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belokhvostikova · 4 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 "𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐠"

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | A night after Homecoming has you reveling in the loneliness of your mind, but a drug dealer "meandering" his way by is there to solve your issues, especially after finding a particular toy of yours.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | Swearing, mentions of drugs/drug dealing, minor comments about food, feelings of embarrassment, overthinking, mentions of mean friends/exclusion, loneliness, insecurities, and explicit sexual content: fondling, one spank, edging, orgasm denial, praise kink, sir kink, oral (female receiving), rimming (female receiving), anal play/fingering, use of sex toy (butt plug), and unprotected vaginal sex.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 | Everyone be honest: do you actually enjoy my writing being this long, when little to nothing is happening? I don't know, I feel like I dramatically wrote this, it's kinda comical. Also, this is literally an entire Soundgasm audio I heard, but can no longer find- the agony! All script credits to them, I’ll try to link it once I do find it! And, @strangerstilinski is a lot better at Pinterest than me, so big, loveable thanks to you for the photos!

𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐃𝐨 𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Cold and creamy, the slab of lotion smearing its enriching silk onto the skin of your shaven legs to prevent that inevitable itch in a couple days had been the only thing to smooth over your mind in the suffocating humidity of your bathroom. But even then, the sweetening smell of coconuts and vanilla couldn’t fully appease your feelings from the nagging reality of how isolated you felt from the people closest to you.

Quinton Reeves.

For whatever reason, retired number ninety-five of Hawkins High’s baseball conference champions of 1983, still had the popularity chokehold of high schoolers, despite the matter of being into his second year of his community college career, while brandishing the golden name tag of the multiplex theater he hadn’t left since junior year. Something about giving away free tickets to greedy teenagers, that’s what made him “cool,” though utterly pathetic in your eyes.

But unfortunately, in the eyes of swooning cheerleaders, Quinton Reeves’ “maturity” had made his Friday night rager on Old Cherry Road the main priority of your friends’ plans, after a grueling night of sore toes and itchy fabric that was the Homecoming dance. An actual celebration, where booze monitoring or debauchery dance moves couldn’t be policed by the faculty of your soon to be alma mater. Not that it was celebrating much, those green and orange jerseys adorned by the most admired only saw scuff marks with no touchdowns; yet another year of despair for Hawkins High’s athletic department. And yet, somehow a trophy-less trophy cabinet did little to sway the big egos of the prim and proper. Funny. So now, you sigh, basking in a night of a hot shower, trying to exfoliate and shave off that icky feeling in you that you knew resided deeper than superficially.

Because while your friends drank the night away at Quinton Reeves’ Friday night rager on Old Cherry Road, you sat forlorn with a kitchen full of purchased junk food, a bathroom full of face masks, a bedside table full of magazines, and a television stand full of movies, because despite being planned a week in advance—after you conveniently got left out of Stacy Wither’s girls night—Quinton Reeves’ Friday night rager on Old Cherry Road became more important than your girls night.

Softened skin bundled in cozy clothes, you watched your saddened reflection in the foggy mirror of your bathroom, where a squeaking wipe to the condensation allowed for pellets of water to race down the glass. Beneath the mask of green gunk that claimed to heal those pesky bumps of raging hormones on your skin, you could still see the dampen expression of your sorrow face, where you recollected the comments of your so-called friends.

Buzz-kill. Bummer. Borning. Rummaging through the entirety of the B section of Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Thesaurus just to really cement the fact that they wanted nothing to do with your itinerary-riddled girls night.

You splashed your face with the wake of lukewarm water. To hell with them; your skin was glowing, body freshly cleaned, your scalp free from any solid itch of hairspray, fingers and toes wiggling with a beaming white polish, and you had an assortment of snacks to rake through while ogling at Ferris Bueller, watching him have a day off with his friends who actually care. Perhaps you should take a stroll through Chicago, and catch a Cubs game. It wasn’t anything but a state away. And if you got lucky, maybe you could find Sloane Peterson’s fringe jacket in your stack of magazines.

Surely, Ferris Bueller was cuter than any twenty-one-year-old who still spent his weekends partying with high schoolers.

Christ, a parked full driveway.

Eddie, four hundred seventy-six dollars richer, Munson craned his neck, ticking his tongue at the scale of which your house stood at 11:28 p.m on this Friday night. One hesitant sniff at his shirt, and he regretted the decision of not moving Samara Lawson away any faster, when the drunken girl attempted the flirtatious endeavor of receiving that twenty-five percent discount you were always accustomed to.

Perhaps her revenge on the dealer, himself, after he politely declined with a harsh line to his lips was forcing him to reek of booze after a tight hug to ensure her chest squished against his just enough that Samara Lawson surely thought it would deduct a dollar or two. It didn’t.

“Fucking two stories, man…” Eddie sighed, kicking the mulch of your mother’s meticulously cared for garden, as the bricks of your home seemed to drag onward for an eternity from his five foot eleven stance (six feet if you’d ever ask).

A towel in hand, you gently dabbed away the excess water from your face, before you turned to serums and creams to gently massage your face with, hoping to ease any worry lines your friends have cost you in the wake of disappointment. Mint flavoring of stringy floss proceeded to invade your mouth, as you plucked all you could from your teeth to triumph through your oral hygiene care. Not that it mattered, though, a party-sized bag of Doritos was awaiting its fate of being empty by the time Pretty in Pink began its course of replay.

If Eddie Munson knew anything, it was the probable fact that your bedroom could be found from the dimly lit window on the left wing of your home, where white curtains cascaded against a potential entry to your room. In the instances in which Eddie found himself in the weekly routine of taking three steps up porch and three knocks to the door, the stained glass that adorned your front door for decorative reasons always allowed him the warped sight of you appearing from the left side of the second story, before bouncing down the stairs like Yasmin Bleeth running down Will Rogers State Beach.

And for the brief one minute and thirty-seven seconds it took to exchange the half ounce for fifteen dollars—prolonged extensively by Eddie Munson’s attempt at small talk—Eddie lavished in the bubble that was your true element. While cheer skirts became devastatingly enticing when you wore them, something about pajama pants that pooled at your feet for the entirety of being too long with sweaters that swallowed your tiny hands in comparison to his truly had his heart cinching with the tight grasp of utter devotion.

It became the only thing that inveigled him to make the thirty minute trek across town to deliver your demands. What a surprise it was when Chrissy Cunningham revealed the dealer, himself, never offered her home visits, after too many complaints of making the eerie journey through the woods to receive her goods had you suggesting to your friend to give him the call you did weekly. But a groaned out, “You know he’d never do that; his whole ‘I don’t come to you, you come to me’ policy,” had you perplexed in the face. He had never disclosed you of that. Huh.

“For the love of God, please just let me be right for once.” Eddie huffed, as his calloused hand collected itself around the gutters that followed alongside your home, which provided him the leverage to denounce the white window sills with dirty scuff marks of Hawkins’ muddy winter sleet.

How more pathetic could you possibly look? A frown had permanently etched itself onto your face, where a fake smile was once plastered before Lucy Coleman informed you of the fact that no one was showing up to your scheduled ‘Homecoming’s Coming Home Girls Night.’ God, you even had a cute name for it… ish.

Freaking twenty-one-year-old multiplex ushers.

Giving up the bathroom for the night, a trip following the banister down to the kitchen became a dangerous game of stuffing your feelings with carbohydrates you’d eventually come to regret the next morning. Your father had made the safe assumption to ignore the ruckus of opening cabinets and crinkling wrappers that appeared behind him from the living room, because eighteen years of living with you had taught him you were always one, “are you okay?” away from exploding from the angsty teenage rage that bubbled inside you. By tomorrow, you’d eventually come to him with a sadden face and wails of a hurt tummy, and just like you were seven, he’d be there to comfort you with a hearty breakfast and open arms.

Littered posters, rumpled white sheets of little red heart, a vanity besmirched with powders and glitters, and a heavy resemblance of laundry piles that mimicked his bedroom floor—saved from the blacks and denim, only colors and lace this time. If, for whatever reason, this wasn’t your bedroom, Eddie Munson would be heavily concerned.

With an artillery load of snacks on hand, your father followed your huffy stomps through the living room and up the stairs. “Wanna save me some?” A joke terribly unappreciated on your part, as a scowl met his lighthearted smile.

Your bare toes dug into the carpeted steps to solidify your displeased mood. A little dramatic, and unserious, but only targeted to your flippant father, who found amusement in the little jabs that made your face crease like your mother’s. The actual hurt and betrayal that lingered within was still discreetly churning in your belly with the fretful epiphany of how lonely your friends made you feel.

But as mentioned, that’d be a discussion for tomorrow morning, when you could cry into your scramble eggs.

One step at a time, the view of your bedroom door—cracked, and flooding the hallway with the mustardness of lamps—came to light, as a guttural sigh left your mouth as a “fuck you” to the stir of messes you felt, pounding at your head with no mercy, as if the shitty friends you had wasn’t enough, they were capable of making you feel horrible, awful things.

Yeah, fuck yo- “Ah!”

Bags of chips and wrappers of candy avalanched down the doorway of your bedroom, as Eddie Munson’s already large eyes rounded to the ghastliness of yours, hunched and frozen in stance of that of a burglar, and suddenly Eddie was coming to the realization of how utterly creepy he looked.

“Sweetpea?!”

“Hon?!”

A call from the living room, a call from your parents’ room; your mother and father’s voice boomed with concern of what could be another dramatic yell fueled by teenage temper or actual danger. But Eddie’s surrendering hands, with a look of desperate apologies that had to go unspoken unless he wanted to be caught by your parents had made it apparent that Hawkins’ local drug dealer who wandered about with a gaudy jewelry and hair you’d like to braid had little to offer when it came to harm.

Also, the way in which his fretful finger was comically signaling to his prized lunchbox had let the understanding of business ventures finally hit you.

“S-Sorry! Um, giant spider!” Stifling their consternation of any imminent danger, Eddie cracked a tiny smile, before treading down to your feet to pick up what he caused to drop in the first place.

One after another, your pile of snacks were now being examined under the scrutiny of your drug dealer. “Friends coming over for a sleepover or somethin’?”

Insulting. “No.” You mumbled with a particular sass he hadn't usually been indulged in, that had him quietly chuckling. God, him and your father would get along.

Sat aside on your bedside table to be feasted upon when cute, unwarranted company couldn’t witness the giant devour, you quietly closed your bedroom door, and stood watching Eddie Munson awkwardly swing his arms.

“You’re probably-”

“So, um-

“Oh, I’m sorry, go ahead.” He encouraged you with a tight-lipped smile.

You shrugged, and sat upon the edge of your bed. “I was just going to ask why you snuck into my room… at this hour.”

Eddie cleared his throat. “No, yeah, um, I realize how weird this must be, but, uh,” his eyes gallivanted to the notable furniture that adorned your bedroom—bookshelf, arm chair, desk—to avoid the knowing look on your face he’d have to be met with, because for whatever reason it was, it was now just painfully dawning on Eddie Munson how terrible of a move this was. “Well, I was just heading home, passing through the neighborhood,” lie, “and realized you weren’t at the party- Reeves’, I mean, you weren’t at Reeves’ party.”

And you truly gave the man, himself, little to offer with your subtle, “yeah,” that would force him to grab a crowbar to pry what little information he was willing to take for the night if it meant you’d just keep talking to him.

“Just, uh, all your friends were there, bought from me n’ all, but, um, I don’t know, just kinda figured you’d be there with them since you always are.” He mustered out, as his eyes rapidly jumped about to scan the movements of your body. “And, well, didn’t see my number one customer.”

And Eddie smiled, as your heart began pattering with stirring feelings that had your throat tightening with disbelief. “You came to check on me?” So softly spoken.

“No, no.” Oh. How more embarrassing can this get for you? He might as well point and laugh in your face for being so lonely. “I-I, um, thought I could, uh, drop off your usual, y’know, squeeze in some extra cash.” Of course. “I saved you some.” Eddie patted his battered box.

He watched your body deflate, and suddenly he wondered why he went that route, when it clearly caused the frown line on your face to deepen. “Right, um, thanks.” You sighed. Junk food and weed? At the very least, you could be high when crying tonight.

One second to open your bedside drawer, but another second halted by Eddie’s voice that stopped your movements from stretching to reach for your wallet inside. “I- y’know what? Free of charge.” He propped open the metal lid to grasp onto the reserved baggie of the usual half ounce, before placing the lunchbox down to hand the substance to you. And he read you confused look quickly, as your hand hesitantly graced his fingers to take the goods. “Just, um, loyal customer, figured I should give back.”

“Eddie, you already gave me a discount, I really don’t mind paying.” A promise to indemnify him for all that he already did.

“Ah, well, you should, because I’ll be terribly offended if you do pay me.” He broke a smile that had your shoulders slumping with relaxation. “Just, uh, gotta let me hang here for a minute, if that’s okay with you.”

“You want to stay here?”

“Food, weed, and your company? C’mon, what kind of man would I be to pass up that opportunity?” And thankfully, that was enough confidence to have you shyly giggling before him. “Just a little break before I head home, I guess.”

“Had too much fun partying?” You teased.

“Think I would’ve had more fun if you were there.” Oh, no. Pattering heartbeats, and now fluttering butterflies disrupt the peace of your tummy, as Eddie stared down at you. “Mind if I sit, uh, next to you, or over there, or wherever?”

You nodded to his request, complying by moving to the center of your bed, where you and Eddie sat back in the bundle of your rumpled duvet and pillows. A pregnant pause consumed over, as Eddie chose to linger in the silence to get a good view of the knick knacks that disheveled your room perfectly, and you admired the glow in which his profile became illuminated by. With bouncing eyes, it became the shiny embroidery of gold italics on the velvet sash that read “Homecoming Court” that paired cheaply with the tiny, plastic $3.99 Party City tiara that had dug into your scalp for the three hours you had to endure that night that caught Eddie’s attention.

“You win?” He abrasively asked.

“Uh, no.” You quietly answered. “Chrissy Cunningham got the bigger crown.”

Eddie nodded along. “Figures.” He added. “She’s sweet.”

It was your turn to nod, as the lips concaved into your teeth, while your fingers rustled with the plastic baggy in hand. “Yeah, she is.”

“Kinda boring, though. Don’t you think?” He tossed his head back to meet his eyes upon yours.

“Chrissy?”

“No- well, not really, I mean Chrissy winning, y’know? Carver, too.” He clarified, as he watched your face with the suggestions he was making. “Like, why even vote- or hell, go to that shitshow if we already know who’s going to win? At the very least, throw in a curveball. Like-Like, Johnny Katowski.” Eddie laughed.

“The kid from chess club?” You quietly giggled, as Eddie sat up.

“Yeah, him!” He declared. “How great would it be to see a kid like him winning Homecoming King, I mean, he may have bitched me out when I knocked into his lunch table and messed up his little figurines-”

“Pawns?”

“Yeah, pawns.” He laughed. “But the point is, why not give some other people the light, y’know?”

“Oh, well, Johnny Katowski is a really nice person, but I think he’d be too shy to enjoy everyone staring at him.” You quietly spoke, as you fiddled with your fingers under Eddie’s stare. “But, um, other people like you?”

“I meant other people like you.” Eddie smiled. “I’m too good to be king.” He joked, as you laughed at his cockiness. “I’m sure that dance would’ve been better if you had won, ‘s all. Just like the party.”

Your brows raised with gentle curiosity. “Oh, did you not have a good time at the dance?”

“Oh, no,” he waved you off, “didn’t even go. Dances aren’t exactly my thing, sweetheart.”

You softly giggled. “You didn’t go to the dance, but you went to the afterparty?”

“Can’t exactly sell my supply on school premises, Y/N.” Eddie jokingly protested. “And even so, you went to the dance and not the afterparty.” Like tightening rope around your throat, your gut was hit with the simple analysis Eddie concurred. Though rather obvious, it somehow manifested worse coming out in the words of others around you who clearly saw the disconnect between you and your friends. Sure, a little more information would solidify it, but in the overworking mind of intrusive thoughts that made up your mind, Eddie’s phrase managed to concoct the notion that all of Hawkins High was now acutely aware of the fact that the ties of friendship with the girls closest to you was now being severed at the hands of no longer wanting you. “Hey, you okay?” His face lowered to catch yours, only to quickly move as you suddenly cleared your throat whilst straightening your comfortable posture.

“Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, I guess.” You mumbled, providing him a small smile to end whatever prodding he was about to dig into. You no longer wanted it.

“Oh.” He spoke. “Um, you want me to leave, leave you alone?”

“No, no.” You assured him. “It’s okay.”

Another silent pause. Eddie Munson laid his cards on the table. A, he could cut the awkwardness short, and be on his way back home, sufficed with the fact that he, at least, got more words out of you than the usual “thank you, here’s your money, see you next week” routine, that he’ll be stuck with for the rest of the school year, until you inevitably leave for college- I mean, good for you, but then he would be stuck with a whirlwind of what if’s that would eat him alive, all while you got the live your prosperous life in god knows what city, where some dude who actually had to balls to make a move on you would get the honor of being called your boyfriend. Deep breath. Or B, he could just be a friend right now, because it really looked like you needed one.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” You slowly peered up at him. “I mean, like, you’ve always been kinda quiet, just, y’know, from seeing you around, but you seem a little more down now. Like mime quiet.” He smiled, eliciting a worn giggle from you. “Just feel like you have something to say, but you’re not saying it.”

“I…” you sighed, “it’s really stupid, Eddie.” Because suddenly sitting back with Eddie—whose personal life details were spread around town for the sake of small town gossip to enact who could and could not associate with the shunned of Hawkins, Indiana—your problems felt entirely too small. The last thing he needed was to be drowned by your superficial problems. The last thing you needed was to be judged for feeling the way you did, when Eddie Munson would give the reality check of a lifetime, and tell you to grow up. “Yeah, just, um, really miniscule things that I don’t, uh, wanna annoy you with.” You attempted to laugh off.

“I asked you.” Eddie stated matter-of-factly. “You’re not gonna annoy me when I’m literally asking to hear you, sweetheart.” He chuckled in disbelief at your resigned behavior, baffled by the notion you could even believe anything about you to be bothersome. “C’mon, just say it, say it with your chest, just lay it all on me. Can’t do any good to keep it in, no?”

Eddie Munson had quite the knack of being a cute motivational speaker, as your giggles caused by his coltish self seemed to abate the linger tussle of depressive hesitancy in your mind. “It’s just… y’know, my friends, n’ all.” A hearty grunt of agreement coming from Eddie had you laughing through your words, as his face of distaste for your friends made it easier to speak. “Like, I just know they-they don’t want me- or, at least, it really feels like that. God, Eddie I rented out all these movies, bought some face masks- which are really expensive, by the way, and these damn snacks, ugh. Why-Why is some lame party more important than my plans, than me? They just don’t care! And I get I’m more quiet than them, but why does that mean I have to be left out of everything?! A-And, y’know, they always say I’m a bummer, but they don’t think about the fact that they make me a bummer. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love shopping just as much as the next guy, but knit-picking everything that’s wrong with how a dress looks on me isn’t exactly going to make me an ecstatic person, y’know?!”

Eddie Munson used to be able to count the number of words you spoke to him on the fingers of one hand. And right now, that was, at least, twenty-five singular hands. And the thought had him smiling in the distance, when in actuality, that stagnant pause was an invitation for him to speak, as per a normal conversation. So it became that very smile that had your stomach flipping with ignominy at the fact that your overthinking thoughts were transpiring right in front of you: Eddie Munson thought your problems were laughable.

A quiet “huh” was all he had to say.

“Well?” Your face, unfortunately, contorted with desperate validation. “You think it’s stupid, don’t you?” Almost accusatory, but in all seriousness, his lack of words were only cementing the scary thought that infested your head: you were the problem.

While deliberating, Eddie was really trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, he really was. But for the love of god, why were you allowing these people to have this much sway over your life? Three days ago, Courtney Keller, co-captain of Hawkins High’s cheer team, who conveniently sat a desk over in Eddie Munson’s English literature class thanks to Ms. O’Donnell’s tyrannical assigned seating, was overheard asking if Romeo and Juliet had been inspired by the 1978 cult classic Grease. Ah, yes, because William Shakespeare surely looked to a Hollywood blockbuster love story of a goody-two-shoes and greaser to write his most notable play. These were the people making you miserable?! You bombarded your letterman jacket with a bunch of tiny, obscure pins for crying out loud! Only you could make those god awful, gaudy, green jackets look remotely cool. Not to mention the fact that when looking at you from a distance—totally not creepy—Eddie could make out those funky, little doodles that indented the cover of your notebooks, before being thrown into your stuffed locker of knick knacks and stickers. Pins and doodles? Totally cool in Eddie Munson’s book.

Okay, maybe not the most substantial aspects to determine one’s coolness, and perhaps, most wouldn’t look to the super, super senior to constitute what is, but the fact of the matter was that Eddie Munson, himself, thought you were pretty damn cool, so who the hell were some peaked-in-high-school nobodies to tell you otherwise?

“What do I think? Uh, how do I put this?” Eddie reiterated, playing out the right words to confront you with. Though, Eddie Munson wasn’t necessarily one to speak so eloquently. “I think you’re kinda acting like a dumbass,” and your fallen face had him stuttering into recovery, “n-no, I mean, like, not that you’re dumb or anything, you’re really fucking smart. It’s just, I dunno, c’mon, you’re smart enough not to let them bother you.” He exasperated.

“Like-”

“Like- sorry,” he interrupted, “I just mean that you’re so much better than them. Like, in every aspect, you have so much more going on than their puny life.”

“Well, according to them, I don’t even have a life.” You grumbled, knees wedging themselves against your chest to provide the perfect burial for your head.

Eddie sighed, choosing to sit up against the headboard of your bed to get your smushed face to follow his movements. “Hate to break it to your sweetheart, but getting shitfaced at some boring party isn’t exactly the epitome of having a life. I mean, sure, maybe to the people who thrive in small town shitholes like this place,” and luckily, Eddie was able to follow along with your airy giggles, “but you and I? Hell, no, babe, nuh-uh, we were made for bigger shit than Hawkins.” He smiled.

And you smiled, too. “Like New York?”

“Like New York.”

“Ooh, or somewhere pretty like Paris or Marseille?” Your head finally perked up.

“Sure… I mean, I think I can put up with French people for you.” He joked, letting that genuine laugh fall from your lips so effortlessly. “Kinda draw the line at eating snails, though.”

You gasped dramatically. “What?! You’re telling me you’ve never tried Benny’s escargots?!” Yeah, you were way cooler than any Courtney Keller clone.

Eddie’s head leaned back, as his hearty laughs quietly fanned your face, until the atmosphere was finally at peace with steady breaths. “I mean it, sweetheart, just gotta look them right in the eyes, use those big, beautiful things you got, and tell them to fuck right off.”

While undeniably making your heart patter in your chest, Eddie Munson’s comment also served to become the catalyst for the most humiliating moment of your life. With your face turned away into your knees to shield him from the lovesick smile you were embarrassingly about to flash him, you terribly missed the single opportunity it would have taken to redirect Eddie’s devastatingly—for you—short attention span away from the beaming jewel that rested in your still opened drawer.

“What’s this?” Pink and glimmering under the lowlight of your lamps, Eddie couldn’t resist the encrusted jewel lined with silver. And you hummed in question, oblivious to his findings, turning around all too late. “In your nightstand.” His hand inching closer and closer.

In your nightstand, in your nightstand, in your nightstand, echoing like a nightmare on repeat, as your eyes widened at the epiphany that Eddie Munson had found your- “Don’t touch that!” Your father’s brow cocked, wondering what movie it was this time eliciting dramatic reactions from you. But Eddie’s calloused fingers had already grappled onto the silver handle, pulling out what was beyond mortifying for you, as the lamp shade had fully revealed what concealed item contained that sparkling decoration.

“Oh, damn…” Eddie blinked, swallowing the nothingness of his throat, as a stir began to tickle his naval just below the belt. Both sets of eyes glued to the bulbous end of your plug, though Eddie’s incoming smirk seemed to differentiate tremendously to your gaping mouth of disbelief, where you sat frozen in horror at the events transpiring before you. Held like a priceless jewel, Eddie examined your personal toy with a devious smile to pair. “You use this? Like, it really goes up your ass?”

Your internal being was screaming at the top of your lungs, all masked by the stoic features of your face that refused to accept the reality of what was happening. “Eddie.” You managed to mutter out. “Please, put that back!” Harsh whispers smacked him in the face. “Eddie, I- sorry, just please, I’ll-”

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay.” His free hand came to secure itself around your knee, allowing that tightening breath to finally make its escape from the anxious hold in your chest. “Really, I just- it’s cool, just caught me by surprise ‘s all.”

“Okay, well, can you please just put it back, and forget this ever happened?” You pleaded, wishing him away for the night, hoping to never meet his eyes, the same eyes that made your butt plug fall under scrutiny. “I swear, it’s not mine- well, it is, but, like, I didn’t buy it, my stupid friends, ugh-”

Palms digging into the sockets of your eyes, you wielded this as your punishment, hoping the pain would come to mask the utter humiliation of Eddie finding your personal belongings. Uptight, they joked. Laughing with those giggles you learned to despise as you unwrapped the decorative paper that covered your birthday present. A book, a journal, sketch pencils, or plant, any and everything that could have sufficed as personal presents that would have been highly appreciated. But your friends seeked another personal route, with the jabbing comment of wanting you to “loosen up.” And so what, gag gift or not, the use of that particular toy came about as no one else’s business, because while the contribution came at the expense of the devastating realization that your friends were grade A assholes, there was no judgment in exploring yours- GOD.

“Hey, seriously, sweetheart.” Eddie’s hands came to pry yours away, letting his lighthearted eyes cast away the round, sadness of yours. “I just, y’know, didn’t think you were like that- or into that.”

“Oh, right, because I’m so uptight and boring.” You defensively rolled your eyes at him, before attempting to move from your spot next to him, but Eddie worked quicker to keep you in place.

He spoke earnestly. “Hey, no, don’t put words in my mouth, I didn’t say that.” Eddie sighed, jumping through the endeavors to show his action didn’t come maliciously. “Seriously, you know that, alright. Don’t think of me as being that kind of person.”

You sighed in defeat. “Eddie, this is just beyond humiliating.” And he desperately just wanted to take a hold of your adorably sullen face.

“I don’t think it’s humiliating.” He smiled, of course, it wasn’t his butt plug in his hand. “Think it’s kinda… intriguing. L-Like, sexy.” Your eyes peered to his height, searching for the laughter of a joke you swore was about to follow. But Eddie Munson had never lost the hold of your eyes, piercing his through yours to strike that flame in your body with a burning match.

“Really?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah.” His fingers continuously fiddling with your toy in hand, as his pants tightened at the mere thought of it being inside of you. What you did, late at night, to destress, finding an escape in the pleasure of being plugged, and played with. “Knowing what you like, testing your body, yeah, sweetheart, it’s really fucking sexy.” He slyly eyed you down, as your throat went dry under his dark stare. “Wouldn’t even mind seeing it.”

“W-What?” You stuttered out, thighs tightening to rub that aching thump brewing between your legs. “Like, um-”

“If you’re okay with it, Y/N,” Eddie took over for you, “I’d like to see how you make yourself feel good.”

Your mouth gulped like a fish out of water, trying to find the right words that were lost in the tangled disarray that was your overthinking mind, beating heart, fluttering tummy, and pulsating heat. But even that gnawing anxiety couldn’t deny you the unbearable urge to have Eddie Munson ravish you. “I- right now?” You spoke so quietly, nodding to the sentiment.

“Yeah,” his tongue drenched his lips with one swipe, “let’s just say it’s for, uh, educational purposes, what do you say? Might even, y’know, get your mind off things. Relax. Feel good. Better than that fucking weed can do.” His ringed hand took a hold of the plastic baggie from your side to place away in your nightstand- inside, where you apparently held your most precious items.

You swallowed the nerves away, allowing yourself the selfish pleasure of Eddie’s touch to wash away the heavy troubles of your mind. You want this. You deserve this. “Please?” So delicately spoken.

“Yeah?” He sneered. You nodded. Under his gaze, you made the move onto your knees to comfortably shift out of your pajama shorts, but your hands couldn’t move further than grasping onto your waistband, before Eddie made a quick call to stop you. “Woah, woah, what are you doin’, sweetheart?”

Your mouth opened to speak, but you froze in the awkward position, and eyed him worriedly. Surely, you couldn’t have possibly read this entirely wrong. “I- you said you wanted to see, like, taking off my clothes.” You meekly explained, as the burns of a suffocating bonfire blazed your cheeks with embarrassment.

“No, c’mon, baby, you gotta let me be a gentleman first.” Eddie chuckled. “Can’t just start fillin’ you up without kissing you. Get over here.” He patted his lap.

