#so so much the long skirt the face very very cool

[b1dl0]

#fanart #warframe #dagath #freaking love new frame look #so so much the long skirt the face very very cool #but I'll be honest. I have such a bad and unexpected burnout so drawing kinda sucks and forced #but dagath is cool i luv her

[msgexymunson]

The Code

Description: Your very first day at your new school and you've already managed to find a dealer. Not only that, but he is fine. Maybe living with your mom might not be too bad after all. 

Warnings: Making out, fingering, male and fem oral receiving, p in v unprotected sex 

A/N: I just wanted some desperate, clingy ‘I need you’ sex so here we are. I loved writing this so much I think this is going to end up in a whole universe just about these two.

6.2k words

Masterlist 

This must be the spot. 

You walk out into the little clearing in the woods. It's private, encircled by trees, with a picnic bench right in the middle. As you wonder who the hell put it there, you take in the quiet. It's bizarre; a minute ago you were surrounded by loudmouth jocks and giggling girls, sneakers squeaking and lockers slamming, but here? Silence, except for the twittering of birds and whispering wind in the trees. 

Perching on the slightly mildewed table top, you dump your bag and jacket on the seat, crossing your legs and picking your fingernails to pass the time. 

A rustle of leaves makes you snap your head up, and you see who must be the most gorgeous guy at this school. Tall, long hair, a narrow little waist you want to wrap your legs around, and judging by his clothes, he's a metalhead too. 

“Hey, you leave me a note?” 

He looks around nervously, circling the table before walking over to you. 

“Yeah, you OK?” 

He smiles, and you rethink your previous statement. He must be the most gorgeous guy in this whole town. Such a pretty mouth. 

“Sorry, it's just last time I got an anonymous note in my locker I got jumped by four jocks.” 

“Oh, well you know what they say, when a boy bullies you they really just have a crush on you.” 

He laughs, tipping his head back. 

“Well these guys must want my fuckin’ babies or some shit!” 

Giggling, you look down, covering your mouth girlishly. Eddie takes the small opportunity to check you out. You look like you've wandered in from a dream. A very wet dream. Little black Mary Janes on your feet, thigh high white socks, and a black and white plaid skirt. The strip of thigh on show is making his pants tighter by the minute. The white t-shirt is a work of art; it seems so innocent, but it's tight enough to accentuate your obvious curves, and the outline of a black bra is peeking through the thin material. He's sure it's purposeful; who wears black under white and doesn't think about it showing? 

You clear your throat and his eyes flick upward to your face guiltily. Not saying anything, you let your little smug smile and raised brow do the talking for you. This looks like it's going to be a lot of fun. 

After a few seconds of letting him squirm, mostly to see the blush flowing to his cheeks, you give him your name and explain. 

“I'm new here, some girl told me you're the one to go to for weed. Eddie, right?” 

“Guilty as charged,” he replies, bowing at you. Rolling your eyes, you beckon him forward with one finger. His grin widens as he stands right in front of you, eyes darting to your lips and back up. 

“So, you got something for me?” 

Eddie plants his hands either side of you on the table, close enough to smell your perfume. It's heady, laden with spice and promise, not the sweet scent he expected. That just intrigues him even more.

Your heads spinning from him crowding your space. His eyes are otherworldly, deep brown, full of such depth and soul that it takes a moment for you to remember to breathe. 

“For you? Of course.” 

He winks, he fucking winks, sending a swarm of insects in a whirlwind in your stomach, then sits down at the bench, slamming a battered tin lunchbox down. He gestures at the seat in front but you swivel on the table to face him, legs crossed an inch or so away from his hand. 

“So, I'll do you a half ounce for… twenty. Cool?” 

He wags a baggy at you and you make a pass for it, but he holds it at arm's length. 

“Twenty?” 

Huffing dramatically, you lean far back to grab your bag from the opposite bench. Eddie holds an arm out, one thrown over his eyes. 

“Cover your, er, modesty sweetheart.”

You realise he means your skirt that had ridden high on your thighs, exposing a triangle of your panties. It was only for a moment, but he saw. He thinks it'll be ingrained on the inside of his eyelids, burned into the back of his brain forever. They're baby pink, yet another surprise. You seem to be full of them.

“Such a gentleman.” 

Plopping your bag in your lap, you rummage through it to find a note. Eddie's eyes widen yet again. Your little denim backpack is covered in patches; Megadeath, Anthrax, Saxon. Just when he thinks he's got you figured out, you throw another curveball at him. 

“Here, twenty.” 

He takes it and exchanges it for the bag in his hands. Squirrelling it away, you smile. 

“Thank you. Fancy a smoke?” 

“Sure, why not.” 

You move to get your newest purchase out again but he waves a hand. 

“This one's on me sweetheart. For the er, pleasure of your company.” 

“Well, aren't I lucky.” Smirking at him, revelling in the pink tinge on the apples of his cheeks, you watch whilst he rolls. 

“So, you're new? When did you start?” 

“Today. Moving in with my mom and my brother for a little while whilst my dad cools off.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smiles, licking the paper with a pointed precise tongue. 

“Yeah. I got suspended, he freaked. Mom wanted her little girl back, so here I am.” 

“Oh really? What did you do?” 

You bite your lip as he passes you the lit joint, and take a couple of hits. 

“What didn't I do?” 

He laughs loudly with you, eyes darting to your chest as it jiggles. Fuck, he's already down bad. 

You make some chit chat, surface level stuff, but it shows you just how easy he is to talk to. He's confident, bordering cocky, but it's belied by the way your flirtatious comments make him blush. 

The joint is long gone. Eddie stands up, getting ready to leave. You want him to stay, you need him to, just a little longer. It emboldens you, enough to make a move. 

“Eddie, what's your policy on kissing clients?” 

He's mid standing when your question gets through to his brain, entirely short circuiting it for a second. 

“Huh?” 

“I said,” you beckon, and Eddie's legs move on their own accord, “what's your policy on kissing clients?” 

He's grinning then, standing in front of you by the edge of the table. As you uncross your legs, his smile only widens, slotting his narrow hips between your thighs. You take one of his hands in yours, examining his rings, before you place it gently on your leg, silently giving him permission to touch you. 

Eddie feels dazed, half expecting someone to jump from the bushes with a camera, declaring this all some elaborate prank. The bare skin of your thigh is so soft, silky smooth. His fingers dance just underneath the hem of your skirt, testing the waters, but you let him. You let him. 

“My policy? It probably goes against the Holy drug dealers code.” He shakes his head sadly, but he's still smiling, and still not pulling away. 

“Drug dealer code? What like, don't get high on your own supply?” You respond cheekily, nodding at the butt of the joint stubbed out on the table. 

Your hands snake around his neck autonomously, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves infinitesimally closer, head bending a little. 

“Yeah, like that. But the thing is,” he says as he moves even closer, whispering, “it's more like… guidelines.” 

“Yeah?” 

It's all you can manage out, breathy and weak, practically quivering at his closeness. 

His nose rubs against the side of yours, mouths almost brushing, as he whispers again, even more quietly, the breath of it diffusing over your parted lips. 

“It's a good thing I like to break the rules.” 

Then his lips are crushed against yours, your strawberry lip balm surrendering itself, finding a new home on his full lips. Your tongue licks into his mouth thickly, laced with want. Eddie responds, exploring your mouth as the kiss turns dirtier by the second. Your chest is smashed against his, thighs gripping onto his hips. 

Eddie's head is reeling at the taste of you and the feel of your body desperately pressed against him. He winds his hand under your skirt to grab your perfect round ass, jamming you even closer. To his delight you moan in his mouth, lips sliding against his, slicked in spit. 

Your heart is thumping so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Or is it his? It doesn't matter, the kiss tearing any rational thoughts away. Snaking an arm around him to dig painted nails into his back, you roll your hips into him, an ache settling into your bones. 

The other of Eddie's rough hands travels audaciously to your chest, palming it over your clothes. You don't pull away, in fact your back is arching, searching for more. 

It's only then that he notices the time on his watch. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away, taking in the way your chest heaves, how your eyes are half lidded, as if you want to devour him whole. 

“Fuck, I'm sorry but I'm late, I really gotta go.” 

Huffing, you pout, and the plumpness of your bottom lip almost makes him say fuck it, screw Hellfire, but he knows he can't. 

“I really, really don't want to go, for the record. Last thing I want to do is walk back into school with a hard on right now.” 

You giggle breathlessly, risking a little look down. He's not lying. And he is packing. 

“Do you wanna come to mine later?” 

It's out of your mouth before you even think of the words, tongue working of its own accord. 

“Are you- for real?” 

You nod comically fast. He just shakes his head, stunned. 

“You know, I'm waiting for a Carrie moment or some shit.” 

“Eddie, I'm not gonna dump a bucket of pig's blood on you, I swear.” 

“Swear? On what?” 

“On, I dunno, on that code thing?” 

He laughs, hands rubbing up and down your sides as if he doesn't want to let you go. 

“You can't swear on that, we just broke it!” 

“Alright then, scouts honour?” 

“You were a girl scout?” 

“No.” 

He laughs again as you purse your lips, deep in thought. Suddenly, your eyes widen, and you hold your hand to your heart, the other forming the devil's horn sign. 

“I swear on Ozzy.” 

Fuck, Eddie thinks he must have made you in a lab. 

“Alright, alright, you best not be using his name in vain.” 

You rummage in your bag, grabbing a scrap of paper and scrawling an address on it. 

“Here. My er, my mom's out for the weekend and my dweeb brothers got some silly club thing then he's staying at a friend's, so…” 

Eddie's eyebrows raise and disappear into his hair. If this is just some fantasy and he's finally lost it, then he can deal with that. 

“Right, I will be there. I promise. Wild fuckin’ horses couldn't drag me away.” 

You scrunch the paper into his waiting hand, and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he's apologising again, having to run back to school before the guys send a search party. 

********************

He only gets a chance to look at your hastily written note when Hellfires finished, a hell of a lot quicker than his usual sessions. The guys are put out, complaining about only managing to go for a supply run and deal with some bandits, but for once he doesn't give a shit. 

In his van, he's reading and rereading your note. Maybe he's got it wrong, your messy handwriting is difficult to read after all. Or maybe he was right before and this is all some joke at his expense. 

Hope is what gets him there, that and the traces of strawberry lip balm that still linger on his lips. He pulls up to the house and knocks on the door. 

You answer, still in your clothes from earlier, though Eddie notices immediately that you've taken off your bra. It throws him for a moment, the shape of your nipples singing a melody directly to his dick, but he recovers. 

