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munson-blurbs · 28 days

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Summary: Your lab partner, Eddie Munson, might be the most irritating person in your life. But when he unexpectedly comes to your rescue at a party, his chivalry is too hard to resist.

A collaboration with the absurdly talented @corroded-hellfire 🥰

WC: 3.8k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), fem!Reader, enemies-to-lovers, drinking, Billy Hargrove being a douche, fighting, blood, praise, fingering, accidental voyeurism if you squint, unprotected p in v, fluff because Red & I are some corny motherfuckers

Thank you @blueywrites for your idea that upped the spice 🌶️🌶️ Divider credit to @saradika

“Okay, so we need to mix the magnesium with hydrochloric acid,” you start, carefully measuring each substance and pouring them into a test tube, “and then we light the splint and see if it creates a squeaking noise.”

“Right,” Eddie says, not bothering to hide his disinterest. “And, uh, why are we doing this, exactly?”

You clench your jaw and exhale through your nose. Eddie getting under your skin is bad enough, but if he knew how much he annoyed you, he’d likely double down.

“We’re testing for the presence of oxygen,” you say with as much patience as you can muster. “And you need to wear safety goggles.”

He rolls his eyes and mimics you in a high-pitched and highly unflattering tone. “You need to wear safety goggles.”

He reaches for the matches, but you pull them away before he can grab them.

“I’m serious.”

Eddie scoffs. “Please. We’re not even blowing shit up. Besides, I have a gig tonight, and I’m not getting on stage with goggle marks on my face.”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be the difference between your shitty band getting a record deal or not.”

“Whatever.” But he begrudgingly snaps on the protective gear, and you hand over the matchbox and the splint.

“So just li—seriously?” You watch, dumbfounded, as Eddie strikes a match and uses it to light the cigarette perched between his lips. Where had he kept it this whole time?

“What?” He asks with a smirk. “There’s, like, a million of these left. I’ll use the next one for the experiment thingy.”

He doesn’t get that far; Ms. O’Donnell marches over and yanks out the cigarette, snuffs it in the tray, and orders him to the principal’s office.

Leaving you to complete your work alone. Again.

Last week, it was because he’d kicked his feet up on the table and took a swig of Mountain Dew from a beaker. The week before, he’d blown up a rubber glove like a balloon and popped it right in Jason Carver’s ear, causing him to shatter a test tube on the ground.

You often felt more like a babysitter than a lab partner.

What you needed was a night out, so the party Steve Harrington was throwing tonight could not come any sooner. It wasn’t your usual scene, but all of your friends were going, and it certainly beat raiding your parents’ liquor cabinet alone.

Music blasts from an overpriced stereo system as you pull up to Steve’s house. Barely audible over the reverberating bass is the sound of drunken cheering as someone does a kegstand. You sigh, plaster a smile on your face, and make a beeline for the punch bowl.

Heather Holloway ladles jungle juice into an already pink-stained cup; you’re grateful for at least one kind face in a sea of Hawkins High students and recent graduates.

“Heather, hi!” You smile at her, plucking a new cup from the stack and filling it nearly to the brim. “How’s college?”

Heather takes a sip, wrinkling her nose at the vodka’s pungency. “Way better than high school,” she says with a laugh. “I’m taking an intro to biochem, and my lab partner actually shows up.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast. “Maybe you could take mine. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

She laughs. “Can’t be worse than when I was stuck with The Freak last year. He never showed up to class.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. And Ginny Anderson was his lab partner during his first senior year, and he pulled the same shit.”

Lucky them, you think wryly. Guess he decided to be a star student for his third go-around.

Frat boy-style cheering echoes from behind you and when you spin around you see Billy Hargrove strutting through the crowd, towards the kitchen. He throws a wink to a few girls and slaps five to one of the guys on the basketball team. If he’s coming into the kitchen, it’s the last place you want to be.

The living room is smoky and loud, but it beats getting stuck next to the booze with a jackass like Hargrove. Every thump of the bass has the little sips of alcohol you’ve taken sloshing around in your stomach. It’s hard to tell where you’re going or even what direction you’re going with so many people, so you just keep wading through groups until finally you come upon some space to breathe.

Unfortunately, this space brings you right back to where you began: in front of the kitchen. Just in time for Billy to sidle up next to you, the scent of whiskey and tangy cologne wafting off of him in waves.

“Where have you been all my life?” he asks, as if it’s supposed to be charming instead of nausea-inducing.

“Was better a second ago,” you mumble, not caring if he hears you or not. But when you move to step away from the blonde, the smarmy look slips from his too-pretty face and is replaced with a mask of set determination.

Strong fingers curl around your wrist, just tight enough to cause the barest amount of pain. The audacity and possessiveness are what piss you off the most, though.

A gentle tug of your arm does nothing to free it from his grip, so you try a little harder. Still nothing.

“Let go,” you seethe. The words are biting, but you’re a chihuahua up against a doberman.

Somehow, above your pulse pounding in your ears and the music thumping throughout the large house, you hear the distinct clang of a metal lunchbox snap shut and heavy boots on polished wood floors headed in your direction.

You sense Eddie over your shoulder before he appears in your peripheral vision. A moment hangs in the air where he and Billy stare at one another, and you watch them both, unsure of what is about to happen.

Eddie steels his jaw, unmoving. “Let her go,” he says, a slight rasp in his tone.

The jock remains unfazed, unthreatened. “Shouldn’t you be worshiping Satan’s asshole, Freak?”

“Shouldn’t you be worshiping Tommy’s? Or does he only worship yours?”

A cacophony of laughter stirs up an anger inside of Billy. He grabs Eddie by the jacket collar and slams him against the counter. “If you don’t fuck off in the next three seconds, I’ll kick you ass so hard that your uncle won’t even be able to identify your body.”

Eddie smirks. “One…two—”

Billy’s fist crashes into Eddie’s cheek with a sickening crack. Eddie returns with a punch to Billy’s abdomen, but not before his face sustains a few more hits.

Shock loosens its grasp on you and you call out for help, knowing it’s no use getting in the middle of their brawl. Someone—Tommy H, maybe—is chanting “fight!” and it takes all of your willpower not to clock him yourself.

Billy finally lets up when Eddie falls to the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. “Maybe next time, you’ll mind your fucking business,” he spits through his split lip—one of the few punches Eddie managed to land.

His smarminess is enough to provoke a reflexive response in you. As he gloats, you deliver a swift kick square to his crotch. A choked whine slips from Billy’s parted lips as he doubles over. You snort a laugh to yourself thinking about how the dumbbell is probably going to spin this story so he doesn’t seem like any less than the King of Hawkins High in front of his fellow party-goers. He’ll never be able to take away your satisfaction at using a pair of your nicest shoes to crush Billy’s balls though.

Eddie is still on the ground, wiping blood that’s trickled out of his right nostril onto the back of his sleeve. Turning your back to Billy, you bend down and offer your hand to Eddie. He accepts it with a weak smile and you help him to his feet.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Eddie says with a shrug and a sad smile that knots your stomach. He’s been hurt worse than this?

Unable to follow that train of thought, you reach out and slip your hand into Eddie’s. You give a small tug and he readily follows you down the hall of the Harrington home, the thumping beat of the bass becoming softer the further you walk.

In the back corner of the house you manage to find a bathroom that’s not occupied by someone puking the mixture of alcohol they’ve consumed or a couple hooking up, going at it like wild animals. This one looks like it’s been hardly touched all night and you click the lock into place once you and Eddie are inside.

Eddie takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, his calloused fingers coming up to gently touch the gash right across his chin. He winces at the tenderness of the wound while you crouch down and look in the cabinets underneath the sink for a first aid kit.

“Ah, here we are,” you announce as you pull out the small white box with the red cross on it. On your knees, you shuffle over towards Eddie and slide the kit along with you. “It’s not so bad,” you tell Eddie as you dab some rubbing alcohol on a small swath of gauze. “The face just bleeds more because—”

“Because the blood vessels in the face are so close to the skin,” Eddie finishes for you.

“Wow,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “I’m impressed.”

“We are in the same science class, you know,” Eddie teases with a playful smirk. It quickly turns to a grimace though as you begin to dab at his wounds.

“I thought I recognized you from the seat next to mine,” you joke back. There’s silence for a few moments while you clean off all the excess blood and bandage up the open cuts. “Why are you suddenly interested in science this year? I mean, I was talking to Heather before and she said you never showed up when you were her lab partner. So, what? Renewed attempt to graduate?”

“Uh,” Eddie says with an awkward chuckle. He avoids your eyes and rubs his hand along the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

“Got the hots for O’Donnell?”

He belly laughs at that thought, grimacing at the pain it causes. “Fuck, no!” He shakes his head. “She looks like a walrus and a naked mole rat had some sort of freaky baby.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Ew.”

“You were the one who suggested I’m into her,” Eddie rebutted, and fairly so.

“I didn’t make you compare her to a—”

A loud crash stops you mid-sentence, followed by someone drunkenly lamenting, “not the punch!”

“We’re probably safer hiding out in here for a bit,” Eddie says softly, “unless you want to volunteer to clean up whatever mess they made.”

“I think cleaning up your mess is more than enough for tonight.” To punctuate your point, you swipe a clean piece of gauze over a small cut you’d previously missed. “Besides, I wanna know what’s suddenly got you showing up to class.”

Eddie’s eyes roam your body far more conspicuously than he’d like, but the attention fills you with a newfound warmth. “You.” He snorts out a little laugh, startling you slightly. “Fuck, I’m drunker than I thought.”

“W-Wait.” You fight off the embarrassment that accompanies your stuttered words. “I’m the reason …?”

He noticed your reaction, mistaking disbelief for discomfort. “Does that make things…does that make you feel weird?” Nerves marr whatever joking tone he was trying to convey.

All you can do is shake your head. “No. It makes things…good.” Good insufficiently describes your reaction, though part of you waits for the other shoe to drop. It’s a prank, his way of getting back at you for—

A hooked finger in the belt loop of your jeans snags your attention, Eddie gently tugging you closer to him. “And now?”

“Still good. Better, actually.” Resting one hand on his sore chest, you lean in and add, “will it hurt if I kiss you?”

“Don’t care.”

Despite him not caring, you certainly care if you’re going to hurt him or not. Your mouth moves slowly towards his, lips just barely brushing against each other as your breaths co-mingle. It’s not enough for Eddie though, and he presses his lips against yours with more force, stealing the air from your lungs as your body melts against his. The back bathroom at the Harrington household is not something you would’ve considered romantic before, but right now it’s the only place you want to be. Tucked away in the corner with Eddie, trading explorative kisses as your hands roam each other's bodies.

Your body buzzes when Eddie’s tongue sweeps against yours, heat immediately pooling between your legs.

Instinctively, gingerly, you press your torso to his, one trembling finger hooking into his belt loop. A moan escapes you, soft but saturated with need. Eddie clocks it immediately.

“Mhm.” His smile threatens to break the kiss. “That’s it.”

You feel the button of your jeans unfasten, the sound of unzipping music to your ears. His hand slips between the denim and the newly exposed lace of your panties, grin widening when it reaches the damp patch.

Eddie’s hardness strains against the confines of his own pants, and you rush to relieve that ache. His exhale when you touch him—over his boxers, but not as gently as he touches you—makes you even wetter.

“Gotta have you.” He toys with your waistband but doesn’t explore further until he hears your ‘yes,’ pathetic and whimpering but consent nonetheless. “Good girl,” he growls, sending a shiver coursing through you.

The pads of his fingertips find your clit without struggle, rubbing precise circles over it that have you groaning his name. “Every time you say my name from now on,” he murmurs, “I’m gonna think about this.”

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” It’s part taunt and part truth; only his name is on your mind. Your back arches against the sink, porcelain digging into your skin, but you barely notice.

One strong hand reaches for the strap of your tank top, pulling it down so harshly that the fabric tears. He mutters a soft swear, tugs the rest of the shirt down until your bra is completely visible.

“Fuckin’ perfect.” Eddie kisses your chest, groaning when the sensation of his lips causes you to squeeze his throbbing cock. “Careful, or I’ll—”

He’s interrupted by the door swinging wide open, Billy and Heather wrapped around each other in drunken lust. Billy’s eyes widen, their blueness dulled from the liquor, when he sees that the bathroom is currently occupied—and by whom.

The intrusion startles you as well, but you’re much quicker at recovering than the inebriated asshole gaping at you from the doorway.

“Get the fuck out!” you hiss.

Heather turns her head to look in your direction, as if she hadn't been aware there was anyone else in the bathroom until you’d spoken up. It’s clear she’s had quite a few more drinks since you’d seen her in the kitchen.

Whether it’s the alcohol, the shock, or his own stupidity, Billy doesn’t make a move towards leaving, let alone tug Heather along with him. The blonde shakes a few curls out of his eyes, causing Heather to reach up and twirl one around her finger.

“Jesus Christ, is this douche even capable of hearing a woman if she isn’t moaning his name?” Eddie mutters to you before rounding on the drunken pair and raising his voice. “The lady said out. Now.”

Something finally snaps Billy out of his dazed state and he curls his lip, giving the two of you a half-hearted sneer. He pulls Heather out of the doorway so quickly that it looks like she gets whiplash as he slams the door closed behind them.

Eddie leans over and locks the door, giving the knob a twist for good measure. “Do me a favor, honey?” His voice is a ribbon of silk down your spine. “Turn around so you’re facing the mirror.”

You do as he says, hands planted on the sink ledge. Your shirt is torn, make-up smudged, and you’re out of breath from the impromptu make out session. Ducking your head, you’re determined to avoid your reflection until tobacco-scented words tickle your ear from behind.

“Be a good girl and look at yourself while I fuck you.” Eddie moves your thong over, exposing your pussy, and exhales with a tremble. His middle finger glides over your folds before pushing into you slowly. “You got wetter when I called you a good girl, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” you manage, stifling a moan as his ring finger joins his middle.

A teasing pout graces Eddie’s lips. “Such a good girl. And only for me.”

“Only for you,” you echo.

He taps the head of his cock on your bare ass, leaving drops of pre-cum in his wake. “Gotta be inside you,” he growls. “Gotta fuckin’ feel what a good girl you are.”

The sensation of his cock dragging down along your folds mixed with him knowing just what to say to get you squirming has you dropping your head forward with a soft whimper. A strong, calloused hand quickly finds its way up to your throat though, and presses with just enough pressure to remind you that you’re supposed to be looking at yourself in the mirror.

When you lift your head, you’re greeted by the sight of a smirking Eddie behind you in the mirror.

“Atta girl,” he praises.

At a torturously slow pace, Eddie begins to push inside of you. A guttural groan slips past your gritted teeth as he stretches your walls, the pleasure causing you to curl your toes inside your shoes.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes out before pulling his hips back. “Pussy’s even tighter than I imagined.”

The mental image of Eddie laying in bed with his hand wrapped around his cock, thinking of you is enough to make your knees weak. They can’t buckle too much; Eddie has one hand gripping you tight and the other trailing down to your clit. Each deliberate circle is punctuated by a thrust, pleasure from every angle.

He kisses your shoulder blade, groaning when you tighten around him. “Look at yourself,” he growls his reminder. “Look how beautiful you are, all fucked out like this.”

You catch another glimpse; this time, you see Eddie’s lust-filled expression along with your own. He’s even further gone than you are, so focused on burying himself within you to care about the sweat matting his bangs to his forehead or the way his teeth dig into his lower lip.

“Say it.” His voice is half-commanding, half-pleading.

“S-Say what?” Each word is a struggle, your orgasm building to a peak you’d never before reached.

“That you’re beautiful.” He tugs you even closer to him, and there’s no mistaking his dominance for anything else. “So—goddamn—beautiful.”

You follow his order without a second thought. “I’m b-beautiful, all fucked out like th-this.”

Eddie’s hips snap against the plush of your ass at a frenetic pace. “That’s it; that’s my good girl.” Not a good girl, you note. His good girl.

One hand atop his, desperate for as much contact as possible, you moan: “your good girl.”

“Oh, fuck.” Everything is you—you and him together, and it drives him to the edge. “You…you gotta…’m so close,” he rambles.

“Me, too.” Panting breaths mingle with his groans, your walls tightening around him as you come. It’s so much, so intense, and tears cloud your vision resulting from the overwhelming bliss. “Eddie, oh, Eddie.”

He spills into you with a cry of your name. “H-ohmygod, holy fuckin’ shit.” His thrusts don’t stop until every last drop of his cum is inside you.

Eddie’s chest presses against your back, but he’s careful not to put all his weight on you. The feeling of him so solid and warm behind lulls you from pure ecstasy to warm contentment, not wanting to move out from beneath him.

A few silent moments pass before Eddie pulls out of you, both of you disappointed by the loss of contact. But Eddie’s hands refuse to let you go entirely, gently running over your hips and up your sides. The touch is featherlight and sends a comforting tingle throughout your limbs.

“You with me?” Eddie’s worn-out voice asks you.

“Mhmm,” you hum in acknowledgment. “Don’t wanna move.”

Eddie gives a husky chuckle in reply before he stands up, reluctantly taking a step away from you. Your own muscles whine in protest as you stand straight, the tell-tale signs of a good fucking already settling in.

The two of you begin to clean up, each slipping back into articles of clothing along the way. One question prickles the back of your mind in the quiet room and you know your brain won’t be able to rest until it has an answer.

“Uh, Eddie?” you ask once you’ve cleaned up your smeared lipstick.

“Yeah?”

“Are you still going to come to class? Or, you know, now that you’ve had me you won’t have a reason to anymore?” You try to hide the insecurity in your tone but there was no mistaking the slight edge your words had.

Eddie pauses mid-buckling his belt and gives you a frown.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie says and the nickname alone already has your engine revving for a round two. “I wouldn’t sit through O’Donnell’s class for someone I only wanted to fuck. If I’m gonna listen to that hag drone on and on then there’s a damn good reason I’m sitting my ass in that classroom.” With a sigh, Eddie steps closer to you and after a moment’s hesitation, cups your face in his hands. “Can I take you out? Do things, ya know, the right way?”

A little trill of a giggle bursts out of you, which makes Eddie frown. But you’re quick to let him in on what you found amusing.

“You mean having sex in a bathroom at Steve Harrington’s house isn’t the typical way romances start?”

A grin slowly slides across Eddie’s mouth and you swear it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. All you want to do is keep that smile on his handsome face as much as you possibly can.

“A romance, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “If I’d known that’s what this was, I would’ve at least fucked you in a guest room.”

You let your fingers brush over the fly of his jeans, feeling a gentle twitch from behind the zipper. “How about for round two?”

Eddie holds your face in his hands as he kisses you deeply, only breaking it to smile and murmur:

“You read my mind, Beautiful.”

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #fanfic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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taeyongdoyoung · 1 month

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summary: your best friend brags complains that he can't get laid due to his huge dick posing a threat to random girls at parties, so you offer to fix his little big problem pairing: soobin x reader genre: smut, best friends to lovers warnings: explicit language, big dick soobin (canon event), size kink, foreplay, eating out, blowjob, hugging, fingering, size training, creampie, consensual intercourse, kissing, aftercare, allusions to death in a sexual context, lowkey possessive soobin at the end author's note: the killa is on my mind 24/7 and im down bad for soobin 25/8 🥵 so i had to get it out of my system somehow 🤷 word count: 2k

“You’re kidding, right?” you ask your best friend when he makes a rather shocking confession as the two of you are sitting in his bedroom after one of your usual anime marathons.

“I wish I was. But I would never lie to you,” Soobin responds truthfully. His big moist eyes look a 100% genuine but it still sounds so...bizarre.

“Let me get this straight…Every time you try to hook up with a girl at one of those parties Yeonjun keep dragging you to, you go to a room, eat them out like the generous, selfless guy you are, and then after you take off your pants, they get scared by your gigantic cock and refuse to have sex, running away in horror?”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to explain for the past 10 minutes, yeah,” Soobin confirms with a very adorable pout on his stupid face.

You shake your head in utter disbelief.

“I’m sorry but this is just ridiculous. Any girl would be happy to hook up with a guy that has a huge dick.”

“Well, I guess not any girl ‘cause this shit has happened three times already and I’m at my limit. Why can’t I just get laid?” Soobin bemoans his tragic destiny.

“No, I don’t get it. The least they could do is give you a quickie or something to return the favour. It’s so rude to just sprint away. I can’t believe your cock is that terrifying.”

“Ugh, please stop saying that. It’s so embarrassing,” Soobin covers his face behind his big hands. Hold on a minute…

“If what you’re saying is true, then I think it’s pretty hot. Those girls are surely missing out.”