Your leg thrown over his had you seated on the thickness of Eddie’s thigh, as the skin of yours nipped at the graying denim of his black jeans. Plug aside, his fingers teased at the seam of your shorts to encourage your hands to place themselves on his chest, where he saw you hesitantly reaching for. Feeling the cracking print of his worn band tee had suddenly brought you a sense of contentment, allowing you to comfortably press your weight onto his legs, a sign of snugness that had him smiling at you lovingly. Goosebumps arose in the wake of Eddie’s fingers brushing down the sides of your thighs to connect with the creasing of your knees, finding the fold as leverage to bring you forth.

Chest to chest. Nose to nose. “You gonna give me what I’ve been dreamin’ about?” Your lips grazed the oncoming stubble of his upper lip, just seconds of subtle, bare touches that were feeding into that aching desire igniting inside both of you, before fully securing your mouth upon his. Eddie’s lips became a suction, refusing to let you go, as his hand crept with security to the back of your neck. Your tiny moans melted into the kiss, with tenuous grinds against his bulge that bent the zipper of his jeans, all too deliciously for Eddie to handle, leaving his mouth drowning with saliva that slicked your lips with the taste of Eddie Munson. “Don’t have to worry about anything with me.” He murmured into you.

A hungry “mhm” was all that could be trusted to come out of you, as your hips rolled with greed, entirely fueled by his tantalizing hand that squeezed at any fat he could latch onto.

“Everybody deserves a break, baby.” He cemented with firm pecks that left your lips raw with the sound of spit smacking to echo into your ear. “Just let me be nice to you- let me be so fucking nice to you.” You nodded against his face, nose bumping with harsh breaths, as neither of you could find the will to pull away. “Let’s- fuck, let’s get these off now, pretty.” Eddie snapped your stretchy waistband against your hip.

Tingles coursed through your legs, as you found the strength to dig your pedicured feet into the rug of your bedroom, and stand before him. His blunt nails gently scratched down your legs to invigorate you to declothe. Your bottoms slid down, pooling at your feet, before you stepped out to have your pussy on display for him.

“Mm.” Eddie lowly hummed, enthralled by your mound, so perfectly decorated with the hairs of your pubes, and puffed between your thighs. “Damn, you standing here without your shorts makes me wanna listen to music.” He smiled.

Your brow pointed, gifting him the sight of your confused, little face that had him chuckling at you. “What?” You asked.

“Y’know,” he snickered, “‘cause I wanna use your thighs as headphones.”

Your girlish giggled made him feel good about his awful joke, finding all enjoyment in seeing your hands cutely hide your face from the shyness of your nature, despite standing bare in front of him. “Eddie, that’s so corny.” You laughed.

“But I got a smile out of you, s’all I care about.” His hands came to yours to twiddle with your fingers that differed from his thick ones, lavished in the loud jewelry he brandished. “So, uh, I imagine I gotta get you ready first, y’know, wet. Don’t wanna hurt you.” You softly nodded to confirm his words, suddenly feeling the tickles in your belly moisten you, as the realization of this actually happening was becoming truer by the second. “Somewhat of a handyman, myself, can grab some DW40 or somethin’.”

“Eddie.” You flirtatiously chastised, mewling a whine of gauche, of which you had a real talent of making cute.

He laughed. “Look, look, there’s no… romantic or- fuck, I dunno, chivalrous way of asking someone if you can eat their ass, so can I just eat you ass, sweetheart?”

Eddie’s unabashed bluntness had your face burning with the intoxicating sensations of humiliation and want, brewing something nasty in you that always laid dormant under the unexplored aspects of your desires. Leave it to Eddie Munson to elicit that filth with the raunchy words of his mouth that already showed you just how sinfully good it could make you feel. Just for you, you hoped. But surely, Eddie had to have obtained these skills from some practice. And you wondered if that’s what you were. Practice for the next gal to have her world rocked. Or… just thoughts. Loathsome thoughts, the very things Eddie has dedicated to clearing from your pretty head, because someone with a face like yours, and being so sweet had no reason to suffer, as you did. Practice? God, no, you were just everything. So Eddie Munson made sure to give you everything.

“Yeah.” You tenderly answered. “Just, um- well, I already showered for the night before you came here, but, like, I can, you know, clean up-”

“Baby-”

“Just so you’re comfortable with every-”

Roughed by heavy car parts and heated guitar strings, his all but soft hands felt so gentle in yours, with fingers dancing in the intertwine of a caring hold, flooding you with security, as his eyes without word complimented the contours of your figure silently but so earnestly. Eddie squeezed your hand. Eyes searching inside you through yours. “Stop, stop.” Your nervous rambling came to halt. “I don’t care. I know you’re clean, I wanna taste you.”

“Yeah.” You took a deep breath. A squeeze back to show love to his tough hand. “Yeah, okay.”

A smile breached his face. “That’s what I like to hear. C’mon, bend over for me, pretty, let me ease you from your mind.”

With the rumpled duvet sinking with the load of your limbs carrying you to the center, the air felt cold against the oozing slickness of your bare cunt, spreading its welcome with the curvature of your back with tits hung from their weight on your chest, as you allowed yourself the liberty of resting your head upon your pillow. The falling of Eddie’s creased sneakers against your floor appeared louder than reality when blood was pumping in your ears to the overworking beat of your heart. Naked and vulnerable, several deep breaths were taken to appease that anxious thought in the back of your head of what you might look like to a boy you liked so dearly, but nothing ameliorated you better than the waking touch of Eddie’s hand against your ass.

“Fuck.” And suddenly his voice had a way of coaxing your hands to relax against the harsh hold of your sheets. His hands rounded the globes of your ass, feeling the fat wobble beneath, when a sharp spank landed on your right cheek, forcing you to suppress the whine with a metallic bite to your lip.

You mewled out your reprimand “Eddie! My parents are still here!” Having to whisper your frustrations, because now having a taste of what an Eddie Munson spanking could do, you wanted more, but couldn’t under a parental household.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He chuckled, a complete lie he muttered just to calm you, because forcing your ass to ripple with the slam of his hand would be nothing he’d apologize for. “It really is just so spankable.” Eddie’s hands worked to massage the brief sting of his abuse that had you quietly pushing back for more. “So fucking perfect, all soft n’ shit in my hands. Nice to just fucking grab, and spread apart like that- fuck.” Fingertips digging into the dough of your cheeks had pulled your pussy lips to reveal strings of sweet arousal, and two pulsating holes Eddie was desperate to fill. “That’s so fucking beautiful.” His thumbs came to brush the hairs of your lips, inspecting what he was about to cherish on his tongue.

His soft proclamations had you smitten with a smile that would surely strike him to his knees if flashed at him, but you contained yourself in the soft fuzz of your sweater that pooled at your breast to allow him the pleasure of running his course down your spine. Just an exploration of your body, feeling all his could while he can, because while your mind had a funny way of overthinking, his did, too; Eddie Munson was slapping himself to right your worries, because one wrong word, one wrong touch, one wrong stroke of his tongue had him rampant in the head that you’d leave disappointed in his actions. Forever.

“Eds.” But as Eddie Munson was there to ease you, you were there to ease Eddie Munson. You’ve nicknamed his status to something closer than drug dealer. And the salacious click of your tongue had you proving to wanting to push that status further.

Eddie smiled at the possibility. Your gasps were all that could be heard next, feeling the tip of his wet tongue browse your tight hole, as your ass swallowed him in. His mouth lathered you with the spit that once coated yours, though now preparing your asshole for the stretch he’d succumb you to, lips nipping at your hole that had you salivating your moans into your pillow. A feeling all too foreign for you, allowing someone in your most intimate area, and Eddie took it with such delicacy, manifesting all his love for your ass in the mewls he shoved between your cheeks.

It quickly found itself to be something better than lubricating your ass with the use of your slick and prodding your hole with a curious finger. Eddie had managed to bring depraved sensations with the globs of his spit and the intrusion of his tongue, forcing itself to snake past the pulses that attempted to keep him out. “Fuck, you taste so good.” Pumps and pumps of his wet muscle tickling the walls of your tight ass, as his hands pinched your body in tight grips, shaking all fat in his vicinity to do everything to be consumed by you.

“Eddie!” You hugged your pillow, suddenly feeling the fire of your warm sweater, as your ass danced along his face. “Want you to- mm! Want you to keep doing that!”

“Sorry if I’m takin’ long, baby.” Like spitting the taste of nicotine out of his mouth, a warm glob of saliva impurely landed on you, giving leeway for his thumb to massage your squeezing hole, before submerging in with your moans to accompany. “Just really wanna make sure you’re ready. Fuck, and, um, I know I said I just wanted to see how a plug works, but can I please eat at your pussy, baby, it’s right there.” God, he could smell you enticing him, seeing your pussy hole clench completely neglected as your asshole got the fun of his touch.

“Yes, please, Eddie, just want your mouth on me.” Hips thrusting back to chase what left, leaving him with nothing to do but smile and ravage your thighs and hips and sweet kisses.

“Nasty, little fucking thing, aren’t you?” He proffered no time to answer, giving himself what he wanted, face becoming smeared with the gleam of your wetness. Your pussy tickled under the scratch of his light stubble on your lips, the shoving of his nose in your sopping hole, and his tongue flicking of your clit igniting every prurient urge you ever tried to satiate on your own.

That delicious tang of your cunt infiltrated every sense within him, surrounding him in nothing but you— the hearing of you, the sight of you, the smell of you, the touch of you, the taste of you. Your raw bud throbbed under the exploitation of his mouth, sucking the shockwaves to cause your thighs to quake.

“Too much. Eds- fuck me, I can’t, s-sto- uh!” Your hand reached back at an attempt to push him away from the stampeding orgasm you were too insecure to experience him seeing. But no matter the sting of your pretty nails digging into his scalp, nothing was stopping Eddie from seeing the sheer tremble, cry, and gush he could bring your body to.

With his thick thumb plunging into your asshole, his free hand sadistically pulled at your cheeks to expose as much of your pussy as he could, leaving you to mewl at the stretch of your skin. The sole separation of your puffy lips had him moaning at the sight; such a tight pussy hole aching for something to fill it, needing to squeeze down to spark your greedy orgasm. “Shit, fucking pussy pulsating just for me.” His tongue buried itself inside, letting his finger fall to pinch at your vibrating bud, rewarding it with the tight circles of rubs that felt unbearable. “Taste so fucking delicious!” His words were barely eligible in the crevices of your cunt, but they provided all sensation to push you into your tonic state. “Cum for me, fucking cum!”

Fucked by his tongue and finger, you no further denied him, unleashing a gush of your spent to ravish his mouth, as your holes kept him in place with their tightening hold. If it wasn't for the fault of your parent’s bedroom being on the other side of your home, they would have surely heard the vulgar corruption of sweat and sex condensing the air of their daughter’s bedroom.

“Fuc- mm, uh…” Like a Pavlov dog, your pillow had soaked itself wet from the salivation of your chewed lips, as your legs shook under the grasps of Eddie’s hands.

“Shhh, baby, I’m gonna put it in. Let me play with it.” When limbs went numb after orgasmic bliss, the dealer knew now was the time your body would accept it. Gaping from the size of his thumb, Eddie’s gentle insertion made the process enjoyable, placing a delicate kiss to your asshole, before your plug was indulged in the tightness of your ass. Now crowned with a pretty, pink jewel to top. And you mewled, softly shaking your ass to adjust to your decoration, trying to find feeling in your shaky legs. “God, you sound so fucking cute.” He rubbed your ass with groping hands. “Don’t let that get into your head, though, I’m still in control here.” Eddie chuckled.

Despite falling limp, Eddie’s strength found no trouble in pulling you onto his lap, once he fell back onto his calves. While a hammering bulge was fighting back against the restraints of his cuffed belt, you couldn’t deny the fact that he didn’t feel the satisfaction of a bursting orgasm, yet your mind pondered on the reasons as to why his heart was pounding so profusely against your spinning head. Your hand splayed against his chest, as you peered up at him. “Are you nervous?”

Eddie Munson swallowed thickly. And ignored you completely. ��You’re a really dirty fucking girl for playing with yourself like that all alone.” His hands pinched at the sweaty skin of your back, as your face contorted with the creases of confusion at his now unnecessary comment. “But… now you have me, though, right? Gonna play with me always?” Though, any confidence Eddie previously had speaking to you that way was gone under your scrutinizing stare, and you could hear it in the slight quiver of his voice. Because Eddie Munson wasn’t trying to dirty talk you. No, Eddie Munson was trying to seek your desire to want him around.

And you gave it to him. “Yeah.” Free of any sexual suggestion, because Eddie knew you saw through his assertive facade, piercing at his vulnerability and choosing to accept it through the deep breath of relief of his nose.

With his tongue swiping at the surrounding areas of his lips, you assisted his clean-up, thumbing at the gleam that coated his chin, subsequently letting the burden of his heavy head fall into your gentle hands. “Y’know, I see you a lot at parties- like, more than just us doing deals, I see you.” He cleared his throat. “And I’ve had this thing. This, uh, really big thing for you for a long time now, Y/N. A-And I know it’s your friends dragging you to these parties, but, I dunno, when I see you you just look so… meek, I guess, but like in a good way. Like, this whole elegance you got to you.”

Both you and Eddie stumbled into soft giggles at his boyish articulation, trying to grasp the concept of feelings from a man who’s never been graced with the excitement of committed reciprocation. But there was one thing for certain, Eddie Munson was damn sure trying this time. “Wouldn’t necessarily call myself elegant.” You chuckled.

“No, but you are.” He earnestly protested. “Y’know, you show up, not even wanting to, not saying a word, just keeping to yourself, and everyone just looks at you- notices you.”

In a town of Stacy Withers, Chrissy Cunninghams, Lucy Colemans, and Courtney Kellers, that felt like a big, fat lie smeared in your face. You brushed the stinging sentiment with quiet laughters of pain. “No one notices me, Eddie-”

“I notice you, Y/N.” He urged you to see, hands molding onto your body for fear of you not seeing what he gets to so lovingly see. His lips landed upon your cheek, brush-like strokes, dragging his affection to the canvas of your face, before a devout kiss seared your mouth to his. The swelling muscles of his arms squeezed to tighten around your back, savoring your being, and exploding when your sweater-clad arms mimicked his fervor around his neck, experiencing first-hand what was Eddie Munson’s first requited love. “Just to be here,” his lips spoke against yours, pausing to kiss away the ache that fell constant when your tongue wasn’t dancing upon his, “playing with you,” your mouths clicked with the slobber of his spit, ridden with the tart honey of your pussy juices, the same ones beginning to sog the stitching of his jeans, “just cracking that armor you got on, it’s heaven on Earth for me.” Your lips strung apart, as your thumbs soothed over his chasing movements, caressing the beating pulse point of his neck. But where you smiled, Eddie continued to try to kiss your upturn beam. “You’re not kissing me, why aren’t you kissing me?” He whined, trying to pull a pucker out of you. “Just smiling, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” giggling against his hungry lips.

“As pretty as you are smiling, I need you kissing me, baby.” Eddie playfully admonished with a hefty squeeze to your hip in a puerile way of presenting his frustration.

“It’s just,” late nights of perfecting the solos of various guitar sequences allowed your fingertips to skim over the delicate purpling of his under eyes, “I don’t know, Eddie, the night has just been really shitty, and you’ve somehow managed to make it a lot better.”

“Probably because I gave you one hell of an orgasm.” This time you’ll allow his refusal to accept the complimenting sincerity of your words, masking the mush of giddiness inside him with a comment of sex, because at least this one made you laugh in his hold.

“And other things, Eddie.” But there you were to peel that mask away, and dump your kindness of wanting him all over his walls. “You gave me other things.”

A building appreciation for yourself.

The cynicism of his eyes jumped hurdles to search for any fibbery he may have found himself trapped into, but you were so warm. To the touch, your skin sent his hands aflame with sparks of desire from the true benignity of your being. Warm eyes, warm lips, warm heart, working to secure a blanket of security over his shoulders from the sheets of coldness both of you have been offered by those who cared too little for your wellbeing. “Y/N, I need to tell you something.” His mouth moved without thought, as his body grew sore of ignoring the very thing it wanted: you. “Look, I’m just gonna jump right in, and say it, I want you to be mine- I want to be your boyfriend.” His eyes bounced around the brightening features of your face, creasing with lines to make room for the smile that enamored his chest. “But first I gotta prove to you.”

“Prove to me?” You gently prodded, mind working overtime to control your hands from balling the fabric of his shirt from uncontained excitement.

“See, I kinda just got this thing in my head, y’know, that I gotta prove my worth to you-”

“Eddie-”

“No, I know it sounds bad, but really, it’ll just be for my own peace of mind.” He assured you with the earnestness of his voice soothing the concern you were about to tackle to confirm Eddie Munson was, in fact, enough. “I know it might not be the biggest deal to you, but I just wanna be able to take care of you- like, please you. Make sure I can make you cum.” He whispered into your face.

You wondered where he was for the last five minutes, somehow forgetting the euphoria he had just pulled from you with the sole use of his tongue. “Didn’t- I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh, but didn’t you already… just do that?”

“I mean make you cum l-like couples do.” He bashfully iterated, eyes falling down, as if he hadn’t spoken the dirtiest things to you before. Though, perhaps, the beginning stages of what would blossom into a loving relationship had the boy suddenly at the age of fourteen, wondering when that momentous occasion of a first girlfriend would come. Having sex a year later surely doubled the probability, though Nicole Summers wasn’t exactly one that stuck around to find out. “Won’t exactly feel too great if the only way I can get my girlfriend off is by one single way. Let me prove to you that I can be good for you.”

“Quite presumptuous of you to believe I would even say yes to you asking me out.” You’d a hundred percent say yes.

Eddie smiled, before the strength of a sole arm entrapped you soundly against his chest, as his torso dropped forward to lay back against the plushness of your bed. Before a sharp moan could elicit the concern of your parents, Eddie brought forth his mouth to yours, once his bulge caught a steady rhythm against your buzzing clit. “Don’t think,” his hot breath concocted with yours in the heated makeout, “I got to see your tits.” Too neglected for your liking, your sweater found itself bunched under your chin, under glowing lamp lights that shadowed your peaked nipples. “Fuck me, pretty girl, just too,” a kiss to your valley, “ fucking,” a kiss to your breast, “perfect.” Eddie Munson swallowed your pert bud whole.

“Mm, that’s so nice.” You quietly mewled, with polished fingernails delicately weaving through the tousled curls of his head, sweaty and dampened from a whirlwind of nightly activities.

His hands groped at the fat, squeezing them together to tongue at your nipples, harsh flicks that had you arching into his face. “Just too fucking beautiful for this world.” He nuzzled into your chest, his nose flaring hard to inhale the sweet scent of your perfume, crisp and clean just for him to lose himself in.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” A guttural groan burrowed its way out of Eddie’s throat, crawling forward to shove kisses along your cheek that had your head pressing into the softness of your pillow.

“Not gonna worry about your folks?” When the Indianapolis Colts saw a hopeless comeback of being seven to twenty-seven against the Dallas Cowboys, your father knew to save him the anger of witnessing another pass interference with a click of a button that blackened the screen; a definitive call for the night. The heavy steps of your father’s movements followed along the stairs, wood creaking with the shift of his weight to bring him amongst the bedroom doors of the second floor. One look at your door. As every night would go, a quick knock at your door would allow your father entry into your room, hopefully catching you in that green gunk of a facemask you’d like to smear on your face, to provide your father the perfect joke to hear that loving, “dad, stop!” But given the crotchety tone of your previous engagement, your father guessed he’d follow the the statement if his gifted ‘#1 DAD’ mug, and leave you for the night. Embarrassing you will have to wait for Saturday morning’s event. And off to bed he went.

You hadn’t even realized your luck, allowing Eddie Munson to bruise your neck, oblivious to the predicament you slid by. “We can be quiet.” You pleaded, running your legs along his to feel the scratch of his itchy jeans, desperate to receive any and all sensations against your exfoliated skin.

“Open your legs for me more.” Your thighs pried open to his body, sanctioning him the authority to squeeze all he could to bring lines of tingles to your core. “Good girl, feels so fucking good to finally be touching you. Your plug in good?” Sitting snug between your cheeks, where a sticky stream of your cream pooled down your ass, bringing an extra shine to the gem of your plug.

“Mhm, feels nice.” You dug into the sheets of your bed, hips pivoting forward to the chase of Eddie’s thumb massaging into the dough of your inner thighs, hoping they’d make their move to examine your pussy with the prying of his curious fingers.

“Just wanna make sure you’re comfortable ‘s all.” He mumbled. A hand invading the crease of your thigh and hip had him softly chuckling to himself; quiet guffaws of disbelief to the radiating fever warmth that was congenial from the suffocation of your meaty thighs.

Your bitten lips twisted into a pout. “Why are you laughing at me?”

“Not laughin’ at you, baby.” He laughed. Eyeroll. “Just love that pussy heat, y’know?” Eddie callowly smiled, bringing forth a burn to your cheeks, as your watched wrinkles of titillation annex his face from the sheer look of your natural body. “I dunno, guess it kinda makes my head a little bigger knowing she’s waiting for me.” He became delirious on the hypnotics of your moving hips. “Fuck, want me to touch you, pretty girl?”

You were falling desperate under his command. Your nails dug their crescent shapes into his hand, skin flooding with the pumping veins from the stinging rush, an urgent call to have him finally give in. “Please, Eddie, been waiting too long.”

“Ah-ah, have some fucking manners first, not gonna get it that easily without asking nicely.” He tortuously tantalized with the coming of his hand beginning to lightly rake the wisps of your manicured pubes. A whine of despair was all he was met with, nothing but your hips attempting to gyrate his hand to your needy clit. “C’mon, don’t get all greedy on me, baby, remember this is about you, you’ll get it all eventually. Just need you to feel everything as much as possible. Let me just rub the outside; up and down.” The weight of his fingers interfered with the glue of your slick, now pulling at your pussy lips to showcase the rawness of your cunt, strung by webs of your syrup that had him itching to shove his tongue in once more. “And maybe, I’ll just take my finger,” his pointer, pushed out ever so lightly to tickle the wet skin below your pussy, before the rigid callouses dragged up to spark the nerves of your puffy labia, catching a rub to your erecting clit, “and touch you whenever I feel like it.”

Your breath became caught in strings of gasps. “Eds.” Purring with delight at the tease of his finger brushing at your impulses of sensation. “Please, please, can I have you?”

“Just wanted to see that sexy fucking smile you do when you get all excited.” Eddie admired, reveling in the twinkle that bedecked your face to light up from the touch of his fingers. “You are so fucking hot, man.” Mumbling to himself, his head refuting the belief of this being reality. But your body moved with the liveliness of feelings, your voice rang with melodies of harmony, and your smell infused his skin with the sweetness of sugar and oils; no matter how hard Eddie Munson’s eyes welded shut with dubiety, there was no dying the realness of a woman before him. “Wanna play a little game with you, baby.”

“A game?” Your voice softly upped in review of him, as he climbed over with a heavy hand turned soft to pet your head with loving strokes that matched the brief attachment of his lips to yours.

“Yeah, just a little one, nothing to worry about, just love seeing your face n’ everything.” He vaguely detailed, letting your mind lose itself to the softness of his peppered kisses. “First, you gotta any names you wanna call me: master, sir, daddy?”

Eddie watched your eyes shy away from his brashness, adorably being unable to endure the heat of his words. “Um,” your teeth pinched into your lips, “I-I think sir’s kinda nice.” You timidly admitted, only ever divulged by the encouragement of Eddie’s affection.

And he smiled against your lips, dragging his devotion to your cheek, temple, and forehead. “I think it’s kinda nice, too.” From you? Anything would have his body stirring. Eddie abruptly sat up from your body, his mangled hair briefly frizzing from the overhead reach of his shirt, that left his torso blank of any band tee he’d previously adorned. His abdomen came to light as a soft tummy lined with the harsh crevices of flexed muscles in a strive to show off a physique he thought would look best for you. But your warmhearted hand relaxed the strain of his stomach with a single stroke to his naval, sending shockwaves with every graze against his happy trail.

In the midst of pulling away the worn leather belt from the clinking metal buckle, your words swiftly halted his movements. “You’re very pretty, Eddie.”

His head bowed, soft laughter coming through the nostrils of his nose, as he shook his head with a smile that adamantly won over his face, despite a hefty attempt of biting his lip to keep it down. “Feel like I should be the one telling you that, look at you.”

“Would it be so wrong for you to hear the truth, too?” A smile so pure, it shot straight to his heart, causing a speed bump to the rhythmic beating of his chest.

His cheeks darkened with vulnerability. “I- yeah, you’re really about to fucking get it…” both of your soft laughter mingled into the air, as he tugged the length of leather from his belt loops, “…and thank you.” His lips pressed to your inner knee, whilst undoing his pants. But then, he paused. Eddie Munson had not even the slightest idea of how easily you were able to undress before him. Perhaps, it simply fell down to the principle of the matter that Eddie Munson was already head over heels crazy about you before you ever spoke to him. He’d like to thank Chrissy Cunningham- or, actually, whatever stress it was she was enduring for being the sole reason why she went seeking him that fateful Friday afternoon. Now, he understands the grossness of that sentiment, but, truthfully, as an aspiring entrepreneur, the problems of your clientele surely become the profit of your business. And while he wasn’t exactly looking to better this capitalist venture, it did, in fact, lead him to you. Standing in the back, watching reddening leaves fall to the ground, under the guise of being your friend’s lookout. C’mon, that rotting bench hadn’t seen company for years, Chrissy Cunningham was merely weary of his presence and needed backup. But gladly so, as for once, someone’s uncalled for judgment allowed him the privilege of staring at their pretty friend. So excuse him for suddenly falling insecure about the look of his body. You were quite literally everything to Eddie Munson. Would he be for yo-

“It’s okay.” What? “I want to see you, Eddie.” You smiled so perfectly.

Without notice, stirs of anxiety turned into fluttering butterflies in his belly. And Eddie Munson smiled back. Following the squeaks of your bed, he headed off, taking a hold of what was his pants and boxers into a tight grip, and finding the confidence to rid himself of any further clothing. Springing from confinement, seven inches of weight bobbed against his naval with a smack, as you relished in the sight of his cock with bulging veins that strained to pump blood to his scarlet, mushroom tip. Any concerns about the appearance of his area abruptly left his rampant mind, after witnessing the dragging pull of your plump lips opening for your mouth to widen in awe. Your thighs rubbing in heat, a desperate attempt to satiate that rubescent, needy clit that thudded with tingles from the mere sight of him naked.

Yeah, nothing to worry about- in fact, quite a large inflation to his ego. “Decent enough, huh?” His lips twisted with a sneer.

A deprived “mhm” moaned its way out of you.

Rushing to place himself between the warmth of your legs, Eddie positioned his cock to sit heavy against your tummy. His large balls of cum became immersed with the slick of your pussy, as his velvet skin rubbed against your drenched folds to fully show you the length of his member; nudging it to your belly button, whilst the chaos of his pubic hairs titillated your thighs. “This game, baby, the only thing with it is that you can only cum when I tell you.” His eyes kept a close watch of your rippling stomach with every smack of his cock he caused. “You understand?”

“Yes, I understand.” You sighed, becoming antsy with the tickle on your abdomen from the sheer weight of his dick.

“That’s the right fucking answer,” he darkly chuckled, “just gonna start playing with you, pretty girl.” His hand directed the fat tip of his cock to butt at your clit, forcing your hips to jolt awake with the electricity of pressure against your sensitive nub. “Just like that, you fucking like that, don’t you?”

“M-More, please.” You clawed at your bed sheets, stressing the material with every rub of his length against your cunt.

“Nah, baby, gonna treasure this, take it nice and slow.” He agonized, sucking in breaths with every tense of his balls, as you brought pulsating tingles to his body by doing nothing, but laying pretty. “Fuck, you really do something to me, whatever you got going on is doing a fucking number on me, sweetheart.” Saying all the right things to you, his words shot straight to your pussy, making it impossible to hold back your soft moans. “Honestly, baby, not really one to talk about my feelings, I guess, but you- everytime I come by knockin’ on your door, I just get these nerves n’ shit. Gotta talk to myself, too,” he husky laughter pierced so sexily, “honestly, like ‘damn, gotta pull yourself together, can’t let her pretty ass see you like this.’” Eddie’s cock dragged through your folds, separating strings of wetness to marinate on your raw cunt. “And I just wanted to kiss you for the longest, wanted to be right here playing with this fucking pussy.”

“I want you, fuck.” You heaved, hips chasing an itch he refused to have you revel in. “Always want you, Eddie.”

His cock spurred excitedly. “Shit, sweetheart, can’t say things like that to me, fuck.” Eddie’s tip ran through your slit, the swollen head now prodding at your hole, just a first glimpse of the stretch you were about to endure. “God, just having me lay here with you, seeing you, hearing you, touching you, it’s the greatest thing ever. Does that feel good baby? Like me teasin’ you?”

“Yes, sir, please, Eddie.” You hummed, trailing a high that was building too slowly for your liking. “Want more.”