“You live… here?” He asks, completely surprised. 

“Yes?” The way he says it you almost question if you're the one in the wrong house. 

“And your last name is…?” 

“Henderson.”

“Fuck.” He laughs it out, biting his lip. 

“Is that a problem?” You're entirely thrown by his reaction, but gesture at him to come in, closing the door behind him. 

“Dustin’s your little brother.” He says it like a known fact.

“How do you know Dust for Brains? Wait-” 

You step backwards, both hands held to your mouth in shock. 

“You're Eddie?? The Eddie??” 

“The one and only, sweetheart.” 

“Shit, Dustin does not shut up about you. I thought, well I thought you'd be some nerdy, awkward loser.” 

“Well, I'm a lot of things.” 

Laughs erupt from you in an unstoppable volcano. 

“Dustins gonna kill me.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

“No, Dustins gonna kill me. How come he's never mentioned you?” 

“He's not exactly my biggest fan. Plus, he probably wanted to avoid- this.” 

Eddie deflates a little, the hope of kissing you again dwindling by the second. 

“If you want me to go-” 

“Oh hell no,” you grab his hand, keeping him there with you, “this is hilarious, he's gonna freak. I can't wait. You wanna drink, or something to eat? Or we can just-” 

“Wait, you seriously don't care?” 

“Nope. You're too hot.” 

Eddie blushes, not used to girls being so brazen with him. Smiling, you tell him to take a seat and grab some beers from the fridge. He takes his jacket off and throws it on a chair. When you return, you're laughing yet again as you hand him his beer. 

“How the hell did I miss that?” You point. He follows your eyes, to the Hellfire t-shirt he's wearing. 

“Too busy staring at my pretty face?” He suggests, winking at you. 

Settling down next to him, you flick the TV on to some random b movie. Nonchalantly, you place a hand on his knee, stroking the little bare patch of skin as you look at the film playing. 

“Maybe I was too busy thinking about what's underneath it.” 

You say it offhand, a casual statement, but it's got Eddie nearly choking on his mouthful of beer. 

“Shit you are nothing like your brother, are you?” 

Turning to smirk at him, you respond, “I fucking well hope so.” 

Then Eddie's thoughts fly straight out the window when your hand lands on his chest, nails raking him through the fabric. Suddenly, the temperature of the room is stifling, or is it just the feel of your body against his? He reaches tentatively to cup your cheek, rubbing a calloused thumb on your chin, eyes boring into yours for confirmation. Breath hitches in your throat; you lean in closer, gaze flickering to his perfect mouth and back up. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me, Eddie?” 

You smirk, but it's wiped from your face immediately by his mouth smashing into yours. It's so forceful you have to fight to keep upright, hand fisting into his shirt as some sort of anchor. 

As you pull away, his eyes widen, wondering if he did something wrong. He looks like a little puppy. 

“Easy Eddie, we've got all night.” 

All night? Eddie has decided that he must have got hit on the head today. Maybe he was jumped after all, and now he's in a coma, playing out some elaborate fantasy. 

He settles back into the cushions, swigging his beer and failing to focus on the movie playing, his leg restlessly bouncing. 

You look perfectly at ease, knees curled up on the seat. What he doesn't know is that your heart is pumping blood so fast that you're starting to feel a little dizzy from it, purposefully slowing your breath to keep your calm. 

Once your beer is finished you've decided that enough is enough. A part of you wanted to take this slow; he seemed like such a nice guy, as well as being into your kind of music, and hot as sin. Unfortunately, it seems your pussy has other ideas, already banging its own heartbeat like a dinner bell. 

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He tries to make it sound casual, but he's wound so tight it's almost a strangled noise. Nursing a semi since he saw you in the woods earlier, now it's straining against his jeans in a futile attempt to be near you. 

He looks so damn nervous, and it gives you the confidence you need to swing your leg over his and straddle him. Eager hands land immediately on your hips, thumbs pressing hard to keep you there. 

This time, you lean in. Your kiss is fire, tongue burning hot and heavy in his mouth. Eddie groans into the kiss, rolling desperation from his mouth to yours. He's breathing so hard it's whistling through his nose, clouding your cheek with condensation. 

It almost feels like a competition, both tongues duelling, determined to unravel the other. Lips swollen and blood filled, your mouth tries to keep up with his, spit gathering at the edges. You'd be self conscious about it if you weren't so damn turned on. 

Eddie's hands roam all over, grasping at your ass under your skirt, slipping inside the thin material of your panties at the back, until he runs a thumb just next to your underwear but this time dangerously close to your sex. You moan onto his tongue, your own hands winding into his hair, pulling harshly to spur him on. 

He can't concentrate on the hard tingle your fingers cause to run all over his scalp, not when slips his fingers past the cotton barrier and he runs them up and down your slippery slit. Mind entirely encased in a pink fog of lust, you realise your mumbling in his mouth. 

“Please, please, please-” 

The corners of his mouth turn up at the sound, thumb seeking out your clit to rub circles on and around it, your arousal causing it to slip and slide. You're dizzy, hot all over, pussy aching for something inside. 

Eddie's obsessed with the feel of you, the heat emanating from your cunt, but most of all with the sounds you make. They'd be pornographic, if they weren't so fucking real. Needy, hoarse moans, peppered with little gasps and whimpers that are making his cock twitch with each slip of his thumb. 

Gliding a finger inside, he watches as your head rolls back, a strangled groan falling from your kiss bitten lips. You're practically riding his hand, bouncing your tits so close to his face that he's in a trance. As if you can hear his prayers, you pull your shirt off, fighting with the tight material until you can shake it off your arm. 

He sees the glimpse of a tattoo, a snake wrapped around a dagger directly in your cleavage, which he momentarily thinks is really hot, but then he's gone. Your bare chest is a masterpiece, perfect tits jostling with each bounce of your thighs. He latches his mouth to a nipple, tonguing and sucking on it like he needs it to breathe. In fact he almost forgets to, pulling his mouth off to take a gasping breath and latch onto the other. 

He drags his mouth away when he feels you tightening impossibly hard around his fingers and leans back just in time to see the show. Your climax is violent, grinding into his fingers hard and rough until suddenly you're screaming his name, nails breaking the skin of his neck as you cling on for dear life. Your release engulfs your body in a flash of fire, singeing each nerve and causing you to convulse in his grip. Eddie can barely move, his fingers straining hard to work you through your orgasm, so much so that the tendons of his arm hurt, but he doesn't care. He keeps on curling them until you physically grab his arm to still him. 

His dripping fingers are released with a sucking sound as he grins at you smugly. Not for long though, not with your chest heaving like that and the way you're biting your lip. You yank at his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and relishing in the exposed skin by lathing your tongue over his collar bone. 

“Nice tats.” You breathe onto his skin between sucks and nips. 

“Same to you,” he stumbles out in a gasp as a particular sharp bite to his neck shoots a lightning bolt of heat down his spine. 

“You haven't seen all of them,” you reply, nibbling at his earlobe. 

He's never wanted to hunt for tattoos more in his whole life. 

“Fuck, you are a dream.” 

His teeth bite down on your shoulder and you whimper, grinding down on his rock hard bulge. Enveloping his lips in another urgent kiss, and another, until you can break away long enough for one word. 

“Bedroom?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ yes.” 

He stands, still holding you, knocking a beer bottle to the floor. You cling to him with your legs as he walks backwards, sending a table lamp flying in the process. It's inconsequential; your head is fighting through a cloud of need, nothing can find its way through but touch and taste. 

In the hallway, he slams your back into the wall, pressing you hard against it as he writhes his tongue in your mouth again. A picture frame falls, you just about hear the tinkling of glass but it's not important. That's tomorrow's problem. 

Unhooking yourself from his clutches for a moment, you drag him by the front of his jeans and yank him into a doorway, gasping for breath, grasping at flesh. You practically punch the lightswitch to turn it on, the thought that you need to see him just about making it through the horny mist. Once inside he barely has a chance to take in his surroundings before you're falling to your knees and undoing his belt with impatient fingers. 

“Woah, baby, you don't need to-” 

“Shut the fuck up Eddie I wanna blow you.” 

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and then compulsively strokes his neck just to keep some composure. If he thinks about your words for a second longer he's sure he'll bust right in his pants. 

You work his fly and pull his jeans and boxers down swiftly, his turgid cock flying free and whacking his stomach, decorating it with a pearl of precum. It feels heavy in your hands as you rub him up and down, watching the soft skin move with each pass, like silk wrapped around a steel bar. 

Taking him into your mouth, you twirl your tongue around his head, licking up its salty sweetness, sucking lightly. Eddie groans, torn between covering his eyes and holding you in place, so he does a bit of both, until you start taking him deeper and deeper without gagging. 

His eyes snap open to see you staring straight at him, nose nestling in his coarse pubic hair, eyes wide and wet and innocent, mouth stretched full of him, and he feels his balls tighten. 

“Fuck stop stop, please.” 

He practically bends in half to get you off of his dick. Giving him a smug smile of your own, you delicately wipe the spit gathered at the corners of your mouth with a thumb. 

“You OK there champ?” 

“You are gonna kill me sweetheart.” 

He's heaving, trying to control his breath, eyes darting from your face, to your bare chest and back up. Standing up, you unzip your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, leaving you in your tiny pink underwear with a very noticeable wet patch, and your thigh high socks. There's another tattoo hiding just out of sight, playing peekaboo over the top of your panties. 

Something about seeing you so innocent and yet so naughty flicks a switch in his brain. Before he can think he's pushing you backwards and you hit the mattress behind with a thud, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. 

Which is fucking perfect in Eddie's opinion because he needs to taste you right now otherwise he might die. 

You both fight to take your underwear off, but he covers your hand in his own when you start rolling your socks down. 

“No. Leave them on.” 

It's husky and dominant, a steely look behind those soft brown eyes you haven't seen yet. Well. Filing that away for reference. You lay there sweetly, propped up on your elbows to watch as his tongue squirms against you, making out with your cunt just as passionately as he kissed you. 

He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks and for a moment you can see God. 

“Holy fuck! Eddie!” He groans back, lost in the taste of your cunt. He wants to write a poem about it, a song, a fucking haiku, anything to immortalise the prettiest pussy with the sweetest flavour. 

“Eddie, get up here!” He's not listening, licking and sucking, almost getting as much pleasure as you are, but you need him inside you right now before you combust; you're sure of it. 

In the end you grab a chunk of his hair and pull him upward, sliding him over your trembling body, and you hold his face an inch from yours. 

“Eddie, I need you to fuck me, now.” 