“Or maybe they’re just looking after themselves. Like…I’m not mad at them for being spooked out, I just wish I could finally get some, you know?” Soobin sighs.

“Death by dick does seem appealing,” you shrug.

“Y/N!” he exclaims.

“Listen, what if I make you an offer? You prove to me that you weren’t exaggerating about your size and I promise I won’t run away and will take care of your…frustrations.”

“Are you seriously suggesting this?” Soobin freaks out. “This could ruin our friendship.”

“I won’t be weird about it, I swear. What do you say?”

“Fuck it. I’m so horny that this actually sounds like a good idea,” Soobin admits. “Can I eat you out first?”

“Erm, if you insist,” you reply, suddenly feeling nervous.

“I just wanna take care of you, make sure you’re all nice and wet for me,” Soobin explains patiently.

“You really don’t have to,” you reassure him.

“I know but it’d be awkward for me to just whip it out. Please?”

“Oh…okay,” you really can’t imagine saying no when he’s asking you so sweetly. God, what did you get yourself into?

Soobin takes off your leggings and panties in one swift movement and pushes you down gently on the bed so you are in a lying position. He spreads your thighs apart and looks at your pussy, already glistening with wetness caused by the conversation you’ve been having. Soobin smirks but doesn’t say anything about it. You’re grateful for that as he dives in, licking and kissing all over you. Fucking hell, if his tongue is capable of making you feel this way, you are slightly unnerved to find out what his cock can achieve. But unlike those girls at the parties, you are determined to never run away from your best friend.

Soon enough, you reach your high, overwhelmed by Soobin’s insane tongue movements and his big hands gripping your thighs. You need a few moments to gather your thoughts and when you are finally able to speak, those are the first words that leave your mouth:

“I think they fleed because you eat pussy like a starved animal. Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Soobin chuckles nervously and runs his fingers through his black hair, pushing it back and exposing his forehead for a bit.

“Trust me, it’s not that.”

“Prove it,” you challenge him even though you are fairly certain he’s telling the truth. Your best friend has never lied to you, so why start now?

Soobin takes off his pants, his hands are shaking and you immediately feel bad. You put your hand on his in an attempt to calm him down.

“Hey, you don’t have to if you feel uncomfortable.”

“I do want this, but after so many failed attempts, I’m so anxious…”

“I’m not going anywhere, Soobin,” you insist and squeeze his hand reassuringly.

His skin complexion looks slightly less pale and your words seem to give him the confidence he so desperately needs. Moment of truth. Soobin takes off his boxers and…Oh damn, he was not exaggerating. He’s not just big, he’s so huge a part of you wonders how is it humanly possible to carry such a weapon around and maintain the gentle, humble composure with which Soobin carries himself.

“You’re not running yet,” he jokes.

“Soob?”

“Y-yeah?” his voice cracks, he is obviously terrified of what you’re going to say.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, I finally get why these girls ran away.”

“Oh,” he sounds a little dejected, as if already expecting you to go back on your offer.

“But! That’s not gonna stop me. Just tell me what you want first and I’ll try my best to make you happy.”

“Huh?” Soobin is too flustered to process your words.

“My hands, my mouth, or my pussy, what do you want first?”

“You mean…you’re willing to give me all of them?” he blinks in shock.

This poor, precious boy. Did he really face disappointment so many times that he is now looking a gift horse in the mouth with such uncertainty?

“Just pick, Soobie, I promise I’ll give you anything you need.”

“Um…can you suck me off? Please?”

Gosh, he’s so adorable you want to eat him.

You nod a little too enthusiastically and go down on your knees, taking as much of his cock as you can. It’s a tight fit but what you can’t put inside your mouth you make up for by wrapping your hands around him. You suck and lick and touch him, eager to give him as much pleasure as he did you. Your beloved best friend has obviously been frustrated for a while now because it doesn’t take him long to cum inside your mouth. There is so much you can’t manage to swallow it all despite your valiant efforts and you see some of it falling down your cheeks. You wipe it off with a finger, sticking it into your mouth, grinning widely at Soobin.

“Fuck, you’re incredible. What…how…are you okay?”

He presses his big palm against your cheek and it takes a lot of self-control for you to not melt right there and then.

“I’m great. Did…did it feel good for you?” you ask sheepishly.

You’re not particularly confident about your skills but you genuinely did your best for him.

“Are you crazy? It felt insanely good,” Soobin takes your hand, lifting you up and wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

“I’m glad,” you respond, feeling safer and warmer than ever before in your life.

“Do…you still want to…you know?” Soobin asks.

“If you’re asking whether you can put your cock inside my pussy, then yeah, go for it. As long as it’s something you want, of course.”

You keep reminding him to only do things he’s completely okay with, because you would hate to put your best friend in a situation he doesn’t enjoy just because of your greed.

“I want you so bad, you have no idea. But I think I’ll need to stretch you out a bit, yeah?”

“O-okay,” you quickly agree and in no time, Soobin’s long fingers are inside of your pussy, going deeper than your own have ever been and making you feel things you never even dreamed about.

“How does it feel?” Soobin asks in concern.

“Heavenly,” you admit and just as you’re about to reach your second orgasm, Soobin’s fingers leave you.

“N-no, why’d you do that?” you whine frustratedly.

“Wanna feel you come around my cock.”

As it turns out, you'd like this just as much so you quickly forgive him for ruining your orgasm.

“I think I have a condom in my-“ Soobin starts but you cut him off.

“I’m taking a pill. And I believe we’re both clean, so…”

“You gon’ let me fuck you raw?” Soobin inquires, not wanting to make assumptions.

“Yeah, I trust you,” you reply with conviction.

“You’re a dream,” Soobin chuckles and nudges the head of his cock against your moist entrance. You brace yourself for some level of discomfort and are surprised that it doesn’t come right away. Soobin takes his sweet time getting inside you, making sure you’re okay.

“Fuck, Soob, you're so big,” you moan, already feeling overstimulated.

“This is just the tip, baby,” he explains shyly, which makes you lose your mind.

Soobin goes deeper very slowly, making you feel every inch, stretching you out bit by bit.

“How much more?” you ask somewhat impatiently.

“Just a little bit. Can’t help it that your pussy is so tiny,” he teases you.

“Not my fault your dick is so gigantic,” you bite right back.

“I promise, I'll try my best not to split you in half,” Soobin jokes, which does little to ease your worries, but at the same time only makes you wetter.

“Keep talking to me,” you plead for him.

“Does it hurt?” he wants to know, as he keeps entering you further.

“It’s a good kind of hurt,” you explain, wincing slightly.

Once you’ve gotten used to it, you signal to Soobin that he can start moving and he does just that, fucking into you with an impressive speed. You try to meet him halfway, lifting your hips up for him, melting into one.

“You’re taking it so well, my darling best friend,” Soobin praises you relentlessly.

“Anything for you, Soobie,” you cry out in sweet bliss.

“I’m close,” Soobin confesses soon enough.

“Fill me up,” you beg him, almost in a daze, deeply affected by his overpowering presence.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice and spills his seed inside of you. It feels so good that you cum with him, walls clenching around his enormous dick. Soobin leans down to kiss you, further blurring the lines between friendship and…whatever this is.

Then, he takes his cock out and you realize something far more terrifying than his intimidating size - you are falling in love with your best friend.

Soobin quickly brings a towel and a bottle of water, taking care of you like no one else before. You want to cry, touched by his sweetness and falling even further.

“How do you feel?” Soobin brushes a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I feel…like I'm on another planet,” you confess shakily.

Soobin chuckles, visibly relieved to hear that.

“You’re so cute,” he murmurs, enveloping you in a hug. His large frame towers over you and if it was anyone else, you’d probably feel slightly threatened. But this is Soobin, and even though he just fucked your brains out, you feel completely safe and protected. Safe enough to be honest about how you feel.

“I know I promised not to be weird about it but…I don’t think I can go back to being friends.”

Soobin pales for a moment, scared of losing you.

“Why not?” he blinks, barely restraining his tears.

“I wanna belong to you,” you try to ease his worries by openly saying what your heart and soul desire.

“Oh…But baby, you already do,” Soobin suddenly beams with excitement. “And I belong to you, too.”

“I think you killed me a little,” you laugh. “Killed my pussy with your big cock and ruined me for other men.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow.

“Bold of you to assume that I’d let other men near your pussy. You’re all mine now.”

The End

#txt #soobin #txt smut #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #size k!nk #soobin x reader #soobin smut #soobin hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #txt imagines #soobin imagines #writing

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steddieas-shegoes · 9 months

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Modern AU where Eddie is a tech repair person at an apple store in Chicago while he tries to make it big with his band and Steve is a spoiled rich kid who is trying to cover up that he's been using his macbook to film for his OnlyFans or something similar and he needs that shit wiped.

Eddie is as professional as he can be, but can't help but be amused at Steve being worried that he's gonna see everything.

S: seriously, just wipe everything. nothing has to be saved. don't even look through each file. just start over. E: okay sure. but you know you could just buy a new laptop. S: my dad checks my credit card statements. E: okay, so tell him you bought it for a friend or something. S: just. can you wipe it? E: yeah i can.

Eddie doesn't let him know that he already has seen everything because of course he subscribes to S.H. and often leaves him bigger tips than he can afford. He doesn't even know why Steve does it since he's apparently rich, or his dad is.

It only takes a few hours to wipe it, and Eddie's grateful he managed to help Steve instead of his coworker who is a certified Creep ™️ who absolutely would have made sure to watch as many of the videos as he could first.

He calls Steve and leaves a message for him that it's done, but doesn't hear back and Steve doesn't come by. He does the same thing again the next day, and the day after that, starting to grow concerned.

He goes so far as to check Steve's OF page, just to see if there's an update, but sees it's been shut down, like it never existed.

He finally caves, does the most unprofessional thing he's ever done, and texts Steve's number from his own phone.

This is Eddie from the apple store. Your laptop's ready. Just want you to know after 30 days we usually get rid of unclaimed items.

There's no response.

But two days later, Steve comes into the store wearing sunglasses and a hat, clearly trying to hide.

When he takes off the sunglasses to sign everything, Eddie sees a healing black eye and swollen nose.

He isn't stupid.

And he suddenly feels extremely protective over him.

E: did your dad find out? S: find out what? E: about your online job? S: how do you know? E: I wasn't gonna say anything, and I swear everything got wiped without anyone including myself seeing, but I do subscribe to you and I recognized you when you came in. S, already having a panic attack: shit no. this is bad. okay you can't say anything about this to anyone. please. E: I wouldn't, I won't. but your dad found out didn't he? he did this to you? S: *nods* E: you safe now? S: *shrugs* E: need a place to stay? S: i've been saving. that's why i did this in the first place. so i can pay rent somewhere. E: I have a second bedroom at my place that just opened up. up to you.

And of course Steve takes it because he's desperate, and doesn't have real world experience with a lot of strangers, but has a good feeling about this.

Eddie finds that Steve is a very typical rich kid; ignorant to a lot of the world's struggles, but not an asshole despite his bitchy attitude sometimes coming out, thinks money can fix everything until Eddie shows him that apologies and a cuddle on the couch can be better.

Steve is so touch starved, he doesn't even realize the way he always folds into Eddie's side when they're just relaxing and watching a movie, or how he always lets his hand brush against his side or hand when Eddie gets home from work. Eddie helps him look for a job, and they find that he loves working at a daycare even though the money isn't that great.

They fall in love so easily, neither of them actually realize it happens until Steve comes home after a very long day before the Christmas holidays, covered in paint stains from crafts with the kids, and Eddie just welcomes him home with a kiss.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #is this anything #if it is someone should run with it #i have too much to do to add something else

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reidmotif · 10 months

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Coffee and Consequences

Summary: Reader joins the BAU, and Spencer seems insistent on being a problem for her.

Request: pls i am such a sucker for angst/smut, can you do one where spencer is closed off and cold to a new recruit, and it upsets her, so she tries to get him to like her, which leads to an argument and confession, with soft smut?

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut/Light Angst (Happy Ending)

Content Warning: Reader POV, little shit Spencer, oral sex (f recieveing), gunshot wound/typical canon violence, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.1k

Upon starting at the BAU, I believed there was no question about me, especially when it came to my skills and ability to perform my job. From stellar recommendations from my superiors at the Academy, to general demeanor and tact, there was no question about whether or not my success was imminent. Most of the team were more than elated to welcome me to the small family they’d built over the years, despite my younger age than most of them, which I was eternally grateful for.

Most, being the keyword in that sentence. Since I’d begun, there’d been one thorn in my roses, the bane of my existence, you might say. Spencer fucking Reid. I’m aware of the fact that not everyone could like me, that was a given. I'm an FBI agent, for god’s sake. To expect warmth and friendship from everyone would be naive and lead to disappointment in any given scenario.

But Jesus Christ, this was getting absolutely ridiculous.

I consistently replayed the events of our first meeting. In an attempt to make a good first impression, (which seems stupid, in hindsight) I brought coffee to each of my new co-workers, hoping to establish myself as a friendly, non-threatening presence in their lives. I’d covertly asked Emily for help, as within the interviews and background checks required to even be considered for a position in the BAU, there was a certain camaraderie and friendship forged through the continued exposure to each other.

Emily advised me carefully, understanding the intentions behind the act, and being more than happy to help. “JJ likes vanilla lattes, nothing too fancy. Rossi is a little simpler, a Caffe Americano.” I spoke, and continued to go through my team’s regular orders, until there was hesitation on a somewhat infamous name, one that I myself was already intrigued by. “Spencer’s an easy order to remember, but you have to make sure you get it right.”

I found myself nodding, the seriousness of Emily’s words striking me- momentarily finding myself forgetting that they were speaking about something as mundane as coffee. "Emily spoke slowly, as if I was advising a child. 'Reid likes black coffee, but you have to make sure to add extra sugar.'" I nodded quickly, "Alright, black coffee with extra sugar, got it-" Emily interrupted me abruptly. "No, no. You're not hearing me, extra sugar. I mean a lot, okay? Otherwise, he quite literally won't drink it."

I found myself chuckling a little bit, thinking about the image of Spencer Reid I’d built up in my head before I’d even met him. I knew he had been framed and had endured a considerable time in prison. I was also aware of his intelligence, a natural by-product of all the papers he’d written, and how many of his own techniques in geographic profiling were referenced during my time in the Academy. Working with him seemed like a dream come true. The idea of a grown man needing as much sugar in his coffee as Emily made it seem added just a bit of charm to the already positive perception I’d had of him.

In the coffee shop, I carefully recited the orders of my new teammates, taking extra caution in advising the barista that the black coffee needed extra sugar. I could tell the patrons behind me were definitely annoyed, but it didn’t matter. First impressions matter more. Even after my incessant requests about sugar, I took the time to open the lid of the steaming black coffee to add in 3 extra packets of brown sugar provided at the customization station in the back of the coffee shop. I could tell the barista was boring holes into the back of my head, and I honestly wasn’t surprised or could blame her. At this point, the sugar had to be more than the coffee itself. I gave a satisfied grin to myself, knowing I’d followed Emily’s directions and the possibility of friendship with someone I’d already come to admire wasn’t something far-off to wish for.

God, was I wrong.

I approached the bullpen cautiously, being greeted by an assortment of new faces. I quickly matched names to descriptors that had been given to me from Emily. I then noticed one face that hadn’t greeted me yet, sat alone in the back with his nose in a book. I couldn’t discern the title, which I quickly figured was due to the fact that the book appeared to be some European language I’d most likely never even heard of. The man had a mess of brown hair on his head, and even from across the room I could tell it was curling softly near the nape of his neck. He was handsome. More handsome than I had pegged him for. I knew almost immediately that this had to have been the infamous Spencer Reid, and I cautiously approached him, flashing a small smile.

He heard me a mile away, looking up quickly and putting away his book. His eyes seemed to size me up, and he didn’t seem to return my smile. I knew better than to shake hands with him, being predisposed to his germaphobe nature and instead held out the coffee, almost as if it was a peace offering.

“Hi, uh. I’m the new recruit, I believe Emily warned you all about me and I just wanted to introduce myself. (Y/N). That’s my name. It’s nice to meet you.” I said, a little dumbly, still holding the coffee out. I quickly realized I hadn’t explained the reasoning behind the coffee cup and quickly added, “Coffee. I asked Emily about how you liked it. And brought it. So, yeah.” I said. I was aware of how awkward this conversation was becoming, considering I was still holding out the cup, like an idiot, and he hadn’t said a word to me yet. He nodded, taking the coffee cup from me and placing it on his desk. “Dr Reid. Welcome.” His greeting was short, but I tried not to let it bother me. Perhaps he wasn’t as forthcoming to strangers, nevermind that. The coffee was enough. I smiled, again, hoping to make my intentions clear. “Nice to meet you, Dr Reid.”

I turned back, feeling satisfied. I’d done what I’d come there to do. Except a sound from behind me alerted me that maybe I was a bit early to assume that, because when I’d turned around, an incredibly displeased Dr Reid was throwing away his coffee- the coffee I had brought! That I’d waited for in a morning rush for, that I’d taken the time to add even more sugar to- that coffee! In the trash! His eyes met mine as he dropped it into the trashcan near his desk, shuddering a bit as he did so. He didn’t even look apologetic.

I approached him, a bit upset and sad, but there was caution in my tone, not wanting to offend him before he even had a chance to know me. “Dr Reid, I’m sorry was the coffee-” Dr Reid quickly interrupted me. “Did Emily not tell you my order?” He asked, a little bit of sharpness to his tone.

Okay, so this guy took his coffee seriously. Emily was not kidding around.

“Um, yes-” He interrupted again. “Yes? Are you sure?” He said, a bit of condescension in his tone. Okay, holy shit. All this over coffee? “Very sure.” I responded, confidently. “Black, with extra sugar- I even put extra at the counter.” I added this, trying to convey that while I was sorry it wasn’t to his liking, it’s not like I didn’t try. That had to count for something, right?

Wrong. Spencer Reid did not seem like the type of man who cared about trying. He retorted with, “Well, it wasn’t enough.” And with that, he shuffled to the breakroom, seemingly to make his own coffee.

It seemed like from there, things only got worse. In one of my first cases, I quickly made a quip about the statistics on suburban murders, hoping to add some valuable information to the conversation. I tried hard not to overpower anyone and stay in my lane as the resident newbie, but Spencer seemed to take personal offense to it, going out of his way to argue that it meant nothing. I fired back, hoping to affront my point but Reid quickly cut me off.

“You’re new, alright? And young. It’s granted that you should be clueless when it comes to some of these things.” His words, although somewhat true, were accompanied by a harsh tone and a coldness in his voice. What could’ve been well-meaning advice from a senior agent on the team was clearly not that at all. All signs pointed to one thing: He absolutely hated me.

For all I tried, it seemed like he only disliked me more. It wasn’t unnoticed by my teammates, how he’d dismiss me. I was aware of my newness, of my inexperience, how this team had had years to grow around each other before I was ever even considered for this position, but it seemed with the more time I spent at the BAU, Spencer’s disdain only increased. He seemed to go out of his way to not sit by me on the jet, or how he seemed absolutely uninterested in anything involving me. I understood that not everyone would like me, but a bit of respect would be nice. I didn’t need friendship, just his tolerance, and even that seemed out of reach for Dr Spencer Reid.

Eventually, this led to the dynamic we harbored now. A year into the BAU, and instead of a friendship, or even acquaintanceship, it was constant bickering. It’s not like I wanted to argue- he just made it impossible for me to find footing within the BAU. I obviously stood up for myself, but was met with resistance from the doctor, and so the cycle continued.

Still, despite the obvious dislike Reid harbored for me, it wasn’t like that magically made him dumb, or any less attractive to me. His intelligence was as impressive as I’d expected it to be, if not even moreso. I watched in real-time as the cogs in his mind turned, his slender fingers finding a point on the side of his mouth to tap, before stopping and sharing what he’d just thought of. He was brilliant, and no one could take that away from him

However, in this particular case we were currently dealing with, it seemed that brilliance simply didn’t matter, because how could someone like him be so absolutely stupid?

The hostage situation we were dealing with was tricky, to say the least. Multiple civilians, and a trigger happy unsub. Any experienced agent would be at a loss when handling something like this, but Spencer seemed confident. He’d been pushing to storm the building, citing that more people would get hurt the longer they allowed the unsub to continue making demands. I found myself wholeheartedly disagreeing, attempting to put my foot down and be heard. I found that perhaps, through negotiations, we could not only save the civilians, but walk away with zero people hurt. Naturally, this caused commotion between the senior agent and myself.

“Reid, I’ve told you for the millionth time that this unsub can’t be approached like this!” I whisper-yelled, clearly fed up with Spencer by this point. He questioned every decision of mine, and it's gotten to me.