“Mm, really like hearing you say that, love your pretty, little voice.” Eddie’s free hand dropped by your head, supporting his weight to hover over you, letting his unruly hair cascade a waterfall around you. “As a matter of fact, you should speak up. Tell me you wanna be a good girl for me.” So close, his cock was barely grazing the entrance of your cunt, all before tortuously leaving your warmth to dissipate that spark in your body. And up above, Eddie was enjoying the show of your contorting face of frustration. “C’mon, you can say it.”

“I wanna be your good girl, sir.” You pleaded, taking a grasp around his supporting wrist to help find your rhythm against his teasing dick. “I promise, I’m your good girl, just let me have it.”

“Yeah, you wanna be my good girl.” He mocked, aligning his slick head of precum and your arousal to your clenching hole that oozed more wetness. “Here’s the thing, you’re already mine, so who am I to deny you- mm, fuck!”

Falling chest to chest, your nails clawed up his back at the burning sensation of his girth breaching your seizing walls. Eddie’s forehead dropped to yours, as the mixture of both your hot breath confined what little space was left between your gaping lips. “Slow, slow!” You urged him, as his bangs crumpled against your head with a fervent nod to listen to your pleads. Every clasp of your cunt had him harshly breathing through his nose, fighting the onslaught of sensations that were subsequently bringing him closer to the edge far faster than anticipated. “Uh! Fuck, you’re so big!” Inch by inch, your body was giving way to the pleasure of his deliberate intrusion, welcoming him in with a warm hug from your cunt.

Nearly lacerated by his nails, Eddie hoped the balling of his fist would defuse the overwhelming feelings churning in his chest, but suddenly being submerged balls deep into your body had his mouth spewing with all he felt for you. “Fuck, you really don’t understand what you do to me.” He whined against your face. “First time I saw you, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I don’t really get in situations like these often- hell, fucking ever, but you! I just had to do whatever I could to get you. Honestly, it kinda pissed me off.” Eddie breathlessly chuckled against your lips, driving his greedy hips to drag his cock along your walls. “Holy s-shit, fuck, how the hell was I letting some girl have this affect on me. But you’re not just some girl, Y/N. God, mm, you’re fucking everything.”

Leave it to Eddie Munson to confess his feelings from the tightness of your pussy.

“Eddie!” His cock found no trouble in abusing that spot within you that had your legs occupying his waist like a lifeline, toes curling from the rapture that trembled your legs. Your hands forced his head to your lips, swallowing each other's moans to consume the desperation of night. Where spit messily slicked your lips, a ring of cream surrounded Eddie’s cock that smear the wetness against your pussy.

“Fuck, just wanna do everything for you.” His lips dragged against yours, bodies bumping with every pound of skin slapping Eddie caused with his dick. “Got your holes all plugged up, nasty, little fucking thing.” Pursuing that desperate high, your pelvis began meeting his with an impassioned gyrate; the swollen head of his cock bruising your g-spot, all whilst the tickle of his pubes itched at your inflamed clit. “You wanna come, baby- fuck, I know you do!” His stomach clenched with every squelch your pussy created under the squeezing hold of his dick’s continuous reentry.

Licking and rubbing your cunt to a tender mess of cum and slick had your second orgasm of the night pummeling quickly under Eddie’s intrusive cock, and you were pleading to see white stars from the fucking of his body to yours. “Yes, please, please, sir! Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna- mm!”

Sweat coated your rubbing bodies together, where you nipples abraded against his to have you wailing with all sensations, yanking that orgasmic string within you. “Squeezing down on my fucking cock, yeah, baby, you can cum, but not until I say so.”

Eddie Munson was torturing himself when his body stilled inside you, but seeing your desperate face twist into a crying mess was far better than dumping inside you within the first five minutes. “No, no, sir, please!” Your hips attempted to fuck themselves deeper onto his cock, but Eddie’s harsh hand imprinted itself to the fat of your curves, holding your down from any endeavors to cumming.

“Hey, hey, listen, listen, sweetheart.” He took a hold of your jaw, forcing your eyes upon his. “Remember, you’re my good girl; gotta be good for me.” All along this is what Eddie wanted, turning your mind into deprived mush to cloud those overcrowding thoughts that hurt your little head. And he watched it transpire before him, seeing you desperately nod to his words, completely at his mercy with full trust to care for you. “I know I’m being mean, baby, but you gotta believe me when I say this will feel so good.” His puffing breath fanned your face. “I’m so proud of you, so proud of you getting all that shit off your chest, so proud of you letting me play with your holes, being this perfect, dirty girl for me. Now, I want you to come, okay, just gonna play with your pussy-”

“Ah, fuck!” Your body jolted under the tight, circling rubs of his rough fingers against your clit.

“Sh, sh, don’t want your folks disturbing us, baby.” His devilish sneer taunted your face. “Just tell me you wanna come, okay? Say it.”

Your lips incoherently spewed out. “Iwannacomesir-”

“Slower, pretty girl, slower.” Eddie demanded, with each pinch to your buzzing pearl fueling that plucking string of hot cum inside you to burst.

“I want to cum, sir.” Your trembling hands secured his hot cheeks to bring him forth, as your lips whispered against his with tiny kisses. “I… want to… cum, sir.”

Eddie smiled against your lips, before planting a fat sucker on them. “Good, now shut the fuck up, and you better listen to me.” With your heads bound closely, all of the world became lost in the homey environment within Eddie’s curtain of hair. Where his two-in-one shampoo clashed with your coconut hair mask, and the smell of sex fermented the humid air of hot breath, Eddie began hammering his cock into your sopping pussy, with spurts of wetness jumping to souse your connecting bodies. “You are so fucking gorgeous.” He huffed. “Anyone can see that plain as day- so fucking incredible. You deserve the fucking world, deserve to be taken care of, and I swear, baby, I swear on my life to be that man.” Eddie moaned into your ear, his wet lips exciting every nerve in your body with hot whispers, that had you mutilating his skin with streaks of unbearable red. “Just feel me playing with you, pleasing you, only you, pretty girl- f-fuck! Tell me I’m yours, fucking tell me.”

Your legs tightened around his backside, driving the heels of your feet to the tiny plush of his ass, forcing him deeper into your cunt. With your hands caressing the beauty of his face, you managed to find the strength to open your screwed shut eyes, and meet the round ones that were pouring desperation into yours. “You’re mine, Eddie.” Spoken so delicately from the hoarseness of your throat, whilst the filthiest actions were occurring to your body. “You’re all mine, Eddie. No one else. Just you.” Sealing it with a searing kiss that had him sobbing groans onto your tongue, in a heated mix with your whines.

“When I tell you, cum for me, okay, baby? Ten.” His heavy hand forced a grip to your leg, hiking them higher for an angle unbeknownst to you, leaving you to squeal into the crevice of his neck. “Nine… eight… seven, love how fucking greedy your body is, almost there, my pretty girl.” Eddie’s balls were seizing with twitches, as his engorged cock was building up a hot load that was on the precipice of flooding you. “ Six, look right at me, five… four, wanna see your pretty face when you finish.” Too much pressure was mounting on your cervix, as your body began losing itself to the thrills of an impending orgasm. “Three… two, tell me you wanna cum.”

“I wanna cum!”

“Louder!”

“I wanna cum on your cock!” Singing it to his ears with cries of harmony had his body cramping with pleasure.

“One, fucking do it, cum for me!” Your back arched with the snap of your orgasm, a scorching gush of creamy white invading his cock with unfathomable squeezes and squelches. “Fuck, fuck, fuck… f-fuckkkk!” A hose of his sizzling seed fucked itself into you with stuttering hips that had you wailing into his buff shoulder, nails bloodying his alabaster skin with reds of passion, as your bodies convulsed in the aftershocks of pure hedonism. “T-There you go, fucking ride it out, sweetheart, ride it out with me.” His muscles flexed under the intense explosion of his bust; beads of musky sweat falling down the length of his body to infuse the creamy cum that matted his pubic hair. “God, you’re so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful.”

“Auugh!” Your fogged mind whined in the lost stars of white that flashed your vision.

“It’s okay, my baby, just relax, you’re alright.” Eddie brought you back to reality, peppering kisses of adoration along your perspired skin, cementing every word he ever uttered to you in the heat of the moment. A brief cry of discomfort from his cock pulling out had him comforting your body with gentle caresses, all while witnessing the artistry that was a pearly concoction of both your hot cum painting the pink jewel of your butt plug with a filthy iridescent. “Fuck, you really are fucking mine, Y/N.”

Your soft voice ripped through the sounds of heavy breaths, as your body felt like waves of crashing water under his touch. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

You weakly laughed. “Yeah, you can definitely be my boyfriend.” As if that was ever a question. Your gentle mewls echoed into his ears, as his thick fingers made the move to smoothly twist out your butt plug from your needy hole, that felt the need to keep its clamping clutch onto it. Eddie swore under his breath, falling in love with the winking gape of your asshole. While a clean-up was surely at hand, your beckoning voice had him dropping your toy to lay by your side. His lips found solace in the company of your own, as he brought your sticky being of sweat and cum close, snug under the protective arms of his body. “Yeah, I’m your boyfriend, and you’re my girlfriend.” Eddie Munson’s lips upturned to a damning smile that had you clinging to his closeness for the rest of the night.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader

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strawberryspence · 1 year

Text

Steve is 19 when Eddie first says it. It's the night Eddie comes home from the hospital, body all bandaged up to help him heal. Steve picks him up, drops him off the brand new trailer and has to say his goodbyes. He's the one who's been staying with Max at the hospital since Lucas started going to school again. Eddie watches, seated on the door, shoulders leaning against the frame.

Eddie waves at him, hand still wrapped protectively on his middle. There's a tired smile on his face, "See you tomorrow, Steve." It's the first time Eddie ever calls him by his first name.

Steve is 20 and Eddie Munson has been saying, "See you tomorrow!" as his goodbye to him since that night. Robin thinks it's for him and for him only. Steve watches Eddie, something he does a lot these days. He watches as he says his goodbye to the kids, says goodbye to Nancy, Robin, Jonathan, Argyle. Eddie never once says the words, "See you tomorrow!"

Steve waits for everyone to be gone, hitching rides from the other older kids. Eddie turns to him when everyone has finally left, "Are you staying, Stevie?"

"No. I am leaving too."

Eddie smiles at him, cheeky and dimpled, brown eyes shimmering like a fucking gem against the cheap yellow fluorescent light, "Well then, see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

It clicks. It's not a goodbye, It's a promise. Eddie will see Steve tomorrow, come hell or high water. A promise made for him, and him only.

Steve pulls Eddie by the lapels of his ridiculously shiny jacket and kisses him straight in the mouth.

Steve is 23 when Eddie and him move in to their first apartment together. It's dingy, kind of old, but hey, it's freaking cheap. They unpack boxes of things that was given by Joyce, Karen, Hop, Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Sinclair. It's not much but it makes their bare home more livable.

They sleep on the floor with Steve's old mattress laid in the middle of the room, unopened boxes and furniture scattered surrounding them.

It's the first night they sleep together in their first home.

"See you tomorrow, sunshine." Eddie kisses his forehead, his nose and then his lips.

Eddie never says goodnight, just see you tomorrow.

Steve is 25 and it's the first time Eddie won't see him tomorrow. Eddie has to go to New York because Corroded Coffin just got discovered by an agent who wants to sign them.

It's okay. Eddie still calls every night, thank God the time differences of Chicago and New York isn't that big. Steve makes sure Robin isn't using the phone, so Eddie could call and tell him about his day with producers and songwriters and music and Steve can tell him about school essays and presentations for his Education class.

And always, always, just like every night since he was 19, Eddie ends the call with, "See you tomorrow." With whatever name he feels like that day. Sometimes it's sunshine, sometimes it's Stevie, sometimes it's love or baby or sweetheart. It doesn't really matter because it's all Steve.

Sometimes it's not true. Steve doesn't see Eddie the next day. Sometimes it goes on weeks and months on ends before the greeting finally means they get to see each other again.

That's okay. Steve's okay with it because if not tomorrow, he knows he'll still see Eddie again.

Steve is 34 when he hears Eddie say the greeting to someone else for the first time. Adoption is exhausting and repetitive and long and grueling but in the end— with a tiny little baby, cradled right against your arm— it's perfect.

Kids are always a mess. Steve knows because he has seven of them already, all grown up, all spread out in the country, all doing things on their own. And it's exhausting and takes out so much energy from you and your partner.

But with Eddie, all the weariness in his bones dissipate at the image of him, rocking their child on a rocking chair, humming a soft song as he finally tells them, "See you tomorrow, peanut."

Steve is 47 when Eddie and him finally get married. Joyce and Robin plan the wedding and as ridiculous as it sounds, they separate the two of them the night before. Steve rolls his eyes, kisses his groom on the cheek and waits for Eddie to say the four magic words.

"See you tomorrow, fiancé." Eddie whispers against his lips.

They get married the next day, under the bright beaming sun, spring flowers surrounding them as their daughter reluctantly spreads flowers for them.

Steve thinks he's heard so many variations of the greeting, but, "See you tomorrow, husband." might be his favorite from all of them.

Steve is 54 and it's the first time Eddie doesn't say it to him before going to bed. They both silently slip into the bed together, hands intertwined together like the other will float away if they let go.

Apparently being tortured and experimented with half of your childhood has some bad outcomes. It's the day they find out that El has a brain tumor.

Steve is 56 and the Party sleeps beside him and Eddie, tucked into each other like they're 15 again. The last time the Party had a sleepover was in 2000. They still all have sleepovers, don't get him wrong. What Steve means is the sleepover where they're all squished together on the floor, clinging onto each other as they sleep soundly, knowing they're safe and sound with their friends.

They have a sleep over just like that one last time.

"See you tomorrow. I love you." Eddie whispers, just as he falls asleep.

The expired eggos in their fridge gets thrown out six months later.

Steve is 65 when he gets to meet their first grandchild. Eddie is adamant that he is not crying, but his glasses make his tears more visible, making them look like actual diamonds coming out of his eyes.

Their daughter laughs, and lets them hold him for the first time. Steve is a blabbering mess of tears, holding the baby close to his chest. They stay the whole night, to help take care of the baby and their daughter.

And there's nothing more beautiful than the moment the nurse has to take their grandchild away from their daughter and she whispers, as gentle as a feather, "See you tomorrow, Ellie."

Steve is 73 when Eddie first forgets to say goodnight. It's Alzheimer's, it's—

It's not okay. It's never going to be okay. But Steve has to be okay, has to carry on for the love of his life. He takes care of Eddie, because he vowed to do so the day they got married, because he loves this man and he will do anything for him.

Steve tucks Eddie at night, after fits of confusion as to where he is, as to who he is, and kisses his forehead, soft and gentle, and says, "See you tomorrow, Eds."

Steve is 82 when he hears it for the last time.

Eddie's health has been declining. Nine years after his first prognosis, Steve takes it as a win, nine years and his love still battles it everyday.

They've been living in a nursing home, Steve is also getting too old to take care of Eddie. His bones are weary in ways that never goes away, his sight and hearing has always been bad but time has made it worst.

There's something called terminal lucidity. The doctors explain to Steve, in the most gentle way he's ever heard, "You're husband will probably, theoretically, have a moment of clarity where he remembers everything and it will seem like you have him back, but for us it is the sign of his health declining further. I am sorry, Mr. Munson."

Eddie gets it a few days later, and they talk nonstop. They talk about the kids, their grandchildren, about their friends, about how they've lived their lives. They open up photo albums, and point and laugh and smile and cry. Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom, but only so he can call the others, so they could say their goodbyes. The kids fly in, from all around the country, to say goodbye.

Eddie goes a few hours later, warm and comfortable in his bed, cuddled next to Steve with a big dopey smile on his face, "See you tomorrow, Steve."

Steve smiles back, as Eddie closes his eyes. He stops fighting the ache in his bones, the never-ending beat in his scars.

"See you tomorrow, Eddie."

Steve doesn't see Eddie the next day, not the next, not the next, not the nex—

Until, he finally sees Eddie again.

#alright see you tomorrow #i have school so bye #steddie rants #steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfic #steddie fic #steddie hc #daeheadcanons #dae writes #tw mcd #tw major character death #tw illness

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wileys-russo · 4 months

Text

mary being an ass girl <3

based on this request here and many many more warnings for suggestive language! minors dmi.

you'd known from the very first moment you met mary exactly where her focus was, though maybe not quite in the way she'd wanted things to begin.

you were out grocery shopping on a friday night, exhausted after a grueling week of work and practically dragging yourself from aisle to aisle. thank god you had your list you'd already written this morning, your brain all but mush and body screaming out for your sofa and some trashy mind numbing reality tv.

your hood was drawn over your head and you were hardly dressed to impress, donned in an old pair of tights and your favorite baby blue nike hoodie, a pair of beat up converse covering your aching feet. not that a tesco on a friday night was where the manchester crowds all flocked to.

you were completely in your own world, zoned out and staring a little too long at a box of frozen dumplings in the freezer section when it happened.

"maya man you're killin me here. tooneys waiting in the car and i'm fucking starving hurry up!"

you tensed up at the feeling of someones hand connecting sharply with your ass, dropping the basket in your hands you spun around within seconds and suddenly a loud clap echoed as your own hand smacked across their face, your instincts kicking in before you could give it another thought.

"jesus christ i am so sorry!" you apologized with wide eyes, covering your mouth with your hand at your unexpected aggression. you weren't sure who you expected to greet you as the culprit but it was not the tall gorgeous brunette stood in front of you clutching her bright red cheek.

"fuck no i'm so sorry. you've got the same hoodie on as my mate and i thought-oh god you must think i'm some sort of predator. i'm so so sorry!" the woman rambled out an apology, her eyes just as wide as yours as you stared at one another.

"mary whats going-" another girl appeared with a confused frown, but seeing your guilt stricken face and the bright red mark on marys cheek her eyes narrowed. "did you just hit her?" she advanced on you with a thunderous glare as you immediately backed up, running into the freezer section behind you as the taller girl you'd hit leapt into action.

"hey no no i smacked her on the ass thinking she was you and well, i earned the slap back." the girl stood in front of you protectively as her friends face instantly flashed with regret.

"mary! you fucking idiot what have i said about smacking everyone on the ass? see now look karma's come and gone and smacked you back!" the friends shoved at the taller girls chest with a glare who stayed quiet but didn't move her body from shielding yours.

"i am so sorry about her i assure you she will hear about this for a long time and i will make it my personal mission to make sure it doesn't happen again." the shorter of the two warned sternly as the other girl nodded furiously, spinning back around to face you.

"can i pay for your stuff? please! it's the least i can do as an apology." she almost begged, clasping her hands together and giving you potentially the most irresistible puppy dog eyes you'd ever seen.

"no no you really don't need to christ i just slapped you into next week i should be the one apologizing!" you breathed out with a shake of your head, yanking your hood off properly feeling quite hot and flushed in the face.

mary was rendered speechless as she took you in properly, now feeling if possible even worse about her actions and how they might have made you feel, your beauty leaving her feeling winded as if she'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"no it's definitely her who needs to apologise and learn a lesson. come on mearps time to pay for the poor girls groceries!" with that the shorter of the two had grabbed your basket and sauntered off.

"maya! she might not be done shopping yet!" the taller girl groaned, flashing you a dazzlingly apologetic smile and holding up a finger before dashing off, returning a few short moments later with your basket in hand.

"i was done, really." you lied with a smile, the girl raising an eyebrow curiously, pointing to the list in your hand which was very clearly not fully ticked off. "look i promise you really don't need to-" you again tried to dismiss her, reaching for your basket as she held it away from you.

"i do. please i'm so embarrassed like i said it is the least i can do as an apology!" she blushed bright red once again and you couldn't help but find her quite cute despite the way in which you'd come to be acquainted.

"you should probably..." you started, opening the freezer section and grabbing out a bag of peas, placing them gently against her cheek where you'd slapped her. "oh thank you." she smiled softly and you found your breath catching in your throat.

and from then on, it was history.

the way in which you two met was something you'd often rile up your now girlfriend for, shaking your head and making teasing comments along the line of it all just being some elaborate way of picking you up.

enjoying the way she'd always go bright red and whine and promise it wasn't, burying her face in your neck with a groan, making you laugh as seconds later she'd be blowing raspberries against the skin as you'd try to push her off and she'd just cling on tighter

but intentional or not you should have almost taken that first chance encounter as a warning, a warning about exactly what sort of girl mary really was.

because mary alexandra earps was an ass girl, through and through.

it took her a few weeks of the honeymoon phase before you really learned just how much she appreciated yours in particular. but nowadays more than comfortable and hopelessly head over heels for you, there wasn't an ounce of hesitation in her actions.

whenever she'd return home after a particularly painful training session and you'd wrap her in a tight hug hello, her hands would start on the small of your back. then gradually they'd slip lower and lower until they rested right on your ass.

sometimes if she was feeling up to it there might be an affectionate squeeze or a gentle pat, but most of the time when she was tired and sore she was perfectly content to just rest her hands there, making you smile and shake your head as her own buried into your shoulder.

most other times, especially of a morning if you were up before her which on her days off you always were, you'd be greeted with a sharp slap to one of your cheeks.

a cheeky grin and plump rosy pair of lips shutting you up with a searing kiss before you could tell her off, a good morning mumbled into your mouth as of course she'd grab your ass as she did so.

her obvious fondness of your behind didn't just extend to the four walls of your home, cradled in privacy without wandering eyes.

no no, one of marys favourite pre game routines was to wrap you in a bear hug, hands gliding down and firmly squeezing your ass in them, smacking it much like you might high five a team mate. she'd then run off like a naughty kid before you could scold her, your face bright red as you were well aware you had an audience.

if her team mates were around after a game it only seemed to spur her on further, their teasing remarks only fueling her ego as she'd grope and grab you shamelessly, patting your bum like someone might pat your back with a wolfish grin.

mary loved nothing more than how much it clearly riled you up as much as it might brush it off as embarrassment, kissing your bright red cheeks and mumbling all the dirty things she planned to do to you once the two of you were alone, causing them to blush an even deeper shade of crimson.

all bets were off the moment you stepped over the threshold of your shared home, her hands hooking under your thighs and hoisting your body up, legs wrapping around her waist as she sat you down on the kitchen counter or slammed you into the nearest wall.

her hands would grab and grope at your ass, fingers digging in tight enough at the flesh that you knew there would be new bruises covering the almost faded ones that already existed there.

alongside the occasional bright red hand shaped welt which would cover one cheek if you'd felt particularly bold in the days before, your girlfriend rarely needing much convincing to dish out a spanking or two if she felt it was needed.

for her thirtieth birthday as part of her gift you'd bought her a polaroid camera, knowing how much memories meant to her you'd intended it to help her capture them.

but no, in true mary fashion her very favourite muse to take photos of was of course, your ass.

"oh my god baby!" you'd jumped in surprise as she shot up suddenly from the lounge one rainy afternoon, staring at her in surprise with a raised eyebrow.

"what?" you frowned when she didn't say anything. "hold on just a second my girl." she pecked your lips sweetly, of course cheekily squeezing your ass in one large hand before darting off upstairs.

"she's so weird." you mumbled to yourself with a small smile and a sigh, resuming folding the clean washing dumped out all over the coffee table, half paying attention to the football game playing on the television.

"right!" you again jumped as she re-appeared, her polaroid slung around her neck and a pair of sunglasses resting on her nose. "stop doing that! god im gonna get you a bell to wear around your neck like a cat." you huffed with a glare.

"what are you doing?" you sighed now properly taking her in. "i've had a sudden burst of inspiration my love." mary clapped happily, walzting on over toward you with a grin. "babe why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?" you questioned clueless, almost afraid of what you might get as an answer.

"enough talking! the artist needs quiet to work." mary again clapped, strolling on past you and muting the tv, yelling at google to play her cleaning playlist as your confusion only worsened.

"oh yeah! thats the mood." mary bopped her head along to the familiar song which played from the speaker, moving her hips side to side and biting her bottom lip as you couldn't help but grin.

"baby. you're so weird!" you laughed, hands on your hips and staring her down as she danced her way over to you. "as i was saying beautiful i have had a burst of inspiration!" she grabbed your face suddenly in her hands, kissing your lips and pulling away with a loud mwah, dipping your body down and kissing all over your face before pulling you back to stand up.

"and pray tell what has inspired you love?" you grinned as she laid down on the floor, wiggling for a moment to get comfortable as she smirked up at you and grabbed her camera in her hands.

"why your bum in those jeans my lovely girl, obviously."

with that she started to order you to pose, moving around on the floor and snapping polaroid after polaroid of you as you threw your head back with a laugh. "mary!" you whined, unable to keep the smile off your face at her ridiculous behaviour.

"thats mazza e to you thanks, up and coming fashion photographer." she clicked her tongue at you and pulled her sunglasses down, sending you a wink and pushing them back up her nose.

"now just feel the music baby, gimme a bit of a shake and a wiggle. i wanna see that thing move!" she whooped loudly as again you were unable to hold back your laughter.

"you are fucking ridiculous. you know that right?" you accused as she brushed you off, again ordering you around as you rolled your eyes playfully.

dropping the washing in your hands you gave in and started to dance, cheered on by mary who moved around on the floor, taking photo after photo as the pile of polaroids on the table grew.

"yes! this is brilliant, gorgeous, sexy, sultry. you're beautiful baby you're beautiful!" the goalkeeper yelled in a goofy accent, tossing her polaroid onto the sofa once she'd run out of film and sitting up, grabbing your hands suddenly and yanking you down onto the floor on top of her.

"mary!" you squealed, both of you groaning suddenly as she tried to sit up and kiss you, knocking her forehead into yours as your body melted into hers, vibrating with laughter as you buried your face in her neck.

"god i love your bum baby." mary sighed out once the two of you had settled from your laughter, hands coming to rest on it and massaging it expertly in her large hands.

"i know, you said hello to it before you even said hello to me." "for the one millionth time i did not mean to smack it as a pick up tactic!"

#mary earps x reader #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #mary earps #woso blurbs #woso imagine #engwnt

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petpenname · 1 month

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❤️‍🔥Red Wine Supernova❤️‍🔥

pairing: dealer!ellie williams x introverterd(f)reader c.w. smoking, drinking summary: modern college au, dealer!ellie x introverted!(f)reader, slow burn with some sad elements, inspired by Red Wine Supernova by Chapel Roan Parts: 1. I Just Want To Get To Know You 2. Mini Skirt and My Go-Go Boots 3. I Don't Care That You're a Stoner + Epilogue: Falling Into Me a/n: this ones long buckle up

Part Two

Mini Skirt and My Go-Go Boots

Music filled House 03 in each room as the girls got ready for that night's party. Olivia and Ivy share a room, blasting 2000’s pop throwbacks and club hits as they adorned themselves with low rise jeans and sparkles. Phoebe was playing 70s hits from the living room. Her and Daniel in matching bellbottoms, lounging on the couch pregaming already. Sage was in your room, as you struggled to form an outfit. Sitting pretty in her 90’s basement grunge attire, she questioned you about the night before.

Sage: “So she actually came over?! And you smoked with her! Look at you!”

“No, don't look at me! I don't know what to wear!” You say, holding up articles of clothing. “But yeah, she texted me while I was in the bath!”

“Oh, sensual,” Sage said with a wink. Seeing your distressed look she dropped the teasing and turned her attention to your wardrobe which was strewn across your room.

“What about those white boots! You could go as a go-go dancer!” Sage pointed at a pair of knee high white platform boots. You had only worn them out once but they were practically perfect for a 60’s themed look.

You picked them up, “okay yeah, but what do I wear them with?” “I dunno, a mini skirt?” Sage said laughing, she left the room to start pregaming and give you space to get ready.

You end up putting on a pink and orange plaid mini dress that fits your curves so perfectly. You opt to have your hair down and natural, pinning back one side behind your ear. A simple eye look to complete the look with a signature 60s line above your eye, in pink of course.

You stand in front of your full-body mirror inspecting yourself. You are usually confident in your looks but tonight you feel an extra form of confidence. Something about the spontaneity of last night after a grueling finals week.

“Hey y/n, you're almost ready?!” You hear Ivy shout from down the hall.

“Yeah! Coming!” You grab a cute white shoulder bag and put your go-go boots on. Grabbing your phone, extra lip gloss and taking one more look in the mirror before heading downstairs.

Your roommates are pregaming in the kitchen when you come down too hoots and hollers about how great you look. You return the girls compliments taking in everyone's looks. Phoebe hands you a shot and a lime and you all take one for the road. The walk to House 09 takes less than 10 minutes. You and Sage take up the rear of the group adventure.

“So are you going to see Ellie tonight?” Sage nudges you in the side playfully

“I don't know, probably, she said she would be here?” You are looking down to hide your obvious blushing. You had confided in Sage the most about your sexuality. Having come out as bisexual last year you've only had two girlfriends, which didn't end the best. You had a tendency to shut yourself away and you guess that didn't sit right with partners. But you also felt like they never respected your space. You decided to focus on yourself but sometimes, stoned, late at night Sage would get you to confess how lonely you were. You yearned for someone to love you, and for you to love them back.

“Wait, Sage, did you set this up or something like some blind date?” You remembered how Sage introduced Phoebe to Daniel and their relationship was solid.