His leaking tip is rubbing against your swollen clit; he takes it in his hand to line it up, when somewhere out of the pussy drunk haze he remembers something important. 

“Do you have protection?”

“I'm on the pill, is that-” 

It clearly is OK. It's possibly the best four words Eddie's ever heard. 

Your unfinished sentence morphs into a drawn out moan as Eddie pushes inside you, stretching you out until he's fully sheathed. As you whimper and whine at the feeling, Eddie stops, just for a moment, to hold your cheek and press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

For some reason that takes you entirely by surprise, eyes wide and wet at his honesty. 

“Yeah? You're really handsome, Eddie.” 

The smile he shoots you is warm and genuine, lighting up that animate face of his with an inner glow. You roll your hips upward and take joy in the fact that he wasn't expecting it, eyebrows knitting in shock as a litany of swear words spill from his mouth. 

Your smirk is short lived when he hikes your leg around his waist and starts thrusting devastatingly deep, so deep it's like he's in your guts trying to root out the source of the burning desire at the pit of your stomach. 

“Holy- oh God, Eddie!” 

Moaning loudly, you press hot, cushy kisses to him between your stream of noises, forehead resting on his. Eddie's smiling, he can't help it. Just the joy of being with you like this, the feel of you losing it because of him, and the tightness of your pretty cunt have him in paradise. 

“Feels- feels so- oh fuck- so good, inside you, sweetheart. So fuckin’ tight, I-I can feel you shaking, you close?” 

Words escape you. All you can do is cling to his back and nod, nails clawing into him with shivering intensity. Eddie thrusts into you harder; all you can do is cling on for your life, arms and legs nearly suffocating him. The telltale tingle of your release is nearly burning your skin, prickling over each downy hair making it stand on end. 

The heat is immense, tension gripping your legs as you quake, and writhe, and whimper, until your climax flies out of you, shooting out of every pore and forcing tears from your eyes. Your vision turns bright white for a moment, until all the tension leaves your muscles and you flop back on the bed. 

Eddie doesn't understand how you keep on getting hotter, but it doesn't matter. You let him inside of you, raw, and his head is still reeling from that. Each little sound, each flex of your constricting walls is pushing him to ecstasy; in fact he's staving it off so he can enjoy you like this for a little while longer. 

Getting up on his knees, he pulls you toward him by your thighs, guiding you to roll your hips as he pumps into you. This angle is so much better; he can see all of your incredible body laid out before him, tits bouncing with each thrust. Your small hand finds his forearm, just holding it lightly, as you whine. 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” 

It's high pitched, mumbled and nearly incoherent. He's not even sure you know you're doing it, but it's what pushes him over the edge. He feels the tightness in his balls as his length grows impossibly hard.

“Sweetheart, where-” He manages through gritted teeth. 

“Please cum in me.”

Eddie's four new favourite words. He grips hard to your thighs, hard enough to bruise, as he groans and swears his release out. You feel it deep inside, throbbing out of him, when he finally collapses forward. You hold onto each other, tongues rolling into each other's mouths, kissing and kissing and kissing. You kiss until it hurts, until your mouth is chapped and sore, until you need air, and water. 

“Fuck, Eddie, that was… sorry, if I er, came on a bit, strong?” 

Eddie just laughs, pressing his body as tightly against yours as he can. 

“Please don't ever apologise for wanting to fuck my brains out.” 

You laugh, kissing his cheek.

“When you put it like that, fair enough. Right, get off me, I need to clean up.” 

“I can take care of you-”

“Yeah, and I'm a grown woman who needs to piss, so please?” 

You roll your wrists, flinging your hands in desperate circles. He surrenders, pulling off you and rolling onto his back, more than happy to watch your naked form sway out of the room. 

Eddie does a little wiggle dance when you leave the room, punching the air with glee. He starts looking at your room, since he had no time to see it earlier. There's a tin on the bedside table that looks remarkably similar to what he has at home, and an honest to goodness lava lamp next to it. Unable to help himself, he flicks it on at the plug, waiting for it to warm up. 

“Sweetheart, you mind if I roll?” He calls out. 

“Sure, my shits on the side table, just light the incense on the dresser.” 

Eddie seeks his boxers out and puts them on for his modesty, though it seems you may be a little, lacking, in that department. Not that he's complaining, far from it. He's obsessed with your demeanour, your confidence. 

Once the incense is lit, he rolls a joint, fussing over it to make sure it's perfect for you. Just as he pulls the little twisted paper end off, you walk back in. 

You'd taken the time to go to the restroom, clean yourself up, and find his t-shirt that was abandoned in the TV room. The hellfire logo is tight across your chest, the shirt barely covering your sex where you stand. The smile you shoot to him is absolutely smothered in sin. 

“That's, fuck, you do not play fair, sweetheart.” 

Eyes wide, eyebrows round and innocent, your mouth falls into a perfect o. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about baby.” 

Eddie can't speak. If he does, he'll give everything away. How wonderful you are, how that tightrope of dirty and sweet that you walk with ease twists his insides up. How he never wants to go home. 

Instead, he passes the unlit smoke to you, and holds out his zippo like a sacrificial offering. You sit side saddle on the bed, knees together, barely covering your throbbing core, as you take the rolled joint gratefully and spark it. Once you've had a few tokes you pass it back. 

“So, this was…” He widely gestures his arm, like it can encompass everything he's felt over the last few hours. 

“You wanna leave, Eddie?” You ask. A genuine question, cocking your head to the side, as he takes a few pulls of the smoke and hands it back. 

“I thought, well, I thought you'd want me to go.” 

“Eddie, I said we had all night. If you're done with me then-” 

“Oh, oh fuck no, I thought you'd be done with me!” 

You giggle and climb into his lap as he grasps at the flesh of your ass desperately. 

“Then stay. Stay with me.” 

Your mouth presses kisses to his jaw as your hand winds itself into his boxers, seeking out his hardening length. Eddie hisses through his teeth. 

“Fuck, I'll stay, as long as you fuckin’ want, w-whatever you want, Holy shit!” 

Laughing, you puff on the smoke with one hand, and tease him relentlessly with the other. 

For the second, third, or maybe even fourth time today, he's thinking he's in way over his head, but he can't find it in him to care. 

********************

Eddie blinks hard, squishing his eyes shut, then opens them again. Nothing has changed. There's still an unfamiliar fabric hanging on the ceiling in front of him; some rainbow tie dye mural with a painted mariguana leaf in the middle of it that he's never seen before. When he turns his head, he sees a lava lamp, still on, running bubbles of fake lava up it too loose and fast, and then he remembers. 

Flicking the switch to stop the lamp's heat, he turns over to see you. You're snuggled into the crook of your own elbow, face perfectly at ease. Your pretty mouth has the hint of a pout to it, daring him to plant a kiss. 

He wants to do something for you. Anything. Right now, he'd throw a parade, organise a concert to sing to your cunt, hold a benefit to make you believe how hard he's fallen for the colour of your eyes, but maybe making you a coffee in bed will do. 

So he wiggles out of bed in his boxers, and puts his jeans on for good measure in case your mom decides this is a good moment to turn up, and starts busying himself with the kitchen appliances. There's an ancient coffee maker that shakes and sputters to life. Whilst that is going on, he takes a slug of milk out of the carton in the fridge. 

That is, until he sees Dustin from the side of his eye. 

Dustin looks very confused. His eyes trail from the messed up couch cushions, to the beer bottles on the floor, the out of place lamp, and the broken picture frame, and finally land on Eddie, still bemused and befuddled. 

“Eddie… did you… break into my house?” 

Dustin clearly doesn't believe his own conclusion as his eyes scout across the available options and still come up empty. 

“Sup, Dust Buster!” 

Dustin swivels to see you exit your new bedroom, still wearing Eddie's hellfire t-shirt and a pair of panties. You perch nonchalantly on the kitchen side as Eddie grins, making his way between your knees. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me! Eddie!” 

“Henderson, honest, I didn't know until-” 

“Until you were in my fucking house???” 

“OK fair, but it was a bit… late then. Sorry dude.” 

‘Sorry? What about the code?” Come on, she's my sister! And you!” He says, pointing at you accusingly, “you were in school for one day. One! Then you sleep with the one guy I look up to!” 

“The codes, more like… guidelines. Don't shit your pants, you've still got Harrington, Jeez.” 

“Well, you shouldn't be such a- a scarlet woman! A hussy!” 

Uncaring, you shake your head back and away, laughing at the names. Eddie, however, is not having any of it. 

“Hey, Henderson, you better show your sister some respect.” 

“Yeah? Or what?” He dares, forgetting who he's talking to. 

“I might be fucking your sister, but I'm still your DM. You want your green adventurers running into Tiamat next session?” 

The way he curves his lips, the confident stance he's giving, it stirs tiny fires in your gut and dares unthought of kinks to come out and play. 

“Alright, alright, don't TPK us, I'm leaving, alright?” 

Dustin turns on his heel. Before he disappears entirely, you make out the start of him begging, ‘Lucas, do you copy, I have a Code Red! Repeat! Code Red!” 

“so, what now, Dungeon Master?” 

“Mmph,” Eddie sounds out, low in his throat, “ whatever you want, scarlet woman.” 

Taglist- If you want to be added or removed, please PM me!

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @joejoequinnquinn

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #switch!eddie #switch!eddie x switch!reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x female reader #eddie x fem reader #eddie x fem!reader

[golbrocklovely]

our girlfriend // sam and colby

A/N: it's my bday and i'm giving you guys a present... aren't i so nice lol i know it's been a LONG time since i posted any form of a fic, and i'm sorry about that. but hopefully this makes up for it a bit. if you squint hard enough, this could basically be a 'careful what you wish for' fic as well (but not really since the boys are just normal and not a demon or vampire). hope you enjoy and let me know what you think !

prompt: you and the boys always had your fun, but you never tried it in public. and now they want to. || fem!reader x sam and colby

trigger warning: SMUT, threesome (but no actual sex), no solby, you are sam and colby's girlfriend…. lucky you lmao, fingering, oral fixation/finger sucking, bossy!bf sam and colby, also very possessive, a wee bit of degradation, mentions of baby, darling, baby girl, love, good girl, slut, and it also takes place slightly in public (but away from everyone)

word count: 2003

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

"Guys, are you sure about this?" You questioned hurriedly as you rushed up the stairs.

Sam looked back at you, his voice loud over the thumping music of the party. "Yeah, c’mon Y/N. There’s no one up here."

"Probably for good reason." You grumbled.

"You’ve never been one to follow the rules. Don’t start now..." Colby smirked devilishly, his voice right by your ear as he passed you on the stairs.