“(Y/N), you’ve dealt with maybe 3 hostage situations in your life. This isn’t something for you to take point on. We have civilians in there, and it’s more important we save them.” He responded, in his own hiss.

“You’re being ridiculous!” I retorted.

“You’re naive!” He shot back.

We’d clearly reached a head when it came to this. Spencer huffed, rolling his eyes. “I’m using my seniority here. We’re going to give the go-ahead to SWAT and make our way into the building.”

I found myself returning the gesture. “Spencer- '' I began, only to be interrupted.

“Dr Reid.” He corrected, venom in his voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I replied, furrowing my brows.

“What?” He countered, seeming calm, but his eyes gave away simply how determined he was to win this.

“This is a terrible idea.” I said, firmly. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”

“Oh, and how do you know that?” Spencer quipped. “Is it your years of experience in the field? Or your time spent as an FBI agent?” He said, sarcastically.

“I understand I don’t have as much experience as you, but-” I started, but I found myself cut off by him again. Bastard. He never let me finish my sentences. “Exactly.” He responded, calmly. “You don’t have as much experience. I know what I’m doing. Let’s go.” And with that, he walked, leaving me to simply follow. God, I fucking hated that guy. Forget the intelligence, none of that mattered when he was such a dick.

As they entered the warehouse doors behind SWAT, I knew that it was wrong. Something was off. We’d profiled this unsub as the dominant type, and an egotistical personality that wouldn’t allow for a partner. It was a part of the profile that they were sure of. It was part of the reason why Spencer was so confident of going in.

Upon entering though, the SWAT team had a clear shot of the unsub, but in a split second, there were shots heard from an entirely different part of the warehouse. From the direction in which Spencer was directly in line of.

It wasn’t like I thought about it, maybe if I had, I wouldn’t have done it. It was based on pure instinct. I found myself in front of Spencer Reid, the man who’d questioned my every decision since I’d begun my job, taking a bullet for him. Maybe he was right, maybe I was an idiot.

I heard the gunshot first, then felt the cold floor pressing into my cheek where I’d been knocked down. Then a tight pressure in my arm. I finally looked down, seeing a bloom of red appear under my dress shirt where a bullet had struck, away from the vest I wore to prevent this sort of thing. I took in a sharp breath of air, eyes widening as my breathing began to quicken. I rolled onto my back, only to be met with Spencer’s concerned and frightened expression above me. I heard ins and outs of his speech into his receiver, as I faded in and out of consciousness.

“Yes! We have an agent down. We need medic, now!” He yelled. I watched him in fascination, his face currently seeming to be the only thing I could focus on besides the overwhelming burning that I felt. I heard him speak to me, calmly. “Y/N? Stay with me, okay? You need to stay conscious. Okay?” He spoke to me calmly, but the waver in his voice was unmistakable. I found my eyelids growing heavier as I nodded.

It wasn’t long until I came to, groggily opening my eyes to see Spencer’s concerned face looking back at me. I heard his voice, soft and distant.

“(Y/N)..?” Spencer said, cautiously.

“Dr Reid?” was my response. I was still a bit dizzy, and a bit confused about my whereabouts.

“You were shot.” He replied, immediately. “In your arm.” He added, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

I found myself chuckling, “Yeah, I can tell.” I said, my eyes meeting his. His expression was a bit unreadable, a mix between sternness and apprehension. I watched him, as his gaze shifted and he bit his lip. “You took it for me.” He said, suddenly. “The bullet, I mean.” He continued. “It would’ve hit me if you hadn’t gotten in the way.”

“Gotten in the way?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“Gotten in the way.” He repeated back to me, his face hard.

“Are you upset I took a bullet for you?” I said, furrowing my brows, my lips parting in shock. Was this guy serious?

“Yes.” He said, his voice angry. “What were you thinking?” His voice wavered with anger and another emotion I couldn’t quite discern in that moment.

“I wasn’t thinking, I just-”

“Exactly.” He responded, harshly. “You weren’t thinking.” He said, his voice reaching a volume I’d never heard before, granted, it was still collected, but I’d never seen this side of him.

I contemplated how to respond to this, actually not being able to believe that he could be mad at me for something like this. Yes, it was brash but- he didn’t get shot! Isn’t that a plus? His voice broke my thoughts, now a bit more shaky, softer. “Do you have any idea what that would mean? If you’d been hurt worse, what that would mean for me?” He said, looking right at my face, into my eyes with a blaze. “What you mean to me?��

I found myself unable to respond, still not being able to grapple with what he was saying. What he was implying. “Sorry?” I asked, softly.

“(Y/N)..” He said, softly. His own expression mirrored my confusion mixed with longing I’d never seen before on him. Especially when he looked at me. His hand brushed across my face, moving some hair that had drifted near my eye. I held my breath as he did so, watching as his tongue slipped out to wet his bottom lip, still watching intently. I felt my lips slightly part as he came closer, unsure what was going to happen in this moment, but regardless, my gaze was intently trained on his.

In a split second though, the sounds of the rest of the BAU filtered into the hospital room. They jumped away from each other, Spencer now 4 feet away from me. Emily came up to my bedside, looking at the wound.

The typical chastisement came, and the general choruses of appreciation that I was still alive. The diagnosis revealed that (Y/N) would be just fine, given I remembered to clean my wound liberally and change the bandages.

In about a week, I found myself discharged. I was given about 2 more weeks to rest at my apartment. I assumed the time would be enough to forget the strange moment I’d had in the hospital room. At some points, if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself it hadn’t happened at all. The tenderness in his eyes, the way his gaze drifted to my lips, so subtle it could’ve as easily been a figment of imagination. I shook my head, as if I could rid myself of all the feelings I’d harbored about that specific moment. I made my way to the kitchen, grabbing a fresh-set of bandages to apply on the recovering wound, wincing as I peeled away the layers of gauze to reveal the injury. As I began to apply the anti-septic, I began to wrap the gauze, until I heard a knock at my apartment door.

I put down the gauze, looking through the peephole and being surprised to see the senior agent that had been haunting my thoughts for the past few weeks. I opened the door quickly, meeting his pensive gaze.

“Can I come in?” He said, quickly, almost if he didn’t say the words fast enough, he’d bolt the other direction. I sensed the confusion about his own actions, and opened the door wider, allowing him to push past me into my apartment. He noticed the gauze, and the open wound, and raised an eyebrow.

“I was changing the gauze, sorry.” I said, explaining the sight on my kitchen table. He immediately took a step towards the table, picking up the bandages. “Let me help.” He said, quietly, motioning for me to sit down.

I found myself sitting, out of pure habit of obeying him, but still shook my head.

“Dr Reid, no, it’s fine.” He quickly shook his head, mirroring my previous actions, already beginning to take my arm, his light touches on my bare skin shooting a shiver up my spine. This was noticeable to him, him immediately retracting his hand.

“Sorry, did I hurt you?” He asked, softly.

I found myself shaking my head. “No, no. Sorry. Just. Continue.” I said, trying to get the words out without looking at him. I suddenly remembered the strangeness of this situation, and forced myself to calm down as he began to carefully wrap the bandages around my injury, swallowing and looking up.

“Dr Reid, why are you here?” I asked, carefully. I made sure that my tone was neutral, not trying to express displeasement, but still a bit confused about his intentions here.

“You took a bullet for me.” He replied, simply, as if that explained why he was in my apartment, looming over me as he tenderly wrapped gauze over my arm, looking at me with the gentlest gaze I’d ever seen on him. I sighed, locking eyes with him. “I know, but-” He interrupted. “No, (Y/N), you don’t know.”

Immediately, the rage returned to my eyes, the months of dismissal I’d faced from him flooding back in a moment, and those emotions came to full light in that moment. my brows furrowed, my face turning sour. “Oh, I don’t know, Spencer?” I said, sneering at him. “Am I too young, too stupid, too inexperienced for you?” I question, sarcastically. “Am I so dumb, that I wasn’t aware of what I was doing when I stepped in front of you?!” I say, my voice practically yelling at him now.

“Yes.” He whispered, dangerously close.

“Excuse me?”

“Yes. You weren’t aware.” He says, repeats, softer this time. “It’s the only way any of this makes sense. That.. that you were so unaware, so blinded that you weren’t thinking when you stepped in front of me.” He said, quietly, remaining just as close as before.

“I wasn’t.” I said, firmly, my brows still furrowed but the tension slowly left my face, being replaced with a softness.

“Why did you do it then?” He said, dropping his gaze as he began to focus more on the bandages. “I haven’t been very forthcoming with you since you’ve begun your time at the BAU.”

“Ah, so you’ve noticed.” I said, trying to make humor of the situation, but it came out a bit more breathless and dry. I was aware of the intimacy of the situation, and it seemed my body was catching up. I could physically feel the way my cheeks were heating up, and how they were close enough that I could see every breath that exhaled from his lips. How, despite everything, I still desperately wanted to kiss him at that moment.

I couldn’t be crazy, when he secured the bandages and slowly trailed his eyes over my figure, sitting in front of him. I saw the same desire I felt, reflected in his eyes, and I found myself biting my lip. What the fuck was going on?

“So why’d you do it?” He repeated, still looking at me.

“It felt natural, I..” I trailed off, trying to find the words to explain what I had felt in that split-second, but instead went with the simplest retelling my brain could manage, considering how close he was. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.” I said, looking at him. “I.. I care about you.”

I felt stupidly vulnerable. His breath fanned over my face, and I bit my lip. I waited for him to say something, anything, staring anxiously at his face.

“I’m a good profiler, you know.” He says, softly.

I chuckle a little at this, moving away so the tension can be relieved. “Trust me, I’m reminded of that every day.” I said, feeling like the distance between them was now more manageable, allowing me to talk.

But in a moment, he closed that distance to its predecessor, just as close as they were a moment ago. “You learn a lot about body language. Not just by learning to profile, but through years of experience. It just comes naturally, reading people. You can’t really turn it off. It’s like trying to forget how to breathe.” I hung onto his every word, and found my breath hitching when he directed his monologue to me.

He gently inquires, “Do you understand?”

I nod, looking up at him, as he inches closer.

“So I hope you’ll understand and not take offense when I say I’ve been profiling you.” He pauses. “Would you like to know what I’ve found out?” He says, looking right into my eyes at this point.

My brain is screaming at me to say no, to not take the bait that he was dangling right in front of me, and to not cross that line tonight. Because, surely, that’s where this was going. I had a sneaking suspicion that the man in front of me was going to ruin me, if I let him.

Instead, I ignore the instinct and intuition I normally rely on, and nod. “What did you find out, Dr Reid?” I responded, a bit shakier than I wanted to sound.

“Your pupils dilate when I come near you. It’s an involuntary response, but I notice it every time. I’ve seen it in low and heavy lighting, the only commonality in both those situations being that we were in some proximity to each other.” His voice was low, and seductive, something I’d never heard from him before.

“Your heart rate.” He murmurs, slowly picking up my wrist and pressing a thumb to the pulse point. “This isn’t exactly the best way to measure heart rate.” He explains, “My thumb. It carries its own pulse that can make it hard to distinguish between mine and yours. But right now, (Y/N)?” He mumbles. “I can tell. Because your pulse is going crazy right now. It’d be hard to miss.” He said, with a low chuckle.

And he’s right, I can feel my heart getting faster with every second he speaks to me, in that hushed tone that seems to be driving me crazy.

“It’s not just tonight. I’ve noticed it since the day you walked in.” He whispers, getting closer to my ear, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Since you brought that terrible coffee, actually.”

I pulled back, letting out a noise that was both composed of surprise and amusement. “Oh come on, it was not that bad.”

“It was, but I can tell you tried.” He said, a small smirk playing on his face. “It was cute.” He said, now taking the time to brush some hair out of my face. It all happened quickly, his gaze tender and soft, before he captured my lips in a swoon-worthy kiss, pressing himself against me. I quickly melted into the kiss, letting out a satisfied sigh as I gripped his forearm, before rising from the chair as he slowly guided me to my couch. I let out a nervous laugh as my knees hit the cushions, tumbling a bit as I fell onto the soft pillows. He immediately pulled back, breathless, looking at me worriedly.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He murmured softly, kissing me again, a bit more gentle so I could murmur a soft “no” against his lips.

“Good.” He growled, positioning himself above me on the couch, beginning to press hot kisses down my neck, eventually reaching my exposed sternum, and looking up at me through hooded lids for implicit consent to continue, to which I nodded, feverishly.

“Please.” I whispered, hoarsely.

He took no time in obliging my request, rising a bit to remove the fabric of my shirt in one, clean swoop and continuing his assault on my chest, leaving open-mouthed kissed, eventually switching to nips and playful bites, as he sucked marks into the swell of my breasts, leaving me letting out delighted sighs and soft moans, which only seemed to encourage him to go lower. I arched my back, screwing my eyes shut, until he felt him stop, and come back to my neck.

He murmured against me, close to my ear. I could feel his lips slowly brush the sensitive skin between my ear and neck, barely giving me any real stimulation, but it was enough to drive me crazy anyway.

“Keep your eyes open, baby.” He whispers. “I want to see every part of your pretty face when I do this.” He says, returning lower again, leaving little kisses everywhere he could possibly go with his lips. I opened my eyes on command, watching as he went lower and lower, before finding the button on my jeans, slowly undoing them with nimble fingers and moving them off my legs. I could imagine them so vividly inside me, expertly guiding me to pleasure in a way that mine couldn’t. But right now, if I wasn’t fucked senseless by him right now, I’d just about lose my mind.

“Spencer.” I whispered, breathlessly. “I need you.” I breathed out. “Please.”

“You need me to do what?” He asked, smirking as he already began to undo his own belt.

“Spencer.” I repeated, firmly, not wanting to say the words.

“Say it.” He says, in a much more commanding tone.

“Spencer..” I repeat, breathing out again. “Fuck. I need-” I waver on the words, biting my lip. “I need you to fuck me. Now.”

His smirk turns into a grin of satisfaction and pride, capturing my lips in yet another passionate kiss. “Mm. Wasn’t so hard, was it?” He says, cockily. I whined against his lips, tacitly begging him to just get on with it and he chuckles, moving off of my mouth.

“Alright. I get it.” He says, moving his lips downwards again, his lips brushing against my underwear, as he began to remove that fabric as well. He nearly moaned when he saw just how wet I really was. It was a bit embarrassing, just from a few touches and words, but it was hard to care when I felt his tongue right on my core, beginning to lap at the hot flesh, reducing me to moans as I knotted my fingers into his hair, arching my back and bucking my hips to feel more of his ministrations. He seemed to understand, hooking his strong arms under my thighs, firmly planting me to the couch we were currently on, continuing. I could feel his moans against me, sending vibrations that only heightened my arousal in that moment. As if that was even possible.

And then it was, because I heard him murmur against me.“You taste-” he paused, using his tongue to lap up more of my arousal. “So fucking good.” He finished, beginning to now harshly flick at my clit, which caused an entirely new slew of sensations. I recognized my end was fast approaching, and I tugged on his hair, unable to form the words as the white-hot pleasure overtook me quickly, he seemed to understand this without a word, nursing me through my orgasm as my thighs shook around him and he held my hips down. Even then, he didn’t stop, continuing to flick his tongue, lapping up my arousal until I had to physically push him away with a soft groan. “Spencer.. It’s too much.” Even then, he continued, reducing me to nothing but moans, and I heard him whisper. “Come on. One more. Please.” The words unintentionally caused a flutter in my stomach, and in record time I was being pushed towards my second orgasm in a matter of 5 minutes.

His mouth was clearly so much better at this than arguing.

I felt him lap up the last bit of my arousal, looking up at me with a glistening chin, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say it was the most erotic sight in the world at that moment. The man that had questioned me at every turn, now in between my legs. He gave a smirk, moving up and giving me a rough kiss, and I didn’t hesitate to moan in his mouth when I could taste myself on his tongue. He smiled as he broke the kiss, caressing my cheek with one of his hands. His thumb moved along the smooth expanse of my cheeks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, gently, concern in his eyes.

I couldn’t help but break out into a dazed smile, nodding, a thin cover of sheen over my body, where I was still breathing heavily. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good.” He breathed out. “I’m not stopping.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” was my response, his shirt coming off before I’d even finished my sentence.

I watched in fascination as he undid his belt, the very sound of it filling me with anticipation and desire. I could feel myself getting more aroused by the second, despite my previous two orgasms. I wanted him, I wanted this so badly.

I felt him position himself over me, and feeling the head of his arousal run through my folds. I let out a breathy groan, as I felt him push into me. He let out a moan of his own, shutting his eyes. “You feel.. So fucking good.”

I whimpered slightly as my body adjusted to him and his size. He was so big, and I’d never felt full like this before. He noticed this and placed a gentle kiss against my lips, watching my face as it contorted in pleasure and pain. As the pain began to subside, I looked up at him nodding.

“Move, please.” I begged, the desperation evident in my voice.

He took no time in obeying my request, beginning to slowly thrust in and out of me. I moaned, feeling his cock stretch me and fill me up in a way I had never been full before. A pleasant sensation bloomed through my lower abdomen, and I could feel him bury his head into my shoulder as he pushed into me, my walls clenching on his length with every movement he gave. He pressed wet kisses into my neck, and I moaned happily at the feeling. In an instant, I could feel him fucking me desperately, placing both of his hands on either side of my face. I could feel my jaw drop, and no sound came out. I was being hurdled towards my third orgasm of the night and it was all at the behest of the man in front of me, plowing into me like it was his job.

I moaned loudly, my legs wrapping around his waist in an attempt to keep him buried in my deepest point, feeling my release creeping up on me.

“Sp-Spencer..” I groaned, attempting to alert him of my impending orgasm, but he simply swooped down, kissing me roughly, which only caused me to moan into his mouth.

“I know, baby.” He whispered, in a deliciously dark tone. “Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you make a mess all over my cock.”

It took no more provocation from there, as I felt my hips buck up once more and my thighs shake. I came with a loud moan of his name, my free hand gripping onto him and leaving scratches I knew wouldn’t go away for a while.

My release seemed to spur him on, the wetness allowing him to fuck into me harder. I watched the man above me lose all control, and it was beautiful. He grunted a bit, and I could feel his hips stutter, chasing after his orgasm.

“Please, Spencer.” I begged. “Fill me up, I need to feel you come inside me.” I whispered.

It didn’t take long after that, after a particularly hard thrust, a warmness filled me at my hilt and Spencer nearly collapsed over me. He gave me a kiss, murmuring into the skin of my neck. “So perfect, so fucking perfect for me.”

I smiled at the praise, biting my lip. I let my hand traverse over his back, drawing figures into the warm skin. I looked at the man laying on my sternum, looking absolutely fucked out despite being the one to give me three orgasms tonight. “Perfect, you say?” I teased.

He looked up at me, kissing my lips softly, before mumbling against them, “Mm. Perfect.”

I had a sneaking suspicion the next time we were at work, and he’d have something to say about my work, (because he always did), it wouldn’t take long to have him whispering sweet nothings to me in an instant, just like he was now. At least I could do something right on the first try.

hi!! this is my first fanfiction i've written since i was literally in middle school. spoiler. far from middle school right now. leave a comment, reblog, like, whatever! i had fun writing this. my ask box should be open for more requests? if anyone would like. anyway! hope u enjoyed!! :3

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds smut #criminal minds self insert #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #smut #request #spencer reid request #criminal minds fanfiction

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year

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Someone on Twitter proposed Steve and Gareth as cousins whose family had a major falling out, and then someone else brought it up recently and long story short no idea who to credit the idea too bc you can’t search for SHIT on Twitter but it's theirs not mine.

Anyway I wrote a lil thing as a warmup

PART TWO

"Why don't you come sit with Hellfire?" Gareth asked, angrily leaned against the bathroom wall while Steve fixed his hair.

He'd tried not to cling since he entered high school. Tried to keep things on the downlow, least any gossipy mouths started running.

It was so stupidly, needlessly, hard.

His cousin was only two years ahead of him but they'd spent the last year in different schools because of it.

That year, and the lack of Steve's presence in it, had grated. Now that he finally had Steve back, Gareth was loathe to play by the rules.

"Sit with you and Eddie, "the freak" Munson? I'll pass." Steve said, but there was no bite in it.

That, Gareth knew, was because Steve was using Eddie as an excuse.

"You'd like Eddie if you spent five minutes with him, King Steve." Gareth fired back on automatic. His fingers dug into his arms, as he resisted the urge to pace around the bathroom floor.

Unspoken was all the shit that had taken place.