“No dude!” Sage chuckled. “I promise, Ellie asked for your number, practically begged for it! And plus she's been dropping off to the house for months now, don't you think I would have set you up sooner if i thought about it?”

Ellie begged for it? Intrusive thoughts of Ellie on her knees looking up at you with those emerald eyes flash through your mind, making your heart skip a beat. You sigh, pushing the perverted thought away. “okay yeah i guess not, I don't know she seems cool, i hardly know her though.”

“Well get to know her!” Sage jumps ahead of you and turns down the path to H09, music already blaring into the street . You take a breath of air before following your roommates into the loud college party.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next few hours are a blur of colored lights, dance music, and drinking. You don’t drink alot but you are also more familiar with the taste of liquor than smoke. So in the company of your roommates you take another shot and accept a mixed drink from Daniel, the designated bartender for the house.

“Do you guys want to go dance?” Ivy shouts over the music

You all exchange nods, leaving Phoebe with her boyfriend at the makeshift bar and head to the living room to dance.

Whatever was in your cup tonight let you let loose a little more than usual. You worked up a sweat dancing to hits from the 50s to the 2000’s. Before you know it the room was getting a little too hot and you were a little too out of breath. You gestured to Sage to get her attention,

“I'm going to step out back for some air!” you say fanning yourself, still stepping to the beat

“Okay girl! Do you want company?” Sage responds over the music

“No no keep dancing! I'll find you guys!”

“Dont Irish Goodbye on us again y/n!” Ivy points and dances in your direction. “I'll come find you if you're not back in twenty minutes!” she blows you a kiss.

You laugh, “I won't leave! Promise!” Dancing your way out of the mass of moving bodies you head through the house and out into the back yard. The cool air instantly gives you a sense of relief as the commotion from inside gets muffled by the closing door. You choose to sit on the porch steps, staring up at the sky and you start to look for stars.

Due to the light pollution you are only able to see a handful of stars at the moment. While you are looking you hear the back door open and close. Glancing over your shoulder you see none other than Ellie step outside, face flushed and hair slightly damp clinging to her neck. She wore a white tank top, blue flannel and blue jeans, the same dirty converse from last night.

“Oh hey whats up cutie! You made it!” Ellie says when she catches your eye. She fumbles over to you and sits down next to you, letting out a sigh. “Oh my god it's hot in there, yeah?” “Hey, yeah it is” you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. She called you that name again. You both avert your gaze from each other, a beat of awkward silence before Ellie says, “you want to smoke with me?” and pulls out another immaculately rolled joint.

“Only if you tell me what decade you're supposed to be dressed up as?” you joke, looking her over. Most of the guests had gone all out with their fits.

Ellie chuckles “Whichever decade that supplies this party with weed.”

“Sooo 90s?” You say as you watch her face light up as she sparks the joint.

“Sure let's go with that” she exhales, turning her body towards you, with one leg bent on the deck and the other stretched out down the steps. She leans towards you slightly as she hands you the joint.

“And you are…. No don't tell me…. 70’s?” Ellie guesses as you take a drag from the joint.

You let the smoke out as you giggle, “no! 60’s! I'm wearing go-go boots” You stick a leg up and gesture to your boots

Before you could think Ellie reaches out and touches your boot, sliding her long fingertips, from the ankle up to the top. “Oh wow, yeah now i see them” flicking her eyes from your leg to make eye contact with you.

Your ears become hot at the sudden contact and you put your leg back down, take another puff before handing it back. There are those flutterings, they are much lower tonight.

“Wow and you're smoking more tonight! You're like a totally different person than who I met yesterday.” Ellie jokes as she takes the joint and leans back on her other hand. “Miss never goes to parties”, she teases.

Still feeling her gaze on you, you can't bring yourself to look at her so you look back at the night sky, leaning back on your hands. “Don’t get used to it, this is my one outing of the semester.”

“Yeah me too, honestly.” Ellies tone turns a little serious as she too looks up at the night sky, taking another drag of the joint and using it to point.

“The Big Dipper should be right there, you can see the start of it, but there's too much light to see the rest.”

“Mhmm” you hum, “I wish i could see them all, I could in my hometown.”

“Yeah me too” Ellie says, “Do you want another hit off this?”

You look back down and the simple motion of your head moving in space brings your awareness to just how fucked up you are. You know alcohol takes a bit to have an effect but you have also never drank and smoked together.

“No, thanks, ugh I'm feeling a bit light headed.” you say.

“Oh shit” Ellie puts out the joint and flicks it away, “Do you need some water?”

“Yeah that would be cool, I just need to catch my breath” You say as cooly as possible.

“Okay stay right here!” Ellie gets up and is gone in a flash,

Your head is spinning and you grab onto the railing for some stability, willing yourself not to throw up in this back yard. Deep breaths in and out help you regain a bit of your strength and feeling. You hear the backdoor open and shut as a few pairs of feet hit the deck.

“Hey, hey girl you okay?” Sage is next to you with a glass of water, you take and sip it slowly.

“Hey dude yeah, i'm good, I don't know if i'll go back inside though.”

“Yeah that's understandable, did you smoke too?”

You nod, and take another sip of water. Sage gives you a sympathetic look through her own blood shot eyes.

“I'll walk her home” you hear Ellie say, who you realize had been standing behind you the whole time.

Sage looks up, “oh yeah, I mean if you don't mind? You cool with that y/n?

You finish the water and hand your cup back to Sage, “Yeah, you stay Sage, tell Ivy I'm sorry for leaving again”

“Sure babes, and hey it's not an irish goodbye if you say goodbye!” She helps you up and says bye to Ellie and you before going inside.

“Are you sure you're feeling okay?” Ellie turns to you, a look of worry on her face.

“Yeah I'm feeling better now, I just have never smoked and drank together before.”

Ellie laughs, “damn what are you a virgin too?”

Such a direct joke caught you off guard, “uh no, i'm not.” you say defensively, turning away feeling your cheeks flush.

“I'm kidding, I promise! Sorry, come on let's get you home hun”

You curse yourself for being so quick to defend yourself, you were actually quite experienced, at least with your own body. You just didn't know exactly how to express that to your partners.

Ellie led you out the back garden gate holding it open for you, you felt her hand cup the small of your back as she guided you to the sidewalk. You let her hand rest on your waist as her warmth warms you up in the cool night air.

“Are you going to go back to the party?” You ask, breaking the silence.

“Nah probably not, i dont really hang out with a lot of people. I just go to sell.” Ellie responds matter of factly.

“What about your roommate?”

“Oh Dina? She’s with Jessie, I love hanging out with them but I have the dorm all to myself tonight!” She gives you that stupid sideways grin again

You smile back at her before looking forward, feeling a bit nervous realizing how close you two were walking. Her hand still on the small of your back, and her index finger tracing small circles, like she was nervous too.

You walk the rest of the block in silence and she walks up to your front door, stepping away from you before saying, “You sure you're okay to be left alone? I feel like I need to see you drink another glass of water.”

Maybe it was the joint, maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the feeling deep inside of you wishing for someone to be close to you again. You missed her warmth. Either way you find yourself answering before thinking

“You could just come in? I'll drink a glass of water to prove I'm good!” You hold a hand to your chest like making a royal promise.

Ellie chuckles, scratching the back of her neck and looking down, “Oh shit, yeah sure, I’ll come in” Did you just make her nervous?

“Cool” You say, fishing your keys out of your purse. You enter the house, flipping on a few lights and tossing your bag on the table.

“I have to get out of my shoes first!” you exclaim, taking a seat, suddenly out of breath again.

“Here allow me!” Ellie says, skipping to your side and kneeling down, before you could protest she has your right leg in her hands, inspecting for a zipper. “It's on the inside” you laugh at her willingness for chivalry, pointing at the zipper on the inside of your ankle.

“Inside huh?” Ellie said in a tone that made your stomach flip. She finds the zipper, pulls down and slides the boot off your leg. Revealing fuzzy pink socks adorned with a Kirby embroidered at the top. Holy shit you forgot you had those socks on?!

“Oh my god Kirby!” Ellie laughs, “I didn't know what socks to expect but i dont think these were it.”

“What's wrong with kirby?” You counter teasingly, the alcohol giving you some courage post sock reveal.

“Nothing! I just feel like i'm finding out little crumbs of information about you”, Ellie laughs again, “You're like a puzzle, or a riddle? I just want to get to know you.” she looks you in the eyes when she says that.

That last sentence felt so personal. You sat back in silence as Ellie removed your other shoe, revealing a second, pink kirby sock. She looks up at you and you realize she's on her knees, in front of you. Did you dream this into reality? How did such a pretty girl just fall into your life like this? You almost lose yourself in her eyes before she speaks again.

“You still gotta drink water for me, pretty girl.”

You nod, as she rises from the floor and looks around for the kitchen. Rising too and guiding her in the dim lit kitchen you grab a glass of water and return to stand in front of her to drink it. Finishing strong with a sigh and a smile, you set the glass down on the counter and turn to her.

“All done” you say

“Good girl” Ellie says with a smirk, staring into your eyes. Your stomach does a flip again, she is way too comfortable calling you pet names.

Like magnets the two of you slide closer until you are inches away from each other in the dim kitchen light. Both of your breaths hitch as you watch Ellie's eyes dart from your eyes, to your lips, and back up. You swear you could stare at her like this for hours, but you wanted nothing more than to closet the space between you two.

*DING DING*

The ring of Ellies phone sounds off in her pockets, startling both of you away from the tension boiling between you.

“Ah fuck what now” Ellie says under her breath. She quickly checks her phone and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuckers need more weed at the party. I should probably let you get your beauty sleep huh?” She says, shoving her phone back in her pocket.

You involuntarily let out a yawn as she makes the suggestion and you hide your face from her gaze. Partially from the yawn, mostly to hide your disappointment “yeah, I should probably sleep this buzz off, I'll walk you out?”

“Sure thing” she says.

You both head for the door, Ellie lingers a bit, swaying side to side before saying bye and dipping fast down the steps. You say bye and close the door behind her. Stealing yourself upstairs to take off your makeup and outfit. A quick self care routine later and you are passed out in bed.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ellie lights a joint in frustration as she walks out of H09. She really didn't want to go back there but ended up staying another hour because Jessie and Dina guilted her into drinking more. Thoughts of you swirl in the girl's head as she makes the walk to her dorm. Your eyes, your legs, your lips, your kirby socks. Ellie laughs to herself, and pulls out her phone.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up the next morning with a headache. Checking the time on your phone you're shocked to see you slept in until 11!

You have a few unread messages:

Ellie: want to meet for coffee? Ivy: I made pancakes! Sage: how can you have so much energy all the time? Be right ther Olivia: shhh sleeping

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Meet for coffee??” Sage said, mouth full of pancake. You and your roommates are sitting around the kitchen eating room-temperature pancakes and discussing the night before.

“That's what she said?!” you say, pouring some syrup over your breakfast.

“Well are you gonna go?” Ivy asks from the pantry

“I mean, yeah? I should, right?” “Only if you want to girl” Olivia say beside you

“Oh she wants to” Sage says with wink in your direction

“I do!” You say blushing, “I'm just nervous! The last times we interacted were so spontaneous. And this is like, she's asking me out!”

“It's just coffee babes you'll be okay! Its casual” Olivia says with a reassuring rub on your back

You smile at your roomates as you pick your phone up, responding to Ellie

y/n: “Okay :) when?”

30 seconds later you receive a text;

Ellie: “Sweet :), 1pm at the cafe?”

y/n: “I'll see you there!”

You smile at your phone for sec before your roomates all join in on a group “oooooooooo”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1pm comes fast. After breakfast you help clean then retire to your room to shower and get ready. It's a little chilly out this morning so you opt for a chunky sweater, comfortable wide leg pants, and sneakers. After checking yourself in your mirror and in Sage’s mirror, with her approval and luck, you head out the door.

The walk to the cafe felt like it took forever. You become hyper aware of yourself, your outfit, anxieties bubbling up in your mind as you try to stay calm. You round a corner and can see the cafe now, and something in you stops you in your tracks.

Memories of your past relationships flash in your mind. How hurt you were, how misunderstood you felt. Being lonely was familiar but it always stung when someone left your life. You will yourself to take a chance, your roommate’s comment in your mind for comfort. You’re just meeting for coffee, it's casual. With a deep breath, trying to gain some confidence you continue forward. You open the door to the cafe stepping in, warm cinnamon and coffee bean scents fill the air while a lofi beats track plays over the speakers. You look around and it takes you just a moment to find Ellie sitting at a table in the corner. She has a baseball cap on, looking down so she didn't see you come in.

You take in her appearance while walking over. She's manspreading comfortably in dark green cargos, a gray t-shirt, a black zip up hoodie and black converse. You knock lightly on the table to get her attention, startling Ellie who shoots up, almost knocking her chair over behind her.

“Hi there” you say sweetly

“Oh y/n! Morning! Er afternoon, hey” She composes her surprise and smiles at you to sit down. “I got you a coffee!”

You realize there are two coffee cups in front of you on the table. Ellie slides one over and you see your order written on the side in black ink. Medium mocha, with half chocolate. She remembered?

“Oh wow thank you! Do I owe you anything?” you ask, accepting the drink.

“Of course not,” Ellie says leaning back, “I just made it before I finished my shift.”

You take a sip of your coffee, and set it down, taking in the girl sitting before you. You realize that Ellie looks exceptionally tired, she has bags under her eyes and her lips are slightly crusty. She seemed to have energy, although that must be from the caffeine she's been having throughout her shift.

“Did you have a good night?” Ellie asks, breaking your fantasy

“Oh! Yeah, i just passed out after you left and slept so long” You laugh, trying to hold eye contact.

“Good you got your sleep, I wish I did, i forgot I worked this morning and got woken up by my boss calling me” Ellie sighs and sips her coffee

“Oh shit, we don't have to hang out if you're tired?” You say, secretly wanting to invite her back to yours to cuddle up and watch movies. But your body does not allow the thought to come out.

“No! I want to hang out! I actually wanted to show you something, if you're down?” Ellie asks

So many thoughts fill your mind with what this thing could be. Your curiosity is endless and quickly leads to images of Ellie pulling toys out of her backpack.

“Yeah sure, I'm not doing anything today” You say, leaning forward on your hand with your elbow on the table. Searching Ellies expression for any sign of what her intentions were.

Ellie just gives you a big grin and leans forward too, flashing her eyes from yours, to your lips, and back up. Instantly you're reminded of last night, you hadn't even thought about your almost kiss in the shadows of your kitchen. You feel your ears going hot and instinctually pull back to drink your coffee, hoping your eyes didn't display any of your shock from the memory.

“Sounds good, if you're ready we can head out” Ellie suggests, keeping her eyes on you.

You nod and swallow, “sure, ya” you say, your voice a little quieter.

Ellie rises from her seat, grabbing her coffee, waits for you to rise and follows you out of the cafe. “Here follow me!” she says when you two are outside, pointing behind her. You skip up to her side and follow her through campus. Making small talk, asking each other about your coffees & the weather. You realize that Ellie is leading you into the College neighborhood, the street that you live on.

“You want to show me the street I live on?” You ask, laughing because as far as you know, this street is a Dead End. And you have been to that dead end. Maybe she was bringing you to a house?

“I mean yes? And no, we are going to the end, there's a spot over there.” Ellie says, taking another sip of her coffee

You were pretty sure the dead end was fenced off with a thick forest behind it. Not being very adventurous you had never thought to explore past it. You and Ellie walk the length of the block, passing other college students. You approach the end of the street, the sidewalk seemingly ends and you wait to see what Ellie will do.

She turns around to face you, “Do you trust me?”

“I have no reason not to you” you giggle, “you're not going to murder me are you?”

“No! Oh my god, come on, this way” Ellie smirks and nods her head to the side of the street.

House 10 was the last house on the street, and there was a thick hedge that ran the length of the house and the fence. Ellie walks you over and the perspective change reveals about two feet between the hedge and the fence. Ellie slips into the gap and takes a few steps before making sure you are following. You're right behind her, and comment “there are no spiders right?”

Ellie laughs, “dont worry ill scare them off. It's not too far.”

You walk maybe 10 feet between the hedge and fence before Ellie stops and crouches down. Ducking through a large hole in the chainlink fence and popping up on the other side to face you. “Here hand me your coffee!” she says, sticking a hand through the hole.

You hand her your coffee and crouch down to do the same, almost slipping on a few leaves on the ground.

“You good? Here you go” Ellie hands your coffee back and says “i promise its not far now, just through there.'' She walks into the forest. There's a makeshift trail probably formed by other students exploring back here, and you follow her for a few minutes. Listening to the sounds of birds and wind through the trees, you start to hear the sound of running water. The trail winds around, sunlight flashing through the leaves onto Ellies auburn hair. You can't help but get lost in her figure. Your mind trailing off to things too embarrassing to say, you have no idea how long you've been walking. Ellie turns around flashing you a smile, breaking you away from your bedroom thoughts.

“Its just up here! Come on!” She picks up a bit of pace, excitement getting the best of her.

You follow her around another corner and see a pretty amazing sight. Large concrete structures from half of a building, overgrown with vines and graffiti painting the crumbling walls. There are steps leading up to a large concrete platform with two walls in the back. You take a sec to take it all in, Ellie bounds up the steps, turns to you and puts her arms out framing the scene.

“Ta-daaaaa! What do you think?”

“This place is so cool!” You say, following her up the steps and looking more closely at the graffiti. You read “smoke em if you got em”, & “JC’11” probably from a Jackson College graduate. One catches your eye, it's smaller and closer to the ground. A black heart with red lettering that says “girls kissing girls”.

“Ya, right.” Ellie looks around with you at “her” spot -atleast she likes to think she's claimed it. “I found it a few months ago, I come here pretty often but don't really bring anyone. I don't want everyone to know about it.”

“Yea i can understand, its peaceful out here” you respond, focusing your attention back on her

“And you haven't seen the best part!” Ellie walks across the platform to the other side, where the other wall is missing. You follow her and realize that the water you heard had gotten a bit louder since you tuned into it. As you approach the opening in the wall you are perplexed with the beauty you see. A small waterfall cascades over moss covered rocks, flowing into a stream only a few feet wide and away into the forest. All the stars aligned for the sun to shine the most on this spot in the forest. The foliage was lush, moss covered all surfaces, and tiny flowers and mushrooms dotted the scene.

“Yeah, it's pretty great, my own secret hiding spot.” Ellie beams, stretching her arms behind her head, trying to be as casual as possible.

You looked in awe at the scene and Ellie looks in awe at you. Taking in your features, your soft lips, your beautiful skin. She wished she could capture this image of you forever in her mind. Never had she taken someone here before, but as soon as she met you, she wanted you here, with her. And there wasn't anything she wanted to do more than to kiss you.

“This is so beautiful” you say, “want to sit down?” You say turning to her, blushing at the strong eye contact youre met with.

Instinctually Ellie takes off her hoodie, stepping back and setting it down on the ground for you and her to sit on. You are able to see a large tattoo on her forearm, looks like a fern? You both position yourselves on the makeshift blanket, with your legs hanging over the side of the ledge.

“Do you want to smoke? I haven't since before my shift.” Ellie says after a moment of silence.

“Oh yeah, sure! But if you keep smoking me out and buying me coffee i'm going to have to make it up to you!” You say with a smirk, playfully nudging her with your elbow.

“I'll take whatever you give me,” Ellie says as she takes out a joint box from her pocket. Butterflies flutter in your stomach at the possibilities of what your ‘repayment’ could be.

You take the lit joint from Ellie and you two make small talk about the graffiti and nature surrounding you. Conversations turn more personal when you ask Ellie about her family. You learn of Joel, and the farm back home where Ellie spent most of her time shying away with her journal and guitar. Ellie spoke about coming out to Joel in highschool and how he was one of the only people who supported her through it. Her hometown wasn't the most accepting so she did not have many friends let alone relationships. You share your life too, realizing that you and Ellie have more things in common than you thought. Your family came around after a year or so of coming out but you only ‘came out’ to friends and the public when you moved to college. You had a boyfriend in highschool that ended badly and 1.5 relationships with girls since coming out. You say 1.5 because the first one was really a situationship that ended with the girl deciding she was straight.

At this point the joint was dead and tossed in the brush. The sun was drifting behind the trees, casting a cool hue across the forest.

Ellie and you listen to the stream in comfortable silence for a second. The joint is settling in nicely and bringing all your hidden thoughts to the surface. You wanted to kiss her, touch her. Your fingers are a mere centimeters from each other and you could feel the electricity through your whole body.

Suddenly Ellie takes a breath, like she had been holding hers for a second. “CanIaskyousomething?” she says, in almost all one word.

You turn your body to her, leaning forward slightly on your arm. “Anything” you say.

“I know… i know we just met, but, you’re really pretty and I was just wondering… canikissyou?

She rushes the last part but you hear clearly and your heart skips a beat. Ellie turns to look at you, searching your face for anything you're feeling.

You're lost in her eyes again, your mind screaming yes but all you can do is nod at her, doe eyed and longing to feel her warmth.

Ellie breathes in looking at your lips before she leans forward, cradling your face in her hands and setting her lips on yours. The kiss is hot, passionate, slow but needy as your combined lust mixes together right there in the forest. You feel like hours have gone by before you separate, looking into eachothers eyes, a line of spit connecting both your lips. Ellie looks like she's even higher than the joint made her and you can't help but giggle a little before going in for a second kiss. This time your hands go for her, brushing through her hair and grabbing at the nape of her neck.

Separating for the second time ellie breathes, “wow, that was… wow”

You hum in approval, untangling your hand from her hair and resting it on your leg. You're both breathing a little heavy, lips tingling and palms sweaty.

Ellie feels a buzz on her thigh and pulls out her phone to a string of texts, all from buyers hoping to make their Saturdays better.

“Ah fuck, im sorry, i wish we could stay here longer but, work calls…” She says with a sigh. She wishes she could stay here all day with you but Ellie was a business woman, plus she had been saving up for a few things and was so close to meeting her goal.

You laugh, wanting to stay with her too, but you are getting hungry, probably from the joint. “That's okay, will you walk me back to the house?”

“Of course doll” Ellie says with a smile, making your already hot face burn with desire. You both stand and after grabbing her hoodie and coffee, without asking Ellie grabs your hand and begins to lead you back out of the forest.

You walk hand in hand down the street in comfortable silence. The touch shared between you said more than you two could manage at the moment. You are submerged in your feelings and barely notice you getting to the walkway in front of your house.

Ellie stops and turns to face you. Giving you a kiss on the back of the hand she says, “have a great day beautiful, i'll be thinking of you.”

You linger your hand in hers for a moment, blushing, mind blank but you know you need to respond. “Thanks for today Ellie, i'll talk to you soon.”

You start backing up the walkway, both of you not wanting to separate from each other's gaze. You both give one last little wave and you turn to walk into the house.

Sage greets you from the couch, seeing the look on your face she jumps up and runs to hug you in excitement. Bringing you over to sit with her as you tell her about your time with Ellie. You feel this could be the beginning of something beautiful. Although hesitant to get close to someone again, you feel right with Ellie. You can’t help but imagine what life would be like with her.

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a/n: AHHHHHHHHH thank u sm for the love :3 I'm actually so excited for part 3... might even open submissions for other fandoms? idk I'm just having fun! Tag List: @vqxen @bready101 @sourgummywormsss @a-little-bit-of-everybody

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #the last of us

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murdrdocs · 1 year

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fully charged | f. odair

description. a grueling week spent in the arena where you thought about two things, survival and finnick odair, has come to an end, leaving you to make your way back to finnick's arms to finish what you both started.

aka part 2 to saber tooth

includes. SMUT 16+, fem!reader, reader has hair to wash, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), fingering, super soft finnick, brief mention of trauma from the games, finnick loves consent ! (so do i), switches pov for a line but don't focus on that okay focus on the sex, not proofread but its 3 am

a/n: i stayed up super late to finish this and i didn't do my homework so don't ever say i never do anything for yall (i wasn't gonna do my work anyway and i was gonna stay up but shh). title from disco tits by tove lo

word count: 5.0k+

Blood on your hands, a headache that makes your ears ring and your vision spin, a simultaneous feeling of indescribable hunger and tear-inducing nausea, but the only thing on your mind is Finnick.

The Capitol airlift coming to the area was quick, and you’d never been happier to leave somewhere. You don’t look down at the open meadow that you’d spent the last days in. You look up into the jet, both joyed and disappointed to see the nurses and medics who awaited you.

Hours of injections and force feedings and encouragement to sleep later, and you were finally closer to Finnick than you had been in the last week.

The little notes he sent through sponsored care packages gave you the strength to make it out of there, and now that you are out, just the thought of seeing him is what keeps you on your feet.

“And everyone is so thrilled to have you back. There is a feast planned later tonight, and another for when you get home to Four, and of course a housewarming party to get you settled into the Village,” Mitch, your escort, rambles on as he leads you through the train cars, all the way to your personal area. Through each car that you walk through, your eyes scan the area for the golden blonde boy that you’d been happiest to see. And when you come up empty again and again, your heart feels as if it shrinks.

“But first, you need a shower. No offense,” Mitch smiles, his hands on your shoulders to turn you around to face the bathroom.

“None taken,” you mumble. Truth be told, you had more things on your mind to worry about other than how you smelt. The sound of Mitch’s dress shoes clacking against the floor announces his intended departure, but you turn around to stop him before he can leave.

“Yes, dearie?”

“Do you know where Finnick is?” The train hadn’t started moving yet, you were still at the Capitol’s station, so if Finnick were not aboard yet there was still time for him to join.

“Um, no.” Mitch looks disappointed by his own answer. “He said he had business to take care of and he might be traveling home with us. But I do not know for sure.”

Mitch’s answer leaves you with an intense feeling of loneliness, but you push it down as you make your way to the bathroom.

The shower is hotter than it needs to be, but the sting on your skin is welcomed. You scrub along your body with the exfoliating cloth until it’s visibly irritated, and even then, you continue a few more times. Images of the arena attempt to surface, a knot in your throat with each memory and self-deprecating thought that accompanies it, but you push it down with another pump of shampoo and you wash it away with the suds.

You’re on your third round of washing your hair whenever the whirring sound of the door to the bathroom opening meets your ears.

You stop rinsing, your eyes opening to look out around you. An unusual thick cloud of steam clouds the pristine area, you squint as you attempt to see who, or even what, has entered.

You come up short. Not knowing who was there makes you anxious and you regress into the thought process that you’ve become well acquainted with.

Your eyes scan the spacious shower, looking for something sharp. There’s nothing to defend yourself with, which means you’ll have to rely on your hands. Quickly, you rinse them in the running water, getting rid of the suds, and then you reach out to pull the shower door open.

“Hello?” you ask, your voice stronger than it would have been if you were in this predicament 7 days ago.

It’s silent for a few seconds, then a breath is heard, followed by a smooth timbre.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Finnick.

He stands in the corner of the bathroom, just out of sight from where the shower had you angled. His back is turned, leaving you to see the linen of his shirt and the dark-honey blonde of the bottom of his hair as his head is bowed. You want nothing more than to see his face.

Your foot reaches out to meet the plush rug, but you stop when the cool outside air enters the shower and you’re reminded that you’re naked, wet, and your hair is nowhere near presentable. But in the grand scheme of things, none of that matters.

So you step out of the shower, your feet sinking into the plush rug and your heart banging against your chest, and a smile reaches your face when you say, “Finnick.”

His head turns first, then his body, and you’re met with the sea-green eyes that you’ve thought about every night since that night. His eyes stay on your face, even though you’re completely nude.

You barely feel any shame or insecurity.

“Hey,” he says again, his pretty pink lips pulling into his own smile.

“Hi.”

There’s a few moments of serene silence, both of you just taking in the presence of the other, and then Finnick makes the move to cross the room.

His hands lift and his palms find the wet skin of your cheeks. He smiles. He blinks. Then he moves in.

When Finnick kisses you, it’s like nothing else in the world even exists. The entire Universe in that moment is just you and Finnick, two people who have always existed together. Nothing else.

His lips gently pull from yours, but he doesn’t go far, his forehead resting against yours.

“It’s good to see you again,” he tells you.

“I’ve missed you,” you tell him.

He smiles. “I’ve missed you too.”

Finnick lets you finish cleaning up. He was going to leave the bathroom, but when you asked him to stay, your eyes welled up with tears and your voice cracked and he wanted to stay anyway, so he planted himself right outside of the shower then.

It takes a while for you to get ready, you spent most of the time scrubbing dirt out from under your fingernails and trying to scrub out the stench that permeated inside of your nose, but dinner was delayed for you, and no one complained. It’s when you were sitting at the table, eating food that was somehow still warm, with Finnicks hand on your knee and proud and sympathetic looks from your stylist and escort, that you realize that things are going to revolve around you for a while.

A nightmare plagued sleep on the train, a welcome party at the station in Four, a housewarming party in a renovated mansion in the Victors Village, another dress from your stylist, and a large dinner with friends you haven’t considered friends in years, with your family and Finnick in attendance.

