred, his voice thick with suggestion. "Take a nice, hot shower after your shift tonight. Really think over my offer while you're alone."

With a searing look that felt X-rated, Harry reluctantly leaned back, restoring a sliver of propriety between you. Still, he held your heated stare as he reached out with one large hand and trailed his fingertips feather-light down your flushed cheek.

The barely-there caress sparked tingles everywhere. Your lips parted helplessly on a silent gasp as every nerve ending in your body felt sensitive.

A devilish glint sparked in Harry's eyes at your reaction. With a final wink, he turned to saunter off through the kitchen doors. You watched him go in a stupefied daze, unable to process anything beyond the strong throb now pulsing between your thighs.

What...had just happened? Your brain whirred trying to comprehend what precipitated that completely unprofessional come-on. Had you unconsciously encouraged Harry's advances somehow? Led him to believe you were open to that kind of...inappropriate relationship?

The mere thought of anyone perceiving you as willing to use your sexuality to get ahead made your stomach churn with shame. You had worked too damn hard to get here - you wouldn't risk tanking it all for some secret fling!

Yet a tiny part of you couldn't stop replaying Harry's scent, the timbre of his voice calling you "pet"...the unmistakable promise of illicit thrills in his heated gaze. You gave yourself a harsh internal shake, appalled that you could be so quickly led astray by such baseless temptation.

Steadying your breathing, you forced yourself to refocus on meticulously cleaning your station. One step at a time, that was all you could think about. Allow yourself to get distracted by Harry's appeal and you were doomed.

Though it took every ounce of willpower, you managed to lose yourself in the monotony of scrubbing and sanitizing. The rhythmic motions gradually purged those unwelcome jolts of arousal, until you felt more like yourself again.

Some twisted part of you couldn't resist a bitter laugh. As if Harry Styles, world-famous millionaire, would ever seriously pursue someone like you. No, whatever sparked that bold flirtation, it was undoubtedly just him amusing himself by yanking your chain hard.

Shaking your head disgustedly, you stacked your clean pans. This kind of negative self-talk was just as unproductive as indulging fantasies. Squaring your shoulders, you decided to follow Harry's advice - a hot shower was wise after a shift like tonight, then straight to bed.

Tomorrow was a new day to refocus and earn your place, plain and simple. As you hung up your apron, you resolved to greet Harry with a clear head, a smile, and firm professional boundaries from now on. Time to nip this nonsense.

Unfortunately, maintaining those boundaries proved far easier said than done. Over the next couple weeks, it seemed like Harry launched a campaign to slowly chip away at your sense of propriety.

It was like a game, seeing how far he could push before you combusted. Every time you'd settle back into your usual groove, Harry would level you with flirtatious comments.

Like when you restocked the walk-in shelves, so focused you didn't hear the door open behind you. The first hint of no longer being alone was the heat of Harry's chest against your back, molding from shoulder to hip.

His raspy exhale ghosted your neck as he purred, "Need any...extra hands to reach those hard-to-reach places, love?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the suggestive comment. Whirling around, you found yourself centimeters from his chiseled jaw, close enough to feel his amused chuckle.

He took a single step back, eyes shamelessly roving over your body before meeting your gaze, one eyebrow arched invitingly. You could only gape, robbed of coherent thoughts.

"I-I didn't hear you come in," you eventually stammered, trying in vain to will your blush away.

Harry simply tipped you a wink before squeezing past you through the narrow opening, his body dragging against yours with every micro-movement. By the time he sauntered out whistling, you were gripping the shelves to keep upright.

It wasn't just the innuendos and lingering looks Harry leveled at you that made you feel like you were losing it. He'd instigate small, casual intimacies while you worked, completely eroding your focus.

Like when you labored over a roulade during prep, Harry hovered at your shoulder to murmur appreciated groans about "how good you are at working that lengthy meat with your bare hands."

You froze, blood rushing to your cheeks as Harry's heated gaze bore into you. His lips twitched as he deliberately looked you up and down, taking in your flushed throat.

"Among other things," he added in a tone dripping with innuendo, making you nearly drop the roulade. Harry threw you a scorching look before sauntering off, leaving you flustered.

Another time, you garnished a plate when you felt Harry's hard body press against your back. His large hands caged you in as he leaned down. You froze, breath catching, as his nose skimmed along your neck to the soft spot beneath your ear.

"Mmm, you smell delicious," Harry rumbled, his gravelly voice sparking tingles everywhere his warm breath hit. "I could just eat you up, petal."

You barely suppressed a whimper at the heated promise in his tone, squeezing your thighs together as arousal flooded you. Harry chuckled low, leaving you feverish and shaky after brushing his lips along your ear.

Moments like these rapidly became the norm - heated glances, suggestive remarks laced with innuendo, lingering casual touches far past professional boundaries. It left you feeling unmoored and disoriented, certain the prize was something deliriously illicit.

You tried to shut it down at first, offering polite reminders about conduct. But Harry only grinned, as if you barely registered. "Relax, love. Harmless flirting between coworkers never hurt anyone."

As the incidents persisted, your token protests grew weaker. Though you refused to admit it, some part of you began craving Harry's heated focus and suggestive teasing like an addiction.

He always paid you those inappropriate compliments while deeply engrossed in showpiece cooking. As if he derived pleasure from flustering you amid such intense artistry.

Truthfully, it did add an undercurrent of charged tension to mundane tasks - feeling Harry's eyes tracking your hands as you worked, knowing he was eye-undressing you. Though you refused to meet his gaze, a delicious shiver inevitably rippled through you.

He'd hover nearby with a murmured narration: "Oh yeah, petal...use both hands to really get a good grip on that shaft...fucking gorgeous watching you stroke it like that..."

No matter how disciplined you tried to be, Harry's sly innuendo always made your mind race with X-rated visuals of intimacy. You'd bite your cheek to keep from whimpering, consumed by arousal and shame equally.

By the time work ended each night, you felt punch-drunk and disoriented, like you'd run an erotic marathon. More than once, Harry would further mercilessly bait you in those vulnerable moments.

"You look thoroughly debauched, petal," he'd purr, eyes burning into yours before dragging down your sweat-dampened form. "Care to skip the hot shower and come home with me instead? I'll give those talented hands a real workout..."

You swore Harry could make any phrase sound filthy. On too many nights, you fled to your car - face flushed, breath uneven, core throbbing - envisioning how those invitations might unfold.

In quieter moments, bitter self-recrimination was your companion. How had you let yourself become such a pathetic, distracted mess over meaningless flirting? No matter how heated Harry's stares felt, he was your famous boss while you were nobody.

Your entire career and reputation rested on maintaining a strict professional boundary, no matter how electrifying and tempting your boss's overt sexuality. You resolved on more than one drive home to simply start shutting things completely down as soon as inappropriate comments began, no matter how intoxicating they felt.

Sadly, as soon as you stepped back into the thick of Harry's potent charisma and sensual magnetic field, your willpower tended to erode embarrassingly fast.

One morning during a high-stress meal prep, you trudged towards the walk-in in search of more chives. Harry looked up sharply from his sauce station as you passed his station and snagged your wrist to halt you. The unexpected gesture made you jump, and you whirled to find his eyes already roving hungrily over you.

"Wait," he rumbled, not bothering with any professionalism as his heated stare settled on your lips. Before you could question him, Harry tugged you flush against the long hard planes of his body, caging you against his workstation with his pelvis slotted snugly between your thighs.

The sheer eroticism of that ardent man-handling and friction punched the breath from your lungs. You could only stare up at Harry with wide, lust-blown eyes, momentarily bemused into stillness as his forearm came to rest beside your head, his deliciously musky sandalwood scent surrounding you in an intoxicating cloud.

"You've got a smear of sauce right..." Harry breathed against your mouth, so close now you could taste the earthy spice on his warm breath. His free hand came up to cup your jaw tenderly, rough thumb swiping out to trace the seam of your parted lips. "Here."

Your chest heaved against his in tiny, panting gasps. Any remaining illusion of boundary, lay in crumbling ruins around your feet. There was no mistaking Harry's seduction for mere playful teasing at this proximity, and indecency.

This was him finally making his play, naked want and desire radiating off his tall frame in scorching waves as his searing gaze clung to your mouth. Every ounce of blood in your body rushed straight between your thighs in anticipation.

You remained utterly motionless, rendered speechless and hyper-focused entirely on the sizzling feedback of sensation Harry's proximity inspired. He was absolutely everywhere - the heat of his body seeping under your skin, the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his chest brushing against yours, the gravelly white noise of his ragged breathing surrounding your senses.

Every rational thought in your mind screamed at you to gather some shred of control and push him away, firmly shut this down before it escalated further than you could ever recover from. But you remained frozen in place, utterly possessed by the intoxicating anticipation of what those plump, virile lips would feel like finally slanting over your own.

Just as your last vestiges of propriety and worry threatened to shatter, a ringing clatter of trays against metal echoed in the hallway. Both of you jumped as if electrocuted, the tension between your pressed bodies dissipating in an instant as reality came crashing back. You stumbled backwards, putting several feet between you, just as one of the prep cooks rounded the corner lugging a heavy trolley.

Harry cleared his throat roughly and shifted to put more workspace between you, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. The aborted moment seemed to penetrate the fog of arousal, harsh light returning to his dilated emerald eyes as they flickered across you. You wrapped your arms around your midsection defensively, suddenly feeling small and skittish under the weight of his palpable discomfort.

The prep cook sailed by with a polite nod, oblivious to the fraught tableau he'd interrupted. As soon as he rounded the corner again, Harry shook his head and grasped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing his eyes shut in clear frustration.

You watched with bated breath, anxiety coiled in your belly, as he seemed to wrestle with some internal dilemma. When Harry finally opened his eyes again, the naked hunger that had consumed him only moments ago was carefully veiled once more behind that affable, dimpled mask.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, more to himself than you. Straightening, Harry met your uncertain gaze head-on, his own shuttered and inscrutable. "That was...completely out of line. Unprofessional of me."

Your heart stammered in your chest at the curt dismissal, warm arousal rapidly cooling into brittle rejection. Of course this had all been a mere game to Harry, one he lost interest in as soon as the threat of consequences loomed. You were such a fool to have let yourself get caught up in the fantasy.

Fighting to keep your expression neutral, you gave a small, tight nod. "It's alright, Harry. I understand. We got...carried away there for a moment." The flimsy excuse felt pathetic even to your own ears, but you pressed on. "It won't happen again, I can assure you."

Something flickered behind Harry's gaze at your reassurance, though you couldn't parse its meaning. He maintained the weighted silence for a heavy pause before finally replying.

"See that it doesn't," he replied evenly, a subtle edge to his deep timbre. "We're professionals in a workplace, after all. No matter what harmless games we play at, I'd hate to see you get...distracted from your goals here, petal."

You flinched at the petname, once again. Color bloomed hot across your cheeks at the insinuation that you would be the one unable to draw the line between flirtation and flat-out unprofessional conduct.

Disappointment and shame swirled sickeningly in your gut alongside lingering arousal. Before you could formulate a response, Thomason's bellow echoed across the kitchen, shockingly close. "Oi! Either get back to your stations or take the grope fest to the alley already! Some of us got shit to do today!"

If you thought you were flushed before, it was nothing compared to the full-body conflagration sparked by the head chef's words. You opened and closed your mouth soundlessly, utterly mortified at being caught out in such compromising circumstances, as Thomason stomped closer into view with a disgusted scowl.

"What the fuck are you two playing at, huh?" he demanded gruffly, stabbing an accusatory finger first at you then Harry. "Styles, I expected this kind of shitty lack of focus from a prima donna rock star jackass - but you?" He swung his narrowed glare your way, making you shrink back involuntarily. "If you want to keep getting world-class knowledge dropped on your dumb ass, try keeping it in your goddamn pants around the maestro for five fucking minutes!"

If possible, your flush deepened even further at his harsh reprimand. Shame roiled nauseously as you struggled to meet Thomason's furious glare, much less Harry's eerily impassive one. This was it, the humiliating moment you'd been dreading - getting outed as just another silly starstruck girl unable to rein in inappropriate impulses around her famous boss.

Just as you began mentally drafting your letter of resignation, Harry finally broke the tension by letting out a low chuckle. You shot him an incredulous glance, but he simply shook his head, dimples creasing his cheeks ruefully. Raising placating hands, he turned to the seething Thomason with an engaging grin.

"Easy there, Paulie. No need to get your apron twisted, nothing skeevy going on here I assure you." Dropping one hand to your shoulder, Harry gave it a firm squeeze, muscles in his bicep flexing enticingly. "Our young prodigy and I were just engaged in a bit of innocent culinary mentorship. You know how hands-on and intense those private tutorials can get."

His lascivious emphasis made it clear there was nothing 'innocent' about the nature of contact you'd nearly devolved into. But Thomason seemed to relax marginally all the same, giving a grunt of grudging acceptance.