Steve and Nancy's breakup. The rumor mill in overdrive, first about how Jonathan Byers had taken creep shot photos of them, then about how he'd taken his shot with Nancy herself.

The supposed cheating, the public fights, the crazy background of Jonathan's little brother being missing.

Billy Hargrove beating Steve to a pulp.

Now friendless, Steve had thoroughly fallen from his place at the tippy top of the social hierarchy and between his utter lack of friends and his shit tier parents, Gareth was concerned.

"You do not want me to sit with you, Gary. I'd tell all your little friends that you're apart of the royal family." Steve turned, making an exaggerated face. "How's Munson feel about cozying up to a Prince?"

"I'd technically be an Earl, Steve, not a prince." Gareth grumbled.

He got an eye roll in response. "Somehow I don't think he'll care."

"I do though." Gareth blurted out, absolutely thoughtless.

Steve blinked at him.

"What?" He said.

In for a penny right?

"I care." Gareth said, looking down and scuffing a shoe, making it squeak against the grimy tiles. "About you. You dick."

"Wow Gary you almost sounded loving there."

For once, he ignored the jab. "I'm worried about you, man." He said it quietly, the painful truth pulled out of him almost by force.

He knew better than anyone how few people Steve had. Knew how his dad was likely taking all the crap Steve had been involved in lately.

Richard Harrington hadn't been the wedge that had separated his and Steve's mother, but the man hadn't done them any favors, either.

His intolerance towards the working and lower classes, his demand for perfection, the way he looked down his nose not just on Gareth's parents but on his own wife and son…

Gareth's mom didn't tolerate it.

Likewise, Stella Harrington didn't tolerate her sister ruining her shot at being a rich trophy wife.

Both their sets of parents were dramatic and neither of them weren't anywhere near the concept of "good" but at least Gareth's weren't neglectful and abusive.

Shitty absolutely, but he never worried about getting thrown out, or that his mom wouldn't acknowledge his birthday because he'd "complimented her outfit the wrong way."

(”It's fine dude she just thought I called her ugly. It was a miscommunication. Dad said it's a good lesson about how women work."

"Casual reminder that your dad's an asshole and also how is telling your mom that she looked lovely in the sunlight telling her she's ugly?”

“It implied she wasn't lovely the rest of the time or some shit, I dunno man.”)

The BMW was a shitty prize when compared what Steve had dealt with to receive it.

"I'm okay." Steve said seriously. "It's almost the end of the year anyways. I can tough out having some extra alone time."

"If you're sure…"

"Yeah man, I'm sure. Thanks though."

Then Steve pulled him into a hug and fuck their parents, who demanded they continued some stupid grudge. Gareth clung to him just as hard as he had at ten. Unsure if he'd ever be allowed to see Steve again.

#steve harringtons shitty parents #steve harrington #gareth #gareth emerson #my beloved lil side character #steve and gareth as secret cousins #SECRET COUSSSIIINS #steve whump #0o0 fanfics

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wynnyfryd · 2 months

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Trailer park Steve AU pt 56

part 1 | part 55 | ao3

March

"Steve, honey," Claudia calls from the living room, where he can hear her shuffling around to get her things ready for work — the rustle of a jacket, the clink of keys against her thermos. "Do you need anything before you go?"

"I'm fine, Ma!" Steve answers.

And he is. He is fine. It’s been three weeks, and Steve is fine! He has a date tonight with a girl he doesn’t care about, and he's gonna cheer on Lucas at the championship game, and the other day at work he got a fifty cent per hour raise. And sure, his nightmares are worse than ever and his head aches all the time, and he’s had some weirdly persistent sinus infection or some shit going on, but he only teared up once this week while jerking off to thoughts of Eddie, so.

All in all, not bad.

He shoves a plain bagel in his mouth and rushes to leave the house; passes Claudia on the way out, who's now rapping her knuckles impatiently against Dustin’s door and asking, “Dusty, what’s going on in there? You’re gonna be late!" to which Dustin replies with a panicked shriek: “DON’T COME IN, I’M NAKED!”

Jesus Christ. "Deafen my other ear, why don't you?" Steve mutters under his breath.

He throws Ma a parting wave and heads out to pick up Robin so he can take her to school before his shift starts. She looks nicer than usual, and she won’t stop reapplying her mascara, and by the time Object of My Desire starts playing on the radio Steve is practically begging her to just suck it up and end this will-they-won’t-they thing with Vickie because it’s been months of obvious flirting and Robin still won’t make a move.

“I listen to you, and now look at me!” he argues, as if the handful of pointless dates he’s used to distract himself from Eddie are anything to look at. “Boom. Back in business.“

“Mm,” she objects, a little ‘you’re so full of shit’ frown on her face. “Not the same thing.”

Don’t say it, you bitch, don’t even—

“You ask out a girl and she says no…”

Oh, thank fuck. Steve sags in relief and licks the corner of his mouth as he listens to her rant, grateful that she’s just working the small town homophobia angle and very graciously not pointing out how half-hearted and sad his attempts to move on with his life have been. It’s a small mercy he repays by rambling about girls and boobies and girls who definitely like boobies until she scowls so hard at him that she smudges her mascara and has to apply another coat.

—

Dustin calls the store some time around lunch. Asks if Steve wants to sub in for Lucas at tonight’s Hellfire campaign, which, first of all, fuck you — he’s been helping Lucas practice for months now, he’s not about to miss this game — and secondly:

“What, to hang out with you and Eddie the Freak Munson?” he asks, idly playing with a slinky. “Uh, yeah. I’ll pass.”

"Dude."

"What?"

"You can’t just call him names because you’re pissed at him! That’s not cool!”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the slinky so hard it flops off the counter’s edge.

“Look,” Dustin says, his voice dipping into that low and slow and trustworthy thing that makes Steve want to snap the kid’s non-existent collarbones. “I know you won’t tell me what happened, but whatever it was, he’s sorry, okay? He’s really, really sorry. And he asks me about you, like, every day; if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he was in love with you or something.” Steve chokes on his own spit, and Dustin just keeps going; steps right over Steve’s corpse to continue his impassioned plea. “Besides, friends forgive each other! Right, Steve?”

Goddammit. Steve really regrets saying those exact words in that exact order the last time Lucas and Dustin had a fight. “Man, you can’t just use my own brotherly advice against me.”

“I can, and I will.” Wow. What a little shit. “Seriously, dude, come on! How many times do I have to pass on his apology messages before you just talk to him?”

How many times? How many times?

Steve doesn’t know.

He just knows he’s not ready; knows that as soon as he talks to Eddie, it’ll make it all real. It’ll be over for good. Whatever words they exchange next will get etched into the headstone of the thing they briefly had. He opens his mouth to say something, to try and make sense of the vortex in his head, but all he gets for the effort is a fresh migraine coming on.

He’s saved from answering by the doorbell’s chime. “I got some customers,” he says over Dustin's squawk of protest. “Gotta call you back, bye.”

—

part 57

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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muntitled · 6 months

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𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐬 | 𝐋.𝐉𝐡

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❝ 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 ❞

✧ Genre: Smut (M)

✧ Pairing: Lee Jihoon x Fem!Reader

✧ Summary: “Did you bring me into the studio as your engineer or your whore?” He nods his head playfully jutting his bottom lip out as if he's pondering something vastly philosophical. “It can't be both?”

✧ Warnings: Language, Established Relationship, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Bratty Reader, Weaponizing!Wonwoo, Fluff, Workaholics in Love, Teasing, Producer!Jihoon, Musical Engineer!Reader, Smut (+18), Daddy Kink, Neediness, Dom/sub dynamic, Coercion, Brat tamer!Jihoon, Dom!Jihoon, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Oral Sex (Male rec), Orgasm Denial, Breeding Kink

✧ Word Count: 3.9k

✧ Playlist when writing: Here

A/n: I love my boyfriend- I mean my bias.

Perhaps it was your fault. You should have known something was amiss the very moment Jihoon called you in the middle of your recording session with another artist. Your eyebrows furrowed when you picked up the phone, and you lifted one finger, signaling a quick recess to Wonwoo, who nodded calmly.

This was particularly uncanny because Jihoon never bothered you during work hours, and, in equal regard, you refused to bother him.

Out of respect for the craft, he refused to break you out of that very delicate mindset that he, as a creative, understood the significance of. Washington could be burning, and he still wouldn't dare interrupt you during work time. This somewhat sacred convenant was forged as a means to protect your relationship from your work personas. You did not particularly enjoy who Jihoon was when he assumed the sacremental identity of 'Woozi' and heavens knows you were equally as intolerable when you were stationed in front of a soundboard. You were both tyrants in your everyday lives, and even now, Wonwoo seems marginally relieved to have caught some semblance of a break as you huddle into the short corridor outside the studio.

So with a very perturbed but slightly worried voice, you swiped on the answer button and enquired, “Is everything okay?”

“No,” comes his instant reply. The knot between your brows have yet to unweave as you rest your back against a wall. Jihoon was by no means the most cheerful individual you had ever met, in fact, you prided yourself greatly on being the very few sources of genuine cacophony and laughter in his life. Seungkwan, of course, was your most fierce competitor.

Still, there is something grave in Jihoon's voice. It is a veneer of seriousness that is strange even for him. You had been able to gauge this sense of wabing patience in his tone just from one fickle like little word. 5 years in a vaguely conjugal relationship with a person would do that to you.

“I think I finally got the entire verse written.” Jihoon is surprised to find the lie tumbling so smoothly past the gates of his teeth, especially because he's normally so shit at lying. What was the point? When the person you were lying to had all your mannerisms memorized as if they were living in your body with you.

He taps his finger idly along the yellow notepad seated on his bouncing, restless knee. "We should record it now,”

You shake your head in complete discombobulation as you brought a finger to your lips in contemplation, "Why would you need my help? I thought you were working with another engineer."

His teeth grate irritably against each other, and he rolls his eyes in a flamboyant display of vexation as he exclaims, "Are you really in the mood to fish for compliments right now?" He asks tersely, "I should not need to tell you that you're my most trusted engineer,"

No matter how stoic your work persona was, she was not immune to flattery. The smile cracks the crevices of confusion along your visage, and Jihoon can almost feel the pleasure at his praise oozing through the phone.

"Now, if you'll please join me-"

“Can't." You respond. No matter how vulnerable you were to Jihoon's praises, you still remained fiercely loyal to your job. "I've got 20 more minutes in this session and after that I have to be at a meeting with the label, and I still have to go pick up that bouquet of flowers for our neighbor- you remember her cat passed on?"

"Just tell Wonwoo you have an emergency," Jihoon's reply has your eyes narrowing in skepticism. Not only was Jihoon fiercely independent, but he very rarely indulged you in his clingy side. Up until this very moment, you even doubted whether that side existed at all. "Cancel the meeting," he nods slowly, "And fuck the flowers, we hated that vermin anyway. Remember when her cat pissed in your peonies?" Jihoon ran his hand through his hair as he nodded with finality, "Fuck the flowers."

A sort of realization dawned within you, and you fought valiantly to keep the tone of self-righteousness out of your voice as you responded, “You're hijacking me from another artist.”

His hiss is instant and laced with venom, “Be glad I even allow you to work with another artist,”

Jihoon did not mean to slip up so badly, but he was also a man that would very rarely say anything that he did not actually mean.

“I don't like sharing,” he croons quietly over the line, “You know this.”

And so he let his words hang stagnantly in the air between you two, drying like wet, white linen in the wind. He pauses as if guaging your response to his raw words. Jihoon enjoyed doing this. He enjoyed giving you vague tidbits of what state of mind he found himself in without actually divulging his every thought. The ball was figuratively in your court, and he wished to see how you might respond.

Your throat clears your throat momentarily, letting your brain run rampant with myriad schemes. It was not very often that you would have the upper hand in your relationship. Dating someone like Jihoon, someone so comfortable being in control meant you constantly forfeited whatever power you had in your work life. Jihoon teased you. It was never the other way around.

"How badly do you want me there?"

"How badly do you want me to let you cum the next time I eat you out?" His voice is dripping with the weight of his threat and normally, you would find yourself quickly pushing yourself back into submission, but not this time. This time he needed you.

You are very secured in the realization that whatever reason Jihoon wanted you in the studio for - it was certainly not to record. There is a dangerous pool of excitement rushing through the conduit of your veins. He swears he can hear the titillating smile that blossomed across your face while you play idly with the Swarovski rock resting along your sternum. A gift from Jihoon. One of many.

“I don't know, Jihoon... What're you going to do for me in return? It's only fair that I'm adequately compensated for leaving a session."

"I'll let you cum tonight, I've already told you."

Jihoon is sitting reclined on his leather couch, his narrowed eyes piercing the wide soundboard directly in front of him. An egregious amount's worth of equipment sitting idly and completely untouched while his notepad sits on his lap, teasing him with its blankness.

Before he made the uncharacteristic choice to call you, Jihoon had been scrolling idly through his phone, in search of some bit of inspiration. He found himself opening his photos app, scrolling through his pictures that were filled mostly of you. Selfies you took with your face pressed against his unimpressed one. Mirror selfies showcasing what outfit you decided to wear, per his request and something else. Something he had forgotten he even had saved in his camera roll until the video was already rolling. At first glance, the scene was borderline animalistic. Jihoon's pale hand pressed down your arched back, while a steady hand recordinb you from above.

"That's a good girl-" he heard his own voice resonate through the speakers. It was like he was forced to meet his alter ego. A completey uncomfortable and fucking meta experience, especially because he was in the quiet of his studio.

Jihoon looked around his quiet studio, sensing no other infiltrating presence before he let his gaze fall back down onto the video. A deep shade of read crawled up his neck as he watched himself fuck you absolutely stupid from behind. You were both caught in a throws of your pleasure and incoherent words were thrown out in stuttering intervals.

"Fuck-Hoonie, I'm so close-"

"You're gonna cum for me, baby? You gonna let daddy cum in that pretty fucking pussy? You gonna let me breed you-"

"F-Fuck, Daddy- I'm," Jihoon heard himself swear in the speakers, and the video went wobbly before it came to a cataclysmic end. It was taken a week ago, when you both sat down to watch a movie. Needless to say, no movie had been watched because you were abundantly touchy, and Woozi decided to let you be.

Even though the video came to an end, he could not peel his eyes away from the screen. He watched it one final time before he searched for your name in the call logs and dialed.

His mind was empty, but his capacity for lust was never-ending.

Now not only was he combatting brutal inspirational drought, but he was nursing a semi erect cock that made him so fucking uncomfortable.

He did not need this shit from you right now.

"Are you sure threatening me with an orgasm denial is the way you wanna go right now, Hoonie?" He hated the self-interested smirk in your voice.

“This is not the time to be a fucking brat,” he hisses, perhaps unintentionally on the line. “Just get here,”

But the teasing lilt has yet to disappear as you chide, “Not a particularly ethical way to address your one and only trusted engineer, is it?” You asked sweetly, voice dripping with the amount of honey it would take to fill a honey farm, “At least Wonwoo respects my work,”

He laughs humorlessly before rolling his eyes. “You talk a lot of shit for someone already making their way over here.” And unfortunately, you were. You had shot Wonwoo a very heartfelt apology during your sparring verbiage with Jihoon while still gathering your belongings to make a break for his studio. You became so unnaturally predictable in his presence, like a lonely mould of clay, glistening and ready to be shaped into anything of his choosing.

Right now, his biggest obstacle is the very vexing fact that once you made it into his studio, you drifted in with your nose stuck in the air and the expectation that he is to actually put in work. Woozi greets you at the door, eyes shamelessly taking you in from head to toe while you refuse to do the same. A pastel baby tee clings to your chest like a second skin while the ends of a small mini skirt combat the summer heat.

“It's freezing in here,” you remarked while Woozi ogled you unashamedly.

“Don't fuck with my thermostat,” he says dismissively before pulling you into an indulgent hug. “I like it cold,” and his arms travel under yours, pressing your softness flush against his front. His face buries itself in between your neck and shoulder, feeling his restless limbs finally be coaxed into some sense of satisfaction. His nose brushes against your cheek, essentially nuzzling himself against you in a vaguely primal gesture and he sighs.

“Fuck, you're so soft.” His hand rubs slow circles on your lower back. Circles that gradually increase in size. Woozi snickers quietly against your skin. Big mistake.

He definitely thought he was slick.

Before the palm of his hand could skim over the soft mound of your ass you break away quickly. Your smile is professional, almost vexingly robotic as you swing past him. Your braided ponytail swinging behind you as you make your way to bring a second leather chair beside his own at the soundboard.

“I'm here,” you said, “Time to work,”

Jihoon stands idly for a while. With his hands on his hips, his tongue stabs at the corner of his mouth, “You really are on a mission to piss me off today, aren't you?”

You ignore him, choosing instead to let your bewildered eyes fall on the empty notepad discarded on the soundboard. In your periphery, Jihoon rolls up the sleeves of his black button up, flexing his arms lightly as if he was battling demons not to pin you against that very soundboard.

Expensive equipment be damned.

“Let's get to work,” You huff, prompting Jihoon to run a frustrated hand through his mid length, black locks. Effectively making the wolfcut appear even more messy and unkempt.

You looked away, agitated, with your blood pressure shot to hell. This would be a very long session.

・✧・

And a very long session, it was.

Noon had faded to dusk and dusk had bled into starlight while you and Jihoon sat stagnant in the studio, surrounded by creative frustration and a different kind of frustration you refused to give the adequate amount of time to.

Woozi murmurs distractedly, peering down at the guitar sitting atop his lap. He toys with strings while you attempt to mix and master the wet bar on the computer screen, toying with the beat until you find something that stuck.

That is what you and Jihoon have resorted to during the course of this evening.

Your Gucci sneakers are kicked off underneath the desk and the bra you had initially walked in wearing, is now sitting discarded on Jihoon's couch. The both of you are accommodating to the stifling studio air. You find yourself grateful Woozi had kept the temperature cool as you were losing a dire war with under-boob sweat.

“Hit record,” he suddenly says, “I think I've got something,”

The tone that feeds from the guitar into the amplifier, is angelic, damn near perfect, but the look on his face once he pulls the final string is troubled. He quickly jots something down onto the notepad that had been filled considerably since this session began.

“You've got to be kidding me,” You say, releasing a wistful sigh as you peer at Jihoon sitting beside you. “That was fucking gold! Don't tell me you're not satisfied.” Jihoon is only able to shake his head before placing the guitar gently against the soundboard. “I know… but-”

“But?!” You're leaning over your seat, invading his bubble with your eyes blown to saucers.

“But…” He says teasingly before leaning closer to you, letting his eyes scan over your face as he slyly says, “I'd rather be fingering something else.”

His exposed forearms flex when he brings a hand up to toy with the Swarovski necklace that hangs from your collarbone. His voice is as smooth as the sap running steadily from tree bark in a fairytale forest. It's completely and utterly enchanting and you find yourself unable to pull back and sit back in your own seat.

“You look so pretty, you know that?” he whispers lowly, and you're fully convinced that he must know of the effect his voice has on you.

Fortunately for you, self control is something you take great pride in, and your voice is steady when you speak, but your torso is still leaning over onto his seat as you ask, “Jihoon, what is this?” You are completely spellbound when Woozi brings his fingers up to your chin. He examines your face like an art critic coasting the archaic halls of the most ancient museum. He knew exactly how to get you to melt and concede. “You know I had somewhere else to be,” you scold yourself for letting the words tumble out of your mouth in a desperate whisper.

He only snickers quietly, his eyes still roaming over your visage as he says, “You know his album isn't going to be better than mine.”

You find yourself completely mystified as Jihoon coaxes you over the barrier, until you're begrudgingly straddling him on his seat. Your breath falters as your skirt begins to ride high on your hips and Woozi's callused hands immediately hug the curves of your wide hips. He's staring up at you, and you're significantly elevated from your position on his lap. Height is completely on your side but you'd be stupid to discount the fact that he's in complete control here.

His hands rub dizzying circles on your thigh as he says, “Or don't you agree?”

“With what?”

“That my album will be better than Wonwoo's,” he states his petulance so casually it has you reeling. The blood coursing through your veins only has your mind doing somersaults trying to grapple onto your steadily declining sensibilities.

“Your album is not going to be much of anything if you keep bringing me here just to get your dick wet,”

“Oh! That's what I was doing?” He gasps in faux surprise before shaking his head, “I had no idea!”

You roll your eyes to the back of your head, although you're not quite sure if that's out of vexation or the wave of lust that hits you when Woozi brings your core down flush against his lap.

“Seriously Jihoon,” you say, unable to keep the gasp from rolling out of your mouth, “Did you bring me into the studio as your engineer or your whore?”