And now you’re alone again.

Not exactly alone. Finnick’s sitting outside of your new bathroom, waiting for you, which is as alone as you’re going to get for a while.

Your makeup is gone, you’re out of the dress and into a pair of comfortable pajamas, and there’s a nervous anticipation in your chest. Not the kind of nervous anticipation that you’d felt in the area, but the kind that you felt last week when Finnick came to visit.

The kind where you hoped that something sentimental was going to happen soon, and as you pull the door open and come face to face with Finnick who sits at the edge of your bed, you knew that something sentimental was going to happen.

“Hey,” he scoots over to make room for you.

You take the space beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Hi.” His shoulder works as a comfortable pillow, which you’d dreamed of for many nights when you only had grass as an actual pillow. . “Are you planning to stay here tonight?” You lift your eyes to look at him, a fluttery feeling spreading all over your body when you see that he was already looking at you.

He blinks, his tongue moistens his lips. “If you’d like me to.”

You hum. “I would.”

“What would I do?”

A shrug from you. “Help me settle in.”

“Oh so you’re using me staying as an excuse to have me kill bugs, chase out mice, dust the corners.”

You laugh. It feels good to laugh.

“Maybe.” Your shared laughter dies down and a still silence places itself over the room. You stare ahead, take a deep breath, and say, “And to keep me warm.”

Finnicks hand snakes around your waist, cupping the outside to pull you flush into his side. His lips are against the crown of your head, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can feel them move when he assures you. “That’s what I’m best at.”

There’s a bit of silence that you use to turn yourself to fully face Finnick. His hand gravitates to your lower back with the movement.

He stares at you expectantly, and you smile gently. “Thank you,” you tell him.

His eyebrows furrow. “For?”

A small shrug from you. “Keeping me alive … in there. And for being my best friend and so much more that I can’t think of right now.”

Both of Finnick's hands cup your cheeks and his forehead knocks into yours, then his nose, then his lips.

He kisses you softly, pressing a single kiss into your parted lips, the two pairs molding and sticking together as if they were always meant for each other. You melt into the second kiss, thankful to get to feel this again. A thought arises within you, one that details you and Finnick getting to do this for the rest of your lives, no longer plagued with the thought of being reaped. If that’s something he also wants.

The kiss is nice, but it’s also not quite what you want.

You communicate that by tilting your head, letting your hands meet the back of Finnick’s head, and scooting yourself closer.

Finnick mimics your new found ferocity, but it seems like he’s still not getting it. You push your chest into his, you slide your hands down his torso, letting them rest on his abdomen, and then he pulls away and furrows his eyebrows.

Now he’s getting it.

“Are you sure? Are you ready?”

You can feel the touch of his hand on your lower back getting lighter as if he’s anticipating your denial. But you nod, no hesitance behind the movement, and since you know he’s going to want to hear it verbally, you part your slick lips and say, “I’m sure. And I’m ready.”

Finnick has you on your back in the center of your bed quickly. You’re still fully clothed, but obviously not for long with the way his large hand is roaming under your shirt. The other rests beside your head, pressed into the pillow and keeping him afloat above you.

You can feel the ghost of his knee between your parted legs and he’s too far away. You need him closer. You need his chest against yours instead of a few inches away, you need his knee pressed against your center, you need his entire being to become fused with yours.

There’s no way for you to communicate that when he’s kissing you so hard that you consider the possibility that your lips would bruise. Not that you’re complaining one bit.

Finnick pulls away from your lips to press kisses into your jaw and neck, where he switches from simple kisses to sucking actual bruises into your skin. The feeling of his lips sucking the skin and his teeth nipping stings, not in the way an ant bite does, but in the way that has your back arching and you feel the scratch of the linen of Finnick’s shirt against the cotton of yours.

You let out a breath, not meaning for it to sound as much of a moan as it does, but Finnick’s lips curl up against your skin. He presses a final, chaste kiss into the bruise that you know to be forming, and he leans back to give you a full look.

“Can you take this off for me?” His hands tug at your shirt once.

You nod, sitting up to fill the space that Finnick makes by leaning back, and you swiftly pull the shirt over your head. For the sake of comfort, you’d opted out on a bra tonight, and the decision is clearly thanked by Finnick.

He’s staring, marveling, at your bare chest, taking in the sight. You know the way he’s looking at you is a good sign, but you can’t help but feel a little insecure, something in your mind telling you to cover up. Your hands twitch at your sides to make the move to your chest, but then Finnick’s speaking.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says it like he means it. There’s something in you, the same thing that tried to convince you to cover up, that tells you that he doesn’t mean it. He’s just saying it in the heat of the moment.

But your better judgment comes into play then and it notices that Finnick’s tell still isn’t there. He’s still telling the truth.

You smile, just a little bashful, and reach to tug at the end of Finnick’s shirt.

“Even the playing field, Odair.” He does as you say, his hands finding the neck hole of his shirt and pulling it over his head, tossing it off the side of your bed.

Then his lips are back on your skin, kissing at your collarbone and steadily moving down your chest. He’s just pressing little kisses along your skin, not staying in one place too long, but the anticipation swims low in your stomach and makes you push your chest up into the air, waiting for Finnick to hopefully reach the destination you want him to go to.

When he does, when his lips wrap around your nipple, you sigh blissfully.

He gives the bud the same treatment that he delivered onto your neck, sucking and nipping, just a tad more gentle. All the while, his sea-green eyes stare up at you, gauging your reaction, seeing if he’s doing the right or the wrong thing.

Your face is one of nothing but pleasure, mouth parted, eyes closed, eyebrows pinched together with enough tension to tell him that he’s doing right, not wrong.

He switches to the other bud, and his hand trails down to the elastic waistband of your pants. Your hips wiggle, impatience finding you quickly, and then his hand slips past the elastic and his middle finger nudges between your clothed folds.

You shiver, a quiet mewl escaping past your lips. Your sounds only increase in volume when Finnick adds his ring finger and works then up and down your slit, circling them at your clit when they reach that point, and then working their way back down and teasing your hole.

When Finnick’s warm mouth detaches from your hardened bud, the cool air hits it and sends goosebumps onto the finest layer of your skin like a wave. They multiply when he speaks.

“You’re so wet, darling,” His fingers trail back up to circle your clit languidly, not fast enough to give you any real satisfaction, but enough to let you know that they’re there. “‘S all for me?” He’s teasing, pulling your leg, because who else would it be for?

The corner of his lips pull up into a smirk, confirming your suspicions, and you mean to say something equally as teasing back, something that would make his smile drop.

But your mouth works faster than your brain.

“Of course, Finn. Always all for you.”

He swears under his breath, his fingers stopping right on the hidden nub. He blinks, inhales, then fixes his gaze on your expectant one.

“You really mean that?” His hand flexes beside your head and you turn your head, your eyes fixed on him, and press a kiss into his forearm.

“I do.”

Finnick has your pants and panties off and thrown to the opposite side of your bed so quickly that you barely have time to process it. You only start to process how bare you are whenever his thick fingers come back to your center and this time, you feel them.

You feel the rough skin of his finger pads, the way they glide through your slick, toy with your clit, then sink down to begin to probe at your entrance.

You let him, your legs falling open even more when his middle finger sinks in to the first knuckle. He glances at you before he continues, and you’re in a state of bliss already, so he continues until the deft digit is sheathed completely inside your walls.

Finnick only fucks you with the single finger for a few moments, then you’re reaching down and wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing your hips into his hand, silently telling him that you want more.

So he adds another.

He curls them, reaches them deep inside of you, searches for the spot that he’ll memorize for minutes from now when you get the real deal.

His watchful eyes search your reactions, too. He watches the way your tongue darts out to lick your lips and the way your lips part and how your eyebrows pinch together more and more until there. He finds it and your back arches off the bed and your hiss turns into a pretty cracked moan.

“Right there?” he asks for confirmation.

“Right there.”

You feel lips kiss your inner thigh and then Finnick’s focusing on that spot a few more times, then he’s abandoning it. You hold in your disappointed sigh, but the feeling of Finnick separating his fingers, scissoring you open, is one that’s greatly welcomed as a replacement.

You gasp, moan, your back arches, your nails dig into the sheets. Finnick’s other hand goes to your clit, rubbing little circles. “Holy shit, Finn.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Better than my own.”

An image of you in a similar position, but with your own hands between your legs and not Finnick’s, flashes in his mind and is that a sight to see.

“Are you close, sweetheart?”

You nod, expecting Finnick to work you harder, faster, to guide you to the edge. He does the exact opposite.

He pulls his fingers away from your cunt and your eyes open, staring down at him with bewilderment written all over your face.

“You still want me to fuck you?” His eyebrows raise.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Okay then.”

You watch him stand, slip his pants and boxers off, and you shamelessly stare at his dick, propped up on your elbows for an unobstructed view.

The way it sits so prettily, erected, reaching right at his abdomen. Flushed the same pink as his lips at the head, leaking a picturesque drop of precum. You could just sit and marvel at Finnick’s cock for a while longer than you’re given. But he bends down to search the pockets of the pants he came in, and swears when he doesn’t find what he needs.

“What? What is it?” You think you know what it is but you’re really hoping you don’t.

Finnick stands straight again and looks at you, obviously dejected. “No condoms.”

Fuck.

You’re silent, attempting to think of a solution.

“I could just go to mine, it's right next door, you know. I’ll be quick.”

He could. But you truthfully don’t care at this moment.

You’re sure there has to be some sort of morning after preventative that you could get your hands on now that you're Victor, and Finnick looks so appetizing just standing there, there’s no way you would be able to survive the few minutes that you would have to sit there without him.

“I don’t care if you don’t.” Your admission has his eyes widening just a bit, then his eyebrows furrowing and his face scrunching into one of slight worry.

“Are you sure? This isn’t something lighthearted.”

You nod. “I’m sure. There’s a preventative out there, right?” He thinks for a second, then nods. “Then I’m sure.”

Finnick climbs back onto the bed, wraps one hand around his cock and the other around the outside of your thigh. He glances at you, “Just relax, okay?”, and then back at your cunt when you nod.

He lines himself up and your immediate reaction is to tense up, but you take a breath, and relax, and then he breaches.

It’s painful, not in the way that you’ve felt pain just days ago, but in a stinging way. You can feel yourself stretching around him, allowing him in, and every few inches he stops to remind you to breathe.

You feel like his member is endless, there always seems to be more and more, but he’s almost there now, home stretch, but you don’t know that until he tells you.

“Breathe with me, sweetheart. ‘M almost there,” he says, his eyes locking into yours as he takes a deep inhale, nodding when you mirror the action, then he slowly exhales. When you do the same, he slides all the way in until you can feel the base of his dick pressed against your mound.

When he’s all the way in, the curls at the base of his dick tickling you, you’re able to focus on how good it feels to have Finnick Odair’s dick nestled inside of your walls. The stretch is addicting. Your head’s spinning, your mouth salivating, and you just know that you’re gonna be addicted after this.

Now that he’s situated within you, Finnick brings his forearm back to push into the pillow beside your head. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then to your lips when you turn your head.

“Let me know when it’s okay to move, okay?”

You nod. “You can move.”

Finnick seems a little unsure, but your hips wiggle and you moan and he takes your word for it.

He starts slow, pulling out halfway then pushing back all the way in. You’re so receptive, little breaths and moans leaving your lips and immediately meeting his ears. He relishes in the sounds, the auditory display of satisfaction going right down to his groin, encouraging him to fuck you harder and deeper.

He starts to pull out more, inch by inch, and push back in with more force. There’s no way for you to describe the feeling you’re in other than euphoric. For a second, you search your brain for descriptors, ways you can put the feeling to words for when you think about it later on, but you come up so short and Finnick is making you feel so good that you forget what you were thinking about in the first place with the next thrust.

“Doing okay?”

“More than okay, Finn.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.” He lifts his face to level it with yours, green eyes staring at you, watching you get lost in his gaze and blink yourself awake multiple times. “You can do it, baby. Tell me how good I’m making you feel.”

Is he reading your mind?

“You’re an asshole.” He laughs.

“That’s no way to treat the guy making you feel this good, is it?”

He tilts his head, waiting for your response. You shake your head, back to being fucked out, and Finnick decides to let you off the hook for now.

He leans down, pushing his lips to yours and letting you sloppily kiss him while his hips rock into yours.

You didn’t think there was a way that you could feel better than this, but Finnick shifts his hips when he pulls out, then he pushes back in with more assurance and confidence and he finds that same spot and your back arches, your chest pushing into his.

“That’s it,” Finnick coos, either talking to himself or you, you’re not really sure. Either way, you still nod.

The linen sheets rub at your back, the crisp pillow cover crinkles with each thrust that sends you up the bed a little more, you can feel your pussy leaking around Finnick. You can smell him, a mix of the smell of the sea and a musk that is so unique to him that you want the scent to live permanently in your nose.

Your eyes are open, somehow, and you’re watching Finnick. The way the vein in his head pops out every so often, how his tanned skin looks in the low light of your bedroom, the way sweat reflects off of his forehead and a bead looks as if it’s going to trickle down and land onto your tit. You watch it, lost and mesmerized by everything that is Finnick Odair, and when it lands on your chest you just feel like he’s giving you even more of himself.

You want to give him more of you, too, but you don’t know how. Not here, in this position, with this hazed state of mind, so you do what you can. You dig a hand in his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling at the strands with just enough tension, and you arch your back from the lowest point, pushing your hips further into him.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. One of a kind.” His hips are starting to speed up a bit, getting a little sloppier too if you really focus. But all you can focus on is the slight rasp in his voice when he praises you. “Don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this pussy after this. Don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave you.”

You know what he means. You’ve known Finnick most of your life, long enough to be able to read between lines that sometimes aren’t even there. You know what he means.

You keen, the sound a little embarrassing but not enough for you to reflect on the thought for more than a second.

“‘M close, Finnick.” You can feel it low in your belly, burning, begging for your attention. This build up feels different from the last, a little more urgent, maybe. A little more prevalent.

This build up has you desperately chasing after it, terrified that you won’t catch it, that it’ll somehow slip past your grasp and you’ll be left unsatisfied. You know you don’t have to worry about that when Finnick’s the one making you feel so good.

The hand on your thigh inches towards your core, his thumb singling out and connecting with your clit. It only takes a few tight circles and a few more expert thrusts for you to fall over the edge, your legs lifting, hooking behind Finnick’s back to keep him close to you. Not like he was planning to go anywhere.

He feels so good like this, fucking you through your orgasm. You don’t want him to pull out, but you know he should. You know he has to. He tells you as much.

“Squeezing me so hard, sweetheart. Fuck, I gotta … gotta pull out.” You really, really, don’t want him to, but you let your legs drop and Finnick pulls out and his hand wraps around his lubed up dick, pumping a few times and then he’s spilling warm spurts of cum over your tummy.

You watch your stomach rise and fall rapidly with your breaths, the white substance glistening against your skin. Finnick watches it too, then he’s coming back for more kisses.

These are a little less sloppy, a little more gentle, a little more loving.

You feel yourself slipping out of it as he kisses you, your lips a little less receptive with each passing moment. Finnick notices and he pulls back, leaving you with one more chaste kiss before he’s leaving the bed and the sound of his feet on your hardwood lets you know that he’s moving towards your bathroom.

You don’t bother opening your eyes, you just listen to the sound of the closet door opening, the sound of running water starting and stopping, more feet against hardwood, then you feel the bed dip with Finnicks weight.

You flinch, then giggle, when the towel rubs at your inner thighs and then your stomach.

Finnick giggles with you, and you feel so domestic, so loved and cared for.

You peek your eyes open, watching the way he gently cleans you up. As if he feels eyes on him, he lifts his gaze, and smiles, dimples on display.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Am I still invited to spend the night?”

You pretend to think, but you’re too tired to even do that.

“If you make me breakfast in the morning,” you settle on, your hands under the folded back sheets of your bed.

You slip under the sheets and you watch Finnick carelessly throw the towel off to the side of the bed. Your mouth falls open. “And clean that up,” you add.

Finnick doesn’t bother responding. He just climbs to the top of the bed, slips under the covers with you, and pulls you to his chest with a kiss to your head.

Cuddled up with Finnick is a feeling you know you could get used to, and you hope you’ll be able to. You try not to think about how fleeting this could be. Instead, you force yourself to be optimistic, focusing on the riches you now have, and the beautiful home that’s on the beach and next to your best friend, and the way he’s holding you so securely to his chest, and the peaceful sleep that’s begging to be welcomed into the equation.

You decide to count it in, nestling even further into Finnick’s warmth and closing your eyes.

They immediately reopen and squint at the corner to the left of your bed.

“Finnick,” you whisper, continuing when he hums. “There’s a bug in the corner.”

“Where?”

You lift a finger, pointing to where it is. “Right there.”

Finnick sighs and stands.

“And pick that towel up while you’re at it please.”

#finnicksworld!#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #finnick odair #celeste writes thg #the hunger games smut #the hunger games

3K notes · View notes

alwaysonthemend · 3 months

Text

Author’s Note: Hi guys! Can't believe it's been so long since I last posted. Hope you guys enjoy this one! As always, if you see any typos... no you didn't

Warnings: Drunk Jake, unprotected p in v sex, cock warming, fingering, hand jobs, doing things we shouldn't in a public place, cussing, partying. 18+ ONLY. MINORS DNI

Word Count: 5k

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Late has already bled into early by the time you manage to spot Jake in the crowd again. His back is to you as he speaks excitedly to someone you’ve never seen before – though there’s a definite chance that Jake hasn’t either (he’s a chatty drunk no matter how well he knows the person).

Tonight is a celebration of sorts. A celebration of what is to come and what they've already done. With tour on break for the holidays, the Kiszka-Wagner clan had been taking some much needed R&R after such a long and grueling schedule of shows before they have to leave again. The first few days had seen Jake lounging at home, perfectly content to spend his days entirely wrapped up with you. You had binge watched some shows that he’d missed while gone, ordered take out from all the places that he’d been craving, and over all spent almost every minute of the day within each other’s company.

But Jake is a man who likes action – regardless of how much he enjoys spending time at home with you. After a few weeks of nothing, you can tell that he’s itching to be doing something again. First there had been simple dinner gatherings with your immediate friends and family, then jam sessions with the rest of his brothers that had lasted well into the night, and then finally he’d begged to go to this party tonight. Josh is hosting (no doubt he’s experiencing the very same restlessness that his twin is) and a party hosted by Josh is always a sure fire promise of a fun night.

So you’d happily agreed and given Jake the go ahead to let loose tonight – party as hard as he wanted for however long he wanted and you would be there to drive him home. His eyes had lit up at your offer before he’d given you a sweet kiss and a murmured thank you before scampering upstairs to call Josh and let him know that you two would be coming.

But as excited as Jake had been to go out tonight, he’d still periodically found his way back to you, begging you to come join him where the music is the loudest. You’d politely declined him each time, wanting to give him time to spend with his friends and brothers after giving so much of his time to you. You know that his offer is genuine. Jake wants you by his side at all times (he’s a clingy motherfucker even when he’s sober) but you had simply told him you would prefer him to go spend time with everyone else instead. He’d begrudgingly agreed and you’d since been spending your time watching him go from sober to tipsy and finally to actually drunk within the span of the last few hours. You liked watching him like this – smiling and carefree amongst the people that he loves (along with a number of people that you’re pretty sure Josh only invited because he likes a full house).

But the crowd has dwindled as the early hours of morning approach. It’s nearing 3AM now and only some 15 people remain. You’d been parked in a far corner for the past hour or so but you’re pulled from your spot by Jake calling your name. He, along with Josh, Daniel, and Sam, have made their ways over to the couches and chairs in Josh’s living room and consequently collapsed into them. The core group you like to call them, finding each other to close the night out amongst themselves. There are others still left elsewhere – some faces vaguely familiar and some completely foreign to you, but they’re all far too wrapped up in their own conversations and drunken storytelling to notice that the host and family has moved somewhere else.

Josh sits in one of the loveseats, one arm lazily thrown around the shoulders of his partner – also suitably drunk, who’s nuzzled into his side. Sam sits in another chair, cheeks flushed and hair a complete mess as he pours himself another drink. You know already that he’d say he’s earned it since he’s spent the night “slaving away” as the party DJ. That leaves Daniel and Jake left to find their seats, Daniel finding his place on one end of the sofa and Jake on the other. You make your way to them – each of the boys exclaiming excitedly at your approach.

“Y/n!” Josh booms, the sheer loudness of him drowning out the others and startling his poor partner, “Gracing is with her presence at last!”

You giggle as you make your way to the sofa, eyeing the spot between Jake and Daniel.

“Now that you all seem to have settled down a bit I thought I would join you.”

As you make to sit down, Jake’s hands find your hips and guide you instead to sit down on his lap. He sighs contentedly as you surrender to him without a fight, easing down on the tops of his thighs and settling your back into his chest.

“Hi.” You tell him, twisting as much as you can in his lap to turn and see his face. His cheeks are flushed and a yummy sheen of sweat adorns his neck and temples. Eyes dark and lips looking particularly plump, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Hi there.” He answers back. “Missed you.”

He smells like alcohol and weed – a combination that seems to have left him feeling particularly touchy as his hands settle themselves possessively on your waist. He’s warm against you, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against your back lulling you into a relaxed state as he falls effortlessly back into the conversation with the rest of the boys. His words rumble in his chest and you take the opportunity to lean your head back into the space between his neck and shoulder. The smell and heat of him sets off some carnal, feral part of your brain and you find heat of your own pooling between your thighs. You ignore the feeling, opting instead to try and focus your mind on the conversation at hand.

“-and so I told him that he would either have to sleep there or find someone else to take him home because I wasn’t doing it.” Sam’s voice wafts through the air. You’ve got no idea what he’s talking about but you have a sneaking suspicion that he probably isn’t all that sure of what he’s saying either.

“You’ve always been a little punk ass.” Josh interjects, giggling a little bit at his own words. “Since you came out of the womb.”

Sam meets him with a scowl.

“I just learned from the best, actually.” He snarks back, though there’s no real heat behind his words.

“Don’t talk about Danny like that.” Jake’s rumbling voice interrupts and though you can’t see him, you can hear the grin as he speaks. “He’s a wonderful influence, Samuel.”

Danny laughs heartily, tossing his head back as he does so. Josh smiles like he’s just won a prize and Sam only meets Jake with an eyeroll.

“I was talking about you two.” He says, pointing between the twins.

They continue on with their bickering and you do your best to keep up with them. The few remaining guests filter their way out one by one, giving thanks to Josh on their way out. The boy’s conversations weave in and out, jumping from topic to topic as they often do. It's hard to keep up, especially as your focus strays from the conversation to the uncomfortable kink in your back from sitting in this position against Jake’s chest. You shift a little bit, settling down further in his lap to ease the feeling. As you shift, a hiss escapes him and his hands tighten on your hips.

“Angel.” He whispers, tilting his head down to press his lips closer to your ear. “Careful.”

You can’t help the way your eyes widen and your core pulses at his tone. His words are rough and ever so slightly slurred. His fingertips dig into the meat of your thighs in a way that makes you dizzy with a sudden want for him to take you right here in front of everyone.

“Something wrong?” You answer him back, turning your head and capturing his lips with yours. Alcohol and weed and Jake hit your tastebuds and you shift once again in his lap.

“Something’s hard.” He murmurs against your lips.

And he is.

You can feel him now, hot and solid against your ass. It sends your blood boiling and your cunt clenching around nothing.

You exhale shakily, willing your voice to remain passive and unbothered.

“Poor baby.” You say, turning back away from him and earning yourself a growl from deep in his chest.

“Jake stick you with being DD for the night, Y/n?” Daniel asks, causing everyone’s eyes to shift towards you and Jake. You can feel him tense behind you. He’s still rock hard against you and everyone’s eyes on him only serve to make him more excited as he tries to play it cool.

“I offered.” You answer Danny, dropping your hand onto Jake’s thigh. “Plus, he’s a handful to deal with even when I’m sober.” You squeeze his thigh. “So I figured I’d lay off the alcohol tonight.”

“Oh he’s something alright.” Josh supplies, grinning ear to ear at his brother. You worry suddenly that he knows somehow. Freaky twin thing and all that, especially given the Cheshire smile he shoots your way. But he looks away and back to the others quickly and you dismiss the idea. Freaking twins.

Conversation divulges again and the attention falls from you and Jake. But he’s worked up now and there’s no way he’s letting you off the hook that easily. Sober Jake is a horndog… drunk Jake is damn near insatiable.

“Play nice.” Jake warns you, his voice just barely loud enough that you can hear it. “Don’t wanna have to punish you.”

That finally makes your breath stutter and halt in your chest. Jake can feel you still against him and he chuckles.

So the game begins.

Wordlessly, you shift your weight and slide your ass across his crotch. Jake bites his lip and his eyes blaze as he watches you settle your rear onto the sofa next to him with an innocent smile. With your legs draped across his hips (still keeping his hard on from being seen by everyone in the room) you’re free now to settle into his side. You’re playing a dangerous game messing with him like this but the new position allows for you to press your calf into the growing bulge beneath his dark jeans and for your hands to settle on his midsection. Deceivingly innocent to others but filled with possibilities to tease him. Jake knows this though, and those dark eyes of his are pinned to you, lust-blown and dangerous as his breathing picks up.

You look away and do your best to turn your attention back to the group. Jake does the same, but the feeling of his hard dick against your calf is proof enough that he’s still more than distracted.

As the conversation carries on, you do your best to interject every now and then to at least pretend to be interested. But you’re more interested in taking Jake home and devouring him. But you suppose the waiting will only make the reward sweeter in the end. Jake, for his part, seems to be feeling the very same. His eyes dart to your face periodically, heavy lidded and carrying the weight of how much he wants you right now. But even with the lust coursing through the both of you, he still looks at you whenever he makes a joke (making sure he’s succeeded in making you laugh) and his fingertips absentmindedly drum songs and beats onto your shin. As worked up as he is, his sweetness still seems to outweigh the alcohol in his system. It just makes you want him more.

Bored with waiting and ready for him to say it’s time to go, you delicately trace your fingers across his midsection. You press your fingertips into the soft flesh of his sides as you keep your eyes trained anywhere but him. Jake cocks his head to look at you, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as you shift your leg and rub your calf across him. Half-hard still, his body tenses. His hand finds yours on his belly and he stills it, grip tightening in warning.

Not satisfied with his reaction, you press your leg down again and this time his spine goes ramrod straight as his hips buck up on their own to meet the feeling.

That’s one point for you.

“Why are you trying to start shit?” He murmurs, taking a sip from the glass that he’d just refilled.

“Because I can.”

“Because you’re desperate.” The last word comes out as an almost growl.

You shake your head.

“I’m not anything.”

“You think I can’t tell?” He asks you, his head tilted down and gaze trained solely on you. You scan the rest of the group, afraid that they’ll hear whatever filth is about to spill from between his plump lips. Thankfully, they’re all far too engaged with their own conversation to notice what’s going on between you and Jake. “Your cheeks are flushed all pink like they get when you’re horny.” He starts, fingers trailing up from your calf to your thigh. “And you're breathing fast. Like you do when you’re wet.” His fingers go higher still and your thighs clench despite yourself.

He wins the point this time and you can’t help the little sigh that escapes you.

“Maybe I’m just tired of waiting.” It’s all you can think to say – the lust fogging your brain and making it impossible for you to come up with a witty retort. You want him. Now.

“You’re going to have to wait a while longer.”

“Why?” The question is reminiscent of a young child. Whiny and full of demanding petulance at his refusal to take you home and fuck you this instant.

“Because someone,” he shifts his hips slightly, “made me rock fucking hard. And I can’t get up like this right now. Not with all them” his eyes dart to the group, “sitting right there.”

You huff a breath.

“Please.”

He hums and places his glass on the table next to you. His own control is cracking under the weight of your heavy gaze (and calf that's teasing his dick relentlessly) and you realize with glee that you've gotten what you wanted.

“Gentlemen,” he starts, clapping his hands down on your legs and interrupting one of Josh’s long-winded stories. “I think we’re going to call it a night. The missus is getting tired.” He grins at you and you flush even more.

“Leaving without helping clean up?” Josh demands, extracting himself from his partner’s grip and rising to his feet.

“Oh, always.” Jake answers him, words still slightly slurred. “But you’ve got these fine young gentlemen here to help you.” He gestures to Sam and Danny who both groan but stand up with Josh anyway.

As they begin busying themselves with picking up glasses and paper plates, you raise your legs from Jake’s lap and stand. He follows you – though he teeters dangerously once he’s on his feet.

“Easy.” You warn, wrapping an arm around his waist and helping him balance.

“I’m fine.” He laughs, but his steps remind you of a baby deer trying to walk.

As the two of you make your way outside, you both hiss as the cold of the night hits you. You press yourself further into Jake’s side. As you reach the car – parked all the way by the road, you make to open the passenger door for Jake but he pulls you into a kiss first.