"Fine, but keep your dick out of the dough while you're on my clock, capisce?" he growled at Harry, ignoring your scandalized gasp as he turned on his heel to stomp away. "Christ, I feel like I'm running a fucking fry shack instead of a Michelin kitchen..."

You watched his retreating back, utterly stunned into speechlessness by the unbelievable turn of events. Was...that seriously it? Harry had just implicitly outed your unprofessional indiscretion, and the consequences amounted to mild ribbing and a halfhearted reprimand?

Slowly, you pivoted to face Harry once more, utterly at a loss. His hand was still a scorching brand on the cool exposed skin of your shoulder, eyes glinting with that same indefinable mischief you'd witnessed him deploying to charm countless others.

As if sensing where your thoughts were headed, Harry quirked a knowing smile before finally withdrawing his touch. "Don't look so stricken, love. Paulie likes to play the crusty hardass, but far as he's concerned - as long as the work gets done right, whatever happens off the clock is nobody's business but our own."

His emphasis on those last few words rang with clear unspoken suggestion. But unlike before, you felt firmly centered in yourself enough to shake off any arousal. Lifting your chin defiantly to meet his smoldering gaze, you replied in a low, measured tone:

"Then with all due respect, Harry...I believe I'll pass."

For the first time all evening, the suave restaurateur looked briefly taken aback. You refused to let the flicker of uncertainty show as you pressed on, keeping your voice carefully modulated.

"I've put in far too much time and hard work getting here to jeopardize it all over some...tawdry infatuation. So while I'm flattered by the attention, and your willingness to keep things discreet, I have to draw the line at anything more than a professional mentorship."

Harry's eyes narrowed fractionally, clearly unaccustomed to such outright rejection. You refused to quail, squaring your shoulders as you laid it all on the table.

"My dreams are bigger than being another disposable conquest for my famous boss to slum with in secret. If you can't see me as more than that...well then, I wish you the very best. But our relationship can only be strictly chef-to-chef from here on out."

You paused to let the weight of your impassioned words hang between you, searching Harry's expression for any flicker of reaction. For several tense moments, the only sounds were the distant murmurings of kitchen noises and your own thundering pulse.

Then, as if an invisible switch clicked, Harry's stony demeanour melted away - replaced by a look of grudging amusement and what could only be begrudging respect. The familiar dimples you adored so much reappeared as his lips curved into a wry half-smile.

"I see," he replied at last, voice low and considering. "Well then. If those are your terms, I can hardly expect any less from such an admirably principled young chef, can I?"

Another beat passed between you, the tension slowly bleeding out to be replaced with the subtlest charge of intrigue. Harry's emerald gaze roamed over you in a way that felt far more evaluative than outright sensual before he spoke again.

"Very well then. A professional mentorship it shall be, with all the rigor and boundaries that implies. But make no mistake..." Here his lips stretched into a lopsided smirk that somehow felt both conspiratorial and vaguely provocative. "I expect you to rise to every challenge and be an exceptionally eager pupil, my dear."

You couldn't quite suppress the shiver that rippled through you at his lilting promise, despite your best efforts. If anything, the glint in Harry's eye only sharpened at your reaction, his grin taking on a hint of satisfaction.

Wanting to flee the weighted tension before it could reset that dangerous gravitational pull between you, you quickly gave a curt nod before turning on your heel to walk away. "Then we have an understanding. I won't let you down, Chef.”

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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mysticmunson · 1 year

Text

between four walls (e.m.)

a/o/b: alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader

summary: when you disappear from school for a few days, eddie is a bit bewildered, until he has a sneaking suspicion.

warning: a/o/b, smut, language

an: hi friends, thank you so much for another follower milestone! i asked what you would like next and this won! i've been working on a/o/b fics off and on for a few months, i think its very fun so feel free to message me ideas about them for blurbs! all my love. xx elora.

The sticky air of Hawkins, Indiana made Eddie’s slovenly curls cling to his neck, likely getting tangled in his beaded, silver chain as his sneakers padded across the rubble. The last place he wanted to be was in Hawkins High, the fluorescent lights bouncing off the cream walls too poignantly and banners announcing peer events.

He had always had a distaste for conformity, but after presenting as an Alpha, he clandestinely craved a sense of ordinariness. His toes pressed against the tip of his sneakers, his favorite leather jacket felt tighter, and his skin felt like the fizz on a freshly opened Coca-Cola. Sensations fluctuate depending on the day with his body attempting to steady itself as his mind tries to comprehend his new demeanor.

While every day had been weird since that fateful day last month, his friends tried to maintain normality by focusing on Hellfire or acknowledging how his buff physique made him look menacing, but things had been slightly off with you.

Every day you sat beside Eddie, even if he assured he wouldn’t be upset if you decided to relocate to avoid the relentless teasing he faced, but you stayed. After years of friendship, you chose to ignore any conflicted gazes, opting to enjoy your company. With satin ribbons in your hair, flowy, floral dresses that rest just above your knees, and your soft skin that always smelled like vanilla from your tube of hand lotion, he felt protective over you.

So when you moved from his left to the very end of the table, each inch felt like miles, cursing himself for feeling so intensely. Always admiring your beauty from a respectful distance, he adamantly maintained the friendship boundary, learning the line and fighting to take a step over.

As he sat in his math class, he awaited your arrival to your assigned seat at the second row of wooden desks, but the bell rang and it remained empty. This was the third day in a row, the first time you had even missed a full day, always finding some hidden strength to persevere through most of the school day. Hell, you often grilled Eddie on his lack of punctuality when it came to his education.

The hairs on his arms stood up, his foot tapping relentlessly against the freshly waxed tile below, trying to rationalize your behavior and disappearance. Plucking the loose threads on his ripped jeans, he couldn’t bother to even think of equations.

Your lack of communication had him on high alert, resisting the urge to confront you in fear of scaring you. He didn’t feel a need to worry about it until he presented, his voice dropped a tad lower, his facial hair growing faster which left him with consistent stubble, and his eyes felt sharper despite their baby-like softness.

As class ended with Eddie not retaining a word of information, he looked at the double doors sending sunlight through, thinking how easy it would be to drive to your house and find out what was wrong. Why you hadn’t been answering his calls, why you weren’t at school, and why you even missed Hellfire. Granted, you didn’t know much about Dungeons and Dragons and usually just sat and watched, it felt peculiar to see your chair empty.

Meanwhile in a quiet house at the curve of a cul de sac, you laid in bed wearing a shirt a size too big and underwear, leaving your mouth open to breathe. The fever encompassing your body added to your discomfort, tears selvage as your tired eyes stare at the wall, hoping that you would be back to normal soon.

Initially convinced it was a stomach ache, an awful flu that had you withering away in your bed, flustered as could be with clammy hands. But your gut wasn’t repulsed, it was the opposite, despite your body feeling like it was on fire as you laid in your bed, alone.

It had been two miserable days since you presented as an omega, leaving you stranded with nothing to assist yourself. The clock only seemed to be moving slower as you could barely sleep without finding yourself in the depths of another dream, a dream of him.

“I’m glad we checked on you, you look like hell.” Robin joked, walking through your bedroom door with Nancy right behind. Even in your delirious state, you knew they typically didn’t hang out together, furrowing your brows.

“Steve’s in the car waiting,” Nancy responded to your voiceless query, reaching her hand up to your forehead with a frown. “Shit, you’re burning up, have you gone to a doctor?”

You shook your head, burrowing half of your face into your pillow with a deflated sigh, “I feel like shit and my stomach hurts, but not in a bad way, but so much that it is painful?” You stuttered in confusion, eyes hazy and unfocused.

Robin fiddled with the various knick knacks in your room, lifting a pair of earrings to her in the mirror. Nancy stood back, looking at you with a thoughtful expression, rubbing her chin almost comically.

“I also just want to call Eddie, but I keep feeling like I’m going to cry if I do. I talk to him everyday! It’s not my period either, I don’t know what's happening!” You exasperated, clenching your sheets closer to your chest as Nancy’s features clenched, sitting on the corner of your bed.

Eddie had been your best friend for years and your longing crush for most of them. Conversations on the phone were routine for you, usually playfully arguing about something meaningless or watching a tv show while giving commentary.

“Sounds like you're presenting, dude.” Robin laughed, turning around, only to be met with your fear filled face and Nancy’s “Did you seriously just say that?” expression that Robin had experienced frequently.

With your parents being an alpha and omega duo, the chances they gave birth to one was highly likely, it was something you had expected. The days prior had left you anxious and exhausted, believing it just to be school related and nothing to note.

“What?” You mumbled, sitting up, breath picking up as tears welled up, “Eddie’s an alpha, right? Oh my God!”

“Hey, hey! Calm down, you’re fine.” Nancy assured, pushing your shoulder gently back, looking at Robin for some form of support.

“I just want Eddie, but I-” You whimpered, hands coming up to your face before a random flannel was thrown at you from Robin.

His flannel.

His fucking red and black flannel he had accidentally left last weekend, you could’ve cried when you smelt it, the pain intensifying, but also blooming peace.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now.” Nancy stroked your hair, even her heart breaking a bit at your muffled sadness. “Just try to relax, drink some water, and distract yourself. Okay?” You nodded, thanking them through the fabric in front of your face.

As the girls trudged down the stairs, Robin looked at Nancy with a bewildered face, the front door closing behind them.

“We should tell Eddie! Apparently it’s fucking brutal the first time around!” She kept her tone hushed, Nancy sighing as she looked at the grass beneath our feet.

“She’s had a crush on him for years, Rob. What if something happens and it ruins their friendship? We have to let nature run its course. If she calls him, so be it, but we can’t be the ones to make that call.” Nancy sighed, opening Steve’s back seat door and piling in, Robin filing in the front.

The days for you were fairly torturous, only comforted by the smokey scent of the old flannel and the fantasies you entertained. Your mind began to run as you envisioned Eddie in all his alpha glory, which you hadn’t had the honor of seeing since he immediately goes into hiding when his rut hits.

His broad shoulders, firm grip that is free of rings since his hands swell, his plush lips cascading down your frame. The thought alone made you whimper, opening your eyes to glance at your pink phone, your shaking hands not even able to spin the dial. Your wooden bedside table felt miles away as you stared at it, tears pooling in your eyes at your helplessness.

Part of you hoped he noticed your exodus while the other hoped things would go completely back to normal when you returned. The concept was naive, knowing there was no way you would be able to go back to a regular friendship with him, a thought that plagued you as soon as he returned to school after his first rut.

The front doors of the school couldn’t open quick enough, having not spent a week apart throughout your whole friendship. Even when your family would go out of town, you would call and talk on the phone as if he were right in front of you.

His shoes squeaked against the freshly waxed tile of Ms. Green’s history class, Eddie strolling to his assigned seat towards the front. His chest was broader, thighs a bit thicker, and his face had a certain maturity that you didn’t recall. He turned over his shoulder, ignoring the stares from everyone else and locking eye contact with you, giving you a grin that you exchanged.

When you walked out of class, he yanked you into a hug playfully, laughing in a huskier tone. For a moment you felt dizzy, shaking your head and pushing the unwarranted anxiety to the side. He was your best friend who you had seen shitfaced, crying at romcoms, and shared his bed when you didn’t want to go home.

Things felt different though, never having been friends with an Alpha made everything novice. Each interaction with him made you shiver, feeling light headed with a subtle pain in your abdomen. So you forced space between you, keeping conversation to a minimum and avoiding him if possible. You assumed the pain would subside after a few days, but every time you tried to inch closer, it came crawling back.

In the solitude of your bedroom, your mind drifted to Eddie, starting with the curiosity of where he was or who he was with. Then the thought of him with someone to help him through his rut crept in, bringing a wave of sadness with it. Your feelings for Eddie were prominent for a long time, but you feared losing your best friend, choosing to have him as a pal than not at all.

You thought of him buffing up even more than when he was at school, remembering when you felt his crotch pressed against you when he scooted past, the prominent bulge gathering your attention. Envisioning the chance to touch him made your mouth water, trembling in your pajamas at the thought of his arms holding you and pressing his chest against yours. The way his dick wouldn’t fit your hand, having to use both to fully wrap around it and pleasing him.

The idea anyone else did it made you feel sick, grabbing his sweatshirt he left over once and inhaling the scent. The seemingly innocent action made you feel like a pervert as his perfume lingered faintly on the cotton.

Those thoughts felt like pure cotton candy to the ones you had now, of how he could walk in and do whatever he wanted and you’d love it. No matter what action he was committing, you would cry and beg for more. Even the idea of him being in the same room as you had you whimpering, twisting and turning with huffs of built frustration.

Nancy and Robin stopped by a few times to check in on you, knowing you were too overwhelmed to make yourself food or get water. The school hours they had would usually sync with your nap time as you always woke at random moments in the night. Eddie had mentioned you to Robin that morning, wondering if she had seen you, which she attempted to deflect.

“Why don’t you and Wheeler sit with my boys today?”

Nancy almost killed Robin for saying yes, not because of Eddie’s reputation, but because she knew Robin was close to breaking. Always going soft after seeing you, saying how they need to just get you help and speed up this process.