Reaching the top and with each one of them holding a hand, Sam and Colby pulled you down the hallway. They stopped right outside a door tucked away from the stairs. If someone came up, they would see you. Your heart raced at the idea alone.

Colby leaned his back against the wall as you looked around the corner, glancing at the stairs nervously. He rolled his eyes, pulling you against him. "Baby, you have nothing to worry about. You're with us. When have we ever gotten caught?"

You glared up at him, annoyed. "You literally have a rap sheet that proves you don't know how to hide."

"Someone's feeling bratty tonight..." Sam joked playfully, leaning across from you and Colby.

You gazed at him over your shoulder, brows furrowed. "I'm just worried about someone finding out about us. God knows how the fans would react if they knew..."

Colby's finger lightly turned your chin so that you were looking at him. "Knew about what? That we both love to play with our girlfriend, and now we're trying it out in public?"

You stuttered, the lustful glint in Colby's eye making you blush. "Y-yes. Exactly that."

Colby pouted. "But I thought you loved when we both touched you."

"And tasted you..." Sam replied, sounding closer.

Colby leaned his face in, getting close to yours. "And fucked y-"

You cut him off, slapping his chest. "That's not the issue I have. It's the getting caught part. Or someone seeing us."

"But that's what's fun about this," Sam turned you around to face him, Colby's hands still resting low on your hips. "You're getting fucked as a party is being thrown downstairs in our honor. And if anyone tries to find us, they'll see us all up here... with you. So we gotta make sure we don't get caught."

"Especially since no one is allowed up here." You mentioned again.

"Well, we're allowed up here. No one else is." Colby informed.

Your face scrunched up, "I thought the owner said-"

"The owner can suck my dick. If I want to fuck my girlfriend in a house I'm renting out for a party, I'm gonna do it wherever I want to." Colby ranted.

"Excuse me." Sam raised an eyebrow, a light glare thrown at Colby.

"Right, my bad, Sam. Our girlfriend." Colby responded, smiling.

Sam sighed, "Much better."

"Speaking of...." Colby slid his hand under your skirt, pressing your damp panties against your swollen sex. "Our girlfriend is very wet."

You gasped, your body arching against Colby's. He exhaled as your ass grinded into his crotch. His breath was hot against your neck, raising goosebumps across your cool skin.

Sam's eyes danced up your body, studying it as Colby kneaded your clit slowly. Sam hummed when his gaze reached your face, his voice low, "What am I gonna do with you?"

"Kiss me." You shuddered, grabbing his shirt lightly and tugging him closer.

"She's so aggressive when she's needy." Colby chuckled darkly, applying pressure to his movements.

Sam nodded, leaning in and kissing you tenderly. You could barely breathe to begin with but having Sam's mouth on yours and Colby's fingers on your clit, you felt yourself get lightheaded. It was so overwhelming already, and they barely had done anything to you. God, or the devil himself, only knew what they had in store for you.

As Sam's tongue glided into your mouth, tangling with yours, Colby moved your panties out of the way and slid two fingers inside of you, pumping them at an achingly slow pace. Your breath hitched, a moan falling from your lips. Lucky for you, it was muffled by Sam's mouth.

"What did we say, baby girl? You can’t be too loud. And we know how loud you can get." Sam teased.

"Even with the music playing, they would be able to hear her." Colby sneered jokingly.

"Is that what you want? To get caught? To have all of our friends know you're being fucked by us? That you're needy for us?" Sam grunted, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

"I think that's what she wants. She loves to pretend to be such a good girl, but in reality, she's bad." Colby snickered into your ear quietly. "She's a little slut for us."

"Our slutty little girlfriend who can't stop herself from moaning when we touch her." Sam closed the space between you two, gripping your chin so that your eyes were looking into his piercing blues. "You're so pathetic and horny, aren't you?"

You shook your head, a whimper falling from your lips as Colby slid another finger in. You bit your lip hard to not make a noise, knowing it wasn't doing much to help.

"We might have to cover her mouth, since she can't listen." Colby hissed mischievously, biting your neck softly.

"I know the perfect way to do that." Sam placed the tips of his index and middle finger against your lips, "Open." Your lips fell open instantly, and he snaked them in, resting them against your tongue. "Suck."

You immediately started sucking his fingers, whining around them and bobbing your head up and down. Sam growled lowly at the sensation of you sucking off his fingers. He pushed himself closer to you, sandwiching you in between him and Colby completely. You couldn't have escaped their hold if you wanted it, and you definitely didn't want to.

"Her mouth feels amazing, Colby. You'll have to give it a try soon." Sam closed his tightly, focusing on the feeling.

"I remember how good she feels, trust me." Colby leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear, "You always need something in your mouth, don't you darling? You can't help but want to suck on something. On one of us."

Colby's fingers sped up, a groan deep within your throat rocketed out, stifled by Sam's fingers. You kept grinding your ass against Colby, who now was hard in his leather pants. He followed your movements, his hips pressing hard into you. Your hand gripped his wrist, clinging onto the hand that was fucking you. Your other hand held Sam close as your nails dug into his back.

"Are you getting close, baby girl? Do you want to come?" Sam barked.

You mewled, nodding your head desperately. Sam tsked, leaning his forehead against yours. "Not yet, baby. I think you need a bit more help."

His other hand drifted down, stopping right above your clit. He teased you for a moment, the tip of his finger brushing across it ever so gently. Your body shook and both boys laughed.

Colby feigned concern. "Aw Sam, c’mon now. You gotta be nice to her. She's not gonna make it."

"I guess we traded places this time, since you're the one that's always so mean to her." Sam quipped sassily.

Colby faux gasped, "Me? Being mean?" He leaned into your ear, whispering, "I'm not mean, am I love? You like when I treat you rough. I know you do, sweetheart."

You closed your eyes tight, trying to hold yourself back from exploding. Both of their motions were all too much for you, but you didn't want it to end just yet. You needed it to keep going. You just loved being theirs.

Sam pushed his lower half into his hand that was rubbing your clit, both boys now grinding against you. Their cocks were hard, and they were touching you in all the right places; you could feel your orgasm building up to its breaking point. You needed them to say you could let go. You weren't sure how much longer you could last.

"Feel how hard you've made us, baby girl. You want us inside of you? Wanna get filled up by us?" Sam rasped.

You whined and nodded mindlessly. You couldn't even form words if you want to.

"She's squeezing my fingers so tight. God, I can't wait to taste you, Y/N. You're getting so close..." Colby panted. "Maybe we should let her come."

"Only if she deserves it. Do you, baby? Do you deserve to come? Have you been good for us?" Sam taunted, staring into your eyes.

You moaned around his fingers in agreement, shaking your head again.

Sam bit his lip, glancing at Colby for a moment. "She has been following our demands very well. She made me hard just by sucking my fingers."

"You've been such a needy, good girl for us, haven't you? You take our fingers so well. Do you wanna come? Say you want to." Colby lowered his voice, "Use your words, love."

You choked around Sam's fingers, a 'I wanna come' mumbled through his digits.

Colby harshly snapped in your ear, "Who owns this cunt, darling?"

You grunted out a 'You do', eyes pleading with Sam to say you could let go.

Sam smirked, an almost evil glint in his eye. "I think she can come now. What about you, Colby?"

Colby paused, his fingers still moving at their fast pace. Your body was hot, sweat dripping down your back. Your face was flushed, and you felt like you couldn't breathe as you waited for Colby to say the magic phrase.

He kissed right under your ear sweetly, his lips then pressed against you. "Come for us, baby."

You cried out around their fingers, your body spasming in ecstasy. Sam finger fucked your mouth, making sure your screams weren't heard over the music as he sped up his fingers on your clit. Colby kept the pace as you exploded around him, your juices running down your thighs. He cooed in your ear, speaking softly that you were a good girl, a good slut for them, and that you were so beautiful when you come.

Your pleasure slowly subsided, Sam and Colby resting against you and their motions still. They breathed with you, kissing along your neck and face as you relaxed.

You were about to say something when all three of you could hear someone walking up the stairs. Sam backed up, removing his hands from your mouth and clit. Colby spun you both around, facing the person coming up the stairs. It was a scramble to make sure you looked okay, and you weren't even sure if you did.

A tall man in an all-black suit, one of the security guards, looked down the hallway at you all. "Excuse me, you can't be up here."

"Uh, sorry about that. My girlfriend wasn't feeling too well and the line for the bathroom was kinda long so we figured she could come up here and use this one." Colby smiled, placing you in front of him to cover up his hard on.

"Are you feeling better now, miss?" The man asked, looking at you.

Sam cut you off, thankfully; since you weren't sure if you could even speak yet. He cupped his hands in front of his body, trying to cover himself up. "Yeah, she's good. We'll make sure she feels better later tonight, though. Just to be safe."

You glanced at Sam, and he gave you a little wink.

"Please follow me back downstairs to the party." The man stated.

You trudged down the hall towards the man, Sam and Colby following close behind. Once the man turned around, you could hear Sam smack Colby's arm, saying 'She's our girlfriend' to him. They bickered back and forth until you got to the bottom of the stairs.

Colby smacked your ass playfully, his voice loud enough for only you to hear, "Don’t go too far, Y/N. We're not done with you yet."

#sam and colby #sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby fanfic #sam and colby fic #sam and colby smut #sam golbach fanfiction #sam golbach fanfic #sam golbach smut #sam golbach fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock smut #sam and colby x reader #sam golbach #colby brock

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, fem!Reader, metal vibrating dick, metal vibrating fingers, semi-public, spanking, fingering, Boothill can’t curse, Boothill calling himself “daddy”, creampie

Synopsis: Boothill had been on a mission for quite some time, and you had missed him dearly. So, when he finally returned, you were bursting with excitement to greet him — and he felt the same way too

A/N: special dedication to my beloved @crystalwolfblog & @shonen-brainrot

OTHER FANDOMS MASTERLIST

In the dim light of the station, the air was thick with the faint scent of rust. 

The weeks without Boothill had felt like an eternity, each day dragging on without the comfort of his presence. When his message finally came through, the simple words, "On my way back to the station," sent a jolt of happiness through you that you couldn't contain.

You quickly put on his favorite short skirt and a plain shirt, the anticipation making your hands tremble slightly as you smoothed down the fabric. Your heart raced as you made your way to the hangar, the familiar paths of the station feeling new and exciting again.

As you approached the hangar, you caught sight of him strolling through an empty technical corridor. His confident stride, the glint of metal and the familiar outline of his figure were unmistakable. You didn't hesitate. With a mewl of pure joy, you ran to him, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. "Boothill!" you cried, leaping into his arms.