His tongue plunges into your mouth and he groans as you grant him easy access. Despite the cold, your body thrums with the heat of your arousal. Jake’s hands are sloppy as they caress every inch of you he can get – your sides, your tits, your ass, everything. As you reach up to tangle your hands in his hair he leans his full body weight against you, pressing you into the side of the car and caging you there. You can't quite tell if it's just so he can keep you where he wants you or because he can't stand upright any longer. Either way, wetness floods your panties at the feeling of his body pressing into you. Solid is the only word you can think of to describe him.

“Jake.” You moan as his lips trail down to your neck, the heat of his mouth a delicious juxtaposition to the frigid wind. He’s relentless, drunkenly nipping and biting at your skin in all the ways he knows you like. “Jake, quit.” You tell him, even though it’s the last thing you want him to do.

“Why?” The question is muffled by your skin, his lips never leaving your throat.

“Get in the car. It’s cold as fuck.”

He pouts but he straightens up and removes himself from you and you ignore the ache in your belly at the loss of contact. Jake’s fingers wrap themselves around the handle of the door but not of the passenger seat. Instead, he opens the door to the back and raises an eyebrow at you.

“Jake.”

“Y/n.” His tone matches yours mockingly, his eyes glittering.

“It’s freezing.”

“So let’s warm up then.”

You try to fight it. You know you should. You’re out here where any one of the neighbors could look outside to see what’s happening if they look hard enough. If Josh looks outside and sees your car still here there’s no doubt that he’ll know what’s happening. Sam and Daniel are spending the night and are probably drunk enough that they’re already passed out but who knows if one of them might happen to look out a window.

But the ache between your legs has grown nearly unbearable and you don’t want to wait any more than Jake does. And as you watch him clumsily climb into the back seat and lean himself back against the opposite door you know that any shred of resistance you had is gone.

“You’re drunk.” You scold, unwilling to admit defeat even as you climb into the car with him and shut the door behind you. It’s freezing in the car and your teeth chatter slightly as you settle in.

“Quit fussing.” He tells you, spreading his legs and pulling you in to settle between his thighs. “Don’t wanna have to wait.”

At that – at the pleading, whiny way he says the words, you cave and crash your lips back to his. His hands find your sides again, squeezing possessively. Your own hands find his shoulders as you attack his mouth with yours. The kiss has no real finesse, all teeth and tongue, but it’s perfect. Jake is moaning beneath you with every pass of your tongue and you realize with no small amount of excitement that the alcohol in his system has taken away any ability he had to hold all those noises in. He’s always vocal. But this? This is like Heaven to your ears.

His hand drops to the waistband of your pants and his fingers dance along the skin there before slipping beneath. His fingers are cold as they graze over your clit through the fabric of your panties. His middle finger presses in, applying just the right amount of pressure as he begins to rub in little circles. You moan loudly into the kiss and his answering groan tells you all that you need to know about how into this he is.

“You’re soaked.”

You nod, head falling back and mouth dropping open as he pushes your panties aside and circles your swollen clit even faster.

“Take these off.”

You obey, sitting backwards and toeing your shoes off before sliding your pants off your legs. It’s cramped and clunky in the confined area of the car but Jake watches you like it’s still the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. Your shirt is next, discarded carelessly into the floorboard as you paw at his own shirt, desperate to see more of him. Jake lifts his arms and pulls his short off, the fabric joining your clothes as well.

No matter how many times you see him like this, you still can’t help but be amazed. He’s glorious before you, all milky skin and soft curves that make you want to bite him. His arms flex as he pushes his jeans down, the strength of his biceps and forearms the perfect balance to the rest of him. Without pausing long enough to think about it, you drop low and sink your teeth into the supple flesh of his side.

He cries out in answer, arching his back and head falling back with a thud against the window.

“Y/n. Fuck.” He whines and you take his moment of surprise to palm him through his boxers. He hadn’t been lying earlier when he said he was hard as a rock. Even through the fabric you can feel the heavy heat of him.

You trail your mouth down to the waistband, licking along the skin there before grabbing it with your teeth and pulling them down, allowing his cock to spring free. You sink lower still, intent on enveloping him in the warmth of your mouth but he stops you with a hand in your hair.

“Wait.” He sighs out breathlessly, causing your eyes to flick to his questioningly. “Not gonna last if you do that.” He grins sheepishly and you laugh.

“Who’s desperate now?’’ You ask him, echoing back to his taunt from earlier.

“It’s your fault.”

With that, he sits up and surges forward, slamming his lips to yours again and pushing you backwards. He settles on top of you, his cock resting against your ass cheek. The movement had taken much effort, his drunken limbs just a little too clumsy for finesse and grace and you both laugh a little as you settle. Finally, he pulls your panties all the way down and you whine as the cool air hits your wet center.

“Jesus.” He murmurs, those dark eyes of his devouring the sight of you beneath him. “Been waiting for this all night.”

He sits upwards, gripping his cock in his fist as you spread your legs for him. The car is small, your back shoved into the corner and your head cocked at an odd angle. But none of it matters as he finally slides himself into you. You cry out, hands reaching out to grip his shoulders. His groan is deep and rough as he bottoms out and pauses, allowing you a moment to adjust to the familiar stretch of him.

“Move.” You beg him, hooking your legs around his hips and using your heels to dig into his ass and pull him closer.

He plants both hands on either side of you, fingers digging into the leather of the seats as he starts to rock his hips. His brows tip upwards and his eyes fall closed as you clench around him helplessly.

“So fucking tight.” He slurs, hips snapping into yours deliciously. The air between the two of you is thick – humid and warm enough that the windows have begun to fog up completely.

“Harder.” You whine and his body trembles and shakes as he tries to follow your command.

His mouth drops open and a loud moan escapes him as he picks up his pace slightly. His arms tremble where they fight to keep himself up in this position and you giggle softly at him.

“Switch with me before you fall over.” You urge him before tossing your head back with a moan as his cock brushes against that special spot inside of you. Even drunk off his ass he can still find it with ease.

“Fine.” He huffs, pulling out of you and settling back into his earlier position with his back against the door. “Sorry.” He mumbles, giving you a drunken little grin.

“S’okay.” You tell him, climbing over his thighs to straddle him. “Can watch you better this way anyway.”

He preens a little at that, cheeks flushing a dark red as you grip is cock in your hand and guide the head to your entrance. You sink down and whine as this position allows him to slip even deeper into you than it had before.

You roll your hips and moans punch out of both of you. He always feels so fucking good – but having to wait so long for it tonight has only made it even more rewarding now. His hands grip your ass, kneading into the flesh and guiding your pace. His eyes are half lidden as he watches you and sweat begins to bead at his hairline. The look he’s giving you – hair a mess and mouth dropped open, is a familiar one. It’s one you’ve seen on his face countless times; both as he’s fucked you and as he plays his guitar on stage. It’s enough to have the coil in your belly begin to tighten already.

“So fuck’n beautiful.” He moans lowly, his eyes pinned to where your tits bounce with each roll of your hips.

You whine and lean downwards, kissing him roughly as his hips begin to thrust upwards to meet yours. You can tell that he’s losing it beneath you – his focus torn between trying to kiss you and trying to match the rhythm you’ve set. He’s pussy drunk and actually drunk and the thin bit of control he has left is starting to break.

He uses his grip on your ass to guide you upwards, pressing your breasts into his face. His lips lock around one hard nipple as one hand comes up to palm the other one. He moans louder still, the sound muffled against your tit. The feel of him… he’s everywhere in this cramped car and all of your senses have been completely overtaken with just Jake.

“Please.” He whines, detaching his mouth from your nipple with a wet pop. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

His teeth dig into his bottom lip, his face contorting in pleasured agony as he holds himself back, waiting for you to finish first. You toss your head back and cry out, his cock hitting your sweet spot as you ride him into oblivion. The noises falling from him are barely human – rough and broken in a way that lets you know that he's completely overtaken with the pleasure of it all. Your orgasm finally hits you, seeming to start at your toes and work its way all the way through you. Your body shakes as you ride it out, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock. Your moans are only interrupted by cries of his name as he fucks you through it before finally your brain manages to come back to reality to take in the sight below you.

Jake – drunk and fucked out with his eyes pleading up at you.

“Gonna fucking cum, Y/n.” He thrusts up once, twice, three more times before he’s losing it. His head thrashes and curses fall from his lips like prayers. It goes on forever, his body tensed up and legs shaking on either side of you as he spills his release into you.

Finally, his body relaxes and stills. And his beautiful eyes blink open to look at you. A dopey and satiated smile spreads across his lips. You can feel his cock where it’s still inside you softening, but neither of you really want to move yet.

“You’re so pretty.” He says with an alcohol-drenched smile.

“And you’re still very drunk.” You giggle, kissing him softly.

“I don’t have to be drunk to be able to see that you’re pretty.” He answers with a slight pout. Even inebriated he’s not going to let you run from a compliment. His ability to still recognize those little insecurities that you still have, no matter how much he’s had to drink, makes you smile softly down at him.

“You’re pretty too.”

He flushes and opens his mouth to retort but it’s cut off with a hiss as you pull off him. You reach down to grab your phone where it’s been discarded on the floorboard with yours and his clothes and the screen lights up enough to make you squint your eyes.

Two notifications await you.

Josh 4:27AM

you guys okay?

Josh 4:34AM

in my driveway?? :(

You can’t help but laugh at the message before clicking your phone off. The windows have completely fogged up now so there's no denying your guilt to Josh.

As you turn back to face Jake, his eyes have closed and he looks almost asleep.

“Hey.” You smack his chest and he startles, making you laugh even harder. “Get dressed so we can go home.”

He groans and sits up, eyes looking glassy but still wearing a satisfied smirk.

“Round two once we get home?”

“If you can stay awake that long.”

“Challenge accepted.”

--------

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reiding-writing · 5 months

Text

Incessant Insomnia [ s.r ]

summary:

The BAU had just finished a case across the country in California, and were now finally on the jet to fly back home, needless to say, everyone was absolutely exhausted and very ready to get some shut eye during the 5 hour flight. Trouble was, Spencer couldn’t sleep, even though he had managed to bag the jet’s sofa, which was arguably the comfiest place on the plane.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers?

warnings: mentions of canon-typical violence, mentions of child death, mentions of touch-starvedness, no use of y/n

wc: 2.4k

masterlist!!

a/n: this is my first upload so please bare with me i’m still learning 😭

As you board the jet alongside your team, you can't help but notice the exhaustion etched on Spencer Reid's face. It had been a grueling week, with a disturbingly gruesome case across the country that took all semblance of mental energy out of the team to solve. Spencer, ever known for his genius-level intellect and unwavering dedication, didn’t take a single moment to rest throughout it.

And even as he scored the jet’s long sofa for the flight, arguably the most comfortable place on the plane, that moment of rest still didn’t arrive, and Spencer had long given up trying to fall asleep by the time the jet had stablised at 40,000 feet.

He’d tried everything, a Tchaikovsky Sonata playing through his cheap headphones, a travel pillow around his neck, his shoes discarded on the floor so he could curl up his legs under him, he’d even counted the amount of dimmed lightbulbs in the light strips and the number of creases in the leather bound chairs. Nothing. And he was becoming increasingly jealous of the rest of the team resting soundly in their seats.

He’d battled with insomnia for most of his life, a curse of his intelligence as he liked to call it, his mind constantly running so fast it never gave him any time to relax. But this was a little different. Spencer hated working cases involving children, for what ever reason they seemed to press all of the wrong buttons in his mind, and in this instance, the child they’d been called out to save had died before the team had even arrived in California to help.

Spencer couldn’t seem to get the image of anguish from the child’s mother from his mind, replaying like a faulty cassette player with no pause button as he rolled onto his back and let his eyes fall back open. There was no way he was going to get any sleep on this flight.

He instead took to an ever-living comfort of his, reading, in the hope that his inner monologue would drown out the guttural sobs ringing through his ears from the grieving mother when the team had uncovered her child’s body, buried underneath her own house.

He pushed himself to sit upright, his legs stretched out in front of him to the point where his feet were hanging freely, and he rifled through the go-bag left tucked under the sofa beneath him for his hand-bound anthology of his favourite poets, a book you’d gifted him for his birthday a few months prior. A book he’d read a dozen times since then.

His fingers traced over the familiar cover. He could almost feel the indentations of the embossing on the hardcover, a tactile memory that was as comforting as the words within. The pages were already dog-eared from countless readings, corners turned down to mark passages that had resonated with him, pen marks and streaks of neon yellow over phrases that had touched his soul in ways that only the poetic articulation of human emotion could.

It had become more than just a collection of poems to him; it was a sanctuary, a haven he could escape to when the horrors of his job became too much. He cherished each line, each word, each letter, as they provided a counterpoint to the harsh realities he faced daily. Except, this time it didn’t seem to work.

His mind was still overrun with images of the recent case, each line of verse morphing into a haunting reminder of the child’s life cut short. The words that usually brought him solace now echoed with a sorrowful undertone, amplifying his guilt and making his insomnia all the more pronounced.

The jet’s engines hummed steadily in the background, a usual comforting sound, now merely adding to the cacophony of his thoughts. His eyes, red-rimmed and weary, scanned over the pages, but the words blurred, morphing into a tale of despair that was not originally intended by the poets.

He tried to divert his mind, to block out the pictures of the crime scene, the teary eyes of the distraught mother, the lifeless body of the child, but it was all in vain. Their faces, their voices, their cries, they clung to him, refusing to let go.

His fingers tightened around the book, knuckles whitening with the strain. He could almost hear the deafening silence that followed after they’d found the body, the grim realisation that they were too late, that a life was lost before they could even try to save it.

Spencer felt a lump rise in his throat, the weight of the guilt and sorrow threatening to suffocate him. He swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to break him. He was a profiler, a genius, he was supposed to save lives, not let them slip through his fingers.

He closed the book, the once soothing words now a stark reminder of his failure. He leaned back against the plush leather of the seat, his legs stretched out in front of him, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The soft hum of the jet's engines was the only sound that filled the silence, a silence that was deafening in its own right.

Sleep was a distant dream, an elusive solace that he knew wouldn’t come. The guilt, the sorrow, the failure, they were his companions for the night, refusing to leave.

“Spencer…”

Your voice cut through the chaos ravaging his mind, and he flickered his eyes to his left, where you were comfortably curled up under a fleece blanket, head nestled in the small gap between the padded chair you were sat on and the jet’s wall, eyes resting closed.

“Why are you moving around so much..?”

Your question was cut short by a yawn, voice laced with an obvious exhaustion. His restlessness must have woken you up.

"I can't sleep," he confessed, rubbing his temples. "The case... it's still playing in my mind." His voice was barely a whisper, the silence of the jet amplifying its weight.

Your eyes fluttered open at his confession, a mix of concern and understanding washing over your face. You knew how deeply these cases affected him, how they seemed to burrow into his mind, refusing to let go.

"Spencer," you murmured, your voice barely louder than his own. "You did everything you could. You always do."

He glanced at you, his weary eyes meeting your earnest ones, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t have the words to explain the turmoil churning inside him. “We didn’t- none of it mattered…”

You sighed, removing yourself from the comfortability of your previous position, letting yourself sit with your legs in front of you and your feet on the floor. “Spencer of course it mattered,”

Spencer pushed himself upright as you did, subconciously mirroring your actions as you wake further from your half-asleep daze.

“He still died-”

“He was dead before we even landed Spencer, there’s nothing you could’ve done to change that,”

You cut off the inevitable start of a ramble from Spencer, raising your voice a little to take over the conversation whilst still making sure not to wake your sleeping teammates scattered around the jet.

“I know… I’m sorry i’m just-”

Spencer sighs, dragging his hands over his face and through the unruly mess of his hair, flattened and tangled from his incessant restlessness. “I’m fine… Sorry for waking you,” He let himself fall backwards to lie down again, turning onto his right side so that his back was facing you, as if not being able to see you would put an end to the conversation.

You didn’t say anything else, and Spencer resigned himself to listening to the mind-numbing drone of the jet’s engine as he heard you shift around, presumably getting back into a comfortable position to fall asleep again.

Except you weren’t quite done with him yet, and your weight on the edge of the sofa shifted his position as you sat down, your hand ghosting over his shoulder, not quite sure if you should actually touch him or not.

You knew Spencer had an aversion to physical touch, he always had, as long as you’d known him anyway. He’d rattled on about the number of bacterial colonies on human skin and how their transference could lead to illnesses you wouldn’t even try to name, swerving handshakes for awkward waves and keeping a pocket-sized bottle of hand sanitiser on his person at all times. He’d insist on keeping his distance, even from the people he was closest to, claiming that ‘you never knew what illnesses someone could be carrying’.

But you also knew that he needed comforting, and that words seemingly weren’t enough.

You gently placed your hand on Spencer's shoulder, your fingers just barely grazing over the sleeve of his shirt, offering a silent comfort that words couldn't provide. He tensed for a moment, his body still on high alert from the intensity of the never-ending rampage of his thoughts, but then slowly relaxed into your touch. The weight of his exhaustion seemingly lifting off his shoulders as he allowed himself to lean into your presence.

The soft warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, soothing the deep-rooted ache within him. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes, conveying a depth of understanding and empathy that words could never fully capture. In that moment, you became his anchor, providing a much-needed respite in the midst of his turmoil.

As Spencer leaned into your touch, his eyes closed, shutting out the harsh realities that had plagued his mind. He found solace in the simplicity of your presence, the tangible reminder that he wasn't alone in his pain. The weight of the guilt and sorrow that had threatened to suffocate him slowly began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of comfort and support.

You sat there in silence, your hand still resting gently on his shoulder, offering a steady presence that allowed him to find a temporary refuge from his racing thoughts. You didn't need to offer empty reassurances or try to fix what couldn't be fixed. Instead, your mere presence and the touch of your hand conveyed a profound message: "I am here for you."

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, connected by that simple touch. It was a fragile moment. Fragile, but powerful.

You slowly added a gentle pressure with your fingers, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his shoulder as his behaviour showed that the contact wasn’t crossing any boundaries, as Spencer felt the tension in his shoulders ease and his racing thoughts begin to quiet, a sense of calm washed over him.

The weight of the case and its tragic outcome still lingered heavily on Spencer's mind, but your presence provided a much-needed respite.

“I’m so tired…”

You slowly escalate your touch, running your hand slowly over his shoulder and up the side of his neck, careful to watch for any signs of discomfort from him.

“I know Spence…”

The soft nickname rolling off your tongue only fuelled to add an extra blanket of comfort over him in the moment, although joined by an uncertain ache that spread through his chest until it felt almost suffocating. Your touch comforted him more than he could ever thank you for, but it also upset him beyond belief.

Spencer couldn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, nor could he stop the slight tremble of his shoulders as they threatened to spill down his cheeks, and the shaking of his breath only proved to expose him further as you slowed the gentle caresses of your fingers to a halt.

As you felt the weight of his emotions, you gently pulled him into a comforting embrace, allowing him to release the tears he had been holding back as he buried his face into your lap. You held him tightly, offering a safe space for him to let go of the pain and sorrow that had consumed him.

“I’m sorry-”

Spencer choked out an apology through his tears, as though his emotions were burdening you. His tears soaked into your shirt, but you didn't mind. You were just grateful that he felt comfortable enough to let his emotions out, to release the pent-up pain that had been haunting him.

“Don’t apologise Spencer, it’s alright…”

You whispered soft words of comfort and reassurance as your hand moved to slowly run through his hair, reminding Spencer that he was a brilliant and compassionate person who had done everything in his power to help. You reminded him that he couldn't shoulder the weight of the world's tragedies alone, that he needed to take care of himself too.

Slowly, Spencer's sobs subsided, replaced by deep breaths as he regained control of his emotions. He pulled away slightly, his eyes red and puffy, but there was a glimmer of gratitude in them.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with both exhaustion and appreciation. "I don't know what I would do without you."

You gently guide his head back down into your lap, allowing him to use your thighs as a makeshift pillow so he could finally get some rest from his own mind. “It’s alright Spencer, just relax for me alright?”

As Spencer finally succumbed to the exhaustion weighing him down, his breathing gradually slowed and his tense muscles relaxed. You continued to stroke his hair gently, your touch offering a sense of comfort and security that Spencer desperately needed.

The weight of the case and its devastating outcome had taken a toll on him, both physically and emotionally. He had carried the burden of the child's death on his shoulders, blaming himself for not being able to save a life that was already lost.

But in your embrace, he felt a glimmer of hope.

With each gentle stroke of your hand, Spencer felt a wave of warmth wash over him. It was as if your touch carried with it a healing energy, easing the pain and sorrow that had consumed him. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully surrender to the comfort and safety of your embrace.

In the silence of the jet, Spencer's exhaustion finally overcame him. His body relaxed completely, finding respite from the relentless strain it had endured as it fell into a peaceful slumber. You continued to hold him, providing a sense of security and warmth that he hadn't felt in a long time, and you slowly fell into your own exhaustion, your fingers slowing their movements through his hair to a halt as you drifted into your own state of sleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort #mgg #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #criminal minds angst

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quickandsilvers · 5 months

Text

Sick Day 🔥

Peter Maximoff x fem!reader SMUT

Summary: Reader has come down with an illness, so Peter decides its time to repay the favour and take care of her.

Warnings: Oral sex(fem), fingering, kissing, humping, mention of a sex toy, embarrassment on readers end, Peter being an annoying and yet also very adorable airhead

Word count: 5083

Taglist: @kaismanwich @evpeters87 (Let me know if you want to be added or removed!!)

A/N: im really happy with how this turned out, so im hoping anyone reading will enjoy it too.💕

A good night's sleep was tough enough to get as an Xmen.

Sleeping in went unbeknownst to you, with late nights on missions and grueling 6am training sessions, requiring you to be up and ready to go while everyone else slept lethargically in their rooms without a single care in the world.

This weekend was supposed to be your reprieve, no early mornings, no new work, just a chance to lie in and scoff as many cake snacks as possible until you grew nauseous. Or it should've been. This weekend was anything but.

Since it was a Friday night, and you’d just had a full day of lectures (courteous to Charles, of whom seemed to thrive off of your misery) you promised yourself that Saturday was the day you would crack on and do.. Well.. nothing.

Lying in bed, however, the probability of this happening seemed bleak. Dull, aching pain shot through your stomach intermittently, and the feeling of whole body numbness and nausea couldnt be shaken.

Whimpering and clutching at your stomach, you feebly use your powers to close your bedroom door. You would rather be caught stark naked running through Charles prized white rose bushes than be seen writhing in your bed like you were doing your best attempt of a caterpillar in the process of metamorphosis. You were very aware of Peter’s frequent roaming of the halls, knowing if he caught you in such a state you would never be able to live it down.

You felt weak. Insecure. A class four mutant and yet you succumbed to something as simple as a stomach ache and fever?

It was a fight to repress the pain. A fight you were in fact losing, and you weren’t sleeping because of it.

You weren't exactly sure how your sickness had flared up, but living in a mansion full of prepubescent kids that paid more attention to what was being served for lunch, rather than the basic hygiene and cleanliness standards made you less than surprised.

A glance at your phone. 2:37 AM. A sorry sign given that you’d gone to bed at quarter to twelve. With an exasperated huff you got up, instantly squatting to the ground to lessen the pain that was realized with it. Then, slowly, you maneuvered yourself into your bathroom, supporting your jittery hands on the countertop of your sink before looking into the mirror.

Holy shit, someone alert the authorities. Exorcism needed, stat. Pale faced skin, lidded eyes and disheveled hair greeted you like a slap in the face, only seeming to aid in your shitty mood.

Groaning, you trudged back into the confines of your bed, too lazy to attempt fixing whatever happened to your appearance and disappearing under the covers. You ignored the sweltering heat emitting off of your body, instead picking up your phone once more and dialing a number you knew off by heart.

As an adult, you should’ve been able to handle being sick on your own. But you still wanted to talk to Peter, at least let him know that you weren't feeling great. He owed it to you anyway, you reassured yourself, remembering his leg fracture after the Apocalypse battle, making you his personal assistant for the next two weeks.

A very, very long two weeks. Not that you minded too much, especially when aiding him in getting dressed in the morning, but you soon realized he was essentially just a giant toddler, with no sense of spatial awareness or consideration for your busy schedule.

Peter had somehow influenced you into sharing the same bed for the time his leg was broken, exaggerating the fact he might ‘roll off the bed and be confined to the floor like a turtle stuck on its back.’ His words, not yours.

You weren’t even sure if that was a plausible excuse. Nonetheless, it worked, and you spent the next while being laid upon as though he were a weighted blanket, his stifling speedster body heat having the same effect on you as a sauna.

That you could deal with until you discovered his tendency to constantly be moving around on the bed, even whilst sleeping. One time you woke up with your best friend sprawled out in a way you can only describe as a malfunctioned starfish, limbs stretched out in ways you didn't imagine were possible.

The morning after you made a satirical statement of tying Peter down to the bed to keep him still, only to instantaneously regret it after being met with wiggling eyebrows and a plethora of bondage jokes.

Snapping yourself out of your tranfix, you dial the number, not having to wait as Peter picked up before the first ring.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” He said. You could practically hear his grin from down the phone.

“Hey, are you busy?” You spoke the best you could, wincing at the voice crack you made.

“Geezz, what's up with you?” Peter snorted, and you could hear the faint buzz of his Mrs Pacman machine, telling you he was in his basement. “Yer mouth sexed a can of helium or what?”

Rolling your eyes, you cleared your throat, ignoring the burning sensation traveling through your trachea. “Shut up, Maxipad-'' you could hear his groan through the screen “i was gonna say that i'm just not feeling that good right now. Nothing terminal, was just gonna ask if you could stop by or someth-?”

A woosh sounded from your phone before the call ended, and with a fwip, Peter was standing in your bedroom.

With your half-lidded eyes you glanced up to see your best friend, clad in his million dollar man tee and the only pair of pants you’ve ever seen him wear, the dark metallic color almost black due to the lack of light in your bedroom.

Donning his signature grin hinted with a smidge of concern, Peter blew a section of his silvery hair out of his face before his chocolate eyes locked onto yours. Peter titled his head in amusement, snorting at what you could only assume was your current state of appearance.

Before you could come up with a witty remark, a cough attack silenced your words, making you lean into a sitting position and struggle for breath. When it was over, you noticed Peter now standing on your left with his grin replaced with blatant concern, handing you a glass of water he seemed to have just magically pulled out of his ass.

You eyed the glass, your throat thirsty and parched, but suspicious over the unusual act of care.

“Did you spit in it?” You ask hoarsley, although accepting the drink.

“Please, i’m not that much of an airhead.” Peter argued, laughing at your deadpan gaze. “Besides, it’s not me who you should be worried about. We both know Scott is the most diseased out of all of us.”

“You're still hung up on that?” You barked in laughter before sputtering at the wave of pain sent through your throat.

A few weeks prior, the mansion held a birthday celebration for Kurt, where Scott had one too many to drink. The night ended with your friend sprawled out in a nearby bush outside the mansion, hurling into what poor Scott drunkenly believed was a bag.

The bag in question? Peter’s silver jacket.

“It was my only one!” Peter whined, “they don’t make ‘em anymore!”

You covered your laugh with your hand, knowing Peter’s beloved jacket was a sensitive topic. Although, you made a mental note to find a jacket as similar to his as possible, knowing that the speedsters birthday was just around the corner.

“I’m sure you’ll live.” You smiled, before furrowing your brows as you watched Peter rustling around your cupboards.

“I’m looking for some cough sweets” Peter remarked as he continued to rummage through your things, sensing your confusion. “-for your throat”

You nodded, pointing to a pair of drawers on the opposite side of where you were laying in bed. “Bedside table drawer.” Fwip.

Whilst focusing on adjusting your position into a comfortable one, you could hear the sound of the drawer being pulled open, the rustling indicating Peter’s fumbling.

A half-minute later, you find a comfy spot and turn towards Peter, the background noises coming to a stop and his voice speaking up.

“Found i- oh, hel-lo.” He whistled.

“Did you find the cough sweets?” You asked. Studying his gaze, you wrinkled your nose in puzzlement as Peter stared into the drawer, a wide grin forming on his flushed face.

From knowing Peter since the Xmen formed in ‘83, you recognised this smirk from anywhere, identifying it from when Peter teases you about something. Which of course, is constantly.

“What?” You turn to throw a blanket over yourself before looking back. As you do, you see Peter staring at you with a wicked smile, an arched eyebrow and-

Fuck.

Your silver vibrator in his hand.

Your eyes get impossibly wide and your jaw goes slack in a combination of surprise and pure horror. You completely forgot about that thing, being so busy with missions and training meant that you hadn’t had the time to kick back and relax like you used to do.

The realization that the vibrator was silver, your best friend's infamous signature color, only added to your embarrassment. How were you gonna dig yourself out of this one?

Peter’s grin only gets wider at the comical realization on your face. A few moments of silence and, as if you had been cured miraculously, you scrambled towards him, kneeling upon the bed so that you were only just in line with his twinkling eyes.

Peter snickered as you got closer, drawing the vibrator closer to his chest, almost possessively.