So with sandwiches in hand, they sat quietly as the members of Corroded Coffin conversed about the latest Hellfire meeting. The younger boys were on a freshman field trip, conveniently leaving room for the girls to sit. Eddie snacked on the cold cafeteria food with lingering eyes on them, their skin crawling at the information they knew.

Thankfully, the talkative nature of Gareth and Jeff derailed everyone’s attention, only noticing the 5 minutes left when Nancy took a glance at her watch as they went to throw away their trash. With freedom at their fingertips, it only seemed pleasantly ironic for it all to come tumbling down when Jason Carver appeared.

The potent bags under his eyes made him resemble a tortured Greek God, bronzed skin under the sun kissed hairs on his head. Eddie opened his mouth to begin his tangent, feeling his legs twitching to hop upon the tabletops, even though his recent development made him a bit calmer.

“Where is she?” Jason asked, not even glancing at the man beside him, locking on the girl's enlarged eyes.

“Who?” Robin questioned, providing an awkward smile that made Jason scoff, wishing his skills developed enough to find you himself.

Jason was one of the other alpha’s at school, his rut helping him with sports and wearing it proudly on his sleeve. His progression made sense, fulfilling the family history of powerful alphas, but he had yet to find an omega to care for. Or even just to hold him over as most went into seclusion during their heats.

He wouldn’t have even known if a fellow member of the basketball team overheard the girls talking in hushed tones in the hallway, presuming no one could hear them over the sounds of chatter and clashing lockers.

As if intended, the bell rang loudly, everyone standing to return to class. Jason kept his intense gaze until his friends yanked him away, pestering him for information about that night's practice. Eddie’s gaze didn’t waver as he looked at the both of them, smelling a tinge of anxiety on them, a convenient sense he inhabited.

“You guys have 10 seconds to say why Jason Carver just said her name.” He responded with fraudulent tranquility, his black lunch pail secured tightly in his palm, holding his ground despite the varying rushing bodies beside them.

After a moment of silence, Nancy found herself surprised at her lack of a quick rebuttal, something about the look Eddie was giving her making her freeze. It wasn’t one of infatuation, more akin to fear as his tensity remained.

“She presented!” Robin sighed, shoulders relaxing as if pounds had been removed from her chest. Her friend smacked her arm, watching as the man across from them went stagnant. Despite the fleeting deliberations, all the girls across from him saw was his clenched jaw and his eyes diverting to the spot you typically sat.

“As what? And why the fuck does Jason Carver know before me?” He gritted out, clenched fists glued at the side of his thighs.

The bell signaling class started went off, jolting Nancy and Robin from their subtle haze, trying to think of anything to divert his attention. However, Robin couldn’t stop thinking about how you were crying for him, that you would feel infinitely better if she just mentioned the slight detail.

“I don’t know how he found out Eddie-” Nancy snapped, becoming irritated with the theatrics, wishing she was just in algebra class for the first time ever.

“As an omega!” Robin blurted, Eddie’s eyes widening as his fists loosened, “She presented and has been a mess! She’s too emotional to do anything, just wallowing away and whining for you.” The last part trailed off, but Eddie understood it clearly, his instincts that just were beginning to sprout commencing to full bloom.

With tunnel vision, he found his way out of the school, not caring if any teacher saw him. His mind was on you. You, who had been crying in pain for him for days and no one cared to mention it.

The way to your home went by in a blur, glad he knew the route well enough to not maintain complete fixation on the journey. His respiring didn’t cease as he sped down the old roads, trying his best to avoid the potholes or random piles of trash.

He barely put the car into park before he was racing up your driveway, putting his hand behind the potted plant at the right side of the maroon door. With the key in hand, he was soon in, putting it in the nearby bowl at the entryway table. The house was quiet, everything in a perfect state, making him remember your parents were out of town for the week.

The aroma reached his nose like a tidal wave, unfamiliar yet agrestal as he saw the light glowing from under the door at the end of the hall. His socks hit the carpet as he yanked his shoes off, promenading down the beige carpet with small floral detailing.

The door opened when his hand gripped the bronze handle, finding you asleep in an oversized shirt, curled in on yourself with his lapsed flannel. A warm spread across his chest and his groin, stifling the animalistic noise fighting through. Approaching you, he pushed the hair from your face, feeling the intensity of your fever on his shaking palms.

His scent made you stir, squeaking as your body searched for the touch with the twist of your neck. He trailed his finger down the bridge of your nose, noting the small pores he had never been able to see before, trailing to your cupid's bow.

Your eyes fluttered open as he knelt beside you, cupping your cheek gently as if you were fine china. Your pupils were dilated, practically encompassing your whole iris, and he could feel your internal heat increasing with his proximity.

“Eddie.” You mumbled, confused if this was a cruel dream that your hormonal mind was conjuring, but he smiled, his thumb brushing past your bottom lashes. Lunging forward without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him on the bed, legs squirming with the growing discomfort between them.

As his body enveloped yours, he clenched his eyes tight, feeling the profound burst of testosterone. His stupor was interrupted when he felt a surge of wetness on his jeans, pulling away to see the slick that seeped through your thin cotton panties and to your mattress.

Wanting to avoid any embarrassment on your part, he smashed his lips to yours, keeping a steady hand on your jaw to maintain the pacing. There was no time to think about what you were doing or what your friendship would be after this, just the need to be close.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you, my omega.” He puffed as you whimpered, sitting up on his knees to pull off his shirt, initially going to throw it on the floor until you snatched it to bring to your nose. He plucked it out of your grasp with a teasing smile, putting it above your head beside your white pillows.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, inching it slowly up your body, revealing the skin he had been dreaming of. Discarding the old cloth, he stared in hunger at your chest as his hands grasped the mounds of flesh upon them. Wincing at your cry from the abrupt touch, simultaneously becoming harder beneath his constricting jeans.

Managing a way to strip them, he was left in boxers that did little to conceal his arousal, yet all his attention was on the sea between your legs. The fabric was so wet, the baby pink went to a darkened tone, making him rip them off.

“Oh, this cunt is just drooling for me, isn’t it?” He chuckled, running a finger through your folds before slotting it between his lips. Gasping, you reached to grab him, which he obliged. His lips met yours like slotted puzzle pieces, shimmying off his last article of clothing.

“Alpha, please.” You mewled, eyes wide as your lips hung open as he grabbed his length. The growl that escaped was impetuous, your nipples skimming across his milky chest, his hand stopping your jaw from when you tried to look downward.

“You’re okay, omega- Shh, it’s okay. Take a deep breath.” He says softly, thumb stroking across your scorching skin, applying slight pressure.

He had always been well endowed, but after his presentation, things became more intense, especially when he was aroused. Eddie thought the idea that alpha’s couldn’t be with beta’s because it was dangerous was just dramatics, but when he came to full hardness with his knot in place, it made sense.

The last thing he wanted was for you to see him below right now, knowing your brain was already scattered and that he didn’t want to scare you. As an omega, your body was made for this, it was begging for it. It just took a little getting used to.

His tip had barely probed your walls before you winced, clutching onto his shoulders like a lifeline. Though he knew you were in slight discomfort, something brought him amenity knowing he was going to help you feel much better.

Protruding further in, he slowly rocked his hips back and forth, pressing wet kisses to your skin and savoring the essence coming from it. He thought he could become high on you alone as you basked in his own scent, feeling as if it coated you from head to toe.

“Feelin’ okay?” Eddie mustered, jolting his head back slightly when you started nodding profusely, making him chuckle and go deeper.

“You f-feel so good, so so good. Y-your cock,” You cried out, the tears tumbling down with mixed moans, “You’re so pretty and so n-nice to me, s-so nice even when you don’t-t have to be, which is so nice of y-you.”

“Baby,” Eddie’s chest constricts and he smiles down to continue, only realizing he had inched his way fully inside when his balls bounced against the swell of your ass. A loud moan that vibrates within his chest comes out, making you grip to him more securely.

“S-so big and full, so full, I don’t want you to leave, please.” You whimpered, hand reaching to feel his hair, “You m-mean so much to me a-and I l-love you. Thank you, thank you.”

“Sweetheart, shh, it’s okay.” He coos with a huge grin, almost laughing with how precious you are to him right now, “I love you too, I’m not going anywhere.”

The first orgasm you experience hits you like a sucker punch, his words of affirmation being the final straw, shaking like a leaf against his firm chest. Your mind goes blank as you let out a string of noises, feeling the way he feels inside you in such intense detail. Your eyes reopened as you whined at the pain still persisting, which Eddie was mere moments away from solving.

He never thought he’d be able to see you like this, not even as an omega, just in general. Your iris’ so wide, he could see his reflection down to the small lines next to his lips. It felt so natural to be inside you, to be protecting you and fulfilling your needs. The thought that Jason Carver almost made it here made his blood boil, thrusting sharply out of instinct, before focusing on you.

“Want you cum, Eddie, want your cum, alpha. Please, please, please! I’ll be good and do whatever you say, you can do whatever you want to me, just, please!” You cried out, sending Eddie to his final straw, his knot snapping loose with a potent moan.

Sublime existed within you, he thought, his mind going completely blank as he pumped you full of his release. Your sobs had turned into subdued mewls as your body felt relaxed for the first time in days, clutching to Eddie with your face in his neck.

Groaning like an old man, he managed to roll onto his back with you still attached and startled by the movement. “It’s okay, just get comfortable, sweetheart.” He murmured, yanking your blue quilted blanket over the both of you despite the sweat, already expecting your come down to be reasonably harsh.

To say Eddie wasn’t the best student was valid, but he did pay attention in health class, learning the dynamics of alphas, omegas, and betas. There was something so intriguing about it to him, thinking it was intricate enough to be a part of Dungeons and Dragons, when a brave warrior saves a helpless civilian.

Even back in the freezing classroom, he felt his heart clench at the explanation of omegas while some tried to joke about it and laugh. Describing the genuine distraught they endure if they’re without a caretaker, a toy being a last resort because of how much emotional support they would need afterwards.

Alpha’s could get away with going solo, a bit pent up and lonely, but nothing like omega’s who became practically helpless. For an auxiliary learning experience, they played a video of a female omega in heat for the room for pre-presenting 18 year old boys. There wasn’t any sex, but it was how emotional she became after just a few minutes, only finding peace when a man came in and picked her up, her alpha. They played one of an alpha, but the pretense didn’t last nearly as long as he could smell out his omega in the room from the start.

The worry that you had been in here for two days plagued him as you took deep breaths on his chest, his knot gradually diminishing. He squeezed you tighter unintentionally, angry that he didn’t know sooner, that he didn’t realize it or that no one told him.

“Look at me.” He stated, a bit too sharp than intended, your obedience falling into place as your chin rested against his chest. Your cheeks were still wet, sniffling as the aftermath endured, looking with distressed eyes.

“Don’t wait to call me, okay? It doesn’t matter if you’re embarrassed. You could’ve hurt yourself.” He exaggerated, regretting his tone as soon as your lip began to wobble, “Hey, sweetheart, hey. It’s okay, I’m not mad, I just don’t want you to be in pain, okay?”

You nodded as he rearranged you both, his length slipping out, much to your dismay. But the need to nest festered within seconds as he went to go get you both drinks and snacks, grabbing his shirt and flannel. Even his jeans joined the pile as it surrounded you, nuzzling into the cotton of his top, toes flexing in delight.

He entered with some water, granola bars and bananas, somehow remembering they were a positive supplement for after a heat even though he forgets his own house number sometimes. Chuckling at the sight, he sat against the headboard as you shuffled into his side, curling up. Holding the cup to your lips, he swiped the spare stream that dripped down your tongue before drinking some himself.

Handing you a piece of the fruit, he opened his snack, but kept his attention on you as you looked downward. His fingers found the loose strands of hair by your ear, stroking them rhythmically as you finished and handed him the peel. You both sat contently as the wrapper and peel were thrown into the bin, but he could feel the slump of your frame, assuming you hadn’t got much rest the past few days.

“Go to sleep, omega, I’ll be here. You’re safe.” He assured, scooting farther down so you were both lying on your backs, wrapping his arms around you.

The sleep was like no other before, instantly submerged into tranquility of varying levels, Eddie being exhausted and waiting till you were out to fall. While you slept, your body still buzzed with nerves, still coming to terms with the new elements surfacing.

Stirring awake in the dark room, you rubbed your eyes and smelled the pheromones exuding from Eddie’s sleeping body that you could now process. The discomfort between your legs surged with wetness, worried you would wake him and he would be displeased at how early it was. The red clock blinked at 5:43am, the sun wasn’t even beginning to show.

Mistakenly peering down at his boxers, your mouth watered at his bulge, feeling an encompassing need to see it. You wanted to press kisses all over him, around the coarse hairs below his belly and sucking on his tip to taste his arousal.

Eddie woke up to quiet fussing, feeling you twist against his chest and look up at him, shocked to see his eyes opened. He could see the guilt right on your face, to which he silently shook his head with a smile, stroking your head.