He caught you effortlessly, his strong, mechanical arms wrapping around you with a firm yet gentle grip. "Missed you, darlin'," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine warmth. He peppered your cheeks with kisses, each one soft and lingering, his lips brushing against your skin in a series of tender touches.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent mixed with the metallic tang of his body. "I missed you too," you whispered, your voice muffled against him. 

The weeks apart had been difficult, but now, in his arms, everything felt right again.

He put you down, and pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. "You look beautiful," he said, his gaze roaming over your outfit. 

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Consider me surprised and very pleased," he replied, his metal fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulders. "You know how to make a guy feel welcome."

His words brought a blush to your cheeks, and you felt a warmth spread through your body that had nothing to do with the temperature of the station. "I couldn't wait to see you," you admitted, your fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt.

Boothill's expression softened, a rare vulnerability showing through his usually confident demeanor. "I couldn't wait to see you either," he said, his voice low and sincere. "Being away was tough, but knowing I'd get to come back to you made it bearable."

He kissed you then, a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of all the longing and desire that had built up during your time apart. His lips moved against yours with a passion that made your knees weak, and you clung to him, pouring all your emotions into the kiss.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. 

After that, Boothill’s  fingers gently traced the curve of your jaw. His touch was cold, yet you didn’t mind in the slightest. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving with the intensity of his desire. "Do you know how much I missed ya, darlin’?" he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that seemed to vibrate through the very air around you. 

The words were both a question and a declaration, and your response was caught in your throat, replaced by a soft gasp as his fingers slid into your mouth.

Boothill's lips curled into a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. His free hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, the coolness of his body a stark contrast to your own heated flesh. "Shhh," he whispered, his lips curling into a dark, seductive smile. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. "I want to hear every sound you make," he said, his tone dripping with desire, "But we can't have you wakin’ up the whole station, can we?" 

You nodded eagerly in agreement as he trailed open mouthed kisses up the column of your neck.

With a dark, predatory smile, he brought his fingers to your lips, his eyes locked onto yours. “Now, be a good little girl and open your mouth f’me, baby,” Boothill commanded.

You obeyed, parting your lips as his fingers slipped inside. The sensation was strange but exhilarating, his fingers exploring your mouth with a deliberate, teasing slowness. 

He watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he pushed deeper, his thumb stroking the outside of your lips in a soothing gesture as his digits hit the back of your throat.

The taste of metal filled your mouth, and you moaned around his fingers, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Your gaze never left him.

Boothill’s eyes darkened with desire, his own breathing growing more ragged as he took in the sight of you, moaning like a pathetic whore, even when he didn’t touch you fully yet. He began to move his fingers, sliding them in and out of your mouth. “Do you like that?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper. “Do you like the way my fingers feel in your mouth?”

You nodded, your response muffled by his fingers as you sucked on them earnestly.

Boothill’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and he pushed his metal digits deeper, the sensation intensifying. The taste, the feel, the sheer dominance of the act — it was all driving you wild.

Boothill's free hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. "Good girl," he praised again, his eyes darkening with lust as his free hand cupped and fondled your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. 

Your nipples were perky, and it made him grin as he gently pinched one of them.

Before you could respond, his fingers that were fucking your mouth began to vibrate. The sudden, intense sensation caught you off guard, your eyes widening in surprise. The vibrations sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body, your moans growing louder, more desperate. 

"Didn't expect that, did you?" he said, his tone dripping with amusement. Boothill’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched you squirm. 

You clenched your thighs together, trying to rub them, seeking so much needed friction.

The tension that had built up during the weeks apart seemed to melt away under the gentle pressure of his vibrating fingers against your flexed tongue.

With a deliberate slowness, Boothill withdrew his fingers from your mouth, allowing you to gasp for breath. 

Your lips were swollen, your face flushed with desire. 

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

The authority in his tone left no room for argument, and you obeyed, your heart pounding with anticipation.

Boothill's hands moved to your hips, guiding you into position. The cool metal of his fingers squeezed your ass, possessive and demanding, as he pressed you forward, your chest flattening against the cold wall.

"I want to have my ways with ya, baby," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to be in your cookie so ducking much."

Boothill’s hands slid down your body, his touch firm and possessive. He reached the hem of your short skirt and lifted it, his eyes widening in surprise and delight as he discovered your secret. “Well, well, darlin’,” he drawled, a wide grin spreading across his face as he watched your bare pussy, your folds already glistening with slickness. “So that’s the reason your scent was so intoxicating and intense today.”

You weren’t wearing any panties. Your cheeks flushed at his words, but there was no time for embarrassment. 

Boothill’s fingers moved to unfasten his belt, the metallic clink of his buckle echoing in the quiet corridor. He undid his fly and pushed his pants down to his ankles, revealing his metal member, already hard and glinting in the dim light.

His hands returned to your body, spreading your ass cheeks apart.

You felt the cool air against your warm, slick, exposed pussy, and you gasped, biting into your knuckle. 

Boothill’s vibrating fingers teased your entrance, and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. “Fuck…”

“Such a pretty sight,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “So wet and ready for daddy.” He slid two of his fingers inside you, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. 

Your forehead pressed against the cold wall, your hands splayed out for support as you arched your back, offering yourself to him completely. 

Boothill’s fingers moved with expert precision, stroking and teasing your warm, spongy walls until you were trembling with need. His thumb was pressed against your clit, rubbing it ever so slightly. 

The sound of Boothill's fingers moving in and out of you was a wet, obscene symphony that filled the air with the undeniable evidence of your arousal. Each slick, squelching noise echoed through the quiet corridor, a testament to just how drenched your hole had become under his expert touch.

And you weren’t ashamed in the slightest.

After a few agonizingly pleasurable moments, he withdrew his fingers, slick with your arousal. He brought them to his metal member, spreading your wetness over the shaft as a makeshift lubricant. 

You gasped and mewled at the sight, looking at him above your shoulder.

With a predatory grin, Boothill brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting your wetness. He hummed in satisfaction, his metal member twitching upwards in anticipation. “Delicious,” he murmured, his voice a dark, velvety whisper. “You taste as good as you smell.”

Boothill positioned himself behind you, the tip of his metal member pressing against your slimy entrance. 

The vibrations of his cock were subtle but unmistakable, and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation already. 

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pushed forward, the metal shaft sliding into you, inch by inch, with a slow, deliberate motion as he guided his metal cock upwards into the opening of your vagina.

When he bottomed out, you moaned in pure ecstasy. His cold, heavy balls pressed tightly against your ass. The combined sensations were overwhelming, and you could feel yourself spiraling out of control. “B-Boothill!” 

Boothill groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself completely inside you. “Yeah, darlin’. You feel so freaking good,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “So tight and perfect f’me.”

He began to move, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your entire being. His hands roamed over your body, one hand slipping around you to tease your clit while the other held you firmly in place. The vibrations of his member buried deep inside you, combined with the relentless pace of his thrusts and how painfully your walls had to stretch to accommodate his girth, pushed you closer to the edge.

“Smack me, smack me!" you pleaded urgently. Pressed against the cold wall, your chest flattened more against the unforgiving surface as you could feel every inch of him vibrating  inside you, his metal shaft filling you completely.

Boothill grinned widely and gave you a sharp smack on your right cheek, leaving a red mark in the shape of his hand on the meat of your ass. 

Your back arched, and you went rigid, a cry strangled in your throat and your pussy spasmed around his cock, gripping it so tight it was almost painful. "Again," you gave a strangled cry. “Fuck, spank me ass again!”

Boothill spanked your ass, this time harder than before. And then he did it again, and again, and again. 

Your ass was completely red, and throbbed with a fiery heat, the skin flushed and sensitive from all the spanking. 

As Boothill trailed the metal pads of his fingers over your tender cheeks, a sharp jolt of sensation shot through you, causing you to whimper and instinctively jerk upwards.

“Yeah!” you moaned, not caring at all that someone could have heard your desperate sounds. “Oh, fuck, yeah, I’m gonna cum soon.”

As you were pressed against the cold wall while your boyfriend fucked your tight cunny hard, a funny yet strange thought crossed your mind: Boothill, your beloved man, was serving as a good vibrator. The absurdity of the thought made you want to laugh, but the relentless sensations coursing through your body as he kept on fucking you quickly snuffed out any amusement.

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Just like that, Booty!” The intensity of his movements was overwhelming, every nerve ending alight with pleasure. “Fuck me hard!” 

His metal hips were pistoning into yours, the tip of his metal cock kissing your cervix with each of his thrusts. Boothill’s pace quickened, each thrust more forceful than the last, your bodies moving in perfect sync as you rolled your hips to meet all of his thrusts. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice a dark, possessive whisper. “Every part of you belongs to me.”

The words sent a thrill through you, your body responding to his claim with a shudder of pleasure. You cried out once more, flaring your nostrils, breathing fiercely in and out in quick spurts like a woman in labour easing the pain, trying to relax. Your cunt started gripping and releasing his cock in a fierce rhythm. You were nearing your orgasm.

Boothill’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your warm flesh as he drove his cock into your tight pussy fast enough to push all of the air out of your lungs. The amplified vibrations of his metal member, combined with the force of his thrusts, pushed you to the brink of ecstasy.

“Come for daddy,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “Come on my ducking iron rod, darlin’!”

The words were your undoing. With a final, shuddering cry, your pussy pulsated around him, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as your velvety walls clamped convulsively around his metal shaft still buried deep within your drenched hole. 

Boothill’s thrusts became sloppy, and his body shuddered against yours as he grunted. With a deep, guttural groan, he reached his own climax. 

You felt his metal member twitch inside you as he released his thick seed, the sensation unlike anything you had ever experienced. His semen quickly blended with your runny cum.

Boothill's metal member twitched one final time, shooting the last ropes of cum within you before he began to withdraw. 

The sensation of his cock leaving your pussy with a pop sound sent another shiver down your spine, and you gasped, your body trembling from the aftershocks of your shared climax, making you pant loudly. “Oh holy shit…”

As Boothill pulled out, the mixture of your releases began to dribble down your thighs, the combined fluids glistening in the dim light of the corridor. He stood back for a moment, his dark eyes taking in the sight of you — shaking, breathless, and utterly spent. A dark, satisfied smile played on his lips as he watched the evidence of your intense sex trickle down your legs after he cupped your ass cheeks and spread them wider, watching your beautiful, abused pussy still clenching but this time around nothing.

After he pulled his trousers back up and adjusted them, he gave your ass one last spank. "Darlin', you seem distracted," Boothill murmured, his voice a low, gravelly whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. "What’s on your mind?"