He nods his head playfully jutting his bottom lip out as if he's pondering something vastly philosophical.

“It can't be both?”

The whine you release from your throat is downright lascivious as Jihoon buries his face in between your neck and shoulder. This time, however, you're unable to break apart. His iron grip keeps you firmly pressed against his lap, guiding your hips back and forth. A sharp shiver wracks through your spine when Jihoon slips out the tip of his tongue to lick small innocent kitten licks at the skin underneath your ear. You're positively buzzing with untapped energy that he only seems pleased to continue to build upon. Until you are coming undone at the seams.

You're not even sure whether your hips are grinding down on his bulge out of your own accord or his hands gripping the skin of your thighs.

“Jihoon, we should be finishing the track-”

“We've done enough,” he says before reattaching his lips to your neck, this time sucking and kissing violently at your sensitive skin. You're grinding down further, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers weave into the roots of Woozi’s long hair. “What if someone walks in?” you whisper, although, now Woozi is starkly aware that your words are carrying the weight of your own fantasy, “I really think we should get back to work,”

“Fuck me, you smell so good,” He breathes out, pulling back to reveal a flush face. Woozi’s cheeks are ruddy and his wolfcut is in complete disarray under the oppression of your tight grip.

You're moving your hips much more hurriedly against his lap and he never stops you. In fact, Jihoon slyly pushes his hand up underneath your shirt, his palm immediately making direct contact with your pert nipples.

“F-Fuck, Woozi.”

“I know baby, I know,” he murmurs, rolling your nipple between his fingers as your wetness seeps out through your underwear, right onto his lap.

“Shit, baby. You're such a messy fucking girl….” He's absolutely fargone under the gaze of lust. Murmuring incoherence as he pushes his hips up to meet your swollen clit. “My little girl is so fucking messy-”

“Jihoon- I'm gonna cum-”

“No you're not,” he says, immediately stilling your movements, bringing your restless hips to a crashing halt.

“Jesus- what the fuck?!” You're absolutely livid. Your limbs tremble not only, under the weight of your anger but by the strength of the orgasm that was going to wash over you.

“Earlier,” Jihoon says, “You asked me to finish this track but I don't know if I'm in the right headspace to finish it.” Your brows furrow in confusion and your voice resounds throughout the studio as you ask, “What!?”

“I said,” Woozi's hand slyly moves from your thigh, up your torso until he's resting it on the top of your head, as if he were petting you, “I don't think I'm in the right head… space,” he removes the hair tie from your hair, letting the braids scatter down your shoulders.

You immediately catch his drift.

“I've lost so many hair ties around here,” You say, “I'm sure you have a collection somewhere,”

Jihoon's tone is nonchalant as he applies a certain pressure on your head, “Mantle on the east wall, top drawer on the right. I keep them all.” he says before pushing you down, off his lap, until you were kneeling in front of him.

“Now, I need to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, Baby.” He whispers, letting his thumb sink inside your mouth while his other hand unbuttons his slacks.

He is only able to lower his slacks enough to uncover his gardener cock, red and aching before he's pushing your head down onto it. Your lips fall open around Jihoon's cock and he immediately throws his head back. Cursing wildly before fisting your hair in a deathly grip that has you whining around his cock.

“Fuck I love the pathetic noises you make. It's so fucking hot.” His chest rises and falls feverishly as he forces you to take even more of him into your hollowed out mouth. You clench your toes and fight to take him in, until the tip of his cock is hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck!” He hisses, keeping his other hand locked in his own hair as if he's utterly in awe of the sight of you. “You're such a good slut, you know that?” His words of affirmation does a terrific job at motivating you to allow him to steadily fuck your throat. His hips rise and fall from the couch, hitting that spot at the back of your throat that has his cock twitching in warning of his load fast approaching.

You ready yourself to swallow every single bit but it never comes, and Jihoon is forcing your head off his cock. A string of saliva breaking from your lips to the tip of his glistening cock.

“Sit on my cock-” He's already pulling you back onto your lap as if you are nothing more than his plaything. .

“fuck- n-need to cum inside you.” He doesn't take your panties off, only pushing the material to the side before he's spearing you onto his dick with reckless abandon. The tempo that he immediately sets is animalistic and hurried and absolutely sloppy. You fight to catch up.

“Fuck-Jihoon-” Once you adjust to the stretch, you're trapped in a state of interminable lust.

“Move this,” he breathes out, roughly pushing your shirt over your chest, “Need to see your pretty fucking tits,” his hands immediately latch onto your breasts and the sensation of being so utterly consumed by him as you riding his dick faster and harder.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. Just like that, pretty girl.” His head rolls backwards and you shudder as you orgasm sneaks up on you like a thief in the night. Your walls close tightly around his dick and Jihoon's cock twitches inside you.

“Shit- you're fucking clenching around me, baby,” He says, bringing his head back to gaze lovingly up at you-

“Please cum for me Jihoon-”

He's nodding non stop as he fucks up into you before burying his face between your breasts. You never stop riding him, not even when he brokenly exclaims, “Fuck- oh shit- baby I'm cumming- I'm cumming inside you-” and he's spilling his seed before he is able to finish his incoherent string of a sentence. You shudder as he paints your inner walls with his cum holding you tightly and pressing you down on his stuttering hips as if terrified that you might move away.

You have no energy to tell him you wouldn't dare. Instead, you let him hug you tightly, his face pressed into your breasts as he emptied himself inside of you.

“Shit!” He hisses when his orgasm subsides and his load begins to leak out of your puffy, used cunt.

“Thank you for helping me, baby,” He whispers sweetly. The traces of the old Jihoon steadily return and your heart clenches in warm adoration.

“That was all you.” You whispered.

#woozi x reader #woozi x y/n #woozi x you #woozi smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen #svt fanfic #svt x reader #svt #svt smut #wonwoo x reader

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 2 months

Text

On The Verge of a Usual Mistake ║ ⓞⓝⓔ๏ⓞⓕⓕⓢ

On the Verge of a Usual Mistake | main masterlist | PAIRING(s): ex!Lucien x actress!reader x ex!Dieter

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 2.3k | CONTENT: this is truly just porn with minimal plot (I'm so proud of myself lol), Dieter and Lucien are messy exes, threesome activities, Twister but with genitalia, Daddy and Papi kinks

| SYNOPSIS: You've been avoiding your exes Dieter Bravo and Lucien Flores all night at this event, but you're forced to come to terms with how things ended in both relationships when they seek to right their wrongs.

“My publicist is gonna kill me!” you hiss into the dampened light of the small room Lucien unceremoniously ushered you into.

“Baby, come on. The tabloids loved us together, remember?” he coos.

“The two of you can’t just be pulling this shit! Not when I’m trying to talk to Wayne from A24 about—”

“The fuck’re you two doing in here?” Dieter whispers loudly as he closes and locks the door behind him. “You seriously going back to him after turning me down?”

“Dee, this is not the time,” you snap. “And I’m not doing a fucking thing with this asshole. He practically herded me in here.” You’re grateful neither of them are aware of the pooling slick between your legs you’ve been dutifully ignoring all night with them both chasing you around and begging for a moment alone.

“Well, three makes a party then,” Dieter decides.

“We’re not interested in that sort of partying,” Lucien cuts in.

“Oh, cut the sober lifestyle bullshit. I’m not the one you’re gonna fool with those bogus rehab claims,” Dieter scoffs.

“Well I guess if anybody knows about stints in rehab, it’s you,” Lucien snipes back.

“Okay, I’m leaving,” you huff. You push past Lucien who grabs for you, but it’s ultimately Dieter’s gentle but firm hold that keeps you from exiting. “Dee, let go of me. The two of you can have at each other all you want. Besides, you don’t need me here when neither one of you is gonna listen to me anyway.”

“Don’t be like that,” Lucien pleads. “I’ve been trying to get you to talk to me all night.”

“Yeah, exactly,” you laugh without a hint of amusement. “You want me to listen to you. Never the other way around. It’s the same with both of you. Always has been. Neither of you know how to put anybody else first. Why do you think I ended things? You’re just two peas in a fucking pod.”

“You really feel that way?” Dieter’s hold on you has slackened to a weak grip. Your head whirls back around to look him in the eye. He looks hurt. Dammit. “You think I don’t want to put you first?”

“I never knew that,” Lucien admits quietly. He edges in closer until you’re practically sandwiched between your exes.

“It’s not like I didn’t tell you,” you grumble, aggrieved at their past mistakes and kicking yourself for not just bolting out the door before they mess with your head like they always do.

Some quiet exchange happens between Dieter and Lucien, and you recognize the silent conversation just as it appears to end. Lucien’s hand creeps along your lower back while Dieter’s hands crawl back up your sides and arms.

“You’re right, baby. I never did things how I should’ve when it came to you. I blew it. Messed up the best thing I ever had. S’why I’ve been on your heels all night just trying to get a word with you,” Lucien says softly into your hair. You shiver at his warm breath fanning across your skin.

“I miss you so much,” Dieter confesses in a hush. “Let me show you how much I miss you. Please.”

“Let us both show you,” Lucien adds. “Let us show you we can listen. Let us show you we can put you first.”

You’re going to give yourself a stern talking to in the mirror tomorrow morning, but right now all the reasons why this is a terrible idea are like wisps of smoke catching to the wind. When Dieter nuzzles against the crook of your neck and Lucien is already down on the ground and underneath your dress, your resolve shatters into a million pieces. “Okay. Yeah, I–oh fuck, Lucien–”

The fat wet line of his tongue between your folds jolts you forward into Dieter who busies himself with lifting and tucking your dress aside so he doesn’t miss the show. He’s already got the top of your dress shoved down so he can suckle on your tightening nipples. “Dee,” you gasp.

“I got you,” he groans, nipping and teasing your nubs. “God you look so good. Missed this so fucking much. Missed these tits so fucking much.” He gropes them in appreciation, and his eyes go wide in that wondrous sort of way that they always seemed to whenever the two of you fucked. Every time was like he’d never seen a woman before, not with the way he’d shower you with compliments and superlatives.

Your legs are already shaky with Lucien working between them, and you don’t even bother feeling ashamed at the orgasm that’s already building. It’s been a long time since you’d been with an attentive partner, and nothing quite compared to the likes of Dieter or Lucien. They’d ruined other sexual partners for you forever, but you wouldn’t be caught dead telling them as much. Their egos were inflated enough as it was. Besides, they’d just hear that and not the other side of the coin which was how they were stingy, selfish companions when it came to the emotional aspect of a relationship.

“You want to be Mommy tonight? Or do you want me to be Daddy?” Dieter asks a little breathlessly.

Throwing all dignity out the window, you reply, “I want Daddy tonight.”

He almost sounds pained as his eyes clamp shut at your answer. “Fuck yeah, I can do that. I can be Daddy. You need your Daddy?”

You nod so loose and frantic it feels like your head isn’t attached to your neck. Lucien never stops but inches forward until he’s looking up at you from between the cradle of your thighs. “Tell Papi what you want,” he husks.

“I-I want you to make me come, Papi,” you whine with a roll of your hips.

He suctions onto your clit, and you’re gone. Dieter seems absolutely giddy to watch another man make you come, but something about it is comforting and endearing. You hate how familiar and heady this all feels, knowing full well that come tomorrow morning it’ll be another fading memory to lump in with all the others. You push away the painful acknowledgement before it ruins your orgasm entirely.

Dieter’s fingers slip inside you with no resistance, and you both moan in unison at the way you part for him. Lucien’s wet mouth and chin leave a sloppy trail across your neck where he lays even sloppier kisses. “Can I take this off?” he asks. You nod, and he unzips and unfastens your dress before tossing it onto a nearby table. “I fuckin knew you wouldn’t be wearing panties,” he says low and needy into your ear.

The rhythmic plunge of Dieter’s fingers has you hurtling towards another climax. “Been a while since somebody gave you what you needed, baby?”

You bite your lip and dip your head. You hate how easily they could both read you. It made you feel laid bare, and not in the fun sort of way.

“Let Papi and Daddy make you feel good, okay? Don’t think about anything except letting us make you feel good,” Lucien whispers against your temple from behind. You feel the hard curve of his clothed cock pressing against your ass. You push back against it and stifle a grin when he moans. The grin slips away the moment Lucien’s fingers slide down your body to rub your clit in time with Dieter’s fingering. You aren’t sure whose hand comes to cover your mouth while you come, but you’re glad somebody has enough sense right now to think about other partygoers overhearing.

“You were always so pretty when you fell apart,” Dieter reminisces with a goofy, tender smile. He slips his fingers from you and licks them clean. “Better than I remembered.”

The sound of Lucien’s belt and zipper draw your attention backward. “You gonna let me fuck you wide open, baby? Think you can take all of me? It’s been a long time.”

“I can take it,” you breathe, arching your back for him to enter you from behind.

“Good girl for Papi,” he praises. He jerks himself a few times with a slip of spit and lines his cock up to your entrance. “Always such a good girl for your Papi, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yes, Papi. I’ll be good,” you choke out.

He inches inside you with an agonizing, languid pace. Your breath catches when he finally bottoms out. He’s so much bigger than you remember, but you still want more. Dieter captures your mouth in a heated kiss just as Lucien starts thrusting, and your high pitched cries of pleasure are caught between his lips. “Daddy,” you whine as you latch onto his shoulders for support. Lucien’s pace picks up quickly, and for a few minutes the small room is only filled with panting and the squelching sounds of him splitting you open.

“You’re taking his cock so good, baby,” Dieter says against your teeth. “You like taking raw cock, don’t you? You always begged Daddy to fuck you raw.”

“Fuck! Yes, I like it when Papi and Daddy fuck me raw,” you cry. “I want Daddy to fuck me raw, too.”

“Yeah?” he goads with a smile. “You want Daddy’s cock after Papi fills you up?”

Lucien grunts and whimpers as he struggles to keep his pace with all the back and forth filth.

“N-No, Daddy. Want you and Papi to fuck me raw together,” you beg. “Please, Daddy. Please Papi?”

Dieter rushes to free his cock and wet it with spit as Lucien starts chanting yes yes yes. He stills for Dieter to push against his own length and fight for the tight space of your cunt. They work together to hoist you higher until Dieter is notched at your entrance and finally pushing inside. The stretch burns and makes you feel present in your own body in such an overwhelming way for the first time in a long time. The first few thrusts are experimental and slow, but it doesn’t matter. You’re already crying and coming and losing yourself in the intoxicating sting of both their cocks wedged inside the fist of your cunt.

“Christ,” Dieter hisses. “Fuck, this is gonna make me come too fast.”

“Tell us what you want,” Lucien urges, sounding close to the edge himself.

Your pussy throbs and clenches around them both as you try to make your brain and mouth cooperate. “I want you to come in me, Papi,” you whine. “Want you and Daddy to fuck me and make me come again. Make me come and then fuck me ‘til you come inside me.”

“Anything for my girl – Papi’s good girl,” he assents.

“Daddy’ll give you whatever you want, baby,” Dieter adds in a hoarse sounding wheeze. “Gonna milk my cock in this tight little pussy. Gonna give you whatever you want.”

Despite never really caring much for one another, Dieter and Lucien seem to sync up with the common goal of giving you another mind numbing orgasm. The feel of their thick cocks crowding your insides, sliding against each other so that each push and pull is a constant punch of a cockhead against your cervix. “Fuck I’m gonna come again,” you blurt out as your climax surges and swells without warning.

You’re sandwiched between two sweaty and breathy men who now seek their own release. Dieter comes first with a pitiful little stuttering whine. His mouth rounds out in a messy kiss as he pulses inside you. Lucien is just behind him with a gravelly moan as he fucks you nonstop. There’s so much of them spilling inside you and being pushed out, and the warmth of it makes you feel sated and soothed.

You’re a boneless bag of flesh when they both catch their breath and ease you off the spear of their cocks. You sigh at the feeling of them drooling out of your pussy. With their concentrated, streamlined focus, your dress is put back on and properly closed back up. Lucien turns you to face him for the first time since you tried to leave earlier. “Can I kiss you?”

You want to laugh at his request given the fact that he’s currently leaking out of you alongside the efforts of your other ex, but you know why he’s asking. He knows certain types of intimacy are something that mean more to you and have to be earned back in trust. “Yeah, Lucien. You can kiss me.”

His body nudges yours against Dieter’s, hands coming up to cradle your face as he tenderly presses his lips to yours. It’s slow and soft and damn near perfect, especially considering Dieter is dotting the curve of your neck with his own kisses. You aren’t sure how long you and Lucien are lost in each other, but it’s blowing your mind to see Dieter be patient for once. Maybe they both really meant it when they said they wanted to do better by you.

You pull back with red, puffy lips and heavy eyes. Lucien looks down at you with a soft smile. “I miss you.”

Your eyes flutter shut at the unspoken words laced within: I love you.

“I miss you every day,” Dieter agrees quietly.

“Look, I–I miss you both, too, but I can’t promise anything,” you warn them. “You both really hurt me before. But, tonight was… nice. It felt nice.” You wonder why it never occurred to you to do this before. The two best lovers you ever had, at the same time. It was a no brainer, really. Probably all that pesky broken heart stuff clouding your mind that kept you from realizing what a good time it could be.

“You don’t have to make promises anymore. That’s not your job anymore.”

“No, baby. We’re the one who need to make promises so we can show you that we can keep them,” Dieter adds.

It might be the dumbest mistake of your life, but you can’t fight it anymore. You can’t fight how good it feels to be with them both. Despite all the pain and heartache they’ve caused you over the years, they both always felt like home in a way. “I think I might be willing to let you try.”

Okay the Lucien Flores brainrot got to me. As far as exes go in the celebrity world, you could do a lot worse than Lucien and Dieter. Also, reader clearly has a type haha.

#lucien flores x reader #dieter bravo x reader #lucien flores x you #dieter bravo x you #lucien flores smut #dieter bravo smut #pedro pascal characters #the bubble #the uninvited

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obsessedwrhys · 26 days

Note

Can we have a part 2 Deadpool reader with the boys and maybe soldier boy too❓❓ if you want to of course

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Boys x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader's origin will be explained underneath, reader is still an asshole lol that comes with the character, mention about killing,death,gore, weed, drugs, Reader is gn!!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the seven, kiss kiss <3

Origin:

Quick summary, when you were born, your parents had agreed with Vought to have you be pumped full of Compound V so you could grow up and be a hero working under them, but the problem was when you were around 7, they changed their mind so Vought ended up sending several people to come to your house to settle the matter.

Your whole family was massacred in the living room during thanksgiving and when they tried to capture you. You were able to run away. Homeless and living on the street, you grew up in a life of crime, depending on nobody but yourself. Make sense? No? Good! Let's start now.

BUTCHER

To him, you were like a fly that won't leave him alone.

How he knew you was through Mallory, she thought you were okay and fit for the job since you hated Vought just as much.

Obviously he didn't like you once you were introduced to him and the two (M.M and Frenchie)

"No way am I lettin' a supe join us"

":("

Though after what happened to Mallory's grandchildren, the gang pretty much dispersed but wherever Butcher went, you followed. Since he was the only person you trusted... and also enjoy annoying the shit out of.

He'd head inside a club, relieved he hadn't seen you for the past few days so he decided to grab a drink by the bar to unwind.

"Whiskey" He said with his eyes looking around, paranoia shown on his face.

Once his drink was served, he would look back to find your eyes smiling at him, you were wearing a bartender disguise over your red suit.

"Did you miss me?"

"Oh christ..."

When you heard word that he was gathering back the team, you had to be there. What kind of friend would you be if you didn't?

Undoubtedly he had to admit, there were times where he was grateful to have you on the team but there were also other times he regretted it.

For example, that time when you guys needed to sneak into a lab to get something and the goal was to stay quiet but even that simple rule was hard for you to follow.

"Room's up ahead. (Y/N) I need you to—"

"Heads up!" You said as you threw a bomb at the metal door.

The explosion causing the alarm to turn on and it had the whole lab now on high alert. You shrug innocently when Butcher glared at you like he wanted to tear you apart.

Also, you enjoy constantly pissing him off. You can't die so you don't really care if he'll kill you for it.

"Maybe, if you didn' press the fuckin' button, we wouldn't have to come bac' to save yer ass from the guards"

"OOH GOD SAVE THE QUEEEN!! Please, cry me a fucking river. I got us the target didn't I?"

"He's dead"

"Well you weren't being specific when you said to capture him"

But it's fine, all his frustration will be solved once he uses you as bait. He knows you can't die but hey, it makes him feel slightly better watching you get shot at.

Despite your ups and downs, he appreciates you. When the team would turn against him on his insane journey for revenge, he always found you the only one still standing by his side. You're loyal and he likes that.