“Alpha, ‘m sorry, I need your c-cock, please.” You begged, wiggling down to his waistband, pulling out his half hardened length, “S-so big.”

He knew he only had a few minutes before you wouldn’t be able to have him in your mouth anymore, becoming too thick for your throat, so he let you indulge in this. You wanted this, he could see the drool dripping down his shaft as you sucked him, but he also knew this wasn’t going to do anything for you emotionally.

“My pretty, sweet, omega.” His voice coaxed in a morning gruff, “Can have this for just a minute, okay? Did so good yesterday, so proud of you.”

He saw your eyes haze over, eyelids drooping as you hummed around him, his hips resisting the instinct to snap forward. Your repeated suckle made him thicker, unbeknownst to you as the action only soothed you, ignoring the growing pain between your legs.

His hand intertwined with yours as he looked out the slit of the curtains of the window, the orange rays of the sun just cresting the Earth. Something about waking up before sunrise felt forbidden, like the world wasn’t awake yet, that this was stolen time. Time where only you and him existed.

The ache of his knot began to form as he reached down to pull you up, only to hear a yelp. He flinched, looking down to see your wide eyes with his dick between your lips. He forced his growl down to not give you mixed messages, only raising his brows and curling his finger up to him.

When you failed to do so, he lifted you despite your begs, laying you down and hovering over. He hushed you, feeling himself throb against your pretty thighs, ones he definitely wanted to explore more when you weren’t as sensitive. If he were to love on them now, he thinks it’d feel more cruel to you than anything.

You wiggled beneath him, faint pleads escaping your lips as his scent covered you, not being able to comprehend all the feelings that swarmed you. Eddie managed to throw off his boxers, caging you in beneath him as his necklace trickled on your sternum. One of his arms went downward, grabbing the base of himself and giving a few tugs.

“I know what you need, omega.” He gritted, his tip sliding between your silk-like folds with ease, making him shudder. Somehow this managed to calm you down slightly, knowing he knew what to do, even just based on pure instincts.

Slotting inside you, he shut his eyes and moaned, your wetness helping to aid the size of himself. Your moans may have been considered singing if anyone heard the way they flowed together and he wondered if it just sounded that way as your alpha.

“Alpha, please, need your knot. Need so many.” You begged, breaths shallow as your body began to shake, already succumbing to your first orgasm. He couldn’t help, but chuckle at you, nuzzled into the crevice of your neck as he kissed the skin softly.

“My sensitive girl.” He mused, pressing himself further to rub at your clit, making you jolt. His speed increased as he felt himself growing impatient. He could last longer than this, he knew that, but he wasn’t going to try and prolong it, especially when it helped make you feel safe.

“I’ve got a rule, omega,” Eddie began, your eyes wide like saucers as you looked up, “You have to come twice every time I knot, okay?”

Your petulant whine sounded through the room before he hushed you with his own lips, his hand going between your legs to rub at the bud of nerves. Your legs shook profusely against his hips, not expecting the added pleasure that left you speechless.

“Come with me, baby. Gonna fill you up, give you my knot.” He growled, gripping onto the headboard to thrust faster than before, “Fuck, need to fill you up. My omega.” He watched as your tits bounced in rhythm, your orgasm sneaking up on you.

His knot shot into you with velocity, covering your walls completely as you mewled, coming for a second time as your back arched. Eddie thought he almost dented the metal headboard, his hands a mix of red and white as he let go, twitching from the intensity his body was encountering.

Peering down, he saw your eyes shut, mouth opened as you caught your breath with just the tip of your tongue poking out down the middle. He smiled, pushing the hair from your face and kissing you. His knot was still throbbing as it deposited completely within you, hoping he’d be able to keep doing this. Now more prepared for when he rolled onto his back, you just adjusted to be comfortable, hoping he wouldn’t get soft too fast and you could continue this close.

The first presentation was usually a false heat, it has all the same symptoms, but there is little chance of pregnancy. It was one of the reasons he wasn’t too paranoid about giving you his knot, since that is what sedates omegas, but he didn’t want to be too risky. His heart bursted as you settled in his arms, wondering what would happen after your heat was over, trying to assure himself you wanted him. You whined for him and he wasn’t going to let that go.

The next few days consisted of waking up, having sex, Eddie cooking for you, and naps. It was like a slice of heaven in four walls, embracing the affection you were both giving each other.

He had gone back home once to grab clothes, cigarettes, and some notebooks to work on his campaign and music. He had given Wayne a call the first day, saying he was out for the night, but would be back home soon. He hung up before he could hear the response, but knew he’d have to face his uncle eventually. They were close, practically father and son, but they weren’t open in that nature.

He pulled up to the trailer, seeing the familiar truck in the dirt in front, taking a deep breath before stepping on the damp ground. Opening the door gently, he spotted his uncle asleep on the recliner as the news played softly on the TV. Going straight for his bedroom, he shoved as much as he could in his duffle bag.

Truthfully, he was missing you more than he wanted to admit. It was only minutes, yet, he felt a pain in his chest that you were alone. He did wait for you to fall asleep as you tried to act okay with him departing for an hour, untangling your arms and legs from one another.

How he managed to quickly pack his bag with minimal noise was a mystery, but he was grateful, hoping to utilize whatever freetime he had with writing or planning. He even brought some extra shirts for your nest as those were your favorite and his jeans kept rubbing weirdly against your cheeks. Racing to the front door, he had almost escaped as his grasp reached the handle.

“Where were you at and why aren’t you in school, boy?” Wayne grumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes as he laid back. Something about his demeanor could make him seem laid back, but he meant business when it came to Eddie’s future and he didn’t want to add another senior year.

“It’s excused.” Eddie responded cooly, mentioning quickly that he stayed at your home, leaning against the door and rocking on his heels. His nonchalant attitude made the older Munson open his eyes, looking with a squint as he adjusted to the light and to whatever game he thought his nephew was playing at.

Awaiting the explanation, Eddie imagined the ground swallowing him whole, teleporting him back to your cute bedroom with frills and stuffed animals. But no, he was standing in front of his uncle, who was in no mood for shenanigans after an exhausting shift.

“She presented. The school excuses both, uh, parties.” Eddie mumbled, the rubber of his shoes touching as he looked down at them, not seeing the way the man in front of him straightened up.

Humming in response, Wayne sat in thought as the boy refused to make eye contact, unsure as to what his reaction would be. How does one react to something like this?

“Takin’ care of her? She’s a sweet girl, always liked her.” Wayne mused, making their eyes finally meet. While the question could’ve been interpreted in a more vulgar way, he knew what he meant. Meant that he was actually taking care of you as an alpha should, not just to get laid.

“She is and yeah. Feeling better now, didn’t get help till two days after. She asked for me.” He trails his words with pink cheeks, kicking himself for saying too much, but Wayne gives a small chuckle. Not at what he said, but at how much Eddie’s demeanor reminded him of when he was young.

“Alright, alright. Standin’ here looking like a prisoner, go.” He laughed, not really needing any other information as Eddie left within a blink.

The drive back to your house was tortuous, practically smelling you on his clothes in a way that became addicting. With little shame, he inhaled in his shirt deeply while at a red light, the car behind him eventually honking to send him forward.

It was crazy to him that yesterday morning felt so long ago now, that the conversation with Nancy and Robin wasn’t even 24 hours ago. He knows news is never expected fully, but this took him by surprise and made him feel less guilty about getting off to the thought of you during his rut.

He wondered if that’s why you popped in his head no matter how many times he tried to distract himself, your pretty face dewy as he fucked into you at a, seemingly, unforgiving pace. His hands all over your body and you reacted instinctively to them before he filled you to the brim with his knot.

The thoughts ran through his brain until he pulled in your driveway, grabbing his bag and the spare set of keys that used to reside behind the large flower pot. The muffled sounds of music could be heard from your boombox as he stepped inside, kicking off his shoes. Jumping over steps until slipping on the edge, he caught himself by the rail, puffing with annoyance.

A whine rang through his ear like church bells, adding to the ache between his legs that he hadn’t noticed before. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you immediately lit up at his presence, holding open your arms. Plopping down the bag, he dramatically raced towards you while crouching and swooped you into his arms with a laugh.

Litters of kisses were left on both sets of skin, feeling an overcast of warmth as you returned to each other. He only pulled away to drag his bag closer, rummaging through it before lifting up an old Hawkins crewneck sweater, slipping it on you over your large shirt. You practically melted at the way his scent took you, shrinking your head, arms and legs until you were in a tight ball within it.

“Glad you like it, baby.” He chuckled, kissing the patch of your hair that peeked through as he unloaded some of his clothes. It was almost comical how little articles he brought, knowing that most of their days would not involve clothing at all or would only be on long enough to be taken off.

Putting it in a neat pile by your dresser, he dug in his bag to see the condoms made specifically for alpha’s, dreading the fact he would need to wear them soon. He decided to keep it hidden, not wanting to upset you when you weren’t using them yet. He could hear the soft snoring from the tucked away ball on its side, biting back a large grin.

Shimmying off his clothing besides his royal blue briefs, he molded himself around your frame and lifted the blankets over top. He felt your arms wiggling before a practically inaudible whimper as it dawned on him that you couldn’t feel the arm holes in your slumber.

“Goofball.” He mutters to himself, unable to help the smile and pink cheeks as he uncurls you to bring to his chest. Your lips puckered briefly against his peck, the subconscious kiss making him want to squeeze you in joy. He liked existing inside these four walls with you.

taglist plus friends :) : @steeldaisies @meaganjm @masterofmunson @downbythebay4 @femalefilmaker @wiltedwonderland @yourthebrokengirl @jessyballet @iheartyouyou @gloryekaterina @missscarlettangel @variety-fangirl @wigglywoos59 @thegirlblogstuff @lovelyladymayyyy @strawwberrry @ktjmac @dovesnrosesnreblogs @fknemily @spn-obession @imagine-all-the-imagines @fangirl-hoe @deementedforeverr @hellfire-in-hawkins @indouloureux @andvys @lilacletter @prettyboyeddiemunson

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susoriginals · 7 months

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Vintage Barbeque Charcoal Grill Easy Off Oven Cleaner Advertising

#bbq grill #charcoal grill #vintage bbq grill #vintage grill #vintage advertising grill #easy off grill #vintage grilling #metal grill #collectible grill #vintage grills #etsy #vintage advertising

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starkidmunson · 3 months

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glitter & crimson

Realistically, Steve knows the band won’t hang around Chicago forever. He knows they’re out promoting a new album; knows they’ll have to move on and that Eddie has to go with them. It doesn’t stop him from wanting Eddie to stay; to live in the quick familiarity he’s built within Steve’s little found family.

Eddie and Robin seem to have already created their own secret language, all gestures and movement and eye contact Steve picks up on but can’t quite read. He’s already picking on the Party like he’s known them their whole lives; ruffling Dustin’s hair, elbowing Mike, throwing his arm around Will’s shoulders, and giving Lucas little shoves.

It’s easy; so easy to get caught up in how charismatic Eddie is. Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off him, and Eddie knows. He keeps making comments, throwing winks in Steve’s direction, seeing right through every wall he’s ever built around himself and Steve is caught between being obsessed with it and terrified.

He stops drinking after the one beer, worried he’ll make things weird if he gets anywhere near tipsy, opting to stay as far away from the possibility as he can. If anyone notices, they don’t comment.

Lucas is chatting animatedly with Jeff, Max sitting close by, twisting braids into El’s hair. Dustin, Mike and Will appear to be grilling Gareth and Freak about dungeon and dragon campaigns Eddie used to run. Nancy has her arm looped through Robin’s, but her attention is on the phone in her hands, as Eddie and Robin talk about what touring is like.

“Where else are you going on this tour?” She asks as Steve tunes back into the conversation.

“This isn’t really a tour, we just haven’t been on the road in a while and we just stopped the album, so we lined up a few shows to get our feet wet before we hit the road for real this summer. One more show out in LA on Tuesday, then we’re done until May, for now.” Eddie explains.

“We’re in LA on Thursday!” Robin exclaims, and Steve’s stomach drops because, yeah. LA on Thursday. He trains his eyes on the glass in front of him, not willing to actually look at anyone they’re around.

“We could totally meet up again if you guys are able to swing it?” Freak offers, and Steve forces a little smile onto his face and nods.

“We can figure it out later,” Eddie says after a few beats, and Steve is grateful for how the conversation rolls onto the next topic. When he finally looks back up, though, Eddie’s still looking his way. Steve hits him with what he hopes comes off as a reassuring smile, but it doesn’t seem to pay off the way he hopes.

Once the tab is closed and the staff is tipped well, Steve catches Eddie’s elbow on their way out the door. “I would like to meet up in LA, if you’re interested. I didn’t mean to get weird about it, it’s… I’ve been in my head a bit about that game since it was announced.”

“Oh, hey, no worries. We’re in LA the whole week, then we’re heading home. So no pressure, honest.” Eddie hooks his hand over Steve’s softly.