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. "I’ve been just thinking... how you're really good at... multitasking," you managed to say, improving your hair and pulling your skirt down. “I didn’t know your fingers could vibrate too.”

Boothill chuckled, the sound a low, mechanical rumble coming deep within his chest. "Well, darlin', I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," he said, his voice a mix of amusement and pride. "Glad to see you're enjoyin' the multitasking." He leaned in closer, pecking your cheek, and moving to your ear to whisper, "Those fingers can do a lot more than just vibrate, you know. But now that I’m back, I aim to show you every last one of their talents."

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #boothill x female reader #honkai star rail smut #boothill x reader #hsr boothill #boothill smut #hsr x you #boothill imagines #honkai star rail x you #boothill x y/n #boothill x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines #honkai star rail #hsr #divider by cafekitsune #smutty fanfiction #boothill

[dulcesiabits]

vestigial structures.

summary: With a man like Sunday, it's always best to keep a certain distance. Still, what can you do when he tries to bridge the gap?

notes: 2.9k words, author notes, power play, boss/employee dynamic, mentions of injuries, very messy relationship

On the surface, Sunday is the perfect employer.

He’s strict and exacting about the most minute details, but his criticism is never personal. He’s fair with his employees, and the paychecks are never late and always generous. He’s agreeable and amiable, and knows all of his employees by name and occupation, his smile always pleasant when he stops to converse. 

Even if your coworkers grumble about his harsh demands or the late nights, their heads still perk up with the rare praise he throws out, like dogs to a bone. You have to admit that Sunday is smart in that way, knowing just when to push and pull with people. 

Yes, all your coworkers can say that because none of them work as closely with Sunday as you do. You’ve never given him room to complain about your conduct; you’re silent, loyal, and meticulous, all traits that Sunday prizes in his close staff. Maybe it helps that you’ve been here since the beginning, when Sunday was just getting his footing as head of the Family.

He keeps you close, which means you’ve had time to see the way he raises his hand to cover his smile in front of a terrified employee, the barely restrained tension in his lax body posture when he negotiates deals, how he lovingly moves around all the people in Penacony like chess pieces, watching them fall right where he wants them to without their knowing.

Sunday is like a beautiful dream: perfectly constructed and dazzling, but you know too much about what goes under the surface to buy into his sweet words and polite gestures, all the greasy wires and gears. 

Every movement is perfectly calculated. And as long as you play your part and fulfill the role he sets out for you, you can just cash in your paycheck at the end of the month and never have to worry about him beyond that.

It’s how you’ve survived so far with a man like him, after all. The perfect dance, a measured distance and precise footwork you’ve long since memorized: you know just how to skirt around all the little games Sunday likes to play without losing yourself.

“This is the paperwork for today,” Sunday says. You never talk in his office more than you need to; all chatter is whittled down to the necessities. “It’s the architectural plans for our recent expansion of the casino.”

“I’ll have it filled out by the end of the day,” you say, skimming through the file. Color-coded and carefully organized by priority: it’s nothing less than what you expect from him.

“There’s an upcoming meeting with a merchant group in a few days, too, for potential trade deals.”

“I’ll be in charge of that,” you say automatically. “You should focus on managing the projects in the Dreamscape. The expansion will take a majority of your attention.”

Sunday nods, steepling his fingers together, lost in some thought or another. You wait patiently in front of his desk, folders clutched to your chest, face impassive. It’s only another two hours before you can clock out.

His gaze flicks to you, sharp and assessing, but for what, you aren’t sure. You straighten, leveling your shoulders, returning his stare with a cool look of your own. 

“Is your work too much?” Sunday asks, voice even.

His words are unexpected, and your eyebrows furrow, just a fraction. Sunday catches it before you can school your expression, and you curse internally at the curve of his lips. What sort of trick is this? You don’t have any script for this unexpected turn of events.

What answer is he expecting from you? His halo gleams like a liquid sun behind him, and the gold fills your vision.

“It’s nothing that I’m not capable of handling,” you say, phrasing each word delicately, watching his expression. No change. “I’m honored to do this work for the prosperity of Penacony.”

Sunday nods, once. “I see.”

You smile at him, the practiced one you give clients. “Will that be all, sir? I don’t think you need to worry. I have proved myself before, have I not?”

Sunday stands from his seat, reaching his hand out to you. What the hell is he doing? Just when you think he’s going to cup your cheek, his hand drifts down and he brushes something off your shoulder. 

There’s something pinched in his fingers: a piece of gray thread.

“Make sure you’re following the dress code. You know I abhor messes and people who don’t follow the rules,” Sunday says pleasantly, but there’s frost under his tone. 

“I’ll be careful, sir,” you say.

Did something about your answer upset him? Is this an implicit threat? Or is he really just pissed about your supposedly sloppy attire, even though the rest of your uniform is starched and neat, just the way he likes it?

Well, it’s not your job to understand your boss’s mercurial moods. The less you associate or think about Sunday, the better.

Before you head out the door, Sunday calls out to you. “You’re one of my most valued employees. Make sure you keep up the good work. I’d like to work with you for as long as possible.”

The door shuts behind you, leaving you with one last glance of Sunday’s genial smile. But even with a layer of wood between you, you swear you can still feel his eyes on your back. 

Despite the strangeness of your meeting with Sunday, the next few days proceed as smoothly as clockwork. Sunday keeps your exchanges brief and professional, and you’re far too busy with your work to figure out the reasoning behind every action he takes.

At least everything is going well until you find yourself limping down the hallway, mumbling curses under your breath, a wound lacerating your calf. Luckily, there’s no one around to witness your humiliation, and you’ve managed to swap your ruined uniform with a spare you keep on hand. Sunday, as he so loves to remind you, abhors messes, and you can’t imagine what he’ll do if he discovers you’ve dirtied the hotel with your blood.

You lean against the wall, hissing, as pain shoots up your leg. Injuries on the job are inconvenient, more so when they’re caused by meetings gone wildly wrong. You should have expected it, working at Penacony as long as you have, but merchant groups pulling out their weapons when negotiations turn sour isn’t something you’re quite fond of dealing with.

At least you have no other injuries, despite having left the meeting room in shambles. The paperwork you’re going to need to fill out over this incident is going to be a pain in the ass, but as long as you get somewhere safe, you can dress your wounds and put the entire thing behind you.

Sharp steps echo down the hall in front of you, and you straighten instinctively. Out of the shadows steps your boss, the last person you want to see in a moment like this. You grit your teeth and put on a cordial smile, keeping your eyes to the floor, trying to keep your steps even. One foot in front of the other, even if your body protests at the exertion.

Sunday is the one man you can’t show weakness in front of.

The edges of his patent shoes stop right in front of you. “Good afternoon,” Sunday says pleasantly. “How did your meeting go?”

“There was an unexpected occurrence,” you say. “I’ll file a report about it later, but it’s been handled. Suffice to say, we won’t have any dealings with them.”

Sunday still doesn’t move, and you risk tilting your head up to gauge his mood. His hands are folded in front of him. You can’t make out the expression in his eyes. “How unfortunate.”

“If that’s all, sir, I’ll be–” Sunday’s hand shoots out and grabs your elbow the second you try to take a step around him.

“You’re limping,” he says softly, pleasantly, like a trap springing shut. His fingers dig through your suit fabric and into your skin. “What exactly happened?”

“I’ll tell you in the report. It’s nothing major.”

A short laugh escapes Sunday. “I don’t appreciate my employees lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you protest, a thread of annoyance working its way into your tone, a hairline fracture in your composure. “I just judged that something like this wasn’t worth reporting.”

Sunday’s hair tickles your face like feathers as he leans in close to you, his lips almost brushing your ear. He still hasn’t let you go. “You’re not the judge of what’s worth reporting. I am.”

“Sir–”

“You need medical attention,” he says, tugging your arm around his waist. You jerk back, but his grip is iron. “What are you doing? It’ll be easier on you if you can lean on me.”

“It’s inappropriate for me to touch you like this.”

“Proprietary has nothing on your wounds,” he says, and you reluctantly settle your arm around his waist, fingers loosely gripping the turn of his hip. He’s right, but you hate how it feels like you’re playing along with one of his ploys. But not even he could have predicted the outcome of the meeting, right? Sunday’s arm descends along your back, holding you steady as the two of you slowly move along the darkened hallway. 

You end up in a supply room just around the corner, out of sight from anyone and lit by the warm glow of lights above you. Stacks of crates and boxes line the shelves, but there’s a narrow table and a pair of chairs, one of which Sunday helps you settle into.

He moves around the room with practiced familiarity, pulling a medical supply box from one of the shelves. He flicks it open, rummaging through the supplies. And then, Sunday kneels in front of you, his knees hitting the dusty ground, his hands outstretched towards you like a prayer.

But what can a man like him ever want from you? Only something you can never give.

“You don’t have to do this.”

His hands ghost along your leg, the fabric of your gray slacks creasing as Sunday slides them up to reveal the gash on your leg. It’s unthinkable, normally. Your boss is meticulous on the minute details of your uniform, and you’ve seen employees reprimanded for having their collars an inch too low. But here he is now, ruining the symmetry he values himself.

His gloved fingers skate along the skin of your calf, the pressure so light you almost can’t feel it, drawing your attention back to him. He cradles your ankle with one hand as he examines your wound. He’s still kneeling in front of you, his head ducked so low you can’t make out his expression, only the fringe of his eyelashes.

It’s wrong. It’s wrong to see Sunday like this, because even when he’s gentle, reverential and at your feet, you know the second you believe in him, you’ll lose. Submission and honesty from a man like him is never willingly given.

“I don’t have to, but it would only be right when you were hurt due to my carelessness,” Sunday says.

“It was my fault for not being careful. It has nothing to do with you,” you say. “Besides, this is unprofessional, considering our working relationship.”

His hand tightens on your ankle like a vice. “I’m not doing this as your employer.”

Sunday doesn’t look up once as he dabs disinfectant-soaked cotton along your wound. You hiss at the sting, as Sunday presses harder than you expect. The bandages that go around your calf are wrapped neatly, pulled tightly to the edge of pain. It feels like a chastisement, or a punishment, for the unwillingness of your earlier actions.

Your blood flecks Sunday’s gloves as he works, staining his pristine clothes. The two of you share a similar uniform, distinct from most of your other coworkers. The same dark vest, the same dove gray slacks and white suit jacket, the same golden enamels and blue accents. It’s almost like he’s trying to dress you up in his clothes, to mark you in some indelible way. 