Compatibility? 75%

HUGHIE

You treat him like a child.

No seriously you baby talk him sometimes and it annoys him

"Awwwww is little hughie angry?"

"Stop..."

"Does baby want his milky?"

Since he's pretty much the only person who isn't that exposed to crime as the others, he's terrified 100% everytime when he's paired up to do any dirty work with you.

"Now listen buddy, you better start talking or I'm gonna shoot" You said, gun raised at the man who seemed to be begging you to spare his life in a language you didn't speak.

"I don't think he speaks English"

"Ah shit... ENGLISH!! SPEAK!! ABCDEFG??!"

"How is shouting in English gonna make him understand?"

"Eh, you're right"

BANG

"WHY'D YOU SHOOT HIM??!"

"Well did you expect me to pull out Duolingo and start taking classes?!"

You had to admit, it was a pain in the ass each time he starts giving you the cold shoulder whenever he gets mad at you for doing something terrible. It was like his way of guilt tripping you so you always try to apologise in your own ways.

"Hey..." You said, handing him ice cream.

"...I uh... I don’t like Strawberry ice cream... I thought I told you that"

"God you're so ungrateful!!"

Since he was such a scaredy cat, you try to tone down your craziness a bit. For the sake of him not going into cardiac arrest.

"(Y/N) STOP!! She has nothing to do with this!! She was tricked" Hughie grabbed you by the arm to pull your gun away from the innocent woman.

You turn your head to look at him, then at the woman, then at him again, then the woman, then him again.

"Ugh finnnne... you're boring..."

However, he does appreciate you trying to be a better person. Even you had to admit, after you met him and became friends. You noticed yourself being less brutal than you used to be. The thought keeps you awake at night and it scares the shit out of you.

But oh well, how could you ever say no to those scared little puppy eyes?

Compatibility? 55%

FRENCHIE

He's like your hype man which is concerning.

Not because you're not afraid to get the job done but also because you always have his back.

"Well... I need some gunpowder but I've run out of them" Frenchie said, telling Butcher that the plan was most likely not gonna happen.

"Hold on" You said with the typical comical ☝🏻 gesture before heading into a different room. Everyone exchanging confused glances at what you could possibly be doing.

After a few minutes you'd return with a bag of gunpowder while struggling to zip up your pants with the other hand.

"Don't tell me how I got it. It almost tore me apart" You said, rubbing your ass.

On stressful nights, you guys would enjoy smoking weed together by the sofa and share stories of your traumatic childhood. It's how you guys bond and it's oddly wholesome.

Also when he needs a shoulder to cry on, you were always there for him. You two shared a type of relationship that even Romeo and Juliet couldn't compete with. To be fair they're dead so they actually can't fight.

"Hey reader!! If you're gonna keep reading then you might as well give the post a like or a repost. C'mon, pleassssseeee pleasepleaseplease"

"Ma cerise, who are you talking to?"

Although he doesn't mind your behaviour sometimes but he won't tolerate it if you ever cross the line on something. He's like the owner who sprays water at his pet cat when they don't listen.

"What are you mad at me for?!?!"

"You damn near tried to get us killed!!"

"Hey! You're the one who said it would be a suicide mission so I made sure it was a suicide mission!!"

"WHAT?"

There's no way he can deny how curious he is about where you get your guns and things. He once went in your room to find boxes of dynamite and a RPG just placed against the wall like furniture.

Like do you have a supplier or are you your own supplier?

Compatibility? 99.9%

M.M

Everybody deserves second chances.

He always tells him that to calm himself down everytime you managed to fuck up a thoroughly planned mission.

"What did I say about pressing buttons (Y/N)?"

"Honestly I stopped paying attention after you said 'Listen here'."

M.M has to be the only person you fear to the fact you try very hard to avoid him, this is because his long ass lectures are such a pain to deal with.

"How many times do I have to remind you? You can't just go around doing shit like that. You gotta consider the amount of danger you'll put everyone in..."

"(Blah blah blah... he's still going... uggggh... make it stop...!)"

Unable to handle the lecture any longer, you ended up shooting yourself in the head.

"(Y/N)!" His tone more disappointed than concern since this wasn't the first time you did this to escape his talks.

You know that russian dollhouse he tries to build in season 2? Well you'd constantly be found standing or sitting near him when he's trying to finish the set.

Since you're aware of his OCD, you like to edge him on by sometimes rearranging the parts or stealing some of it so he ends up searching high and low for the missing parts.

You had to admit it was entertaining to watch him accuse other people for touching his stuff when it was you behind all the schemes.

I'd like to think that after every mission when you happen to die, he'd be the one in charge of collecting your remains so you'd grow back.

That's why it comes naturally that his job is to make sure you don't do anything extreme.

"Where are my bombs??!?!" You'd shout, storming around the place looking for them.

"I sold them. Thought it'd do us more good knowing you won’t accidentally blow us up"

"WHAT?! GOD! It's like the writers of the show couldn't afford another explosion for this season so they had to use this DUMB of an excuse!!"

Though he does see some good in you through the messed up parts, he once saw you give his daughter a cute teddy bear when they've been burned by Vought.

She still has the bear and M.M likes to think that maybe you have a soft spot for kids since you never had a proper childhood. That's why he chooses to understand you rather than just being ignorant about your behaviour.

Compatibility? 80%

KIMIKO

She finds you a little odd but she doesn't mind once she realises how everyone is used to you being like that.

Whenever you're bored, you'd come to see what she was up to. Just imagine you sitting on the sofa like a curious kid as you watch her write alphabets on the book.

She also tries to communicate with you since she thought maybe your fucked up mind would understand her better in a way. Like how in season 2 she was repeatedly writing 'boy' to Frenchie but he didn't understand, so she came to you.

"Woow... watching you try to talk to me is like watching a baby take it's first breath..."

"😐"

"It's beautiful..."

Turns out her theory was wrong, you had a harder time understanding her compared to the rest.

Since you're the only two people in the group with powers, most of the time you two are sent on dangerous missions together. It's a nightmare for her because everybody knows communication is key but one is mute and the other doesn't listen.

"(Be quiet! There's people in the other room!)" She'd sign to you but you were busy humming a song while throwing around the enemies equipment.

"Oooh, what's this?" You held up a Homelander figurine which made you laugh as you show it to her.

"Hey look! 'I'm Homelander, I'm God's favourite. I play golf with Jesus every Sunday."

"(Can you please take this seriously?)"

"You're right, you gotta stop messing around Kimiko! We have a target to kill here" You said and you threw the figurine away which apparently clashes into a stack of boxes that came crashing down. The sound making everyone inside the building grab their weapons and began cornering you two in the room.

"😡"

"Okay that wasn't me that was gravity"

For the boys, you were plan A and she was plan B. That's because you always end up rushing into a fight first which most of the time resulted in you getting dismembered, which she later comes in to save you.

For example when Stormfront had stopped you guys, your bright ass thought it was a good idea to charge at her even though everyone was signalling you to stop. Next thing you know you were just a head being carried by M.M, you ended up watching as Kimiko fought Stormfront with the help of Starlight and Queen Maeve.

"That's my girl!! Now can anyone lend me a hand? I think I lost mine"

Compatibility? 97%

Bonus +

SOLDIER BOY

You know the scene where he walks out of his containment with the gas surrounding him? You swore when you watched him step out butt naked, you could hear angels singing and trumpets playing inside your head.

Shockingly enough, he was the only person who appreciated your humour. Could be a generation thing. He's just relieved not everyone has gone soft over the years.

In a way, you feel like you've become his babysitter. Everytime Butcher and Hughie left to do some business, you were in charge of making sure he doesn't blow up anyone. You kept him entertained so he didn't mind. That's why on the hunt for his former team members, he immediately chose you to be by his side.

"I'll take red with me"

"Red as in the american flag or the russians?" You asked which had him do the typical boomer laugh.

"I like you, you're funny" He said with a strong pat on your shoulder.

Butcher doesn't mind you with him cause he trusts that you can keep him under control. Hughie on the other hand isn't sure if you can even keep yourself under control.

"Shhh... wait... do you hear that?"

"Ah shit, did I accidentally said my dirty thoughts out loud? It's just you look breedable in that suit"

Another thing he likes about you is that you're okay with killing pretty much anyone, just try not to overstep cause that could potentially piss him off.

"I told you he's mine" He said as he had you pinned against one of the trees, apparently you had shot Mindstorm in the head when he literally made it clear to you minutes ago that was his kill.

"Quite possessive aren't you? I can recommended a therapist I know. Her names Martha—"

"You shut your mouth before I shove my shield up your ass"

"Gasp don't you DARE threaten me with a good time!!"

At the end of Season 3, you would obviously side with Butcher when everyone started to turn against Soldier Boy. He had to admit he was kinda hurt though, he expected you to be on his side.

"So what? You're crawling back to him now? After what we've been through?"

"Sorry big daddy, but Butcher has been my day one and I also happen to love him veryvery much"

Cue Butcher rolling his eyes out of disgust.

Compatibility? 100% but after the betrayal? 0% 😔

177 notes · View notes

loganlermanstanaccount · 8 months

Text

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls.

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards.

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough.

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends.

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help?

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there.

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home.

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else.

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost.

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat.

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten.

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early.

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest.

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept.

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears.

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly.

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–"

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in.

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there.

"…I brought food, by the way."

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up.

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–"

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs.

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason.

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?"

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?"

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked.

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers.

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin.

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump.

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?"

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow.

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot .

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle.

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by.

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him.

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that.

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him.

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice.

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you.

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree.

You'll be okay. You have to be.

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead.

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod.

"With Dr. Karev?"

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then."

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

"I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–"

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? "

"Why not?" He shrugs.

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front.

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?"

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?"

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–"

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny?

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous.

"Eyes on the road, asshole."

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face.

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city.

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life.

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar.

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm.

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly.

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–"

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance.

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist.

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp.

" Where's my –"

" Your stuff's in the –"

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room.

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets.

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind.

Sick, sick, sick .

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends.

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence.

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door.

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it.

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car.

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot.

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully.

You want to scream.

" So? "

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again.

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you.

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact.

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps.

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water.

You'll be okay.

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean.

Deep breath.

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box.

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car.

"Hey, hey, easy… "

"I'm good, Mig – "

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over.

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug.

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun.

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window.

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb.

You purse your lips, thinking it over.

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod.

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless.

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down.

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it.

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it.

Miguel doesn't answer.

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once.

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better.

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick.

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment.

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty.

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope.

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long.

"You're fucking him."

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie.

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn.

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak.

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes.

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ."

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's."

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–"

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained.

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily.

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?"

You nod.

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs.

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before.

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail."

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back.

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks.

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box.