“Well, we should get in Wednesday, but we could totally do something after the game or even Friday?”

Eddie smiles and nods, patting over Steve’s hand. “Text me about it.”

“I can do that. How much longer are you guys in town for, anyway?” Steve asks.

“Ah, the dreaded question comes,” Eddie’s playful, and it makes Steve’s face heat up. “We’ve got just under another 24 hours in the Windy City before hitting the road again.”

“Oh,” It pulls his chest in a way he wasn’t expecting, in a way that shouldn’t be happening for a rockstar he was adjacently aware of in high school. “Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Harrington,” Eddie’s teasing again, and it does nothing to help the blush on Steve’s face. “You can’t possibly miss me this much when I haven’t even left yet.”

“Shut up,” Steve shoves him away then, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout, only for Eddie to pull him in with an arm around the shoulder.

“We can grab brunch or something? We leave around 8 to avoid rush hour, so I’ll have to be in the bus by 6, or I’d say dinner.”

“Brunch works for me.”

~~~~

The trip back to the hotel doesn’t go as Eddie expects; everyone is silently chatting amongst themselves, nodding and tapping along to the music and not causing a scene. He almost points it out, but elects not to bring unwarranted bullying upon himself instead. The guys had been giving him shit about Steve near constantly, so this was a nice change of pace after the last few days.

There was actually quiet as he made his way back to his room. A hot shower finally restored warmth to his bones the hockey arena had stolen, and he was drying his hair when he heard his phone vibrate with a text notification.

Steve: anything you're craving for brunch tomorrow so I can pick a place?

It’s practically too easy to flirt with Steve; he sets up lines without even seeming to realize. But Eddie still can’t get a real gauge on how Steve feels about the flirting, so he sidesteps the easy pass he could have made about Steve being enough of a meal, in favor of actually answering.

Eddie: French toast?

The next series of texts come before Eddie even moves his hands back to the towel over his hair.

Steve: sick, I’ll pick you up around 10:45

Steve: you mentioned going home, did you mean like, back to Hawkins?

Eddie twists his hair up in the towel, and lays down on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on before firing off an answer.

Eddie: nah, I’ve got a place in Nashville and no reason to go back to Hawkins anymore. My uncle moved to Indy, so that’s usually as close as I get.

Steve: any reason you moved to Nashville?

Eddie: are we playing 20 questions?

Steve: sorry.

Eddie bites his lip, and only hesitates for a moment before flipping over onto his belly and hitting the FaceTime button. Steve answers on the second ring, looking embarrassed, but Eddie doesn’t let him get a word in.

“My mom was born and raised in Memphis, but she always told me her favorite city was Nashville. I was there with her a few times when I was little and she’d just, like, light up. And music is so heavily engraved into every inch of the city, it’s hard to not find inspiration everywhere you turn. So. I bought a place in Nashville the minute I had enough saved up, and it’s kind of my home base now.” Eddie explains, watching as Steve’s face softens and he relaxes into his chair listening to Eddie’s answer. “Do I get to ask a question now?”

“I really wasn’t trying to be annoying, “ Steve looks ready to keep going with an apology, but Eddie cuts him off.

“Why do you play hockey?” It stops Steve dead in his tracks, and he genuinely looks confused for a moment. Eddie almost offers to drop the topic, but Steve fumbles his way into an answer.

“My, uh. My dad wanted me to play before I was even born. Because he played. Professionally for a few years when I was growing up, then he went on to coach.” Steve explains, and it sounds a little rehearsed. Eddie’s sure it’s something that comes up often if his father played and coached. “Gotta keep the Harrington legacy alive, I guess.”

There was a bite to Steve’s words that wasn’t lost on Eddie. “You don’t sound too thrilled about it.”

Eddie can see Steve working over how he wants to answer before he shrugs and sighs. “Because it’s all a show for him. The part we don’t talk about is how I got hurt and benched most of my senior season and he cut me off when I didn’t get full rides. Convinced me it was better to not go to college at all, despite the other scholarship offers, than to not get promised a spot on the ice. Convinced me to self-sabotage so I had to fight tooth and fucking nail to get into the league at all.” Steve pauses, then, and lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry, that’s so unbelievably whiny of me. I love getting to play professionally, and I don’t take the opportunity for granted.”

“Not whiny. Dads can be the fucking worst.” Eddie offers, gently, and is grateful when Steve doesn't press on that particular bruise.

Instead, he takes his turn to ask a different question. “Why music?”

“This is lame, but the answer is once again my mom.” Eddie rolls his eyes at himself, but he smiles. “She was a musician. There were always instruments around and music was always playing and we traveled for her to perform. I knew my whole life I wanted to be a musician like her, but it wasn’t until after she died that I figured out that songwriting… telling stories and painting pictures with words and melodies and making people feel something…” Eddie trails off, lost in the thought.

“I’m sorry you lost her. It sounds like you enjoyed your childhood with her.” Steve offers, hopes it doesn’t sound like a forced nicety, but Eddie smiles and his nerves ease.

“She was a force to be reckoned with. Firing on all cylinders at once, chaos and home bundled into one.” Eddie’s soft a quiet for a moment, and Steve appreciates the silence by taking in how relaxed the other is to be talking about his feelings; it’s a refreshing break from many of his experiences with teammates or opponents who don’t know how to get emotional in a healthy way. Eventually, though, Eddie clears his throat. “Anyway. Back to 20 questions,”

“I wasn’t trying to start a game, really, I just… like talking to you,” Steve admits around a blush, tucking his chin into the collar of his shirt in an effort to hide the shade of his cheeks, but Eddie’s smile says his cover is blown.

“ANYWAY!” He announces louder, then taps at his chin. “Favorite and least favorite teams to play and why, go.”

“I’m not a dog.” Steve laughs but thinks about his answer anyway. “Favorite is probably the Flyers in Philly. Their fans are absolutely brutal, and their mascot is hilariously terrifying.”

“I have seen many a Gritty TikTok, so I completely understand,” Eddie gives him a few beats before he prompts. “Least favorite?”

“The Kings. LA. Billy Hargrove.”

“The…, what the fuck? How many guys from Hawkins are professional hockey players?” Eddie asks, because honestly, how had he not known there was more than Steve?

“He’s technically from LA, which is why he went back, thank God.” Steve mumbles, before dropping his head back against the wall behind him. “But, for whatever it’s worth, there’s me, Billy, and Tommy Hagan in the league.”

“Well isn’t that a fun bunch to surround yourself with,” Eddie muses out loud. Tommy and Billy were two of the biggest assholes Eddie had ever met, and it sounded like Steve wasn’t too fond of the other pair either.

“I actually…” Steve trails off, before trying again. “I was going to invite you guys to come to the LA game, but I’m really not sure it would be a good idea, so I’m… I’m actually going to ask you guys not to come, if that’s not too much of a dick move? I can get you tickets to literally any game you want for the rest of the season, just. I don’t think it’s worth it to get Billy started, and if he’s heard any of the press about us, I’m already going to hear it even if you’re not there.”

“Homophobe extraordinaire still, then?” Eddie guesses, and Steve chokes out a laugh, before covering his mouth and holding up a finger to ask for a moment to compose himself.

“He's… a lot of things.” Is the response Steve opts for, but Eddie can tell there’s more there. Whatever the two of them are doing, it doesn’t feel like Steve is ready to elaborate, so Eddie moves on.

“I think it’s your turn.”

~~~~

Nothing changes after Corroded Coffin leave Chicago, though. Not in the ways Eddie had expected, at least.

Steve still texts him throughout the day, answers his Facetimes whenever he’s available. Eddie makes him the playlist he promised, and Steve gives feedback on which songs he likes and which ones he really doesn’t, after Eddie promises to not take Steve’s opinions personally. Which, to be fair, he tries really hard not to.

The concert in LA comes and goes, and Steve seems to send him every TikTok he comes across from the show. It’s a refreshing break, as every few videos in Eddie’s feed are of him cheering for Steve at the game, or Steve watching from sidestage in Chicago.

A text from Robin eventually confirms their arrival in LA, and Steve and Eddie make plans to meet up after the game. Since Steve had expressed concern about Eddie going, he decides to just watch from the bar they agree to meet at. Televised games make it easier to track the puck, but Eddie decides he likes being there in person better.

Eddie’s sipping absently on his beer and in the time it takes him to look down at a text from Chrissy, several of the people around him react to something. Eddie looks around to make sure someone in the bar hadn’t passed out. When he looks back at the screen, absolute mayhem has broken out on the ice. The refs are trying to separate players from one another, and Eddie’s scanning through the numbers on each Blackhawks jerseys before he finally spots Steve, slightly off to the side from everyone else. The camera pans away from him, zeroing in on the fight, now between a Blackhawks defenseman and none other than Billy Hargrove.

Billy’s helmet and gloves are off, teeth shining with blood as he grins like a psycho and starts to skate in Steve’s direction. One of the refs pulls him back, though, escorting him into the penalty box while another Kings player gathers his helmet, stick and gloves and clears them to the bench.

The camera finally pans back to Steve, who is now sitting with his back against the boards. He’s got a gloved covering the lower half of his face, but his white jersey is covered in blood. A ref and the Blackhawks goalie are kneeling on either side of him as someone else speaks with him. The camera zooms in as the TV crews work to make out what is happening, just in time for Steve to lower his hand and shows off a gnarly gash along the side of his face. He leans forward a little and spits out blood onto the ice, and the TV jumps to the announcers in the booth.

The volume is off, but they show a slow-motion replay of the few moments Eddie’d missed; Steve passes the puck off to another player on his team, just before Billy slams into his side. The impact sends both of them into the boards and down onto the ice. Billy swings his stick around and cracks Steve in the face with the blade heel. Steve reacts, throwing his whole arm into Billy’s face, before a sea of white Blackhawks jerseys sweep in and suddenly Billy’s a few feet away, with players from both teams piled up.

Eddie’s hand hovers over his phone; has no idea what to do in this situation. Texting Steve is useless; it would likely be hours, if not days, before he even thinks about looking at his phone. He doesn’t want to bother anyone, but he’s… well, he’s stressed. Even if Steve isn’t interested in him the way Eddie’s interested in Steve, they’ve still built a weird little friendship and that was an awful lot of blood.

So, Eddie ends up firing off a text to Robin. It’s just a simple 'let me know if there’s anything I can do,' but his phone lights up with a call immediately.

“How bad is it?”

“I’m not back with him yet, but just… meet us at the hospital, if you can?” She asks. While her voice waivers a bit, she’s calmer than Eddie expected her to be.

“I’ll be right there.” He agrees, hangs up and exits the bar before the game even returns from commercial break.

#hockeyplayer!steve harrington #steddie #rockstar!eddie munson #stranger things hockey au #glitter & crimson #sorry this took like 2 weeks #we're going to try to keep the momentum going here #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #corroded coffin #steddie fanfic #starkidmunson writes #oh i almost forgot #one of the most important tags for this one #anti billy hargrove

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sweetnergirl · 2 months

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No bc like… just imagine plug!connie and you being his bsf sister.

“S-stoppp…CONNIE PLZZZ!!”you cried out in the most whiniest voice you’ve ever made

“Shhh, baby you non’t want you’re brother to here how much of a slut you’re being for his best friend.” He rasped in your ear as his fingers moved in and out of you as he curled them on that spot that he knows make you crumble under him. “B-b-baby plz, I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that”, you said as tears that you were holding finally came sliding down the sides of your face.

“Aww you gonna cum, come on. Go ahead come for me”. Connie whispered in your ear then sat up on his hind legs and smirked(his bottom diamond grills shining) as he watched that chubby tummy of your’s that he loved so much(the reader also has a hello kitty belly piercing), quiver as he watched you fall apart. You couldn’t take it as his fingers continued to move and his thumb rubbed that swollen little nub of yours…So you tried to push is hand away by grabbing his wrist. “Nahh this what you wanted right mamas, what happen to you being all big and bad when you was teasing me wit them lil as shorts tryna show off to my friend” he stated in a firm and slightly aggressive tone while never slowing down.

Though you could only respond with a string of whiny and pornographic moans from him just playing with your pussy like it was nothing. You knew exactly what he was referring to, you didn’t know ony was going to have company over you had just woken up from a nap and taken a shower by then throwing on a plain cropped wife beater w/hello kitty shorts that you’ve had since you were nine and yea they had gotten shorter and tighter over the years… But HEY! They still fit. You walked out of your room welcomed by the strong smell of weed and the three boys in the living room smoking(Eren, Connie and ony).

While Connie’s eyes stayed on you roaming up and down your body as if he could eat you along w/the stare of Eren Yeager. “Aye y/n, look at you all grown up it’s been too long we should hang out together just like old time’s” Eren tells you while also eyeing you. “Nah she’s still annoying, the only reason she used to hang out w/ is because she would beg me to and if I say no she would be a little snitch”. Ony complains as I roll my eyes and strolled to the kitchen. “Yeah but she cool now right y/n?”Eren asked taking a puff of the jay and Turing his head to look at me in the kitchen eating a fruit roll up, “yepp I’m cool now… right Connie?” I questioned as I walked over the the side of the sofa Eren was sitting on and taking the jay from his hand then taking a puff. “Earth to con, you good bro”,ony asked while waving a hand in his face. “Yeah I’m good just, just thinking”.