You dig your nails into your palms until you think you can cut into your own skin. From the beginning, you’ve never been able to escape the games he’s always playing. 

Sunday still kneels on the floor, holding your ankle in his hand like a delicate bird. He pulls down the leg of your slacks himself, the fabric rustling as it covers the fresh bandages on your calf.

“Be more careful next time,” he says. 

Right now, while he’s still beneath you, you could reach out and tug his hair, grip his chin and make him look level at you, force him to kneel forever and press him into the ground. But even if you do, it’ll still feel like something Sunday has let happen. 

Penacony is a chessboard, and you’re just another piece in his hands.

“You said you’re not doing this as my employer. What are you doing this as?” you say, pushing back your chair, leaping up. Your leg moans in protest, but you ignore the searing pain to stand in front of Sunday.

“What do you think?” he says, his face serene. “You’re clever. I’m sure you know.”

You whirl your head in disgust, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His eyes burn into your back as you go, watching you. Always watching you, because you can never escape his presence, the eyes he has all over this damn place.

When you stride into Sunday’s office the next day, the wound on your calf burns with every step you take. There hasn’t been enough time for it to heal. Your uniform, as always, is pristine, the slacks creased just so, the wrinkles nonexistent. 

Sunday barely looks up from his desk as you slide a folder in front of him. There’s a pen in his hand, poised above a sheaf of papers he thumbs through.

“You finished your report rather early,” he remarks. 

“That’s because it’s not a report. It’s my resignation.”

His grip on his pen tightens, enough so that you wonder if he’s going to break it. The tranquil expression on his face doesn’t change, but there’s a wrinkle in his facade. A twitch of his eyebrow, a slight turn of his mouth. Subtle signs of his unhappiness that only you can see. After all, you’ve known him long enough that he can’t hide from you, not completely.

“Is there something unsatisfactory about your current position?” he says evenly. “The pay, perhaps? The vacation days? The hours?”

“Those are all fine. I’ve just been thinking I need a change of pace,” you say lightly, tapping your fingers on his desk. His eyes track your every movement. 

“I’d hate to lose a valuable employee like yourself. You won’t find a better place to work than Penacony.”

“I know. You value Family above all else. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I’m not a part of yours.” You smile at him. His own smile tightens. You’ve never been so forward with him before, would never have risked it. You have no script for this, but neither does he. “This is a place where everyone’s dreams come true. But what’s your dream, Sunday?”

His jaw twitches at your casual address. “My dream? I wish to see Penacony prosper.”

It’s such a stock answer you could laugh. It’s what Sunday tells everyone, the picture perfect answer he can print in newspapers and feed to interviewers. 

“That’s a good answer.” You lean across his desk. “You know, I’ve always been fond of birds. But the best way to keep one by your side is to make it want to be there, don’t you think? Otherwise, when you open the cage, it’ll fly away. It has to go in the cage willingly.”

“A fascinating observation,” Sunday says. “But you simply shouldn’t open the cage door at all, if you want to keep it by your side. If you provide the bird with everything it wants, then there will be no reason for it to go.”

“Birds are capricious creatures.” You raise your hand, angling it towards the wings that flutter near his head. They tremble at your wandering fingers, but right before you can brush one of his gray feathers, you drop your hand and pick up your resignation file, waving it lazily in the air. “I mean, who knows what they want? Don’t you think maybe the bird tries to fly away because it wants its owner to chase it? It makes you wonder who’s really the one being caged here.”

“I’ve owned birds before. I think I can handle such a thing,” Sunday says sharply.

“I’m sure. You know, maybe my resignation is a little hasty. I think I could stand to stay for a while longer.” Under Sunday’s vigilant eye, you glide towards the door, pulling it open with one hand.

“You shouldn’t do such things in jest,” Sunday calls behind you. You turn to face him. The tension still hasn’t left his shoulders.

“It wasn’t a joke,” you say. “I just changed my mind, that’s all.”

This time, you don’t let your gaze drop away from him, even as the door slams shut between the two of you. The expression on his face, the simmering frustration, the restrained edges of his desire, the way Sunday looks as if he’s the one who’s been trapped— it’s the most beautiful he’s ever been.

You’re starting to understand why Sunday enjoys his little games, but it’s too bad for him. This chess board doesn’t just belong to him anymore.

#liya writes #honkai star rail #sunday #sunday x reader #sunday hsr #x reader #honkai star rail x reader #posting this just before 2.2 hoping it'll hold up LOL #anyways. hes soooo frustrating #i want nothing more than to mess up his smug composure

[wreckedandpolemic]

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.  

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life. 

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan. 

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back. 

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

 By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess.  Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips. 

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly. 

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly. 

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour. 

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

#the instalove is instaloving STRONG here loool #why is this longer than my Actual Novel that im writing so far #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #writing #smut #white and gold

[bimbobaggins69]

˗ˏˋ𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ˎˊ˗

bar-back e.m. x fem reader

blurb request: barback!eddie who let’s you try his newest concoctions on the house🤭 by @bcyhoods

authors note: thank you for participating in my little celebration and sending in your request(s), love. This was such a fun one to write and totally got away from me. Anyway, hope you like! <3

✷ ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+

A fog of smoke greets you as you walk through the double doors of the hideout, some run down dive bar in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, surrounded by cows and cornfields. You can’t help but grimace as each step you take is met with sticky resistance under the soles of your brand new loafers.

You take a seat at the bar, running your fingers over the skirt of your dress while you wait for the bartender to notice you and while you do, you take in every inch of him; in his black leather jacket, long brown waves and rings galore. He’s not like anything you’d ever seen outside of an MTV music video.

You’d spent your whole life around preppy assholes who thought polos and boat shoes were cool. They’d never be caught dead in that bad boy attire or much less in a sketchy place like this. That thought made your heart race with excitement, you set your sights on him and prayed your sweet charm and flirty banter would work in your favor.

“Uh, what can I get ya, sweetheart?” The smoothness of his voice instantly makes you want to clench your thighs, but you decide against it as your eyes meet his.

“Mmm, got anything sweet?” You ask with a flirty smile, you don’t want to lay it on thick too soon, just little by little for now.

“Sure, I can whip somethin’ up for you.” He says proudly, bending down to grab a whisky glass and a bottle of some fruity liquor. “Sorry, we don’t have anythin’ more fancy, we really only get beer and whisky orders here, if you can believe it.” He says sarcastically as he looks around the smoke filled bar, met with older working men and bikers who were, to no surprise holding an aforementioned beer or whisky.

“It’s fine.” You say, waving off his apology with a small swat to the smoky air. “So… aren’t you a little young to be bartending?” You ask curiously, also as an attempt to keep the conversation flowing.

“Ah, well you’d be right. I’m not quite a bartender yet, more of a bartenders assistant if you will. But…” he looks around with dramatic flare, making you giggle. “She’s not around at the moment, so looks like you’re stuck with me, princess.” The pet name sends a thrilling swoop straight to your stomach.

“Maybe I wanna be stuck with you.” The words are out of your mouth before you have a chance to fully process them and you immediately want nothing more than to swallow them back down. Your face heats up with humiliation when he raises an eyebrow that gets lost somewhere underneath his shaggy bangs.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your little slip up, instead he shakes his head as a smirk forms on his pretty lips, all the while pouring some red liquor and pineapple juice concoction into your glass. You both let the awkward silence flow around you, although the bar is anything but silent.

“So, tell me what ya’ think?” He beams, scooting the half filled glass closer towards you. The silver of his rings glint off of the yellow lighting and you can’t help but want to do some very shameful things to those fingers while he’s wearing those rings.

After the third concoction of his amazing fruity cocktails, you begin feeling that familiar burn in your chest. You’re nowhere near drunk just feeling loose, which was never good for the people around you.

“So, why haven’t I ever seen you around?” The metalhead asks as he takes a seat next to you at the bar, the bartender had since come back and told him he was off the hook for the rest of the night.

“Well, I was on my way to Loch Nora to visit family…but, well I got a flat and pulled into the parking lot and thought why the hell not? I could use a drink before I go see my uptight aunt and asshole cousin.” You ramble, before stopping yourself with another sip of your coconut cocktail.

“Uptight and asshole seems to be the theme in this shit town.” Eddie chuckles as he watches you between sips of his cheap beer.

“Uptight and asshole also seems to be the theme in my family.” You quip back with a small smile.

“Well I don’t know about uptight but asshole is definitely the theme in mine.” He smirks as he playfully pushes into you with his leather clad shoulder.

“Yeah, well you haven’t met assholes until you met the Harringtons.” You say back with a playful push of your own.

“Harrington? As in S-Steve Harrington?” He stammers, turning towards you in his bar stool as his eyes bore into yours, awaiting your answer.

“Oh, so you’re acquainted with king asshole?” A smile radiates across your face that makes Eddie noticeably gulp.

“Y-yeah, I guess you could say that. But, yeesh I think you might have me beat, sweetheart.” His laugh is boisterous and loud over whatever metal song is playing through the old speakers.

“Tell ya what, how bout I call you a tow truck and cab…and uh, these drinks are on the house since you were nice enough to be my taste tester.” The look on his face tells you he’s anything but ready to see you go. So of course, in your loose as a goose but extremely coherent state, you say something you never would’ve just an hour ago.

“Well, since you gave me something to taste, it’s only right if I do the same, no?” You throw in a flirty wink in a desperate plea to stick the landing of your intended innuendo.

What you didn’t realize was that he was in the midst of taking a sip of his beer and once those words slipped past your lips he immediately went into a violent coughing attack, his eyes wide as if in complete and utter disbelief while you swat at his back, trying to help him catch his breath.

Once his coughing died down, his eyes met yours again and the apples of cheeks bloomed a pretty pink, embarrassment clearly overtaking him.

“W-were you serious?” He asks, as if he was contemplating your proposal and that had the thrilling swoop vehemently returning to your stomach but now it traveled down towards your core as you clenched around nothing.

“Very.” Is all you say, but your eyebrow lifts in question before you begin to stand from your barstool.

Your hips sway seductively as you make your way to the dingy bathrooms, a smile overtaking your futures when you hear sneakers squeak behind you. You push the door open and are immediately met with graffiti riddled walls; it’s filthy, disgusting and so fucking thrilling!

You hear the door shut and lock behind you, and when you slowly turn you’re met with those warm brown eyes that you’ve been fawning over all night.

You don’t say another word, instead you take a few calculated steps over towards him before pushing him up against the graffitied door and smashing your lips into his, in an intense and desperate kiss. He moans into your mouth when your tongue sloppily glides against his, the kiss is all consuming and has you weak in the knees.