“A vibrator, huh?” He confirms in that annoying tone you had got to know so well. The tone that makes you want to sink into the ground and be one with the soil, no conscience or memory of the situation you are facing.

“That’s something personal, give it back.” You point out, sharp and firm. You extend your hand, waiting for Peter to give you the vibrator, but of course, you remain ignored. “Don’t get cocky about it. The color choice was a coincidence.”

Peter smiles lopsidedly and glances down at you. “I wasn’t sayin’ it was, babe.. But now you’ve got me thinkin’..” He ponders, quirking one of his eyebrows again and waving the silicone in the air mockingly, his thumb resting on the button of the vibrator keenly.

“It was the only color left in stock.” Liar.

Noticing his disbelieving gaze and cocky smirk, you know that you are just digging yourself a bigger hole. You grit your teeth, darting your hand out to try and grab your toy but to not avail, it doesn’t seem like he was giving it back anytime soon.

That annoys you more than it would if it was anyone else, but it's Peter, the most childlike, insufferable, annoying jerk you had ever had a silly crush on passionate hatred for.

You step closer to once more grab your embarrassing secret, but Peter yanks it down and hides it behind his back gleefully. You can't stop that quick move, but you manage to grab Peter by the bicep and push him back and against the bedside table.

You realize that you are now standing really close to him; one side of your body is pressed against Peter’s and you can even feel his tickling breath on your face. Peter stares at you with that twisted, amused look for a few more seconds before he starts blabbering again.

“I guess that you're more of a naughty chick than I was thinkin’, huh?” He speaks in a weird, yet somehow seductive, low voice.

A high-speed buzz trembled next to your ear and you turn, only for your eyes to set on the vibrator Peter was clutching, the silicone moving in rapid motion as he fiddled with the settings.

“This surely ain’t the fastest it can go?” Peter asked rhetorically, and you noticed as his teasing expression switched, as if he were struck dumb with surprise. “Pretty lame if you ask me babe.”

You clench your jaw as you felt the heat rising to your cheeks, the suggestive undertone from his words not going unnoticed by you. You fight against it, not wanting to blush and give Peter more satisfaction.

Another ego boost you fear may be fatal, but you can't help it; your cheeks turning crimson. Peter notices and giggles, nibbling the side of his lip.

“Ya know yer look totally bitchin’ when yer blushing?” He says coyly, and that comment only makes your blush intensify, however you refuse to back down. Nothing you do can bring you back from an endless lifetime of teasing hanging over your head.

“Stop that,” you say harshly, albeit shakily “And give me the vi-.. Just give it back,” Your nose wrinkles at the mere word, embarrassed to come to terms with what your best friend has found in your drawer. You tug Peter’s arm, harder this time, but he doesn't relinquish.

“Yer want it back?” he teases and you know exactly what's coming next. “Then come get it,” Peter pulls back his arm. Fwip. He stands confidently at the other side of your bedroom. You groan. “Why do you always have to act like this?!” You yell, exasperated but not surprised, feebly running after him.

Peter is now standing in the middle of your bathroom with a shit-eating grin and the vibrator dangling in his hand, joyfully inspecting the streaks of silver running along it.

You can only imagine what he is thinking in this moment, the thought of you spread out on your bed, thrusting your toy in and out at a steady pace, soft whimpers and praises of his name squeaking out of you. Peter’s cock twitched at the mere thought.

“Come on babe, if you want it back, you have to fight for it,” he goads, waving the vibrator right in your face.

That's it, you have to stop this now.

You throw yourself against Peter and you both fall back onto the bed. You struggle for a moment and the speedster is giggling the whole time, evidently amused by the situation. He surely loves torturing you like this and the thought of that makes you feel even angrier and struggle harder.

You keep trying to yank his right arm, but Peter pushes you back and hides the hand that's holding the vibrator behind his back once more, sporting a borderline malicious grin.

“What, babe? Are yer gonna give up now?” He teases with an evil smirk that makes you lose it again. You push him forward and manage to make him fall back in the bed. Then you get on top of him, straddling Peter as a way to keep him from moving, but the effort seems to be futile as he keeps shifting under you; his head ducked in the hollow of your neck and one of his hands holding you back by the hip.

After a moment, he stops struggling and you realize that Peter is breathing heavily. You can feel his warm breath brushing the side of your neck and you notice that your own breathing is hitching too.

You pull back, observing Peter's devil gaze. In record time, literally, Peter flipped your positions, his hands snaking into yours as he holds them either side of your head. You stay quiet, glancing up at your best bud and awaiting his next move.

Glancing down at your lips, Peter’s tongue protrudes as he swipes it across his own, chest heaving in excitement. “If yer gave me the chance, babe?” His words were sincere and low.

“I could take real good care of ya.” Peter’s now dark gaze looks up and bores into your own, emphasizing his words in a way that had you needing him already.

You gulped as your breath hitched, your legs involuntarily rubbing together for friction. Arousal seeped from your entrance, beginning to soak your panties, being concealed only by the oversized sleep shirt you had over you.

If Peter had this effect on you with just his words, you wondered how you would survive with him balls deep inside. The thought alone made your thighs quake.

You weren’t stupid. You were very aware of Peter’s dating history and his tendency to ‘get around.’ But could you blame him? With the power to move any part of his body at mind bogglingly rapid speeds, you were surprised that there wasn’t a line of women outside his dorm room each night, cash in hand.

Peter was a respectful lover, of course, making it known his intentions from the get-go, but you couldn’t help but feel insecure from the inexperience you had against him. You weren’t a virgin, but you absolutely weren’t experienced either.

Peter felt your legs quivering as he looked down, fighting against the Gods themselves to not moan at the sight before him. Your baggy shirt had lifted up during the tussle, revealing your lace panties, wet from your arousal. His own cock leaked in response, and Peter looked back up, awaiting your response.

He was Peter. Your Peter; and you trusted him wholeheartedly.

“Really?”

“Scout’s honor, babe.” Peter grinned, holding up four fingers. He wasn’t a scout, nor was he holding up the right amount of fingers, but that was enough for you.

Smiling, you nodded, and Peter’s nervous facade dropped instantly as a teasing smirk adorned his features. He sat up to pull his shirt over his head in one swift motion, then leant back down to meet you in a passionate kiss.

Your lips parted instantly, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth while his fingers found the hem of your shirt, sliding up until the pads of his fingers tickled and grazed your waist. Peter hummed in content, enjoying the slight jolts your body made in reaction to his soft touches.

Sliding his hand along your spine, your back arched, allowing Peter to pull you up into a sitting position and gently take off your shirt. Once the material was discarded on the floor and you were left in just your panties, Peter grinned like a schoolboy at the sight of your bare chest, watching your nipples gradually harden from the exposure to the cold air.

A low groan rumbled from the back of his throat as he leant forward to blow cool air on your tits briefly, making you whimper and curl your hands into his unbelievably soft hair that you were impossibly jealous of.

He leaned back quickly to remove his shirt, discarding it in the general direction where he threw yours.

Peter’s focus moved back to your face, taking you in another sweet kiss as his chest collided with yours. The warmth between your bodies was comforting, especially when Peter pressed them together and pulled back from the kiss to travel back down. He kissed down the valley of your breasts, moving to the underside with an unsuspecting nip, making you gasp and clutch onto his hands.

Your eyes closed as Peter worked on your chest, nipping, licking and sucking the both of them, leaving a trail of marks that showed your belonging to him. When his soft touches subsided, you opened your eyes, only to be met with Peter’s dark ones and a smirk gracing his pinkish lips.

You were about to question him on why he stopped before he shushed you and tilted his head teasingly.

“Be honest with me, babe. Yer bought that vibrator with me in mind.” Peter smiled cheekily as you flushed once more, shaking your head in denial.

“It was just a big coincid-” you stopped mid sentence as your best friend quirked his eyebrow, disbelief coating his expression. You sighed.

“I guess.. It might've been at the back of my mind..” you mumbled almost inaudibly, averting your gaze due to the sheer embarrassment of admitting your dirty secret to the very last person you intended to tell.

Peter mockingly leaned closer towards you, cupping his ear with his hand as if it were impaired. “I’m sorry, babe, couldn’t hear yer there. What did ya say?” You glared at him, only making him laugh and continue with the gesture until you did what he wanted.

“Okay- fine! Yes, it was about you. Don’t be gettin’ so cocky about it, alright?” You admitted, exasperated.

Peter snickered jovially, his chest puffing out in show that your words had already given him the ego boost he was craving for. You could barely revel in your humiliation before you gasped, a buzzing emitting from your clit that made you writhe in a frenzy.

“All yer had to do was tell me the where and when, babe.” Peter grinned, gazing at your blissful expressions as the pads of his fingers pressed deeper into your clit, making you rock your hips into his hand. “Yer don’t need that toy when ya have the living, breathing, undoubtedly sexier thing.” You failed to answer, instead nodding vigorously and whimpering.

The buzzes came to an abrupt stop as his hands slid back out of your soaking panties, and you whined at the loss of contact, humping the air to gain some sort of friction to keep you going.

Peter snickered beside you, a comment about how needy you were for him going unnoticed by you as you whined for his touch.

You gripped onto his hands tight, gasping as Peter once more began kissing down your chest, but this time passing your breasts and moving down your stomach, peppering kisses along the way.

“Your skin is so fuckin’ soft,” Peter groaned, grabbing your thighs with a “c’mere” and pulling you towards him “what typa baby powder are yer usin’, huh?” His voice blabbered on and you let out a sound that was between a chuckle and a moan, your chest heaving as you awaited his heavenly touches.

Hooking your aching legs over his shoulders, Peter reached for the strap of your underwear, his fingers hooking underneath and sliding them off. You could faintly hear the fumble of the material, unknowing that Peter had shoved your wet panties in his trouser pocket.

One of his hands reached upwards to join with yours again, giving you the added reassurance that you would be okay and safe with him.

Your mind completely dissociated from anything other than him as Peter parted your sticky folds with his tongue, sliding the wetness up until he reached the other end. He giggled into your core, making you furrow your brows in confusion but shiver at the vibrations rippling through you.

“I was thinkin’.. It just reminded me of that old guy parting the seas.” Peter chuckled, and your head lifted up to look at your best friend in pure shock. ”What was his name? Monty? Moses? Moses! It was Moses.”

The Fuck?

“You seriously cannot be quoting the bible whilst eating me out, Peter.” You couldn’t believe what he just said. He couldn’t have been the furthest from sexy in this moment, and yet your body was still trembling from anticipation and want. You laid back down, chuckling from the irony and utter bullshit Peter spew out.

“Sorry, sorry.” Peter grimaced, cringing at his own actions “not the time.” Letting out a breath of hot air that hit your center, you gasped, immediately forgetting about what just occurred.

Peter dove in fully this time, leaving you almost no time to prepare as his tongue swirled around your slick in a way that had you clawing at your interlocked hands, gripping Peter so tightly you feared you may be cutting off his circulation.

Your body jolted uncontrollably, and using his other hand, Peter pressed it against your stomach to cease your movements, your skin burning up underneath his touch.

The bed rocked underneath you, not only from your involuntary movements but from the relentless thrusts Peter made on the bed, his cock hardening from your squeaks and moans that he was creating. He humped the bed, groaning into your core, only adding in the stimulation and pleasure, taking you to the brink of screaming so loud that Ororo could be able to hear you from the other side of the mansion.

Peter’s nose tickled your clit as he lapped at your heat, giving you that extra stimulation that took you where you needed to get faster. Your breathing quickened as you felt a finger penetrate through your folds and fully into you, making you gasp and clench, begging him to just move. Move.

The mix of his tongue flicking and buzzing your clit and his now two fingers pumping you in and out sent you into a frenzy, your moans only spurring Peter on, taking him to the edge of his own release.

The only thing you could think about was Peter and the exhilarating pleasure that he was providing you. You seized up as if you were in fear his actions would stop altogether, burning pressure building inside of you to the point you felt like you might explode.

With a curl of his fingers against a particularly spongy spot inside of you, you cried out Peter’s name as your back arched expertly off the bed, blazing intense bliss shooting out from your core and spraying the mattress, your thighs and Peter’s face.

Crying out once more in pure euphoria, your back hit the bed as you spasmed, Peter’s tongue working you through your orgasm.

Breathing heavily, you shuddered as Peter’s fingers slid out of you, a trail of your sticky release coating his digits. He all but moaned at the sight, arousal pooling in his belly as he unconsciously jutted his hips forward once more, seeking and finding the contact for his rock hard erection that was painfully constricted in the tight confines of his pants.

After a few more sharp thrusts, a filthy moan came out from Peter, his mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ shape and thick ropes of hot cum spilling into his underwear.

As your high came to an end Peter moved to kneel above you, putting his slick-covered fingers into his mouth and closing his eyes, humming at the taste. You didn’t even have the strength to utter out thanks to Peter, watching him tiredly as he wiped his chin of arousal.

He leant down briefly to kiss the inside of both your quivering thighs before laying them down to rest against the mattress.

Humming a low chuckle at your blissed out state, Peter took you into a delicate kiss, the taste of yourself and the heat of your altercation invading your senses. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, pulling away after short intervals for air.

“Well?” he said, tucking a sweaty strand behind your ear.

“Well what?”

“Was it better than the vibrator?” Peter smirked, leaving wet kisses and hickies along your jawline that your peers would surely question about tomorrow.

You let out a few breaths, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that you just fucked your bestfriend.

“I think you know the answer to that, Peter.” You breathed lightly as his hair tickled your cheeks. He grinned against the skin of your neck, encouraging a tired smile of your own to break out.

He then sat up promptly, adorning a mischievous smile before using his speed to grab the vibrator, you watching him with wide eyes.

You thought he had the intentions for a second round, but you were dumbfounded as he sped over to your balcony, stepping outside and using his speed to throw the toy as far as a speedster deemed possible.

“Peter!!” You screeched, jumping out and quickly pulling on his tee, of which thankfully covered your bare bottom half, running up to the balcony and staring into the vast darkness. “That was mine, you airhead! You have to get it back!”

“It didn’t even work that well, princess.” Peter promptly shrugged at his actions, bending down to throw you over his shoulder. You screech once more, flinging your arms about in an attempt to cover your bare lower half, a string of obscenities leaving your sore throat.

He threw you onto the bed under the covers, disappearing for a nanosecond to clean up and then reappearing, wearing a sweatshirt and sleeping pants. Peter crawled under with you, nuzzling into your neck contently as if he hadn’t just lobbed your expensive toy to the other side of the continent.

You scoffed, pushing against his head. “I can’t believe you’ve actually just done that.”

Still unrelenting, Peters warm hands slowly rubbed up and down your thigh, as if trying to hypnotize you into sleep. “No regrets,” he grinned, voice slightly muffled as his breath hit your neck “besides, yer have me now babe.”

“Really?” You looked up at the ceiling in shock, not even thinking about what all this actually meant. “Like, as a couple?”

Peter nodded gleefully, moving his head away to look up at you with tousled hair and droopy eyes. “Just imagine, i can be your strong, handsome, ladies man, dreamy, seductive, great music taste, badass boyfriend that you can show off to all friends and family.” You laughed at his dreamy sigh, caressing your fingers into his hair.

“Seductive?” You question, your teasing smirk letting him know you were only joking around. “I would hardly compare you to Patrick Swayze.”

Peter gasped overdramatically, his hand quickly removing itself from your thigh, clenching it by his chest as if he were heartbroken. “Babe, have you seen my smoulder? The chicks faint at the sight.” You turn to look at him, only to see him adorning a quirked eyebrow and a theatrical smoulder not-so-gracefully embellishing his face.

You snort, using the hand in his hair to push Peter’s head back into your neck.

“The fact you just referred to women as ‘chicks’ only proves my point, Maxipad.” You say after a brief pause, only to be met with light snoring as Peter’s eyes closed, his arms wrapped around your middle and legs intertwined with your own.

You bit your lip from cheerfulness, relishing in the moment as your arms curl up by his chest, comforted by the heat radiating off his body.

It was the same cuddling as when his leg was broken, only the air had changed to that of intimacy, a warm buzzing feeling in your chest.

So yes, you had found something to do this weekend.

#peter maximoff #quicksilver #evan peters #xmen #evan peters masterlist #james patrick march #peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff fluff #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff smut #xmen peter maximoff #xmen days of future past #xmen headcanon #xmen quicksilver #xmen apocalypse

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trashpandato · 7 months

Text

Kara

It starts innocently enough.

When Kara gets to the Tower one afternoon, she spots a large Tupperware container on the shared table in the middle of their break room. It’s full of cookies and cupcakes. But when Kara gets closer, she sees it: a large pink Post-It note that reads “Cookies are for the bake sale at Esme’s preschool. DO NOT EAT!”

Disappointed, Kara shrinks back from the container. She spends the afternoon distracted, thinking about baked treats, until Lena pulls her aside and asks her to go for a walk. The walk ends up being an excuse for Lena to buy Kara a coffee and three extra large cookies from the food truck at the edge of the park.

But then, it keeps happening.

Kara opens the communal fridge at the Tower a few days later and finds a couple of containers inside that are clearly labeled. One says “Nia’s lunch”, the other spells out that it contains an experimental energy gel that Brainy has been eating whenever he works overtime.

Kara frowns. This is a new development. And sure, maybe she has a bit of a history of eating whatever is available, at times raiding the fridge and eating everyone’s leftovers. She can’t help that there are moments when a fight leaves her exhausted and hangry. But to think that her friends are starting to leave passive-aggressive notes on their food to keep her away? It stings a little.

Kara doesn’t confront them. Instead, she simply observes as more and more Post-It notes appear, warning her to stay out of boxes of donuts or a selection of cheeses, and even leftover noodles now have names attached to them.

It makes Kara grumpy.

It’s about two weeks later when Kara returns to the Tower after a particularly grueling fight with a Dominator. After a quick medical check, Alex tells her she’s free to go and leaves her to her own devices in the med bay.

Kara is about to slide off the bed she’s been sitting on when Lena touches her elbow to get her attention.

“You look spent. Why don’t we find you a little snack and then I’ll take you home?”

“It’s fine,” Kara grumbles. “I have food at home.”

“I know you do. But you look like you’re about to pass out. Come on.”

Before Kara can protest, Lena has pulled her into the lunch room.

“Lena, I, there’s nothing here for me.”

“What do you mean? Of course there is. It’s a fridge full of food. Look!”

Kara throws her arms up in the air and lets them fall back down. “But none of it is mine! It’s Nia’s lunch, or Kelly’s donuts, or, or, cookies that are meant for some special event.”

Kara is about to turn around and head out when Lena opens the fridge and Kara sees that it’s full to the brim with all kinds of different food. There are at least three boxes of pizza, a couple of paper bags that she knows are from her favourite Chinese restaurant, and then she spots an entire shelf of pastries. But the thing that stands out most is that each item features a bright green Post-It note and they all say “Kara”.

And maybe it’s the day’s exhaustion finally catching up with her, or maybe it’s the knowledge that Lena has made sure that all of her favourite foods are here, but when she looks back at Lena, her vision is blurry with tears.

“Thank you,” Kara manages to croak out.

“You’re welcome. Now come on. Let’s eat.”

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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harrieatthemet · 3 months

Text

Newborn

It's a miracle he hasn't chewed off all 10 fingernails yet.

this is long but whatever!

There's an abundance of nerves so dense it may as well have it's own seat in the Range Rover; plenty enough to go around with seconds for anyone interested. With the stereo at a whopping maximum volume of 2, and unbearably loud fidgeting in the driver's seat, you're well versed enough to know something is just eating away at him.

"The only thing louder than your nail biting," you tease from the backseat, "is the sound of your heart beating in your chest."

You watch his eyes briefly flicker their attention to the mirror, greener than ever as they widen a bit to catch a steady glimpse of your reflection from the backseat. And all he lets out is a quick sigh before he tightens the grip of the wheel (10 and 2, the entire time), eyes out of your peripheral vision as quickly as they came in. He only waits to nervously shift his weight in his seat for the umpteenth time until he gets to another red light.

"S'it bothering you," his tone is so flustered and apologetic, you almost feel bad for joking, "m'sorry just, y'know, nervous."

For the first time since the hospital departure, he turns in his seat to fully face the second row of the car. He's envious of you; so calm and collected, radiant with joy even after a grueling delivery. And he sucks in a calming breath when he trails his glance to the tiny baby snuggled sweetly into the car seat beside you, swimming in her baggy pink flower pajamas and endless mountain of hospital-gifted blankets.

He's done this ride before. He remembers it so fondly as, easily, unarguably, singlehandedly the best drive of his entire life. And it feels like it was only yesterday when he was bringing Angel Baby home for the first time. It's exactly why he's so fucking nervous.

"Har, we're good," and as you patiently insist, you're adjusting the frilly white blanket on the newborn beside you, "but you're driving 9 miles per hour. I literally just saw that woman on the scooter pass us for the third time."

"Hey she's bloody fast on that thing, you saw her!"

"Pretty sure she's missing a wheel," you snicker, "so what's actually bothering you?"

He doesn't want to say it. Like, he really doesn't want to say it. Not just because you both have already discussed it over a dozen times in the past week alone, but because he doesn't care to tarnish what should be a wholesome moment.

So instead he says nothing. Not for a long time, he doesn't let the silence linger but for a minute he says nothing; he barely breathes. When your hand reaches out though, and finds it's way to his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze, he releases that breath before letting the words soon follow.

"What if she hates 'er," and the way he's blurting it out tells you he's been sitting on this for hours, "or worse, what if she hates me and-and, I dunno, (Y/N) m'nervous. Y'remember wha' she said!"

A very shallow sigh of disapproval innately makes it's way passed your lips. It isn't because you're annoyed with him. The guilt is natural and, by nature, he only ever wants angel baby to be happy. But it's stemming from the fact that you're only physically capable of providing so much assurance. Not to mention he practically begged for another baby.

"Harry she's two," you remind him, "she told your mother she didn't want legs so she wouldn't have to go for a walk."

On the other hand, though, the imminent addition to the family was not a hit for everyone in the household. Angel baby did not take kindly to the impending addition. And you know exactly the incident he's referring to. Sure, she's definitely well immersed into her terrible two's stage, and you'd like to chalk it up to that. But she's never been keen on sharing Harry with anyone, even you sometimes. So the idea of now having to share him with a sister presents itself as an incredibly challenging hurdle.

"She'll be fine," and as you say it as soothingly as possible, you can see he begins to ease up "she's got a built in best friend now."

Those exact words are playing on a loop the rest of the trek home. Each stoplight that brings him closer to the front gate of the house, he's mentally psyching himself up; the best thing to say when he walks in, how to ease her into the role of being a big sister, the right way to bring you in with the new baby. He's so consumed in concocting the perfect delivery that he doesn't even realize he's already pulling past the open gates.

"This is your house," and already he's gone full blown with the baby talk, "y'live here with me 'n mummy 'nd a sister who... might not like you very much fo' a bit."

Though he masqueraded it with a sweet, gooey, charming little baby voice, your squinting eyes are loaded with displeasure so he understands it was not well received.

He takes a moment before opening the door; adjusts the hospital bags in his arms, takes in a breath before allowing it to roll out, lays a gentle kiss to your temple. Then he decides to stretch out his arm to press his thumb on the door handle.

It's a bittersweet moment. He's itching to see angel baby after two long days with out her. And he knows there's family, both yours and his, waiting eagerly to get their eyes on their newest 8 pound family member. But his heart sings when he hears the pattering of a familiar set of bare feet down coming from down the hallway. Immediately, he drops the bags in the foyer to make his way out from the front entrance and down towards the living room.

"Go see m'love," he hears Anne coo sweetly, so he rounds the corner, "who could tha' be?"

For the moment being, despite the fact it's fleeting, he tables the introduction to the newborn once he lays eyes on angel baby. Well aware of the fact you're just in the next room over, a brand new bundle of joy toted in your arms, he feels a surmountable sense of joy now that angel baby's in eye shot; hair unbrushed and a mess from what one would assume was a successful nap, head to toe in a watermelon printed pajama set, eyes wide with sheer joy and arms outstretched to intercept him. To which, he eagerly accepts as he crouches down to let her crash into his chest before sweeping her up.

"There's m'girl," he hums, hand tucking her hair from her face before showering her with kisses, "how's m'angel, hm? Still sleepy from y'sleepover this weekend? Missed me as much as I missed you?"

He can almost feel his heart melt to mush in his chest as he cranes his neck back, listening in awe as angel baby spares no detail in her weekend with both sets of grandparents and Gemma. Most of it is borderline incoherent, though her elaborate expressions and dramatized recounts of events has him entranced.

"Where's mommy?"

"Oh yes" Anne's near double over in excitement, inviting herself into the conversation as she rubs small circle on angel baby's back, "where's (Y/N)? M'about ready t'explode, m'so excited!"

There it is again, that nervous feeling bubbling up in his stomach again. He's excited too; wants to show off the adorable little baby that completed his growing family, watch his mother and sister fawn over her. But he doesn't want to blow it on his first go. Most importantly, mere forethought of angel baby feeling like second place is enough to make him wanna start crying.

So he's going to try to ease angel baby into her new role as a sister while she's still fresh out of a nap and giddy with excitement. And while he still has the balls to actually go through with it.

"Mummy's here poppet," his tone is so sweet and fragile it'd break from the weight of a feather, "n' I think she's got something really, really special for you."

An animated expression paints itself across her face; eyes wide and doe-like as they twinkle in giddiness, her smile tripling in size. It's only a matter of seconds before she's writhing in Harry's arm, desperate to break herself from his grip to place both feet back on the floor.

There's no reason he should feel this guilty and this nervous. He's hot on angel baby's heels as she turns her skips into a light jog, traipsing down the hallway towards the front entrance sitting room as fast as her short legs will allow.

Anne's awing is low in tone, hands flying to her chest as she delights in the sight she's taking in. And as she goes to get a better look, making idle chatter with your parents and gushing to Gemma, Harry's eyes are darting back and forth as though he's waiting for angel baby to go right into orbit.

Momentarily, he anticipates an alternative outcome. Angel baby runs right up to you with arms wide open. He does that thing that gets him every single time - where she melts into the kisses you deliver all over her face. She hasn't killed the newborn yet, or thrown herself to the floor in existential despair. That's gotta be good start.

"Hi bubba, I missed you so, so much" you place a kiss to her forehead and she smiles contently, completely ignoring the baby in your arm, "but I have someone who wants to meet you!"

She squeals with joy, jumping up and down, "A puppy!"

"No baby," you laugh, and Harry swears he's about to spin off the fucking planet, "even better, a baby!"

"A baby dolly!"

She's either choosing to disregard the fact that the baby perched in front of her is 100% a real human being and not made of plastic, or she's genuinely oblivious. Regardless, Harry's panic is quickly becoming your panic. Because now you're both teetering on anxious, though Anne is swift to pick up on it and comes to aid.

"No poppet, not a dolly," Anne mewls, crouching down beside angel baby in front of your lap, "s'your baby sister. Mumma and Daddy brought y'a real sister."

And now it's fully set in - sheer panic. He's quick to jump into action though.

In quick strides from across the other side of the room, he very gently inserts himself beside you on the couch. You aren't catching on to what's to come and he chalks it up to you still being a little tired. Why wouldn't you be? He doesn't want this to go south, so he shifts himself on the couch, knees spread a bit so angel baby can lean on his leg and look over at the . If anyone could be the buffer here, he thinks he's the best bet.

Harry coos, "Say hi t'your baby sister!"

"No"

You side eye your husband beside you, who is staring at angel baby as though he's trying to to mentally coerce her into actually wanting to like the infant. He doesn't know where to take it from here. Angel baby is so viscerally displeased and uninterested at not just the concept of a sister, but the literal physical sister sitting inches away from her face.

"Dunno if that I love my big sister onesie seem t'be working." Gemma cracks in attempt to lighten the mood.

"No?" Harry repeats, though soft, but with the undertone of frantic as he glares at his older sister, "What do y'mean, button? She's really nice, 'nd

"My daddy!"

"Oh I told you," Harry's voice is a hushed squeak as the internal panic collides with irreconciable guilt "(Y/N) I told you!"

He can't imagine things getting worse than this. Until, of course, it does. Because as soon as the infant yawns and squirms a bit, Harry reaches over to your lap on instinct to adjust the hospital cap still clad to her head. And that was enough to get angel baby to strike. She leans right over alongside Harry with her fingers spread and palm flat, going to give the baby a shove before dominantly announcing another 'my daddy.'

A slew of gasps and stern no's come flooding out by all your familial spectators, even including yourself as you angle your body away from your 2 year old with a vengeance. Harry's stomach has completely flipped upside down, especially when angel baby bursts into tears and collapses to the floor.

The temper tantrum has ensued; she's a puddle at Harry's feet, back flat against the multicolored sherpa carpet as she rips out wails that could shatter every glass flower vase throughout the first floor. And naturally, it sets off some cries of distress from the new baby. In a second Harry might join them both.

"Jesus Christ," you exhale quietly, "this is fucked."