As time went on me and Eren just talked while ony and con did they’re thing but even then I noticed Connie staring the whole time with dark eyes filled w/lust and irritation rolling his eyes any time i laughed at ren’s jokes or touch his arm or me showing him my fresh nail set when he asked.

By the end of the night I was high out of my mind from all the smoking and decided it was time for me to go back in my room and probably go back to sleep, which is when Connie shows up in my room during the middle of the night confronting me about whatever he called “the situation” which was just me catching up w/ an old friend. It wasn’t that big of a deal to me.

“Shut the fuck up I’m sick of hearing you mouth, matter of a fact turn that ass around im bout to tear that ass up”.

THIS WAS MY FIRST POST SO GO EASY ON ME AND GIVE POSITIVE FEEDBACK.

#connie x black reader #plug!connie #eren jaeger #black reader #chubby #aot x black reader #chubby reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 11 months

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Simmer #1

CH1. Home Style | The Menu [3.7K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

Jim’s Midnight Grill wasn’t the magical place the name made it sound like.

In fact, it was worse at night. Hawkins' only diner sat on the outskirts of town, just before the road that took you out alongside the cornfields. In the height of a sunny day, the water tower cast a shadow over the old building and the gas station next door only had one working pump.

The leather booths were constantly sticky, the table tops grainy with spilled salt, but if you made your visit on a Thursday night after nine, milkshakes were two for one. The back alley was littered with cigarette butts, graffiti on the walls telling you who to call for a good time— and someone called King Steve used Farah Fawcett hairspray? The regulars were permanent fixtures on the bar stools, coffee stains on the counter in front of them, stolen sugar packets in their pockets, frowns on their faces.

The staff didn’t want to be there, the owner refused to replace the flickering lights and the cook had a bad attitude and liked to communicate with heavy sighs and eye rolls. But he made a mean grilled cheese. The walk in freezer was reserved for the pitiful weekly deliveries and breakdowns, a stolen kiss or two. Or three, or four. But no one liked to tackle the clogged sink and god forbid anyone change the TV channel— Mr Creel always had something to say about it.

—————

Honestly, Hawkins wasn’t your first choice when you decided to move to a smaller place. The idea of a big city was all fine and well until you lived a year in Chicago, the dream of a brownstone apartment quickly disappearing when you realised jobs were hard to come by and finding friends was even harder. Living alone wasn’t all that fun, especially when your landlord hinted at sexual favours to justify late payments and he didn’t care to fix the leaking radiator in your bedroom. The nights were never quiet and the city hardly slept, but instead of neon lights and late night bodega runs, you lay awake on the broken spring in your bed and flinched at the sound of backfiring cars and people arguing on the street below.

It was lonely, living somewhere so big and busy and always eating dinner by yourself. So you sold the old car you didn’t really use and cried enough that your landlord eventually gave in and ripped up your lease that still had four months to go. Packing your stuff was an easy enough job, hardly enough belongings to fill the duffel bag you’d dragged with you. You dug into the back of your freezer for the wad of cash your grandma gave you, threw it into the bag and grabbed your greyhound ticket and decided you’d get off the bus when the skyline turned a little more green. When the buildings shrunk, when the smog lifted and when wildflowers sprouted from between the cracks in the sidewalk.

So you rolled into Hawkins before the day broke, way before the sun crept up over the quarry, before the small town came alive. The apartment you’d found was the same tiny size as the one you’d had in Chicago but it was cleaner and the carpet was new. Nothing leaked. Nothing smelled weird. The parking lot was filled with cars and none of them had bullet holes in the side, your trash can wasn’t on fire and god, god, the first neighbour you saw - an elderly woman who was walking with a yorkie on a leash - smiled at you.

She smiled at you.

So despite the lack of twenty four hour stores and pizza parlours, Hawkins was already looking up. There wasn’t much on the Main Street, a library, a tiny bakery run by a couple who offered you a free croissant as a welcome to town gift. There was an outdoor pool with sun bleached bunting across its chain link fence, an arcade next to a video store, a high school that was derelict due to the summer months. The larger houses across from the park were lined with cherry trees, neat lawns with white mailboxes and flowers under the windows and suddenly Hawkins was a million miles away from Chicago and the buzz of traffic and car horns.

The librarian let you print out some resumes the day after you’d settled in, and you found your way around town by asking kind strangers, buying a coffee and a breakfast sandwich in exchange for directions out of your neighbourhood. It was easy to stroll along the sidewalk with an iced latte and your headphones around your neck, blue skies above you and the sound of sprinklers in their yards, breathing in air that didn’t smell like diesel. You found a man by a rundown garage, white haired and tired looking, mechanic scrubs tied around his waist as he smoked a cigarette.

You took a deep breath, and then another one, smiling politely - warily - as you approached. The man lifted a brow at you, a little suspicious, but he held the burning stub away from you, smoke billowing in the opposite direction.

“You lost, kid?”

You were. Just a little.

“I’m looking for Jim’s, uh,” you glanced down at the pink flyer that had been pinned on the library's notice board. “Jim’s Midnight Grill? I got told it was out this way, but—”

You looked around, noting that there wasn’t much out this way. The busiest part of Hawkins was behind you, tidy sidewalks giving way to long roads out of town, a lone bus stop by the garage, a farm in the distance across the street. You squinted against the sun and shrugged.

“You wanna keep going for ‘nother mile or so, it’s just before the town sign,” the man pointed further out where the cornfields were overgrown and the sun faded billboard told everyone ‘thanks for visiting Hawkins!’ You weren’t sure the bus ran that far out. “Jim should be there, but if he’s not, jus’ ask for Eddie, he’ll sort you out.”

“Eddie,” you nodded, peering into the distance. You couldn’t see another building, but this man didn’t seem like he was lying. “Right, okay. Just keep to the road?”

The man nodded and he cracked a smile, small but soft. He stubbed out the end of his cigarette and gestured to an old pick up that looked like it had seen better days. “You needin’ a ride?”

The urge to say yes was strong, especially after walking all the way from your apartment as the heat soared. It snuck up on you like a slow roll, going from pleasant to warm to too hot, far too quickly. Beads of sweat clung to your skin underneath your sundress but you shook your head, shyness crawling up the back of your neck. Accepting a ride from a stranger didn’t seem the wisest idea, no matter how kind he seemed.

“It’s okay,” you told him. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

The man smiled again, a little bigger this time, crows feet crinkling, the sunlight catching the white of his five o’clock shadow. “That’s alright, kid. Jus’ tell ‘em Wayne sent you, yeah? Follow the road, you’ll see Forest Hills - the trailer park - keep going a lil’ ways and it’s right across the road.”

It turned out Wayne was right.

You kept walking, the heat soaring, the fields on either side of you growing taller but you bit back a smile at the sight of the wildflowers that snuck through the cracks in the concrete. Eventually they gave way to a trailer park, just as Wayne side, a quaint place that hummed with generators and had lines of laundry between each mobile home. Across the road sat a sandy lot, a diner in the middle, a neon sign letting passer-bys know they’d arrived at Jim’s Midnight Grill. Except the ‘r’ was loose, hanging from its wire and buzzing blue and purple.

Cats patrolled along the roadside, going from trailer doorsteps to the back alley of the diner, hoping and waiting for a free meal that they all knew would eventually come. You stopped to pet an orange kitten, a little scruffy looking thing but cute all the same, your CV clutched in one hand as you peered suspiciously at the front of the restaurant. It looked too quiet, like it wasn’t open yet. But there was a black van parked along the side of the building and some steam leaked from a vent on the roof, so you opened the front door.

The bell jingled but the patrons at the dining bar who sat on their stools didn’t move, didn’t turn to look. The place was nearly empty, some people nursing a coffee, some staring blankly at the buzzing television screen that was mounted in the corner. No one stood at the host desk, the menus stacked messily, the phone off the hook. In fact, there wasn’t a server to be seen as you made your way to the counter. You grimaced as you leaned on the surface, elbows sticky, avoiding spilled coffee the best you could. You waited, resume still in your hand, patience on your features.

No one came.

So you rang the bell that was on the bar top for the very purpose of gaining attention, but the man beside you glared at the noise. Still, no one came. The fans overhead squeaked and whirred, the TV fizzed with bad signal and from somewhere behind the open serving hatch, you heard the clatter of pots and pans. You tried to crane your neck to see through the window, steam and smoke billowing from it, the slight shadow of maybe a person moving through it.

The person swore, dropped a skillet and swore again.

You leaned in further, elbows on spilled salt grains and drops of ketchup, trying to gain a better view into the kitchen from the bar top. “Hey, ‘scuse me? Can I— can someone—”

You huffed as the figure moved out of sight, falling back onto the stool that squeaked and the man next to you snorted into his coffee cup. You frowned and took further action, sundress falling back around your thighs as you hopped off the chair and made your way to the side of the counter that lifted up. No one paid you any mind, no one at all, but you still hesitated before ducking under the bar and hovering by the hatch. You could smell garlic and sage and something a little sweet now you were closer, the scents of the kitchen winning over the stale coffee, cigarette smoke and engine oil that clung to the patrons clothes behind you.

You peered into the kitchen, your paperwork still clutched to your chest. It wasn’t much cooler in here than it was outside, the AC unit broken and the fans working overtime to combat the heat. The kitchen seemed empty now, a stovetop still on despite no one to supervise it, flames licking high up the sides of a steel pot, big enough for you to fit both feet in. There was something inside bubbling, foam rising to the top and chopped courgette and red onions sat on the workbench beside it, abandoned. A radio played, staticky and fuzzy, an old sixties tune floating out to mix with the smoke.

“Come a little bit closer, you’re my kind of man. So big and so strong, come a little bit closer, I’m all alone.”

“H-hello?” You cleared your throat and braced yourself to speak a little louder. Stronger. Braver. “Hello?”

No one answered. In fact, it seemed like the entire diner was run by ghosts, no waiting staff, hosts or cooks to be seen. Maybe you’d imagined the silhouette in the smoke, maybe the heat was finally getting to you.

“No customers back here, what d’you think you’re doin’?”

You startled, jumping back a little only to knock an elbow into a half filled coffee pot, the brown liquid thankfully lukewarm but it still spilled across the countertop, soaking into stray packets of sugar and scattered napkins.

“Oh, fuck, uh—” you grabbed at whatever dry napkins were left, hurriedly mopping up the spill before it dripped to the floor. Old coffee dotted the red and cream tiles, into the gaps between your sandals. You grimaced and looked up, only half paying attention. “Shit, I’m really sorry, I just— there was no one there and—”

You stopped, swallowing hard, cheeks hot, eyes wide. The person in front of you was half hidden behind the serving hatch, but he was scowling through the window with a ladle in his hand. Big brown eyes, unnervingly expressive and dark hair to match, unruly looking curls that were pulled back with an elastic band in a bun that wouldn’t have passed a health inspection.

A boy, unfairly pretty, and annoyed looking with tattoos peeking out from his chef whites, a black paisley printed bandana knotted around his neck. There was a furrow between his brow, lines etched there so deep that it made you think they were a permanent fixture on his handsome face.

“—no customers behind the cash desk, sweetheart, you look bright enough to understand that.”

Your mouth fell open, a burn creeping across your cheeks. Annoyance settled in your chest but you realised you weren’t quite brave enough to do anything about it. So you lifted your resume and slapped it on the hot steel ledge that separated the kitchen from the coffee bar. “No one’s working,” you tried to explain, gesturing with one hand to the empty diner behind you. “I rang the bell—”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” The boy scoffed, raising a tattooed forearm to wipe away the sheer layer of sweat from his brow. “Havin’ a spa day? Shit, no one rings the damn bell, don’t you know that?”

You scrambled for a response, the burn on your face growing hotter, an awful clawing feeling coming across your chest. You swallowed, your throat tight, but you pointed at your CV once more. “I’m here for the job opening. I need to speak to Jim? About the kitchen porter role?”

The stranger laughed, a breathy thing that you didn’t think was supposed to come across as mean as it did, but it stung all the same. You shrunk a little, a hardly seen thing as the boy turned his head to check on whatever was bubbling in the big pot. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t wanna be a dick about it, but uh, I don’t think you’re cut out for the kitchen - sorry.” He turned back to you, a slightly more apologetic look on his face instead of the frown. “You understand, right?”

You were speechless, just for a second. Blinking away the confusion, you made noise of protest as the boy started to move away. Your hand touched his bicep and he swivelled back, scowling once more. You snatched your hand away, glancing at your fingertips as if the ink from his tattoos would have stained them black.

“Sorry— it’s just, I, I need a job.” You swallowed, hoping none of the customers could hear your desperate plea. “I just moved into town and honestly, I’ll take anything, like anything. I’m supposed to talk to Jim— or Eddie?”