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind.

~~~

He doesn't know what to say.

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands.

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly.

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy.

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off.

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it.

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached)

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

…

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :))

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could.

Fuck . He's overthinking it.

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes.

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway.

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning.

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable.

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet.

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out.

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you.

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you.

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears.

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka

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#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼#spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara angst #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

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tastesousweet · 2 months

Text

⭒ the girl with the tattoo (viii) - pt 1 pt 2 p3 p4 p5 p6 p7

matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader

summary : the triplets' birthday party is a perfect place for flirting, tension, and... well, matt and y/n's forte.

warnings : use of alcohol, weed and smut ( just a lil flithy icl ), beware that the word count on this ho is crazy - meaning i did not proofread!

mickey speaks : this took a MINUTE to get out im sawrryyyy. i tried to fit everything into one part and ended up rewriting almost the entire part last minute (which is most of the reason why this is very delayed), sooo hope you love??? bc i dont lmfao also the triplets r a couple yrs older in this (turning 23)

THIS IS PART EIGHT GO READ THE OTHERS FIRST!!!

"JESUS, matt. can you take this seriously, please?" chris scoffs, taking the dry-erase marker cap from its awkward spot between his teeth.

matt's not one to continue adding his opinion knowing it won't be listened to. he prefers to leave the impossible-to-get-a-word-in debating to nick and chris who have no problem yelling over each other to the point that they don't even know what the issue ever was.

so he's found comfort in sitting at the dining room table with his eyes firmly closed and arms used as a pillow for his head, leaving nothing but a dollop of his hair to be shown, or as he told chris "attempting to find peace for myself while living with you chaotic fucks."

"what could you possibly want from me?" matt asks without moving from his face down position, voice muffled and strained.

"i want you to fight for your opinion! don't you care about what we do for our birthday?!" chris stresses while nick rolls his eyes and falls into a bored stance, leaning against the dark marble counter.

matt finally raises his head causing his face to scrunch up and eyes to squint due to the sudden and bright change in lighting, "no? i actually don't give a shit, chris."

chris first feels the instigator within him sighing in defeat only for his pride to take center. he figures if nick has practically given up and matt cares so little, that gives him all of the creative action for birthday plans. exactly what he wanted.

his lips form a tight line to hide his satisfaction as he shakes his head slowly, unevenly wiping his hand across the magnetic white board (that he used to write the many ideas thrown around in his head, mistakenly thinking a visual would narrow things down for him and nick). “‘kay. then i’m getting nate to help plan us a house party and it'll be fucking perfect. because i care.”

౨ৎ

you've never been so grateful of your front door's placement this close to the kitchen. but carrying three cake boxes and a tote bag the size of your torso, desperately needing to put them down after traveling up three flights of stairs, will surely be the task that brings that gratitude out of you.

though when you arrive, your scrunched eyebrows and pouted lips are an apparent contrast to the enthusiastic vibe of your kitchen- with andrea moving her hips to the lines of spanish dancing in the air, waiting patiently for the sizzling indication of her fried egg's tenderness, and the use of pink lemonade-colored towels or handles on utensils (that made you and andrea way too happy during one of your first target runs as roommates) scattered around.

drea finally notices you when your metal keychain clanks against the countertop, "y/n!" her excitement slightly dulls with her widened eyes when she gets a better view of your face, turning the stove off and coming closer to hug you. "hi, good morning-ish. are you feeling okay? ...or, like, sad?" you silently accept her gesture and tuck your head in her neck while she caresses your hair with a sigh, "or both at the same time...?"

your response is a breathy sigh and pause before the words tumble out, "m'fine, i think. just overestimated myself a little with staying up so late." you remove your head from her neck and move backwards to lean against the countertop, fanning your hands to create a much needed breeze, "and i'm so hot, it's making me feel gross."

andrea peers into the clear plastic cutout on top of one of the boxes, "at least the cakes look nice."

a week ago you set your mind on gifting the triplets their own cakes for their birthday (thinking that sharing a day was already enough, no way would you want them to have to share and agree on only one cake). you easily gathered their cake preferences by sneaking it into any random conversations you'd have with each of them.

and after a week of planning and preparing, was it so bad if you wanted a fun night in with your roomie? andrea warned you several times to go to bed considering you'd be up at 5:30 the next morning, but you insisted that you'd be fine and asked her to help you clear the rest of the box-wine in the fridge.

you could tell matt was a little irritated that you chose rewatching episodes of a sitcom and "cheap ass box-wine" over sex with him (of course throwing the fact that his birthday would be arriving in only a few hours right in your face) but you pioneered and assured him that you'll make time for him the next day, while also sweetly reminding him that you too have a life outside of this exchange.

at midnight you sent the triplets a group message to congratulate. and a few minutes later you left andrea on the couch for your room, sending matt a birthday text of his own (because you did feel the tiniest bit guilty for rejecting him earlier) paired with a picture with your shirt lifted, hem tucked behind your teeth, and your boobs sat in a sheer bra with decorative white trimming and a bow in the center.

he didn't respond for almost an hour and you tried to not feel embarrassed or overthink his reaction at all.

you couldn't stand the giddiness that came over you (you'd blame it on being the slightest bit tipsy) when you finally got into bed to find his response gentle, in his own matt-kind-of-way, with your image loved and a grayed bubble text reading: "Very pretty, thank you"

"thanks, drea. they were a bitch to make." water drowns out your voice as you start to wash your hands in the deep sink. you run your soapy fingers over a small cut you got when dealing with an irritating cardboard box earlier, finding the stinging of the hot water a wonderful kind of bitter that further plays into your foul mood.

"mmm... i'm sure. but it's not like you can even tell. they almost look store-bought," she attempts to flatter you, turning her head from the packaged desserts to offer a smile.

when you're sweet you're the most ripe, juicy peach, eveyone knows this. but god, when you're feeling down you really are the most cranky, green apple that could force a pucker onto even the most undaunted. your face is dragged of any aloofness or sunshine with your dry response as she turns to resume her breakfast, "uh huh. you don't have to coddle me. i'll get over myself soon, i promise." you dry your hands.

andrea would argue she's not coddling only looking out for your well being- because she wants to and knows if she were neglecting her needs you'd be right on her ass as well, "okay...and did you eat?"

"just like, a bagel before i left," you open the fridge and let the door hang open as you walk across the kitchen to grab the cake boxes and set them inside. you make sure to mind your feet, noticing figaro nosily has his furry face lifted to sniff into the side door.

she strings some sarcasm into her sentiment, "oh yum." she pauses, letting the sizzle of the egg and (now faint) music linger in the air before she speaks again, "how about you go take a shower or do something that'll make you feel a little better?"

"you know i would but being around my favorite roommate is already making me feel sooo much better!" you deliver the dry joke with a smile and pick up figaro when you shut the fridge door with an accidental slam.

she turns to look at you over her shoulder as she grabs two glass plates for the both of you, scolding you like a mother (as she tended to transform into at times like this due to her essentially parenting her younger siblings) "y/n, you're only fighting yourself, go ahead now."

౨ৎ

matt can hear chris' voice only grow louder and pound against the hallway walls but assumes he is heading anywhere but the space that matt's in, deciding to continue brushing his teeth instead.

he'd only be so lucky on his birthday.

"but yeah-" chris interrupts himself to knock and barely wait for an answer before he walks into matt's sleek bathroom. "matt's here!" his phone is carelessly thrown in front of matt's face (with a frothing mouth and irritated eyes) before he has truly registered anything that has happened.

he truly wants to roll his eyes infinitely but when he sees his mother is the one on the phone, his grumpy front is quickly wilted and a glimmer kisses his spirit in a way only she could produce.

it's clear she hadn't expected matt to be in the middle of something as personal as brushing his teeth when she first sees him, "oh, hi matt!" she understands him well enough to know he absolutely hates this (this being chris unnecessarily close to him as he hunches over to keep matt's face in the camera) so she attempts to amuse him, "wow, you're really showing your age now, aren't you? just looking so put together and nice." she laughs to herself as matt tries to not smile whilst brushing, holding his index finger up to indicate that he would address her with words in only a moment.

"chris, honey, why'd you bring me to your brother when he's busy, anyway?! now we're just watchin' him brush his teeth and the angles you're givin' me are so awkward," she emphasizes her sentence as it goes on.

chris turns the phone back to himself, "because you told me to show him?!"

"no, i said 'where's matt?'" she corrects him in jest.

"okay, so am i incorrect in saying that there was an implication-?"

matt dries his face with a towel and grabs the phone scolding chris, "hey we get it, smartass-" he turns to look at her again with a smile, "sorry mom."

"mhm," she dismisses, "when's this party of yours starting?"

"soon i think," matt moves around chris to exit the bathroom, leaving chris (literally) in the dark.

"okay and how's your birthday been so far?" he smiles knowing how excited she's always been about these things.

"good, i don't feel any different. just doin' the same stuff, except today there's way more people sending me texts and pretending the care about me." matt places the phone against a bowl full of chips in the kitchen, waving when he notices chris followed him.

"get down here nick, mom's on the phone!" chris yells, coming into frame and leaning on the counter. "jeez, matt's masochism can't give any of us a break even on days literally made for our happiness. you hearin' this kid ma?"

matt shakes his head, pointing to chris with his handful of chips, "spell masochism."

chris' eyes pinch and before their mother or chris himself reply, nick is running over to them with a smile and yell of "im heree!!"

she's has the much-expected motherly urge to cry seeing her three sons (whom she rarely sees anymore) all in the same frame, "aw, hi nicky! just look at you boys...so sweet."

it only takes another second before she's crumbling in tears. their smiles drop as chris grabs his phone. they all begin spilling out the most comforting phrases they know to cheer her up.

౨ৎ

"okay people! cake is coming through! everyone move. move, move...precious cargo right here and your ass is in the way!" asha yells and shines her phone's flashlight into the faces in the crowded living room as she ushers the girls to the kitchen.

she earns a few glares that she happily dishes back and a few mumbles of "bitch" once she's walked past that has remi "accidentally" stepping on a certain people's shoes while following asha's lead.

the modern open kitchen hosts plenty of drinks and snacks as well as a worried nathan, who's shirt is barely on his torso from the amount of buttons he's undone since stepping foot in the wild space. "oh thank god the cake's are here," he sighs with a throw of his head before frantically moving a platter of chips and guac (that someone was actively eating from) and a few six packs from the island to the opposite counter, encouraging the girls to place them down with an awkward nod of his head and harsh blink of his eyes.

asha holds back a laugh at nate's odd vibe as she moves next to him, nudging his shoulder, "what's wrong with you?"

"nothing," his head whips to look at her, "well, i mean, think 'm just nervous." he starts slow but it seems he needed someone to finally prompt him to share such a frustrated rant, "like- chris comes to me and asks me to throw him the best party. yet he doesn't give me shit to work with besides his home to host it in-" he breathes, "and 'm feelin' all the pressure of planning a party right now but, you know, i just need things to go smooth and then i'll be fine..." he runs a hand through his hair, "you ladies don't worry about me." he fakes a smile and gives a small wave of his wrist to show just how "fine" he is.

coinciding with nate's rant, you've began to pour a hefty amount of vodka and lemon juice (you absolutely scoured the fridge for) into a large glass. you hand it off to andrea with a pleading "mix" as you lick the remaining lemon juice from your thumb and open cabinets to search for shot glasses.

you line up a multitude of shot glasses with various cities labeled on them as andrea pours the mixture in carefully. you immediately bring one up to nathan, "lemon drop?"

"yes, please. no way your a fucking bartender and baker?" nate's eyes widen as he receives the small glass.

"no, definitely not. just live with a girl whois always making her own drinks at home," you smile and grab your own glass as the rest of the girls follow suit.

"i need this right now," remi starts, "let's cheers to drea's DIY shit and nathan making it through the rest of the night!" she woops and the group all let out various chuckles.

"a-fuckin'-men!" nate leans to clink the small glasses softly before taking the shot quickly. he barely recovers from the shot before he's pouring more vodka into his glass and taking a second.

you get the best view of chris turning the corner and seeing you all (his reaction is more specifically for andrea) have arrived. his jaw hangs dramatically as he walks over but quickly turns to a big smile when the group all start to sing happy birthday to him. "stop it! stop it!" he jokes and begins to give out hugs and thank each of you for coming. he stops and squeezes you extra tight, bringing up the cakes sat nearby, "i know that bakery anywhere. thank you for my cake."

"of course, i had to," you smile.

"no seriously, you're fuckin' awesome, girl." you can tell he's already a little buzzed from the look in his eyes but you also know he's almost more truthful than ever when drunk.

you notice that when he leaves you to finally greet your roommate, it's very clear he's purposely left andrea last to ensure there would be no rush on his interaction.

the rest of the group leave them to their own world for a moment; as the two hug chris gives her a soft kiss on her forehead, whispering "hi, mi cariña (my darling)" an inside joke between the two of them as chris' struggle with speaking spanish never fails to make andrea laugh.

౨ৎ

"okay, okay, i'll do it," matt finally gives in, lifting himself off of the black couch with people piled on top of it. he hands his drink over to elijah smoothly and begins to playfully rub his hands together.

"'hold my beer' headass," elijah jokes placing the cup off on a side table next to him. matt stops any movement, turning his torso to look back at the boy and start to laugh while holding both middle fingers up.

"matt," erin taps him with the side of her arm twice to get his attention again, handing him the second wii remote in her hands. the screen appears extra bright in contrast to the dimness of the room which causes matt to wonder how the fuck anyone has managed to play just dance in this space without getting a sudden head rush or worse.

"okay, let's do timber because it's classic," she suggests.

"let's not," matt opposes, his hand covering his mouth to hide a grin before running his cursor over the other choices.

erin looks over to him with a blank expression, "i mean i don't care that much you can-"

"'m joking, we'll do timber," matt looks from her to the colorful screen to find the song once more.

when he notices she's stiil looking over at him with an unreadable expression, matt smiles big attempting to not laugh, causing his already-slim eyes to pinch a little extra as he turns to her, "hey e, the screen's right up there, you won't be getting much direction from starin' at me-" he breaks into obnoxious laughter mid-way through his sentence which earns him a small smack on the arm.

erin laughs a little now, "would you stop it? just click 'a' on your fucking remote."

he does as she says and looks to her as the screen loads, "thereee we go, you can cool down now, sweetheart."

as the two dance both matt and his friends make one-off comments and jokes about the many times matt almost fell (and would make sure to blame it on the rug or his shoes). they seem to be having such a great time that you don't know if you only being there for the final few lines of the song, watching erin ride matt's back as they spin in circles laughing, is fortunate or unfortunate.

the claps and whistles are wild when the two finish with a bow, the crowd around them only getting louder when matt teases that he's so hot he might have to take off his shirt, lifting it slightly then putting it back down and calling them pervs. you only shake your head and bite back a smile, hating how fucking charming he is when he allows himself to be completely lost in a good time.

matt would say you snuck onto the sectional couch- because a minute ago you weren't there and now here you are talking elijah's ear off and taking repeated hits of his blunt.

but you wouldn't say you snuck into his area, rather walked in a manner in which you'd be out of his and erin's way- of course not taking away from the birthday boy and his...good friend. so you're a bit surprised he slumps on the couch next to you and not in his original spot on the opposite side of eli, "sunnnyy," he huffs and leans his head back against the couch, "when'd you get here, huh?"

you turn to look at him and he smiles at you then looks up to the ceiling, "think an hour ago? maybe?" you hand him the blunt.

"cool, cool, cool..." matt repeats cutting himself off by placing it in his mouth. he's dressed so stylish and attractive you can't help but scan over him with your eyes; his jersey-style shirt showing off his armfuls of tattoos, baggy jeans, car keys hanging on a cheetah print clip attached to his belt loop, shoes that look straight out of the box, a matching hat that you honestly wish he'd take off, and his signature silver jewelry brightening his attributes in the otherwise dark room.

he makes the slightest "tsss" sound when breathing in the drug before speaking with smoke plummeting from his mouth, "you should dance next," he brings it back to his mouth for a final hit.

"mmm maybe...if lucas is up for it," you play with the metal can of a wine cooler that you hold on your bare knee as matt leans over you to hand an occupied eli his blunt back, his laugh trails smoke out of his mouth and into your face as he slouches back next to you.

"forgot you're fuckin, hilarious! holy shit." his hand makes its way up his own shirt to rest on his stomach as he giggles.

a smile grows on your face, "no seriously is he here?" you lift yourself up a little and pretend to look for the familiar face.

"stop that." matt chuckles and tugs your wrist gently. you almost get nervous this time when you look him in the eyes. when he's drunk, matt is so carefree and giggly in a way you rarely get to see. and now you’re starting to notice how the poor lighting makes his features appear arched and his face look carved into, yet the jagged becomes soft and fuzzy whenever the gumdrop-colored lights of the wii game hit his face with the beat of the song. he notices your staring and lets go of your wrist, "what's up?"

"nothing."

"excuse me everyone! i would like to give a speech! hello, i am giving a speechhh! everyone shut up, please!" nick projects his voice into the microphone- he stole from the karaoke machine -while standing on a dining room chair.

as people start to calm down nick speaks, "right, so, it's my fuckin' birthday!” he raises his arms and dances his fingers before pointing out matt, “and it's matt's fuckin' birthday, right over there! let's get some flashlights pointing over to my brother please!" matt’s face flushes as he covers his eyes from the sudden bright lights. you squint your own eyes from next to him and move closer to eli to avoid the flashes.

"and it's chris' fuckin' birthday..." nick looks around, "i couldn't tell you where exactly he is, just know that he is also here tonight!” the crowd roars, “anyway... i'm so- so happy to have you all with us tonight to celebrate. we turn twenty fucking three and... that feels so old saying it out loud. holy shit." nick cringes obnoxiously, slurring his next few words, "but i love my two best friends in the whole world: chris and matt, i wouldn’t wish to share a birthday with anyone else… and i love all of you thank you again. oh! and shout out nathan for holding this shit down! if you see nathan give him something... i don't know- money? a kiss? a drink? fuck if i know." as nick speaks cameron nudges him with a shot glass which he finally acknowledges, "and apparently this is a toast now so, you know, here's to getting older and having the most fun forever!" he raises the glass in the air and drinks it without further thought, inviting everyone to do the same while cheering and applauding him in excitement.

you raise your wine cooler and let out many cheers along with the rest, but of course matt ridicules you a little in jest, "really? you sit here and 'woo' while i'm going blind?!" he’s still wiping at his eyes, dealing with the aftermath of bright lights shining in his eyes; his vision tainted with faint blue and red splotches only for a second. you lean closer to him, attempting to see his eyes better while uncontrollably laughing.

"are you crying?!"

matt thinks you look really pretty even when you're quite literally pointing and laughing in his face. you move his hands away from his face and he widens his eyes dramatically, "look, no 'm not!” you shake your head in response, “does really it look like it?"

you notice his bottom eyelashes are slightly clumped and you move your hand closer, placing your thumb under his eye, "baby, that's damp!" you giggle and pull his hand close, using your thumb to draw a wet line across his tattooed wrist to prove your point.

he drags out his first word, "alrighttt. whatever! you got me, sweet girl. ‘cause god forbid i have the ability to cry?!” pulling away from you with a smile as he dries his eyes by rubbing them gently.

matt excuses himself with a quick "gonna go grab another drink or somethin'" before he does something irrational like kiss you in front of all these fucking people.

౨ৎ

you carefully open each of the packaged cakes, each revealing the boys' full names written in cursive with the uniquely styled and colored buttercream frosting you made that very morning. you used the same shades to make the puffed frosting border of the cakes, for an easy, soft garnish. remi follows behind you, lighting candles on the cakes as you go.

there's a chaos that comes with trying to gather this many (drunk) people in one area and capture their attention long enough to sing then cut cakes. it doesn’t help that the hosts are at their most unserious themselves; matt and nick both snickering and making jokes while holding onto each other while chris talks to one of his friends off to the side with his obnoxiously loud voice without regard for anyone around him.

“okay, people we’re singing!” nathan attempts to yell over the loudness of the crowded room. you and remi are then in the position of getting the attention of the birthday boys who can’t focus on the task at hand, leaving you both to snap your fingers and call them as if you were attempting to take photos of a stubborn baby.

you truly wish it didn’t irk you so terribly but you can’t help your annoyance when matt looks over to erin after she shouts from next to you, “matt, can you pay attention? your cake’s ready,” and he listens, moving nick off of him with a shoulder nudge and laugh as he approaches the row of cakes.

you recover quickly with a smile once both matt and nick’s eyes widen and mouths hang open in awe of your hard work, “s’perfect,” matt whispers to himself, now adjusting his hat to fit backwards.

“oh my god, the wax got in my cake! what the fuck,” nick whines and that cues drea to tug chris’ arm softly and urge him with a hushed, “chris ven aquí (come here)!”

and he's is down so terribly that he moves to where she wants him immediately.

chris is a known sap, especially when wasted, so he’s stood fighting the urge to cry when taking in the scene in front of him: his brothers and friends gathered together to celebrate their twenty three years of life together.

he tucks his lip into his mouth and looks down at the burning flame, slowly smiling when everyone around them begin to sing a rendition of happy birthday with all the charmingly bad high notes and run on “you”s but not forgetting to crunch all three names into a single line.

midway through the song, chris leans to hug matt in comfort while sneaking a reach into matt’s back pocket to grab the slim joint he just knew would be there. he grins to himself, “sweet! free j and free light,” placing it into his mouth as he leans over his cake to spark the joint hanging in his mouth with as much precision as possible. andrea shakes her head in confusion while filming on her phone beside to you.

“dude,” matt lets out a breathy laugh while waving his hand to clear the atmosphere of the potent smoke. sudden applause recognizing the end of the song and leading the three to blow out their candles.

matt gave up on birthday wishes a while into his teen years and nothing changes this year; he blows his candles out and claps along with the crowd before accepting his joint from chris for a few puffs of celebration.

you watch in amusement as nathan distracts the boys with shots to get them away from the cakes as andrea begins to cut. except no shot could beat the view of andrea bent over the counter like she is now, so chris is practically on top of drea with annoying whines of “i wanna see,” when she asks him to be careful and wait a second.

you, however, are actively searching for the spiked punch that elijah recommended when you run into erin and matt talking. they both look to you with different expressions as you squeeze yourself by them to get to the punch bowl.

you remind yourself that erin is your friend, not your enemy. nor your competition. meaning you also have to remind yourself that matt is some guy you fuck around with, not your boyfriend.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in while grabbing a plastic cup and using a small ladle to pour the peach colored liquid for yourself. instead of flat-out staring at the two, you take turns looking from them to your cup. you watch as they pose for a picture; erin taking his hat to place on her own head and matt smiling next to her. and another with her kissing his cheek as he laughs.

it’s upsetting- no, humiliating to you. and how especially humiliating that your first thought is whether he’ll dismiss you for erin when you ask him to fuck you later tonight? you blame the weed for getting you so worked up over minutiae interactions.

you’re brought out of your daze in the most humbling of ways: a sudden splash hits your bare foot and covers your black kitten heels in the sticky juice. “fuck,” you groan and place the ladle back into the punch bowl, taking a large sip of your overflowing drink as you look down at the puddle of pink you’re standing in.

you find a towel laying nearby and lower yourself to fumble and wipe your shoe.

“damn y/n, you like my punch that much?” a voice asks from next to you.

you look up and see lucas smiling down at you, “you made it?” you ask genuinely as he helps you rise to standing again.

“no,” he smiles and you roll your eyes, “but im wondering how you managed to spill any with this itty bitty fucking ladle?” he jokes, lifting the ladle and watching it pour the small bit of juice it managed to gather back into the bowl.

“i just wasn’t paying attention,” you laugh and sip your drink again.

“mhm…why’s that?” he squints his eyes down at you.

you tap two of your french tip fingernails against your skull, “so much is happening up here.”

“like what?”

“i don’t knowww,” you smirk and look away to take another sip of your drink.

“well, i know you look sexy as fuck in this dress right now. look at you,” he wets his lips and offers his hand to you with a grin, showing off a few of his shining tooth gems.

you try to maintain your composure and not smile too big but it’s a challenge when he playfully gets you to spin slowly for him and show off the tiny strapless dress you have on as he “oouu”s and whistles to hype you up.

“mm, you like that?” you look up at him, blinking slowly.

he nods and chuckles, “you know damn well-” looking off to the side then gaining your eye contact once more as he wipes over his mouth with his hand, glancing over your body, “‘course i do.”

"good. we should dance then," you guide him to the living room with his hand still in yours.

౨ৎ

you hate to be the bitch on her phone at a party but you can’t stop staring at it. you tap past the story then go back to look again. you even rewatch it in the perspective of someone who hadn’t been there to see the photo taken to see how it would be perceived. hurting your own feelings knowing they could very well assume matt to be erin’s boyfriend with how close they’re standing and her lips against his face.

it’s very dizzying and ruining your high quite a bit, especially paired with andrea who continues to look to you to celebrate after every ping pong ball she throws whether she makes it or not.

you go to rewatch the story once more, only this time a text from matt slides down on your screen to interrupt your sulking:

MATT

Hey come here

Y/N

where???

MATT

Outside youll see me

you let andrea know you’re going outside for air before walking over to a glass sliding door to let yourself out.

you see matt holding a stick while looking down at his phone, fire pit radiating next to him, a mass of people surrounding it.