Your mom, noble as ever, does her best to step in and peel your daughter off the floor to bring an end to the (literal) swan song. Even now you have to admire the theatrics and flare for drama. She's truly emulating her father.

Her father, who is in an isolated frenzy in his attempt to asses every possible way to rectify this nightmare. Harry's not afraid to go low and opt for the last possible resort.

"Button," he exclaims, like he's just conjured up the best idea of his life, "she got y'a gift! A super big, really fun, totally awesome gift!"

The wailing comes to a slowed stop before an altogether halt. With eyes still watery and cheeks stained with tears, she peels herself up from the floor in what feels like slow motion until she's level with Harry. And she looks up at him with those eyes and that look - the one that you know will have Harry in the palm of her little hand in a matter of seconds.

"A gift?" she says it through a sniffle, "Like.. a barbie?"

She sniffles a few times more in an attempt to collect herself and, God, Harry can't help but fold, "Four barbies!"

And he doesn't care that your face shoots him one of those 'we should discuss this first' looks because she's finally reeling in the crying. And she's finally starting to take to the idea of another baby to share the spotlight with because she goes to lean on your knee now - right next to the baby as a show of solidarity. That's a win to him, even if he had to get there with shameless bribery.

"Harry," you whisper sternly, "remember.. about the gifts... and not spoiling her."

It's like talking to a wall, because he doubles down, "And a new dream house! If y'really sweet t'her, maybe baby sister will buy you tha' little pink limo for 'em too."

"Harry!"

"What?" He shrugs, but quickly evades your glare, "th'limo l'look great with th'house! 'Nd they can't walk everywhere!"

#harry styles fanfiction #dad!harry #harry fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry x reader #harry styles blurbs #harry blurb #harry styles one shot

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strangersteddierthings · 6 months

Text

No Regrets - Part One

Content Warning: mentions of main character deaths but these are temporary because this is a time travel two-to-four-shot and so, they start dead but then get better :3 Also maybe a whiplash warning? In that it starts off kind of dark for a story that's pretty light-hearted in the end.

Here's the first part of the threatened season 4 AU time travel fic where Steve gets thrown back to the moment in family video when Dustin and Max show up demanding the phones. Previously he was 5 years into a grueling apocalypse.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Steve has lived his life in regret. Replaying scenarios in his head over and over late at night when sleep eludes him. And sleep is always eluding him these days, weeks, past five years. Steve hasn't known a day without regret since the day they failed to kill Vecna, the day Max almost died. The day Eddie did.

It's five years to the day today.

Steve spends endless nights thinking about how he'd change that spring break. It was the start of the end of everything. Eddie's death wasn't world ending for Steve. It was the end of a what-if. A maybe. But for Dustin. Oh God, Dustin. Who had blamed himself for Eddie's death, who was broken and then never able to get time to recover. To grieve.

Dustin, who pulled away from everyone, from Steve, because of it.

He's not dead, Steve knows, because he still hears his voice on the radio. Separated from the group but vital to their survival. He spread intel on Demo-creature movements, where safe spaces are, news from across the broken and destroyed America, and how to survive the hellscape.

There have been losses. Terrible, tragic losses.

Murray Baughman. Lucas Sinclair. Karen and Holly Wheeler. Will Byers. And those are just the ones he knows. A lot of people scattered to the wind when Hawkins became overran with the Upside Down and its creatures.

He's still two days out on this supply run. Two more days and he'll get to know who is still around. Who they lost this time. It's not always someone they know, but the horrors never cease, and Steve's been gone a total of three weeks.

"Hey," Robin breaks him from his thoughts as she leans over to whisper in his ear, "since you're gonna daydream, you might as well actually dream. Scouts say it'll be a while before we can continue moving."

"I'm not daydreaming, I'm thinking."

"Well, be sleeping instead. You'll be more useful with some rest," Robin pats her shoulder, inviting him to lean his head against it.

"Don't use my weakness against me. You know I love being useful," Steve sighs as he drops his head onto her shoulder.

"I know. It makes you easy to manipulate," Robin teases. He can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, shut up and sleep."

Steve grumbles under his breath. No real words, just grumpy noises as he does shift and get as comfortable as he can leaned against Robin. He is tired, and with nothing else he can be doing, he won't feel too guilty about it.

He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness of the sun shining through the glass storefront of Family Video. Usually when he dreams of the past, the sun's never this bright. It's been years since he's seen the sun at all, with the red-black sky of the Upside Down looming above them constantly.

He takes a deep breath, basking in the fresh(ish) air of Family Video. How long has it been since he's taken a breath without his mouth covered by a mask, bandana, some cloth or another? Well, he's not really breathing without a mask on, his conscious self has one on, but it still feels good to fill his lungs and release. He has half a mind to jump the counter and go outside to repeat that; see if his unconscious mind will provide a difference in the air, if it remembers enough to do so.

"Hey Steve," Dustin says as he is stepping through the doors with Max at his side. It's then that Steve takes in where the dream has started. The doors have just opened, and Steve's looking partially over his shoulder, towards the doors instead of the TV as it plays the news of Chrissy's death on the screen. The world fades back into motion, instead of the slowness the beginning of his dream started as Dustin finishes his question, "how many phones do you have?"

"Are you seeing this?" Steve asks on autopilot, playing out the scene he knows, but he holds off from stating the someone was murdered part. He's tired of saying it.

"How many phones do you have?" Dustin asks with more urgency.

Steve takes in Dustin and Max while Robin explains the phone situation. It's been so fucking long since he's seen Dustin. Since Max was able to see him. God. He can't let this play out like normal. It's not going to fix reality, he knows that logically, but what would it hurt to live out his fantasy of getting a re-do while he dreams? Wasn't that what he was thinking about while awake?

He tunes back into the conversation when Dustin shoves his backpack across the counter, and then himself. Instead of whining about the tapes, he reaches for the pen and notepad they keep close to the till. "Hey, what's this about?"

"Max, fill them in while I do this," Dustin replies.

Max turns to him and Robin, who is eyeing both Steve and Max but listening. Max explains what Steve already knows. The lights going crazy, Eddie fleeing his own home, and that it might be Upside Down related.

There's a script here. Responses he has memorized because of how often he dreams this moment over and over. An answer Steve usually gives, but this time he finds he can hold his tongue. He doesn't have to speak. Doesn't have to follow the script.

"Okay," Steve says instead. "Dustin, what's the number for the Byers now?

Surprisingly, that actually pulls Dustin from the computer. He spins on the stool to give Steve a confused look. "What? Why?"

If he's being honest with himself, he's never really had this much control over his dreams before. Having this control makes him want to do all the things he's daydreamed about. To change the choices that fill him with regret and guilt. "I want to leave a message for Jonathan," Steve lies, "or talk to him if he's home. Give him a heads up that Upside Down shit might be going on again."

Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, suspicious, "Jonathan?"

"Yeah. Jonathan," Steve says in his bitchiest voice. "Number, dude."

He can tell Dustin doesn't fully believe the lie, but he recites the number anyway.

"Thanks," Steve says as he scoots around Robin and heads to Keith's office to use the phone there. The first thing he does is call the police station and let them know that he saw Eddie Munson at Rick Lipton's place, up by Lover's Lake on Holland Road. The lady who answered starts to ask questions, Steve just says he recognized the trailer on TV as the Munson's and hangs up. He'll swing by later once everyone else has pieced together the Rick Lipton part of this all themselves. If Eddie's still there, he'll drag him to the station himself.

'Cause the thing is, Steve has thought of many scenarios. So many. And even if nothing else changes, this is the bit that will. Eddie cannot be killed in the Upside Down if he is in a jail cell instead. And if the police do follow up on his tip, then they'll take Eddie in for questioning before Fred dies. And that's.

Well.

Steve's living through the end of the world and that changes people. It's changed Steve. Once there would have been a time when allowing someone to die, knowing it was going to happen and not stopping it, would have filled Steve with guilt, regret, maybe even some self-loathing. But Steve's made enough sacrifices for this town. Lost enough of the people he loves to be jaded. Maybe even cruel. If Fred has to die to prove that Eddie didn't do it, then that's what will happen.

His next step is to call the Byers. It surprises him that Joyce actually answers with a hesitant hello. That never happens in the dreams.

"Joyce. I mean, Ms. Byers. It's Steve. Uhh, Steve Harrington," he says.

"Oh. Hello Steve. What, uh, what can I do for you?" Joyce's voice is still hesitant.

"Listen, the Upside Down is back. Or, like, it was never gone? I don't know. But I needed to tell you."

"Oh my God," Joyce sounds horrified, and Steve can hear Murray in the background asking questions. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Vec- sorry, it has already killed a girl. Max was a witness. Well, of the aftermath. But that's not important. What I need is for you to tell El that she's never been a monster and never will be. That everything has been the fault of One. And I think you should tell her Hopper is alive and you're going to rescue him."

There's not an immediate answer. A rustling sound and then faint voices he can't make out. She must be covering the phone with her hand as she and Murray talk. Or argue, knowing Murray. After a moment, Murray's voice comes through the line, "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

It's followed by Joyce shouting, "How do you know about Hopper?" and Murray quickly shushing her and some shuffling noises before Joyce says, "Okay. We're both listening."

"Look, I know you have no reason to believe me so I'll give you something that might serve as proof that I know things I shouldn't. When everyone gets back from the roller rink, be there for El. She's going to- to have a bad night, because of a girl that's been, like, bullying her at school. Then, I need you to get them headed this way tomorrow morning, because you gotta be gone then, too, but like. Be there for El tonight. There will be an incident involving a roller skate. So, if you believe me, call me back after that."

"How do we know you're who you claim to be, Steve?" Murray questions again, while Joyce says, horrified, "El's been being bullied?"

"I can't exactly prove I'm me. But call my house tonight after you've spoken to El and I'll answer. That's the best I can do. I... I don't know if Jonathan or Mike have my number, but Mike can call home and get my number from Nancy. That'll be proof, right? Or Will can get it from Dustin. Whichever."

"And how do you know about something happening tonight at the roller rink?" Joyce demands.

"I know more than I should. So, if the roller rink thing holds up, and you decide to at least hear me all the way out, call my house," Steve hangs up then, not wanting to get into a loop of explanation.

"Steve! Hurry up and come help people while I help Thing One and Thing Two!" Robin calls through the door and Steve takes a step towards the closed door to comply but he stops, hand hanging just above the doorknob. That's how the dream goes. That's what 19-year-old Steve would have done.

But that's a Steve that died five years ago, when the world ended, when the apocalypse started. Steve's not 19 anymore, though he must look it, a master of his own puppet. He's never sought himself out in a mirror when he dreams; he's too busy taking in everyone who has been lost to him in his waking life to bother with himself.

What does he want to do this time?

What does he want to do right now?

He leaves Keith's office to beeline to Dustin, pausing only to pat Robin on the shoulder. He slides around Max and comes to a stop beside Dustin.

"I already told you, I need this for-" Dustin starts to speak but cuts off with a squawk that sounds like a mixture of indignation and confusion as Steve just reaching out and bodily turns Dustin towards him. "Steve, this is important!"

"I know," Steve says and then hugs Dustin. Dustin doesn't hug back, but neither does he pull away. Steve knows he's missed Dustin, felt his loss for many years now, but holding Dustin now, feeling him solid and here feels Steve what he can only equate to grief.

Dustin lets himself be hugged for what is, undoubtedly, an awkward amount of time for him before he thumps Steve's back twice and says, "okay... You can stop now."

Steve lets go and turns to Max, who immediately puts her hands up, "No. Absolutely not."

He chuckles and steps around her. He won't force his affection on her.

Then he takes off the family video vest and sets it on the counter.

"Steve?" Robin asks.

"Sorry, Robs, I can't stay and help customers. I have some things I got to do."

"Steve, you cannot abandon me on a Saturday!"

He can't quite bring himself to feel bad for abandoning her. It is a shit thing to do but right now saving Eddie and Max from Vecna is more important. He's already wasting daylight, so instead of answering his gives her his best 'I'm so sorry' face and bolts out the door. All three of them shout after him but he doesn't slow.

He's got a list of regrets to change.

Tagging the besties and all the people that expressed interest when I posted the lil blurb about this. Sorry if I missed you!

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @vampirestevie @alex-axolotl @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched

#steddie #my fic #it's a late birthday fic to myself #not at light-hearted as I wanted #but I'm in a less light-hearted place now than when I first wanted to write this. So my mood has changed the story a bit

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yourdoorisunlocked · 2 months

Text

I'll Never Meet Another You... - Part 2

📺〘 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰 | 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 〙📺

𝐀/𝐍: Back after popular demand... *drumroll* OUR FAVORITE TV MAN!! 🥰 I just love writing Possessive!Vox, idk what it is about him, he's just so sCrUmPtIoUs-

I lowkey feel like I'm betraying my country of Alastor Nation by simping for this man, but CAN YOU BLAME ME??

. . .

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟑,𝟎𝟕𝟗 ⚠︎ 𝐓𝐖/𝐂𝐖 ⚠︎: 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐕𝐨𝐱 𝐡𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬, 𝐞𝐭𝐜. 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ'ꜱ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴇ

"𝑾𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒍~…"

. . .

The skies of hell that normally shone a bright cherry red had faded into a deep alluring maroon, mock sparkles twinkling down upon the Pride Ring in a beautiful imitation of Earth’s stars when you finally returned home from work.

You slammed your front door behind you, as all of the day’s pent-up frustration from being overworked and criminally underpaid finally weighed down on you, and a few dishes trembled in fear of your wrath as a soft glow of darkness outlined your figure.

The peace of the apartment had been entirely interrupted to make room for your sulking at your shitty living situation, though you knew you should’ve been grateful to have your job, however stressful.

For you, it definitely beat out prostitution or becoming an assassin-for-hire, so, who were you to complain about your mentally taxing job as a waitress? You might’ve been catcalled a handful of times, and maybe it even bordered on harassment here and there, but you weren’t forced to outright fuck them.

And thankfully, after some time, you had realized that for some reason, they never seemed to return to the restaurant, seeming to go missing completely from existence. Even an uncomfortable coworker of yours that you despised being around had been “let go” after a mere day of working at the diner. Maybe they all got the hint? That’s what you’d like to hope.

Though, even if you were safe from such advances, you definitely weren’t spared from the abuse of being burnt out of all your social battery in order to serve people.

The fact that it was Valentine’s Day in a few days didn’t make it any better.

For the entire first week of February, you were forced to sacrifice your sanity to serve people with a dazzling smile and cake a ridiculous amount of concealer on your face to hide your heavy eyebags.

Not to mention the slight jealousy that had boiled over inside of you, fueled by exhaustion and loneliness from cold nights alone and grueling days working at the restaurant, whenever you had to serve those lovey-dovey couples that were all over each other.

You despised them, with their tender Eskimo kisses, and stupid, mushy pet names for each other, and- Oh, great, they’re fucking under the table, now!

You’d had to kick out more than one group for that handful of incidents

Just once, you’d like for someone to sweep you off your tired feet and bring you to a nice little outing, while shoving your infatuation with each other in everyone’s single-pringle fucking faces.

Oh, well. It wasn’t like finding love in a wretched place like Hell was probable. But you had your delusional fantasies, and more importantly, your playlists.

A familiar bloom of warmth in your chest had your heart ache with relief as you stumbled over to your bedroom. You promptly flopped onto your thin, squeaky mattress and stretched out your arms and legs, popping each stiff joint that had formed that day.

Rolling onto your back, you let your loose hair that had been strained into a bun all day fall onto the bed as you opened Sinstagram, bobbing your head to a song that had been stuck inside your playlist for a while.

It felt like an actual crime to start indulging in your daily stalking admiring of your latest obsession, the television Overlord himself, the founder of the biggest tech company in the Pride Ring, you guessed it, Vox.

Yes, you knew that it was creepy, but this was Hell. Who was anyone to judge you for fangirling – just a little bit – over him? Especially with that face card. You’d had very unsavory relationships in the past, but you’d throw your entire Sacred Rulebook of Relationship Standards out of the proverbial window for Vox.

Besides, anyone would be fucking blind not to fawn over him. Seven feet tall, hotter than hell itself, and more powerful and influential than you could possibly conceive? He was every Wattpad reader’s wet dream. The blueprint, if you were being honest.

As you start scrolling through his Sinstagram – well, the company’s, really – a soft smile spreads across your face, your yearning gaze completely taken with him.

The levels of down bad you had to be, to fall in love with a flat screen...

Unbeknownst to you, a soft whirring that could’ve easily been mistaken for an air conditioner had gotten louder and louder, closer and closer to the familiar stained glass of your bedroom window, tarnished with smoke and pollution. But it was clear enough for someone to look in and see what heinous acts you were doing on that phone of yours, never mind your search history.

Even Val would turn his nose up at some of that shit...

You didn’t even notice the small flash of the lens from its installed camera, or how it hovered just ever so close enough to the window beside you that it could get a proper view of what you were looking at, the contents of your phone on display for its Master to see.

And said Master was currently relaxing into his chair with a self-satisfied simper, his earlier stress from the typical daily jetlag melting away in your presence. The tension in Vox's shoulders loosened as his fingers danced over the keyboard briefly, and a monitor to the right lit up with a close-up of your face.

We meet again, Doll~...

The electronic Overlord had been awaiting this moment for what seemed like an eternity, as he mundanely danced his way through daily routine simply to keep you under his watchful eye, come the evening.

Throughout the day, Vox’s phone had been blowing up, par for the course of the ‘season of love’, as they called it. Of course, dealing with his job daily would’ve been an absolute thrill; cultivating his power and influence to spread across the Pride Ring by the second, watch Sinners fall over themselves to purchase the latest of VoxTech, y’know, the usual everyday experience.

But you were his change in daily routine, an escape from the facade of a showman that he had to keep up for the public, and you were right within Vox's reach.

And he could only restrain himself from up and snatching you away for so long.

Though, recently, the idea of kidnapping you had left a rather sour taste on Vox's tongue. He would've rather lured you in with his persona, and captivate you with all that he could offer, the security, the wealth, whatever you'd desire, Vox would provide.

So, when Vox found out about your "little" infatuation with him, what with the sinful fanart hoarding and the fact that you anonymously followed every account that he or his company managed, it was a game changer.

And the television demon was, above all, a courteous, charismatic demon, despite his... outbursts. And although he didn't have much relationship experience, he'd rather like to learn.

And he was sure that you'd be more than willing to teach him.

Vox’s focus from his fantasies were broken by the sight of your expression souring when a notification pinged on your phone.

It was your new co-worker, who had texted you the details of the new opening times since the restaurant had been getting much more foot traffic.

And it apparently planned to remain that way until the end of the month.

"6 A.M.? Are you fucking kidding me?... Alright, might as well get to bed earlier, now," you stood up and begrudgingly over to your bathroom, grumbling a string of curses as your bad mood was freshly revived.

Vox watched as you retreated from your bedroom, throwing articles of clothing from the bathroom onto your bed.

Water began pattering against the marble walls, and steam had gradually seeped into the room.

“I’m just an average man, with an average life...”

“I work from nine to five, hey, hell, I pay the price.”

Oh, you little tease...

With a soft scoff at the irony, Vox started humming along to the little tune you’d started singing as he tapped his fingers against the desk, impatient to be graced with your presence on the live feed of the VoxTech Voyeurscope.

“All I want is to be left alone, in my average home.”

“But why do I always feel, like I’m in the Twilight Zone?”

Vox sat back in his chair and kicked his legs upon the surface of his desk, his mind racing with answers to your predicament.

“I always feel like, somebody’s watchin’ me~!"

He was accustomed to returning to his room, only to bear witness to your mad self-ranting about what a dick your boss was, how your shitty pay was barely supporting you, and the many idiots you had to deal with, ones Vox would personally take care of, of course.

“And I have no privacy, ooh-oh-oh,"

"I always feel like, somebody's watching me!"

But as entertaining as it was, Vox hated seeing you slump into your abode, the eyebags more prominent than ever on your face.

You looked so... tired, so spent. He'd never use you like that, not if he was your boss...

“Tell me is it just a dream?”

Wait...

A pixelated lightbulb flashed against the left side of Vox's interface as he leaned forward against his monitor, frantically searching for whoever he needed to terminate fire so that you could take their place.

And, like a hellish prayer answered, the spot for a personal assistant was gloriously empty.

Heh, there really is a God...

A wave of Vox’s hand ordered the computer to direct him to his personal digital office, showing him forms, emails, and requests waiting for him to green light, all minor cases compared to what he was searching for.

It didn’t take long for Vox to find the form he was looking for, and it seemed that Lucifer had smiled upon him that day, as right when he retrieved the assistant application form, you exited the shower, the patter of water coming to an abrupt stop.

You walked out in nothing but a towel and a sheen of water droplets glistening against your skin. Ever the gentleman, Vox turned away with a small blue-hued blush when you dropped the towel and began to dress yourself, only turning back when he spotted you picking up the towel out of his peripheral.

With a small, triumphant smirk and a short mental request, the Voyeurscope returned promptly to Vox. He handed it the form, manifesting it into a physical piece of paper to insert into its awaiting craned claws.

Vox could get you out of that horrible place, no doubt about it. But he had to make sure that you did your part as well.

"Bring this to her apartment. Be discreet about it."

He handed the drone the empty form, and instantly it zoomed across the Entertainment District to your apartment, which wasn’t even that far from the Vee’s headquarters.

It made a short trip through the ventilation system that led into your bedroom, tucking in on itself to deliver the paper to you.

Thankfully your back was turned to it and braiding your hair, as a shiny metal claw reached out from behind the metal door to the vent just above your bed. It dropped the application form upon your mattress, and Vox waited with bated breath for you to notice.

The form floated precariously down onto your bed, landing gracefully just as you turned around and jumped onto the mattress. You were half-tempted to reach for your phone and end the night with your daily simp-scrolling before bed.

Vox’s heart lurched in his chest once you spotted the form and held up the piece of paper with a questioning expression. You didn’t remember having this anywhere in your bag when you left the restaurant.

“What in the...?”

Then, your eyes caught onto the logo.

VoxTech.

Holy shit.

Apparently, you’d accidentally snatched someone else’s application form to work for VoxTech, an idea that completely slipped your mind for the last miserable months you’d slaved away at the diner you worked at.

It wasn’t like a spontaneous trip to the Entertainment District, of all places, was something that you could afford, let alone tolerate with the skeezes that sauntered about the streets, looking for young little things like you to prey on.

But despite its infamous reputation, Vox definitely wasn’t the worst of the Vees, not by a fucking long shot. And that wasn’t just your obsessive, simping brain talking here.

Sure, he was the embodiment of capitalism and corporate greed at its finest, but an office job with a few tons of workload sounded much better than what you were getting, working at a shabby restaurant and going home every night to your shithole of an apartment.

Not to mention, you’d be working under the Overlord you’d obsessed over for weeks on end.

Hopefully you’d get the chance to be under him, too-

Also, the goddamn paygrade! Your eyes bulged out of your head and your mouth fell slightly agape in surprise, unaware of how the television Overlord was gauging your every reaction and sipping on his coffee with an amused smirk.

Perhaps God had finally taken pity upon your mortal soul and decided that you deserved to catch a break, and for that, you were eternally grateful. You’d be skipping halfway to church, by now, if Hell had one. Maybe even click your heels a couple times on the way, too.

In a flash, you rushed over to your nuclear fallout zone of a desk, sweeping the mess of papers and ‘RENT DUE’ bills off its surface. You quickly took a pen and scribbled down the required information for the application form at lightning speed. Smoke was practically rising off the paper by the time you were done with it.

The form was filled out in record time, and Vox watched as his plan unfolded perfectly before him. The definite click of your desk drawer closed as you placed the form inside for tomorrow, your fate sealed and unknowingly passed into Vox's greedy hands.

“So gullible for me, aren’t you~?” His gaze softened adoringly towards you as he murmured to no one; gentle, placating words meant for your ears hitting only the damned barrier of his computer screen.

A fond, blue-hued grin lined with neon teal teeth spread across Vox’s blue-screen interface as he watched you flop onto your bed. You kicked your feet happily and gushed like a schoolgirl as you lost yourself to your daydreaming.

You knew you weren’t important enough to actually have a meeting with Vox himself, but this was fucking fanfic material, and a gorgeous opportunity that you knew was too good to brush off.

“Ooh! I can’t wait to meet him! If I ever meet him. I wonder what Vox's like when he isn’t working... He’s definitely the Type A kinda guy, super work oriented.” A spot-on observation.

“Ugh... But I’m totally not, though. Eh, doesn’t matter, I’ll be accepted either way, it’s not like anyone else is brave enough to accept the job.” Well, she’s not wrong.

“No, that’s a little cocky. I mean, it’s not exactly a guarantee I’ll be accepted.” Oho, you’d be surprised, my dear...

You pouted doubtfully for a moment, weighing all the variables in your head. This could go horribly wrong for you, maybe even end up with your brains splattering against an aquarium wall, if you played your cards recklessly.

But you'd had enough of this life, and you were far from sick of drowning in the suffocating depressive cycle that you'd been spiraling into for the past couple of months since you'd arrived in Hell.

Who knew your afterlife would be just as dismal and bleak as your human one.

“But it’s worth a shot!” You clenched your fists with a newfound determination, and Vox let out a relieved sigh. You really shouldn’t scare him like that, not when he was so close to having you securely within his grasp. Willingly, that is.

If pushed to it, Vox had no qualms over taking you by force.

“Even though I have no idea what he’s like in person, I’d die to meet him. Double die, that is.”

“Ugh, but should I miss my shift for the interview? Or should I plan to go there whenever Boss gives me a break next?”

It was practically torture, watching you go back and forth between decisions, leaving Vox feeling like he was watching the finale of ‘Yeah, I Fucked Your Girlfriend, So What?’, and it had left him on the cruelest cliffhanger he could’ve possibly manifested in the history of shitty melodramas.

You hadn’t even decided what you were even going to wear, and you were already rethinking your afterlife’s choices.

Oh, shit...

Your once relaxed state was all but diminished when you realized that simply showing up to the interview wasn’t going to cut it. You had to dress to impress to land this job.

After all, Vox's reputation was the peak of excellence, perfection at its finest, and the company's interviewers would probably have you executed on the spot if you dared to show up in tattered sweatpants and your favorite hoodie.

You rushed over to your dresser, throwing out any articles of clothing you deemed inappropriate for the interview.

Finally, you settled on a plain midnight blue form-fitting blouse with a black ascot, and a black pencil skirt that you had bought for your uniform at the diner. You never wore it much, of course, with all the sleazy customers you’d attract, but you thought it was cute, anyway.

With a satisfied hum, you laid out the outfit upon your desk, and with a relieved sigh, fell right back into bed with your phone on the lowest brightness possible.

You then scrolled the endless crimson twilight away with half-lidded eyes until you slowly drifted off to sleep, leaving Vox alone to his thoughts once more.

Upon seeing your dozing form, Vox made the drone hover for just a few more moments to watch you drift off into a blissful sleep.

He promptly called it back, and once again, the poor drone worked overtime to return to its Master, and its battery was nearly completely spent as it landed in Vox's claws.

Sharp, neon-dipped fingers tampered with the device for a moment, searching for the gold mine of footage he had recorded. He tossed the video onto his monitor's screen, and the file loaded and saved instantly into his precious folder.

A warmth crept up his chest as he laid back in his chair, a conniving grin stretching its way onto his features.

The familiar smugness of sure victory, and the honey-sweet bitterness of whatever spell you had put him under had left his heart aching. You may have been prone to your midday daydreaming, but they couldn't compare to Vox's ambitious fantasies of you and him together.

And tomorrow, you'd be all his. His personal assistant, clad in that tight little uniform that had him frothing at the mouth for you.

And speaking of which...

Vox's retinas pulled up different images of uniforms and color-coordinated outfits that perfectly matched his likeness and style.

Indeed, when Vox was done with you, you'd be a spitting image of him, every facet and aspect of you fashioned for him, and him alone.

Every demon in Hell would know exactly who you belonged to, from the marks that would line your shoulders and thighs, to the pleated blue skirt and coattails that he'd have Velvet fashion, just for you.

She'd look stunning in my colors...

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: Alright, I promise, I SWEAR WE'RE GETTING THERE-

I needed to use this chapter to build up the plot's structure, since the first chapters tend to be little concepts of what I want the rest of the story to be about. I promise, ON MY MOTHER that next chapter we will be seeing more Vox x Reader content in chapter three, especially since the tv demon brainrot is invading and corrupting my brain cells rn 😓

As always, thanks for reading! And once again, my taglist is always below, so please comment there to be tagged!

. . .

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @chewbrry, @villxinmiixx, @lulurubberduckie, @mysterypotatoink, @kintsugi-akane, @rustedtoaster

➺𝑩𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐 @cafekitsune - 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫!

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #yandere vox x reader #yourdoorisunlocked #hazbin fanfic #THIS IS FOR PLOT PURPOSES #i swear we'll get to the vox x reader shit in a bit I PROMISE #obsession #tw stalking #possessive behavior #btw this man is fucking diabolical #like- THE MAINUPLATION #THE MIND GAMES AND THE SCHEMING

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