The boy seemed to mull over your words for a second or two, a passing of sympathy or something just as kind coming over his features. He sighed and shrugged, turning away to stir the pot before it boiled over and he shouted at you through the smoke and steam. Not meanly, just enough for his voice to be heard over the music, the hissing of the stove, the hum of the freezer. “I dunno where Jim is, sorry.”

You deflated, sliding your stack of papers off of the ledge and back to your chest. You tried not to appear too frustrated as you asked, “what about Eddie? Someone - a guy, at the garage - he told me to ask for Eddie.”

The ladle clanged against the pot, some soup - or maybe stew - spilling out the sides. The boy frowned at the mess, dragging a rag over the spots before he glanced up at you. You tried to smile, tried to tamp down the watery doe eyes you knew you couldn’t help but have on show, but you felt desperate. Leaving Chicago with nothing more than the bag on your back and no plans was suddenly seeming like an awful idea.

“Sorry,” the stranger said again. “I dunno an Eddie.”

—————

Sitting in a sticky leather booth in the corner of Jim’s Midnight Grill for another hour turned out to be worth it.

Just before two o’clock, a man walked in, greeting the same customers who were still nursing their coffees with a muttered ‘hello,’ a familiar thing that everyone grunted back at. He was a tall man, broad shouldered with a moustache and a shaved head that was covered with a battered wide brimmed hat. He looked more cowboy than business owner, checked shirt dirt covered boots and all, but you heard someone call him Jim and you were up and running after him.

Your sneakers stuck to the linoleum tiles, the ‘shtick shtick shtick’ of your soles pattering between the aisles of empty tables until you caught up with the man just before he disappeared into the kitchen. He raised his brows at your sudden appearance at his elbow, wide eyed and hopeful as you clutched the same resume you’d tried to hand the cook, the pieces of paper stained with coffee now.

The man lifted his chin to a small table before you could speak, gesturing to two chairs by the window. You startled, wondering what was happening as he pulled out a seat and pointed at you to sit in the other one.

“You’re new, right?” The man - Jim - fumbled with a packet of cigarettes, most of them crushed and bent, but he found a good one to lift to his lips. He lit it and blew smoke upwards, staining the already yellowing ceiling. “Here, in town?”

You nodded, unsure how he knew that. You guessed that news travelled fast in a place as small as Hawkins, so you decided to elaborate for the sake of talking. “Uh, yeah. From Chicago. I’m inquiring about the, um, the porter job?”

“What’s your name?” Jim leaned forward in his chair and poked gently at your forearms. “You don’t got a lot of scars, you done soft jobs? No kitchen stuff before?”

The AC unit kicked in and rattled a vent above you as you stared at the man, trying to work out what he meant. Stammering, you told him your name and passed over a resume, pointing out your last few jobs, doing your best to try and make them sound more professional than they actually were.

Librarian's assistant.

Barista. For two weeks.

Cashier at a knock off Chuck E. Cheese.

“I guess they’re what you could call, uh,” you squinted Jim, floundering for the word he’d used, “soft jobs. But I’ve got a scar on my knee from pulling a kid out of the ball pit. He’d come straight from little league, he still had his spikes on and there was a considerable amount of blood even th—”

Jim stopped your spiel by jamming a thumb back towards the kitchen hatch. You could still see the boy there, pretty and scowling all the same, a dark curl falling from his hair band to fall over his cheek. You watched him blow it away and flip something in a skillet, the sizzle of it just heard over the music, the bad TV in the corner of the bar.

“You ever worked a kitchen?”

You shook your head, stomach sinking. ‘Fake it til’ you make it,’ failed you once before, and the owner of the coffee shop in Lincoln Park quickly realised you were wasting both your times when she discovered you didn’t know the difference between a mocha and a latte. “No, sir.”

“Our line cook is real particular ‘bout who we put in his kitchen with him,” Jim pointed to the boy, who’d now been joined by someone else. Another male, one with even longer hair, sleek and dark and they seemed to be arguing over blocks of cheese. “Now I don’t think it’s a good idea to throw you in there—”

Dread bubbled in your stomach. If you didn’t manage to land this job, you weren’t sure where else to look. A small town brought on few opportunities, and you’d already exhausted most of the businesses on Main Street. “Sir, please, I—”

“—but there is a waitressing gig available.” Jim frowned as he tried to remember the details. “Full time, forty odd hours if you don’t mind doing lates.”

“Yes!” You blurted out the answer too loud, loud enough for the customers to turn away from the TV screen for a second or two. The boys in the kitchen peered out the hatch, one curious, one annoyed. “Yes, sorry, yes. I’ll take it, thank you.”

Jim nodded and stubbed out the amber end of his cigarette in an ashtray beside the sauce bottles. “Easy enough job, minimum wage, you keep any tips you make.” He listed off each point on his fingers. “You start tomorrow.”

You could only nod back, eager and grateful. “Of course, yeah, sure. Uh— do I need—?”

Jim waved you off, already standing as he lit up another cigarette. “Just come by for eight, Eddie’ll sort you out with a uniform, locker, that kinda stuff.”

You frowned, confused. Looking around the quiet diner, you wondered if there was someone you hadn’t noticed before, but the number of visible staff members remained the same. The two boys in the kitchen, the pretty cool who you’d spoken to back at the stove, tasting its contents with a teaspoon.

“Uh,” you coughed awkwardly, feeling stupid. “I thought— I thought there wasn’t an Eddie who worked here?” You pointed warily to the boy with the messy curls, the black tattoos across his exposed forearms, he was staring at you, like he knew you were talking about him. He was scowling. “He said there wasn’t.”

The noise and heat of the diner and the summer outside didn’t do anything to diminish the embarrassment you felt at Jim’s next words. His gaze followed to where you were pointing and snorted. “Kid, that is Eddie.”

#Eddie munson #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #Eddie munson oneshot #Eddie munson imagine #linecook!eddie

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inkdrinkerworld · 1 month

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thinking about grumpy!logan and sunshine!reader. he would have such a soft spot for readerrr.

You’re the happiest person Logan knows in the world. He isn’t sure how you maintain it. Especially when it comes to what your job is.

You’re all technically teachers, but you’re a mutant, a very powerful mutant who’s been hunted for the majority of your life.

Yet, you’re always wearing a smile Logan thinks is too bright to be real.

Over the years, you and Logan developed a sort of relationship- if you can call it that. He’s a grump and you’re literal sunshine but he’s the only one allowed to be mean around you.

He’s grilling some of the younger kids about them not using their powers correctly in the training drill when you come in, hands holding two trays of juice for the kids.

“You’re too hard on them, Logan. They’re fifteen.” You whisper it because you’re not about to undermine him loudly.

“That doesn’t stop anyone. They need to be better.” You roll your eyes.

“You want them to be unfeeling, that’s not fair.” You say just as gently and he grumbles, taking the last bottle off the tray and cracking it open and then handing it to you.

“Not unfeeling, pragmatic wouldn’t hurt though.”

The kids start hand to hand combat while you speak to Logan and they look better after his corrections but some of them can’t move as quickly as he likes.

“Watch your feet. You’re leaning too far forward, you’ll be easy to off balance.” You correct gently and the kids look past you to Logan who they suspect is about to grill them.

“She’s right. Ground yourself better, tighten your core and block your face.” He’s significantly less aggressive and you smile as you hold the empty trays to your chest.

“See you later, Logan. We have lunch plans don’t be late.” Practically skipping out of the training room with a big grin.

Logan smiles despite himself, a little thing. Barely an uptick in his lips. “Get outta here, Sunshine.” The kids whisper among themselves as you leave and how much softer Logan corrects them even after you’re gone for weeks.

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miniwheat77 · 1 year

Text

Wolf. (König x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, size kink, p in v sex, rough sex, blood, wounds, stitiching, guns (let me know if I missed any.)

(Summary): König likes to admire his little sheep from afar until he has to confront his feelings. Like a wolf stalking it's prey, it has to pounce at some point.

PLEASE FORGIVE ME IF I BUTCHERED SOME OF THE GERMAN I TRIED SO HARD ;') PLEASE CORRECT ME IF IT'S WRONG.

There is this sickly sweet feeling König gets when he's around you.

His mind starts to play into it, and he fantasizes about everything he can do to you. You’re much smaller than him, obviously. He’s a beast of a man, even he knows it.

He thinks about how easy it’d be, to overpower you. Take what he wants. He just knows how small your hands would look wrapped around him, how it’d feel like he’s splitting you apart with his cock. He catches himself, sometimes. He’d be out doing work, daydreaming as he stared at you. His mask helps him sometimes, hiding the way he stared at you. Sometimes when your eyes met his, you’d look down, crimson creeping up your cheeks. He thought maybe you were scared of him. That maybe his glare intimidates you. But that’s not really the case at all.

Because everything he thought about doing to you, you’ve thought about too. Him overpowering you. Doing sinful things to you.

The few times you’ve ever interacted with him, it’s always been short and you usually end up scurrying away quickly. It hurts his feelings a little bit. Knowing that he scared you. You’re on the same side, anyways. He was too shy to talk to you, too shy to make a move on you.

You weren’t scared of him. Sure his size intimidated you just a little bit. The sheer size of him alone probably causes nightmares to some people.

But it only fueled fantasies in your brain.

You’re brand new to the military. Still training as a combat medic. You’ve done nothing but get insulted and grilled for being too soft. You didn’t have a very good start. Most of the time, when nobody was injured for you to look after, you spent it doing research in a back office. The military base you were on was massive. And there are 4 medics including you.

You’d traded shifts and got a couple days off to take a little time to yourself, or so you thought. The other medics were older women, that seemed annoyed by your presence. They only seemed to show you certain things, only when you asked. Most of the information you knew, you got by just doing hours of research. König noticed it. He noticed the way everyone just shrugged you off. And the small look of sadness you usually gave when they did made him wanna rip their heads off for hurting your feelings.

König knew there was a mission coming up. A VERY important mission.

They were reclaiming their own territory from terrorists, it was dangerous.

You sat inside of an office. Typing away at the computer, the door opening brings you away from it. It’s your commander. “There’s 1 medic on duty, 2 are resting. We need you for this mission.” He says sternly. You nod your head, body filling with nerves. You knew the basics, what to load up, your commander directed you with the rest. You sat in the back middle seat of the Humvee. Waiting. The door to your left opens and a man climbs in, sending you a smile. “Hello there sweet cheeks.” He smiles. The door to your right opening.

It’s König. His stomach falls immediately when he sees you. He knows you’re untrained, knows you shouldn’t be out here alone. Who the fuck made you come out here alone?

“First time ah?” The other man beside you breaks the silence. You nod your head.

“Thas’ alright. We’ll help guide ya. Usually you stay in the humvee unless there’s an incident. I’m sure you were taught a different way, but that’s how we like to do it, especially on missions like this.” He explains, and you nod your head. König keeps quiet. It's not how you were trained at all.

It’s about an hour later when the few Humvee’s full of soldiers come to a stop. Everyone climbs out and König knows he should say something to reassure you. But he’s too nervous, he can’t. As everyone leaves, you stay put. Not moving and keeping quiet. Waiting for anything. You watch each of the men disappear into the building. And it’s silent for a while. You notice movement to your right, but as you move to look, a loud boom rattles your brain, sending your hands to cover your ears, rubble and debris fly everywhere, the humvee turning over onto its side immediately. The back of your head crashes into the window behind you, and you have to pull yourself up. You feel water rushing down your face, worried that it might be flammable fluid from the humvee. An arm reaches over through the door, grasping onto you. You hope it’s someone to help you, but your hope diminishes when you see their unfamiliar face, along with a gun pointed at you. Your ears are still violently ringing, and you can’t hear anything he’s yelling at you, but he’s getting angrier and angrier by the minute. You're so disoriented you can't do anything but sit there.

Just when you’re sure he’s going to pull the trigger, you see a gloved hand come into your field of view, pressing a gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. His body goes limp, falling to the ground immediately, and König’s face comes into your view. You can’t tell if he’s said anything, ears still ringing from the sheer amount of noise produced by the bomb. He picks you up as if you’re weightless, moving quickly with you in his arms to get to an abandoned building, before more of them show up.

König is furious. Absolutely mad that they’d send you out here alone like this. You’re brand new, never been on a mission, and this is the mission they choose? This is an important mission, a very dangerous one at that.

He thinks about what he'll do when he gets back to the military base. He feels like he's going to lose his shit on every medic there for allowing this, your commander too. He doesn’t care the kind of trouble he gets into. Once he gets you inside, cloth over the wound on your head, he picks up his radio.

“Why are you giving this to me?” You take the cloth away from your head. “Because you have a gash on your forehead. Don’t move it.”

You listen to him, holding it there.

You thought it was water rushing down your face when in reality, it was your own blood.

“This was an ambush. Our medic is too hurt to walk, stand down.” He breathes into the radio. Voice stern and aggressive. “We’re so close already. We have to keep pushing.” They call back.