your arms wrap and hold onto your shoulders as you walk closer, feeling the breeze rack through your body despite the internal heat from the many drinks you've had over the course of the night.

as you approach, asha gets up from her spot on nick's lap to give you a hug, "y/n! hiii." she pulls away and her hands remain on your shoulders, "your cake was so delicious, i tried a bite of each."

"oh good, 'm glad." you smile.

she feels your hands, "are you cold, babe? come sit." she guides you over to the group of people sat around the fire. "you can take my spot, i'll stand," she insists and nick agrees smiling kindly.

you interrupt matt's texting to figure out why he wanted you here, cupping your hands to shout, "matt!" across the lawn from your spot atop nick.

he looks over and quips his head while moving closer, "hey, was just wonderin' if you'd try my s'more? nick thinks he makes them best." he smiles but you can't help but feel that there's a catch to this.

"always gotta prove someone wrong. yeah, i'll do it." you agree as he moves to grab the snack he'd apparently already prepared.

nick mutters, "don't let him bully you into liking his, and don't forget who's acting as your chair currently!" from behind you as you giggle into the bite that matt gives you, holding the smore in his hand up to your mouth.

you chew slowly and matt watches, chatter and crinkles of the fire filling the heated space. you finally nod your head and matt smirks, "so good, right?" matt asks and brings his hand to hold your face and wipe around the corner of your mouth, looking to his right with a smile then back to you.

you feel awkwardly and unnaturally sensual, moving his hand away from your face and searching for what he's looked over to, catching the eye of lucas, standing with a group of guys lighting up near a fence. so that is the fucking catch.

you lick your lips of any remaining marshmallow and shake your head, annoyed, "i don't know, it tastes normal and graham cracker is fucking stale." you look up at him and his face is adorned with confusion on your change of heart.

you feel too fucking weird about this. you wish you couldn't believe that he'd use your feelings towards him for some weird shit like claiming you from lucas, but it's not surprising in the slightest; matt wants his cake yet he'll always want to eat it too.

"yeah, nick wins." you pat the side of nick's thigh to grab his attention and tell him the news, making him cheer and bring you into his chest for a small hug.

matt's lips form the smallest pucker as he watches you get up and walk towards the house without further conversation.

"bye, y/n!" asha yells.

౨ৎ

matt lays flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling to try and organize his many thoughts when his door creaks slightly, allowing a roar of party chatter into his space before it shuts again.

he lifts only his head up to see erin stood with a small smile before letting himself fall back into his plush comforter, "hey, i got your shit in the first drawer over there." he points to a tall dresser across the room.

he listens to her shuffle around before finding a large bag of weed, coming close to him and placing a few folded bills in his front pocket slowly. she then moves so that she hovers over his dazed face, "thank you, are you sure you don't need anything else from me? it is your birthday..." she grins and runs a hand over his chest. he mimics her smile (intended in more of a mocking way than she takes it) and laughs softly.

"no, i'm good on that, e. you enjoy your doobies and shit," he continues to softly laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides before she thanks him again and gives him a small peck.

"happy birthday, matty!" she sings before closing the door to his room and heading straight to his bathroom next door to pee.

matt would say it hasn't even been four minutes since erin left him when you're stumbling into his room. he repeats his look up, only to soften a bit when he sees you make effort to move some of his shoes out of the walkway so that you don't trip, "hi, baby" he waves you over with his fingers and welcomes you as if you'll be staying for long, "lock that door for me." he figures if you came to see him after storming away like that at the fire pit you're either gonna spit your thoughts in his face or sit on his face, there's no in between.

"i found you," you smile and twist the smaller knob to lock the door from the rowdiness. you then make your way over to sit at the end of his bed and begin to fiddle with the straps on your tiny heels, "my feet have been achin' so bad," you look at him as you complain.

"mm, i'm sure."

when your feet are finally free from your shoes you place them on the ground and adjust yourself on the bed. you silently grimace seeing matt with his shoes remaining on his feet despite being on his bed.

he giggles when you begin to unlace them, "feel like a fuckin' princess."

you roll your eyes and begin to pull them off, "with the way you act you might as well be one."

"ouch? it's my birthday," he holds his heart while looking to you playfully.

you tilt your head and drop his second shoe right on the floor as you stare back at him, "oh, i know."

"right. what's wrong now?"

you run your hands along his legs as you inch up his body and hover yourself over his crotch, "nothing. everything's fine, right?" you adjust your hair away from your face.

"sure, uh huh," matt looks up at you and bites his lower lip while moving his hands to hold and squeeze your full thighs. he silently admires the way you fill that tiny dress and look down at him from this angle.

you look away for a moment then decide to put your full weight onto matt, muffled groan leaving his mouth. your lips curve up as you pull his bottom lip from his mouth with your thumb to replace it with your mouth, sucking and kissing it. your tongue runs over his lips a few times before matt takes hold of your head and pulls you impossibly closer to capture your mouth messily with his own.

the kiss is a filthy, drunken sight: noses meshing and colliding, tongues playing and licking, and moans escaping and ringing into the air desperately.

you pull away with a wet smack and whisper into his lips, "i've got another present for you..."

"mmm?" his eyes widen and he squeezes your neck gently, kissing you once more, "for real? like, more than this?!" his hand feathers over your ass, insinuating the way you're sat on top of him right now could easily be his best gift tonight.

"yes," you breathe then begin to giggle, "you're gonna lose your shit, i think."

his mind can think of a lot of things you could do to make him lose his shit, "damn, okay. well, show me. you got my stomach dancin' and shit." he holds you so that you stay put as he lifts himself to rest on his elbows.

your smile bites over your bottom lip now as you raise yourself from his lap once more. your nail taps against your upper thigh as you look down at him, "kiss, please?"

he doesn't have to move much, as your leg is already so close to his face. he keeps heated eye contact with you when he kisses and marks the skin you'd point to, causing small mindless noises to fall from your mouth as you play with his soft hair (that you unfortunately hadn't seen much of tonight).

when he's finished he looks up to you with his red, puffy eyes and wet lips as you thank him, "now...pay attention." you gently demand as you slowly move your dress up your body.

matt studies your movement in awe, eventually catching your gift in his line of sight. he knows you must think you're so sneaky when you only show a glimmer of your lacy white panties, with a cursive red "M" embroidered near the waistband, before quickly pushing your dress back down with an uncontrollable laugh.

matt's face morphs to express a million different emotions and he doesn't realize how loud his voice is when he speaks, "what the fuck?!" he looks up at you- with your head thrown back laughing -then back to your covered lower half. "what was that? hold the fuck on," you body is so loose with laughter that he easily grabs you and flips you onto the bed so that you lay underneath him, still squirming in your own giggles (yelling a few "matt!"s or "matt wait i can't breathe!"s).

his face is full of amusement when he firmly lifts your dress to get a better look at what you've done for him. "oh my god, 'm gonna pass the fuck out. look at you, sunny!" he rubs his eyes dramatically and shakes his head. "no, you're so bad."

"you like it?" you ask, licking over your lips and reaching your hands up to trace the small hairs prickling on matt's jawline.

"course i do, the fuck type of question is that?!" he turns his face to kiss your inner palm before bending closer to kiss your lips once more.

"happy birthday, matt." you say in between kisses, "there's somethin' else if you look a little more."

"really?" he immediately splits from you and looks to your panties once more, running his hands over your lower stomach. the cherry red joint laying against your hip and tucked into your underwear catches him by surprise but the stoner in him nearly cums on the spot.

he removes it from it's place and kisses you mumbling a reminder that "you're so hot" and "the marijuana bug must've bit you real bad" before he gets up to store it in his bedside table, patting the closed drawer and joking, "for when i miss you."

he stands above you for an extra second to shake his head slowly with a tut, but when you whine "c'mereee," he's hushing you and removing his shirt before crawling back on top of you.

your hands run across every inch of his warm torso as you both sloppily kiss, and matt's own hands curiously make their way into your underwear for a proper feel of your wet core.

he allows you to desperately grind your hips against his hand until he eventually decides he needs to taste you. he lowers himself to face your clothed pussy, tracing the "M" with a finger as he places his tongue flat against you and places pressure on your most sensitive area.

his finger once tracing, now moves to pull the tiny piece of fabric off of you. he looks into your eyes as he easily stuffs the cloth in his back pocket, mumbling "mine now" while moving his fingers through your sticky folds.

you cry out when he dips two fingers into you teasingly, over and over again, and another series of moans leaves your mouth when he begins to lick over your clit eagerly.

matt continues his efforts, spitting on your clit a few times to watch it drip down to where his fingers harshly move inside of you; his movements quickening while he watches.

and just before you cum you dumbly warn him, which makes him stop entirely. "no, matt. stop, please come back. please."

"shhh. don't start that shit, you'll cum twice on your day..." he unbuttons his pants, "plus, you know it feels so much better when you wait and have to chase it a few times." he smirks and nudges your clit with his finger once more making you breathe out a moan and close your legs around his hand.

he pulls away from you to finish undressing before laying back dowm in his tight boxers, "come take care of me, sunny. i need you."

"hm...and i needed you too..." you lift yourself up and pout as you climb off the bed and get closer to where he lies, turning and moving your hair away for your back, "unzip me, please?"

he does just as you say and watches you finish removing your dress in only one movement. when you climb on top of him he now gets a view of your tits directly in his face that has him humming and immediately feeling you up.

he kisses and licks the skin while you scratch at his scalp in the most sensual way. you reach behind you to dip your hand into his boxers, immediately coming in contact with his sensitive and slightly sticky tip. he tilts his head back with a groan as soon as you begin to stroke him beneath the fabric making a sinical smile form on your face.

you push the boxers further down his thighs to fully expose him as you bring your lips down to him again. his moans flow into your mouth when you repeatedly rush your movements then slowly circle his head.

eventually matt's eyebrows pinch in terribly tight and he grabs your hand, sighing, "god damn, baby. chill or i'll be cummin' before i'm inside you."

you roll your eyes playfully, "okay?" as you adjust yourself to align over his length, before sinking down on top of him.

"mmm, fuck." he encourages when you lift yourself and slam back down on top of him. you move his hands to hold your hips then spread your hands over his chest as you continue.

matt can't help but slap your ass a few times after discovering the way your muscles flutter around him so perfectly each time. but one smack in particular aids you to practically fall onto his chest whining, "matt i can't, please just-."

he immediately lifts your face to give him a much needed kiss before reaching to realign himself and hold onto you as he thrusts rhythmically into you.

moans sneak from your mouth and interrupt you from kissing and holding onto matt's neck, which only encourage matt until he's completely flustered and drilling into you sloppily.

matt can tell you're cumming by your all too and familiar broken moans. and once you harshly kiss him and ask him to let go in return he finally stills inside of you and groans into your soft shoulder.

a silence coats the room, leaving the overpowering music and talking of the party to linger through the air in a cloudy murmur.

matt keeps his arms around you while you recover from your high, staring at the ceiling of his faintly lit room in questionable thought.

and he assumes you must be doing the same; only he mistakes the wetness of your tears for his own sweat as you turn your head away from him to dissolve your embarrassingly shaky breaths.

꩜⋆ ˚｡⋆🎱˚

tag list is in the replies ily!!!!

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prettyboypistol · 1 year

Text

Stardew Valley Bachelors x Male Reader Relationship Headcanons

Harvey

Super Shy Gay(TM)

I dont CARE if you're married he ASKS TO HOLD YOUR HAND

Kiss him. Kiss him in public. Do it.

If you call him gay he'll get flustered

Can't cook for shit but tries his best. yes, the smoke alarms are going off because he tried to cook bacon.

Harvey is one of those anxious boyfriends that asks you to text him that you made it to a place safe.

"Drive safe, I love you"/"Dear it's been 10 minutes since the ETA are you alright?" hella ass

probably forgets your anniversary ONCE, but then never again when you tell him you were upset.

Elliot

you know the men that forget your anniversary? NOT ANYMORE

you randomly come home to roses all the time.

"Oh hello my love i am writing a book about homosexual pirates wear this to immerse me please"

probably hides gifts around the house with little notes

bad at confrontation but will eventually talk to you about things that bother him like a week of letting it fester.

"BABY CAN WE PLEASE GO TO THE RENAISSANCE FAIR"

Dramatic ass bitch on GOD

probably likes to be choked

Shane

Calls you gay slurs affectionately and expects the same energy back at him.

He can cook like, 2 meal.

Remembers every little anniversary but is embarrassed about it. He remembers the first time you kissed, the first time you said i love you, etc.

Biggest cuddlebug known to man

Feels bad that you're the main breadwinner so he begs to take care of the chickens on your farm.

You WILL find Shane asleep with a baby chick in his arms sometimes i'm sorry homie

Confrontational af, if something happens that he isn't okay with he'll bring it up as soon as situationally possible in a kind way.

Sam

writes you love songs

he's a bit of a messy partner, but if you mention the mess it'll be spotless for like, 3 weeks.

if you get in a fight he'll brood outside with his guitar for a little, but will always get into bed with you at the end of the day happily.

loves surprises and surprising

he's all great when it's casual flirting, but as soon as you two start seriously flirting he gets all flustered.

bi-curious, you're probably the first man he's dated but not the first man he's kissed.

loves to binge TV shows with you

Sebastian

pan ICON

he thinks you're too cool for him, but he is grateful that you enthusiastically love him

calls you a hillbilly if you call him emo

if you ask about a project he's working on he WILL talk for hours

Falls asleep at his desk a lot, but appreciates when you carry him to bed

he loves when you talk to him "while he's sleeping"

Lets you ride with him to TechCons or Comicons, loves going as couple characters

you get invited to the Dungeons and Dragons campaign

likes calling you his boyfriend

Alex

picks you up and does reps with you to flirt

he loves touching your body after a long day of farming, the tan fascinates him.

a surprisingly great cook, always knows what you wanna eat without asking.

has never even looked at a man before you came along, so he's kinda awkward about serious romantic things

bad at confrontation, but great at supporting you

he calls you very masculine things like "superman" or "my man" a lot

Defends Dusty when he steals your spot on the bed, but offers his chest as a substitute.

#stardew valley #stardew alex #stardew harvey #harvey stardew #shane #stardew valley x reader #harvey x reader #shane x reader #elliot x reader #sebastian #sdv sebastian #sdv #sdv farmer #sdv sam #sdv elliot #concerned ape #haunted chocolatier

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lurkingshan · 2 months

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Cherry Magic Episode 12

MY HEART IS FO FULL. This adaptation has exceeded my wildest expectations to become one of my favorite bls of all time. They really put their backs into it and gave us everything we could want for these characters, and I will always be grateful. This show managed to be a faithful manga adaptation, a loving homage to the jbl, and a fresh take on the story all at once. An amazing feat to pull off and this creative team deserves so much love and kudos.

The way Achi and Karan have grown together over the course of this show has been fantastic to witness. I love how seriously the show took their growth, and that we got to see them put in the work to improve their communication and become a great team. Meeting the parents was a big step for them, especially because they were uncertain how their respective families would react, but I loved that they were so open with each other throughout about how they were feeling. I loved, too, that we got a contrast, with Achi's mom being so warm and loving (but still managing to get a dig in on her son, lmao) and Karan's being more avoidant and passive aggressive and needing a talking to her from her eldest child to get her shit together. I love that the drama created space for things to not go perfectly with the parents, and to show us that people can be moved to acceptance.

We got a bit of a parallel with that message in Jinta and Min's story this week, with Min's fans initially attacking Jinta, but backing off once Min named him as his faen and asked them to respect his relationship. I like the choice to model positive fan behavior, and it felt a bit pointed from this production company. Both with Pai and now with this new group of fans, the show has said consistently that being a fan should be about love and support, not control. That you can admire your idols but you also need to give them privacy. That it's not your place to judge who they love. I just love that message.

Of course, I have to talk about the mutual proposal and the wedding. I am pretty sure Karan has been carrying that ring around in his pocket since the second day of dating, but it was such a welcome surprise to see that Achi had already made his own plans, too. The show really succeeded in taking this relationship from something that felt a little one-sided to a very mutual partnership I can believe in. I teared up when right along with Karan when Achi followed Karan's proposal with his own, and you could see how much it meant to him to know that Achi is really truly on the same page. Getting to see their wedding and the love surrounding them on their special day was the cherry (lol) on top of this fantastic love story. I also absolutely loved the wink to the jbl elevator non-kiss in the way they framed their final married couple kiss and then cut away from the bed.

Continuing the love fest, I also love the changes this version made to the side couple's story. Min getting to fulfill his dream, Jinta being an excellent supportive partner, their agreement that they will marry someday when they're ready--it was all just lovely. The nod to the jbl pen proposal was cute, and I love that they took it a step further by drawing rings on each other. The flip in the sexual relationships was also quite welcome, with that triumphant arc reserved for the main couple in this version. Jinta ended the show with his magical powers still intact, but it didn't seem like that would be the case for long.

As for Rock and Pai, I am happy with how the show handled their story. To the end, Pai stayed true to herself, and Rock came to know her better and understand what kind of romantic relationship he could reasonably expect from her. She will always have her head more on her ships than on her own love life, and he seems okay with it. I think you can still take an aroace read on this Pai if you choose, and I appreciate that the show made space for that. I like, too, that Pai helped Rock reconnect with his own passion for dancing and find a fun outlet for his creativity. They were another reinforcement of this show's overarching themes about the importance of kindness, support, and clear communication in relationships.

This show left me with such a warm feeling. I'm so glad they stuck the landing, that episode 8 never happened, and that we can rewatch and remember this Cherry Magic so fondly. I never expected Thailand to go so above and beyond the original live action drama, but they have undoubtedly delivered my favorite version of this story.

#cherry magic th #cherry magic thailand #thai bl #shan shouts into the void

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sethsclearwater · 1 year

Text

requests: “could you do an imagine w embry (or any of the wolf pack boys) where their imprint doesn’t know abt the werewolf/vampire stuff and sees one of the pack members phase for the first time and freaks out a little bit? <3” and “can u pls do an imagine where embry and jacob get into a fight and they phase in front of reader and she totally freaks out and she’s paul’s imprint and he has to calm her down?”

warnings: paul getting on his knees for reader

notes: reader goes through all 5 stages of grief and then some lmao

word count: 1.8k

…

you found yourself at emily’s house, sitting outside on her porch with your boyfriend’s friends, waiting for emily and the rest of the girlfriends to get back from their trip to the grocery store. you had been dating paul for almost a year now and had been friends with his friend group for most of that time.

you were sitting on paul’s lap in one of the rocking chairs, curled in his lap as you listened to embry crack jokes about how he was making a fool of himself pining after bella. “jake man,” embry laughed, “you seriously gotta get it together. there’s no way they’re letting you stay in their tent - edward would be a clown if he let that fly.” he laughed again, referencing the camping trip the boys and the cullen family would soon be taking.

you giggled, attempting to hide your laughter in paul’s shirt. jacob rolled his eyes, getting up and walking off the porch and into the yard, “you don’t understand!” he yelled over his shoulder to embry who was still cracking himself up along with jared and quil, “she’s meant to be with me - i’m obviously the better choice than a leech!” he yelled and you missed the warning look sam shot him as you were too focused on how he looked like he was literally shaking he was so angry.

“she’s definitely not you clown!” embry called back, still getting a kick out of it. you sensed that something was wrong so you got off of paul’s lap, heading down the porch steps to follow him, paul calling after you when he realized what you were doing.

“jake-” you sighed, ignoring paul’s calls to you, only looking over your shoulder when you heard footsteps running down the porch followed by a loud growl. you looked back over to jake as he quite literally shifted into a giant wolf, almost exactly as the quileute legends had depicted at the council meetings. “paul,” you whispered anxiously, turning around and sprinting back towards the porch where paul was waiting looking just as shocked as you.

“paul!” you screamed again, running into his arms and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, holding your head to his chest as sobs racked through your body, neither of you sure how to respond to what you just witnessed.

“shhhhh…” he murmured, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, “you’re okay, you’re okay.” he cooed, slowly rocking you back and forth as you tried to catch your breath and figure out what was going on.

“what even was that- why did he-” you blubbered, looking up at paul as you let out another sob, fists tightening on his t-shirt as you held onto him tightly.

paul watched you sadly, continuing to hold you tightly to his chest as he tried to figure out what to say. he had zero plans of telling you about the wolves anytime soon, figuring the less you knew the better but now that all went to shit thanks to jacob.

“i didn’t want to tell you,” paul sighed, watching your facial expressions in an attempt to get a better reading of you but was left with nothing as you continued sobbing, tears rapidly streaming down your cheeks.

“you weren’t gonna tell me that your friend turns into a giant wolf?” you exclaimed, not sure whether you should be mad at him or grateful. he clearly didn’t want to tell you because of the absolutely horrific reaction he correctly anticipated you’d be having.

paul sighed again, “i didn’t want to stress you out about it,” he explained softly, “between your classes and work and everything i didn’t think there was a good time to tell you.”

you whimpered, not sure how to respond so you just buried your face in the crook of his arm, hugging him just as tightly as he was holding you. you thought about it then, how his friend group was all so close, all of them were always at the council meetings suspiciously after they had their “glow ups” as you called it (or steroids as the rest of la push called it). the more you thought of it, the more things started clicking into place and you turned your head to look over at jacob, who was still a massive wolf, and the rest of paul’s friend group were surrounding him and trying to calm him down.

you froze then, slowly releasing your grip on paul’s shirt as you squirmed out of his grip, cautiously stepping back from him. paul watched you wearily, and by the look on his face, he knew you figured it out.

“y/n,” your name fell off his lips, both of you anxiously waiting for the other to say something, “i’m sorry.” he said softly, stepping closer to you but you stepped back, your back now pressed up against emily’s porch.

“don’t touch me-” you whimpered, anxiously looking around as you tried to figure out what your options were. you quickly realized there was no way you were going to outrun an entire pack of massive wolves with anger management problems.

in your anxiety you missed the heartbroken look paul had on his face, equally unsure of how to calm you down without intimidating you. “i’m not gonna hurt you princess,” paul attempted to reassure you, frowning as you looked back to him, looking up with tears still rapidly streaming down your face.

seeing you weren’t calming down and, if anything, were working yourself up more, he raised his hands so you could see his palms, slowly lowering himself to the ground until he was on his knees in front of you. you watched the notoriously proud man cautiously, slowly taking in a deep breath with him as you tried to recenter yourself so you could catch your breath.

your bottom lip warbled as you tried to calm yourself down, “paul-” you sobbed his name after a moment, quickly dropping down so you could sit on his lap, wrapping yourself around him when you realized he was being genuine when he said he wasn’t going to hurt you. paul let out an audible exhale, quickly wrapping his arms around you and held you tightly to his chest.

“shhh…” he cooed, “take some deep breaths princess.” he murmured into your hair, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your side and shoulder as he held you close to him.

you nodded, sniffling as you worked at calming yourself through deep breaths like he suggested, “there you go,” he whispered as he felt your breathing start to even out after a minute, “good job kitten.” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to the crown of your head.

after a few minutes you looked up at him, sliding your hands up his chest as you tried to figure out what to say, paul sensed your hesitence and slid one hand up your back and gently cupped your face in his hand, “are you okay?” he asked softly, watching as you slowly nodded, looking over to the rest of the boys who seemed to have calmed jacob down and were making their way back over to the two of you.

“none of them are gonna hurt you, i promise.” he reassured, sensing the jump in your heart rate when you saw the boys walking back over.

you slowly nodded again, looking back over to paul, “so you…” you trailed off, not sure how to ask your boyfriend if he turned into a massive werewolf.

“turn into a wolf? yea.” paul finished for you, thumb brushing the stray tears off your cheeks. “it was right after we started going out - i didn’t know how to tell you without scaring you.” he continued, offering you a sad smile when you nodded, wrapping your arms back around his neck and hugging him tightly to you.

you lifted your head when you heard the familiar sound of sam’s truck pulling into the driveway, emily and you made eye contact and she quickly jumped out of the truck, running over to you and paul. “oh honey,” she cooed, kneeling down in the dirt with you and paul. you leaned off paul for a moment to hug her which she quickly reciprocated. “he told you?” she asked softly, hugging you tighter when you nodded against her shoulder.

“finally!” kim and rachel’s voices came from behind you. you let out a weak laugh, letting go of emily and shifting in paul’s lap to straighten yourself out as you brushed away your stray tears with the back of your hand.

“what happened?” leah’s voice came from beside you as she kneeled next to her cousin, also watching you wearily.

“embry,” sam emphasized before continuing, “called jacob a clown and he shifted in front of her.” he explained as the rest of the boys came over, everyone sitting down by you and paul.

“sorry,” embry mumbled sheepishly, both of you letting out soft laughs at how stupid jacob’s anger was, “i didn’t think he was crazy like that!” embry added, causing a few laughs to erupt from everyone else.

paul gently ran his hand up your back, offering you a soft smile, “you feeling better?” he asked softly and you nodded, taking another deep breath with him.

“billy is gonna lose his mind when he hears what went down-” quil laughed, “the council meeting tonight is gonna be so much fun!” he exclaimed, the rest of the pack laughing in agreement.

you sniffled as you let out another giggle, “why don’t you two go back to your apartment and get ready and then we’ll meet you there?” emily suggested thoughtfully, giving your hip a soft squeeze.

paul nodded, “you okay with that?” he asked you softly, the corner of his lip pulling into a smile when you nodded, “okay let’s do that then.” he cooed, getting up with you in his arms.

you peeked over your shoulder, waving goodbye to the boys, embry, quil, and jared blowing you kisses causing you to giggle as paul led you over to his car.

by the time the council meeting came around that night you were able to calm yourself down, take a shower, and get changed into something comfortable so you could hear the legends with a new, more accurate perspective.

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