“Our ONLY medic is too hurt to offer any kind of aid. If ANYONE else gets hurt, she cannot help you.” His accent is aggressive, you can barely hear it but still hear how aggressive it is.

“That’s just a chance we’re going to have to take.”

König shakes his head, looking through the window and seeing bright bursts of gunfire. This goes on for a few more minutes.

Everything goes silent, and he’s watching. The front doors burst open and they’re carrying a soldier out. He’s bleeding profusely from somewhere, “Hurensohn.” He growls.

“I’m.. I’m okay.” You push yourself off the wall, limping towards the door. You'd been watching it all unfold. He helps you over to the front of the large building he'd already been inside. “Put- him inside.” You point to one of the two remaining humvees. They set him inside and you climb in, grasping the first aid kit. You cut open his shirt, seeing the bullet wound is right in the middle of his abdomen, which is concerning. You raise him up, still disoriented, noticing an exit wound on his back. You apply pressure as hard as you can, trying to get the blood loss to stop. Everyone loaded up and you did your best to address the wound. With an exit wound, there was most likely no bullet fragments still inside. You just needed to stop the bleeding until you could get back to the camp to flush it out.

You held the cloth on him the entire ride back, when you got back, they helped the wounded man, who you didn’t know the name of inside. König followed after you, to make sure you’re okay. “The hell happened?” One of the medic asks, seeing you’re covered in blood. König wants to yell at this woman but he can see the aggression on your face as you push past her, going to aid the other. You’re pulling the cloth off him, examining him more closely to make sure the bullet hadn’t hit any major organs. “Y/N, you need to be treated too, I can take it from here." you roll your eyes.

She grasps your arm, and you rip your arm away from her. “I got it.” You growl. She raises her hands in surrender and König has to hold back a smile. He’s seen this particular woman being mean to you more times than he can count, so to see you fire back at her brought him joy. Once this mans wounds are cleaned, dressed, and the bleeding has stopped, you back off, sitting on a chair. “Need to let her look at you now.” König mumbles. You nod your head. “She’s going to need to put stitches there, Liebes.” He taps his own forehead over the mask. You wondered why he stuck around, waiting for you. Maybe to just make sure you’re okay. You sit down on one of the cots. “König, you mind sitting with her, in case she passes out?” König nods his head, sitting down next to you.

It’s a long process, and it pains him to watch. You flinch and try to hold still but it’s painful. “What happened?” She asks, finishing up the stitches. “Got ambushed. Bomb blew up the Humvee I was in.” You stare straight ahead. “She needs more training. Research on a computer because you and the other medics shrug her off isn’t good enough. Poor girl had no idea what to do, and the rest of us only know the bare minimum when it comes to medical. It’s the blind leading the blind out there.” König’s accent is deep, he’s angry but he’s holding it back. The medic nods her head. The aggression Y/N had shown earlier showed her that. Intentionally or not.

After the medic finishes addressing your wounds, you looked tired. “You okay, Schaf?” He asks.

Blush rises to your cheeks. “I'm sorry. I don’t know what that means König.” You giggle, looking down. “Sheep.”

“You called me Sheep?” You smile. He admires the way your cheeks burn. “Uh.. yeah. Sorry.” His shy self coming out again.

“No don’t be sorry. I think it’s cute.”

You try to repeat it, butchering it miserably. He can’t help but laugh at it. You’re so cute.

And it makes him want to ruin you.

“I need to go to my room to change my clothes.” You frown. He nods his head. “I’ll walk with you. You can’t go anywhere alone, you have a head injury.” You nod your head. He follows you along to your room, his footsteps behind you would scare you if you weren’t on the same side. “You can come in, I’ll change in my bathroom quickly.” He nods his head, ducking underneath the doorframe to get inside. You change your clothes quickly, coming out to sit with him. You’re wearing a baggy t-shirt and leggings, and he loves it. “You saved my life. And.. I don’t know how to thank you enough for that.”

He looks down, he’s smiling but you can’t see it. “I feel like an idiot for having such a slow reaction time.” You blush. “You were stunned, being close to a bomb of that magnitude and surviving with only a gash is beyond me. Don’t beat yourself up Schaf, you did what you could do.” You nod your head. The pet name he'd given you makes your heart flutter, butterflies in your stomach. “I will go check on Sergeant Wilford, you try to get some rest okay?” You nod your head. “Thank you, König. I owe you.” You breathe. “I’ll hold you to that.” He laughs. He loves the drowsy smile you give him. He wants to do nothing but hold you close to him for the night.

He disappears through your door, closing it behind himself. You take a deep breath. You couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

———

Around 3 in the morning, you’re awake. Your head is throbbing, blood is running down your face. A few of your stitches had gotten torn out through the night and you walked out to the medical area, checking on the solider, picking up everything you needed to stitch up your forehead on your own.

You’re standing in a small mirror that was in the infirmary, hissing in pain as you re-stitched your wound. “sheep, why are you awake?” You jump, dropping the forceps and letting out a groan. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s.. it’s okay.” You try to laugh it off. Heart still pounding in your chest. “Wound tore open in my sleep, I think the stitches were too tight so I’m fixing it.”

“You’re stitching them yourself? That’s pretty hardcore.” He chuckles quietly. “Yeah well. You want something done right, you do it yourself.”

“Sometimes.” He smirks under his mask. “What?”

“Nothing.”

You finish stitching it up and clean up your mess. He once again insists on following you to your room, you invite him in for a few minutes, and this is an opportunity he wants to take.

He’s shy, and he knows he’ll probably fold before he makes a move, but he wants to. So badly.

“What happened to your leggings?”

You’re eyes widen slightly, only just now realizing you had taken them off during the night and forgotten to put anything else on over your undergarments. “oh god. I forgot I took them off. That’s embarrassing.” You stand up going for your dresser. “No need mein Schaf, don’t let me ruin your comfort. I like it anyways.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. His eyes widen when he realizes what he’s just said, cheeks burning in embarrassment.

You freeze immediately. “What?”

There’s no going back now. He had to play the part. “I said I like it.” He stands up. He takes a step toward you and he looks down at you. “König..” you breathe, his hand moving to slide up against your cheek. Your eyes shut tightly. His eyes darkening as you reacted this way to him. This tells him you’ve thought about it too. He grasps hold of your hand, sitting back on your bed and pulling you into him. “Get up here.” He breathes. You swallow hard, climbing up on top of him, straddling his waist.

You felt unsettled in your stomach. A 6’10 killing machine beneath you, and he wants you just as bad as you want him.

“Deep in thought ah?” He lays back onto your bed, looking up at you. He runs his hands up your thighs and you breathe out, eyes fluttering closed. He smiles, becoming aware of the sudden power he held over you, how easy it was for you to give in to him. He grasps a tight hold on your hips, pulling you forward, pushing you back until you figured out what he wanted you to do. You drew your hips into him, sliding up and back, grinding your hips into him. He bites his lip under his mask, a small groan leaving his lips. “Such a good girl, sheep. My good girl.” He breathes. His words striking you. You’re in complete shock.

Pants start to slip from your lips, growing more desperate with each pass of your hips, sliding over his growing erection.

He still had cargo pants on, which makes you think it was probably his turn for watch sometime in the night. He sits up, and you look down into his eyes. He grasps his mask, bringing the fabric up and over his lips. Pulling you in to kiss him. The desperation is apparent as you kiss him eagerly. He grips your hips tightly, pulling you into him. He slides his hand under your shirt as you kiss him. Pushing the shirt up and over your hips. His hands playing the with the hem of your panties. “Lay on your back sheep, let me take care of you.” He lifts you off of him, and you obey him immediately, something he notices and loves. “You’re hurt, I’ll take care of you.” He whispers. Pushing your shirt up over your stomach. He slides his fingertips up your front, sliding his hand over your breast, squeezing it gently.

You were amazed by the face that his huge hands could feel so gentle on you.

“Please König.” You whimper. Lifting your hips into his.

You wanted him. Wanted him inside of you.

He reaches down. Unbuckling his belt. He was far too shy to take his pants all of the way off. But he lowers them just enough to free his cock from its restraint, your eyes widening at the sheer size of him. “S’alright. I’ll be gentle with you.” He breathes. Noticing your nervousness. Like a predator, he could hear your heart beating from a mile away.

“At first.”

Your clench your eyes closed, so nervous. He loops his fingers over your panties, dragging them down your legs. Admiring the way your arousal glistens in small amount of lighting. “So pretty.” He breathes, running his fingertips over your opening. A whimper leaves your lips, your legs opening more.

So willing.

“So fucking sweet.” He growls. He lines himself up with your entrance, pushing the tip into your opening. Your eyes widen at how much he stretches you. “You’re alright.” He leans down. “Promise it’ll feel good once you’re used to me.”

When he bottoms out, a gasp leaves your lips. “Oh my god..” you whimper.

He struggles to slide back out of you, you were so tight around him. He wanted to stay there forever. Your eyes prick with tears immediately, feeling so full, so overstimulated already. He starts out slow, but as you get used to him, he picks up the pace. And you’re a mess beneath him, eyes watering, lips parted. He has to cover your mouth to stop the noises from slipping from your lips. He’s holding back, the metal of your bed would hammer against the wall if he’s too rough. But god does he want to be.

“Can you take it, sheep? Can you take me harder?” He asks. You nod your head. “Need you to be quiet for me,” he pulls away, standing on the edge of the bed, pulling you by your thighs to move you where he wants you, sliding back inside of you and picking you up. Arms under your thighs, wrapped around your back. “Don’t care what you have to do. Stay quiet, sheep. Or I’ll punish you.” You nod your head. He starts fast, and he’s fucking into you hard.

He’s bottoming out with each thrust, your eyes rolling back. You wrap your arms around his neck, biting down onto his shoulder and he groans. “Fucking hell. so verdammt hübsch” he growls, he grips you tight, cock sliding perfectly into you. Everything he’s thought about doing to you up to this point, he knows he can. He knows you'll allow him to do everything to you, just by the way you reacted to his touch. The sound of his cargo pants manage to muffle the sounds of skin on skin, thankfully. If he hadn't kept them on, the way he was fucking himself into you would be loud. The only sound throughout the room were his almost silent groans, and the sound of his belt rattling with each thrust he took, it became the sexiest sound you'd heard.

"Fuck me, wolf. Take all of me." You whisper into his ear, all of the hair on his body standing up as you say it. He clenches his eyes closed, hips hammering into yours until you want to scream, but know that you can't. You bite down on your lip until you're sure you draw blood. "Lift my mask, sheep. Kiss me when you cum." He breathes. "Want to cum with you." You mewl. He smiles and the only way you can tell is by the small wrinkles that form around his eyes. "Almost there." He groans. "Going to fill you full." He whispers. "You're mine. All mine, mein Schaf." He growls, latching his teeth onto the skin on your neck, dragging a whimper from your lips. "I-I'm so close." Another whimper has him on edge. Right there. "Cum with me sheep, kiss me."

You lift his mask to the bridge of his nose, kissing him hard, teeth knocking into each other as you kiss him with more force than you've ever kissed anyone before. You cry against his lips and he can feel wetness dripping down his lips. He wonders for a minute, if it's your tears but than he notices the metallic taste in his mouth. It doesn't bother him. His eyes roll back as he reaches his high, feeling you clench tight around him, throbbing against him. He groans out as he reaches his orgasm, filling you full until his cum dripped back out of you. When his thrusts finally come to a halt, he's breathing heavily and he sets you back down onto your bed. Admiring the way your thighs shook violently. "Your forehead." He breathes out, the other side of stiches that you hadn't repaired had broken open. "m'sorry." He breathes. You blush, looking up at him, wiping the blood from your face. "no.. I'm sorry. I got blood all over you." he smiles. "I'm yours and you are mine. A little blood isn't going to change that." He tucks his still hard cock back into his pants, goes into your bathroom, wetting down a cloth and bringing it back out. As he walks out, his belt is still undone and it rattles just slightly, wetness pooling between your legs as you hear it. He sits next to you, wiping at the blood all over your face. "I know how to stitch, sheep. You want my help?" He asks. You nod your head. He grasps a blanket, wrapping you up in it and lifting you up. He once again carries you as if you're weightless, something you loved. Once he reaches the infirmary, he sets you down onto an empty cot, being careful not to wake any others up. He cleans up your wound again, sanitizing and disinfecting everything, even though it stings. He tries to be as quick as he can, stitching up the gash once again. "A few days rest. So they don't break open again." He whispers. You nod your head. "I'll take you back."

When he lays you down on your own bed, he hears something he didn't think he'd ever hear. You look up at him, those doe eyes he loved so much. "Stay." You whisper. "Please stay." He smiles. "I don't have clothes, sheep."

"Than sleep naked, wolf." You smile. He rolls his eyes.

He asks you to turn away as he removes his boots and cargo pants, leaving him in just a t-shirt and boxers, and of course, his mask. He climbs into your bed next to you, pulling you into him. He's huge, and so warm.

"Sleep my sheep."

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