His lips pull away and you chase them with a whimper that has him smirking down at you with a cock sure grin.

“Up on the counter, princess. I want that taste you promised me.”

✷ LIKES, COMMENTS AND REBLOGS ARE SO APPRECIATED, LIKE YOU’D SERIOUSLY MAKE MY DAY (:

#— 𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader

[dotster001]

If your still doing requests can you do a scenario where in the ghost bride event instead it’s the ghost groom and yuu is the one being captured as the bride

The Ghost Groom

Summary: Fem! Reader

CW: just like the ghost bride, the ghost groom has unrealistic expectations about what a princess is, Fem reader, reader gets kissed, but ooooh by whom?

A/N: figured this one was perfect for spooky week! I always enjoy giving the boys opportunities to be silly

One second you were resting in Ramshackle, the next a blue, and handsome, ghostly looking figure was gazing at you lovingly as you slept.

"Oh my God, is this sleep paralysis?" You whispered.

He giggled and booped your nose gently. "No silly. I'm just admiring my princess while she rests! Is there something wrong with that?"

You stiffened, and slowly creeped your hand over to hopefully wake Grim.

"Princess?" You asked nervously.

"Mhmm. I've searched so long for you. You can't blame me for just staring, right?"

"I think you are looking for someone else. I'm not a princess." Your hand finally reached Grim and you attempted to shake him awake.

He frowned. "Princess is a state of being. It's in the glint in your eyes, the quirk of your smile, your adorable furry companion, and your eccentric living quarters. Why, everything about you says, 'beautiful princess waiting for prince charming to save me!' But don't worry too much about it. Once we wed you will be a princess in title as well!"

"Huh?" You croaked out, hearing Grim groan out a confused sound, as some ghost knights approached the bed and pulled you along with them.

…..

"Headmage, the ghosts kicked us out of the school," Ace whined in Crowley's office.

"Headmage, what is going on?" Riddle asked.

"They took my sleeping spot," Leona grumbled.

"Oh, I suppose it is that time again," Crowley groaned, massaging his temples. "Every four years, on this night, the ghosts rise from the grave in search of a bride for the Ghost Prince. They'll be gone by morning. Nothing to worry about. Although," he paused thoughtfully, "usually they only camp out in Ramshackle. They don't tend to go much farther than the greenhouse. It's odd that they'd commandeer the school."

As if on cue, Grim burst into the room.

"Headmage! Some ghosts stole my henchhuman! You have to do something!"

Plan A

"I can't believe we agreed to this," Epel muttered bitterly.

The task force was made up of himself, Lilia, Vil, Silver, and Jamil. The "prettiest" members of the school.

The ones who could pretend they were women and get away with it.

"You want to save Y/N, yes? Then don't blow this, and remember your training," Vil snapped.

Epel grumbled and hiked up his skirts as he climbed a flight of stairs.

"Epel, the art of disguise is a very useful skill. It's something you can use for the rest of your life," Silver offered.

"Ah, that's my boy!" Lilia grinned, ruffling Silver's styled hair affectionately.

"I wouldn't do that, Vil might kill you," Jamil snickered.

The trip was long, and some of the task force had not walked in heels before, but they soon arrived in the dining hall.

"No, no, no! That is the wrong color! Everything must be perfect for my love and my special day!" The prince snapped at a ghost servant who was laying out a tablecloth.

And that's when they saw you. Dressed in a pearl white gown, a shimmering veil in your perfectly styled hair. You were covered in pearls and diamonds, and wearing an enormous, glowing, ring.

Oh. And you were tied down to a chair.

"Play it cool," Vil hissed to Epel, who was about to not play it cool.

Lilia stepped forward first, practically floating as he walked over to the prince in his large green ball gown.

"Your highness," he curtsied deeply, putting on a sweeter, higher pitched voice than normal. "We hope we are not too late. But we heard you were searching for a princess, and wanted to prove we were the truest princesses."

The ghost looked between you and Lilia, confusion on his face.

"But I've already picked my bride."

"They seem to be truer princesses than I am, Erik. At least give them a chance," you said hastily.

He pressed a hand to his chest in awe. "Your kindness knows no bounds! Truly, there can be no better bride than you! But to ease your heart," he turned back to Lilia. "You have permission to try and woo me."

Lilia curtsied again. "You are so kind. It is I! Princess Lilia! I can offer you a large kingdom, with many riches."

"But what is inside your heart, Princess Lilia. Do you have an animal companion?"

"I have a dragon!"

The prince gasped, and shot a bolt of blue lightning at Lilia, causing him to groan.

"A true princess must be rescued from dragons! She would never have a dragon companion!"

"Can't move," Lilia groaned. "Retreat." He hissed from his teeth, but it was too far, too late for them to escape now. Erik's eyes were on them.

"Your highness," Vil gave the most beautiful curtsy anyone had ever seen. "I have no animal companion, for my companion is my loyal hunter and bodyguard, who protects me from all the sins of the world."

"Hmm. That is very princess-like."

"This is so fucked up," you groaned.

"And you are very beautiful. Perhaps you are a true princess," he looked back at you thoughtfully, and your breath hitched. Were you about to be free?

"But Y/N is also a true princess."

"Oh please," Vil snorted. "As beautiful as she is, we all know I am the fairest."

You didn't feel as bad when Vil got struck with the blue lightning. It was well deserved, in your opinion.

"Comparing your beauty to another's is not very princess-like!"

Epel pushed Jamil forward, much to his dismay.

"Um. Your highness, I will bring you great gifts. My kingdom has," Jamil bit his lip nervously, "Jams. Lots of jams. Grape jam. Pear jam. Yam Jam."

"Yam Jam!" You tried to sound excited, hoping it would entice Erik. 

"And jellies!"

"Oh!"

"And spoons! Tiny spoons! How did they get so tiny?"

You gave a cough, and Jamil froze. Then you heard, "Snake Whisper."

"You are unworthy of Y/N, and will give them to me," he said smugly.

Erik raised a brow. Then screeched. "How dare you! I am a true Prince. Of course I am worthy of Y/N!"

Blue flashed and Jamil was frozen.

"So, snake whisper doesn't affect ghosts. Got it," Jamil muttered under his breath.

"Panicked, huh?" You snickered.

"A little, yeah," he whispered back.

Epel stepped forward next, giving an unenthusiastic curtsy.

"I'm Princess Epel," was all he offered.

"You are the one of the fairest maidens I've ever seen! Almost as fair as my Y/N. Don't you agree, my princess?" You nodded enthusiastically, but shivered as you saw Epel begin to shake with rage.

"Her petite frame! Her doe eyes! Why if our daughter is half as beautiful as her, I shall be a very proud man!"

"DAG NABBIT SHUT YER FLIPPIN MOUTH!" 

Erik froze, you stiffened, and Vil groaned in disappointment.

"Epel," he groaned. But the blue lightning was already flying.

"You're not a princess! You're a man! A crude man at that. You're not worthy of me, or my princess."

"COME CLOSER AN I'LL SHOW YOU EXACTLY WHAT I'M WORTHY OF!"

"Please gag him before he says something my princess shouldn't hear!" Erik cried, covering your ears, despite you having heard far worse from Epel in the past.

Once Epel was gagged, he turned to Silver. Who was, much to your dismay, asleep.

"Oh! This one must be a princess! She has a sleeping curse!"

"Maybe you should try to wake her?" You offered helpfully.

He looked at you, a tormented expression on his face.

"But I love you. And only true love's kiss can break the spell. Perhaps if I kiss you instead, our love will burst out and wake her! Minister, well begin now!"

"No! We can't begin! I, uh, I feel bad having a wedding while she's still asleep. And the dining hall isn't finished being decorated yet!" You cried. You'd been told by the ladies who dressed you "not to worry", that once you kissed Erik, you would be able to join his kingdom. His ghostly kingdom. No thanks.

You eyed Silver, hoping that the man who was typically the knight in shining armor would wake and save you. Nothing.

Erik sighed sweetly, pushing a stray strand of hair off your face.

"You're right. The wedding must be perfect. So where are my scones!" That last bit wasn't a question. It was an angry demand.

Crowley put down the mirror he'd been using to watch what the A team was doing.

"Well that was a disaster," he groaned.

"What a load of rubbish! He's literally looking for a princess from an old fashioned fairytale book! That's the only thing he'll let Y/N go for!" Ace shouted.

"It's kind of sweet, if you think about it," Deuce muttered.

"It's bullshit! No one's like that! It's an unrealistic expectation!" Ace snapped back.

"I know! I meant the part about Y/N!" Deuce snapped.

"Enough, cubs. It's obvious he has no intention of releasing Y/N. So we need a different plan," Leona said with a smirk, implying he already had a plan in mind.

"What were you thinking?" Crowley asked tiredly.

"The ghosts leave in the morning, no matter what. If they don't finish the marriage to Y/N, Y/N stays behind. So we just have to ensure the wedding can't happen."

Plan B

"Everyone understands their roles?" Leona asked.

Floyd, Ruggie, Jack, and Ortho nodded.

"Alright. Charge!" He shouted. The five slammed through the door, dead set on causing as much destruction as they could.

Leona began turning anything he could touch into sand; tables, decor, flowers, nothing was safe. 

Floyd smashed every food he could get his hands on, delighted giggles leaving his mouth at regular intervals.

Jack flipped tables, and fought off the guards who attempted to stop them.

Ortho blasted various parts of the hall, having way too much fun doing it.

Ruggie snuck through the crowd to where you and the "princesses" from Plan A were. But your chair wasn't there.

"It's a trap, isn't it," he asked Jamil.

"It wasn't supposed to be," he sighed tiredly.

Ruggie heard an inhuman screech, and felt his body go numb, unable to move.

"Damn," he muttered.

"How dare you? How dare you!!!!" Erik screamed, dragging you along by a rope lead. He must have forgone the chair, and decided to just numb you like the rest.

"You're ruining my special day! Our special day! How dare you!"

He zapped Jack, then Floyd, then Leona, then Ortho. All four verbally protested.

"Shut up! Look what you've done! We'll never finish in time!"

"Initializing death ray," Ortho began.

"No! Ortho! Sevens, please no death ray!" You screamed, quickly followed by everyone else protesting.

The boy pouted, but shut down the death ray anyway.

"I suppose we'll just have to have the wedding now," the ghost groom began.

"No!" You shouted. "I mean, I think my guests and I all agree we at least need a cake, right?"

Erik squished your cheeks together, hearts in his eyes.

"Anything for you, my princess!"

Everyone sighed in relief.

Crowley put down the mirror and looked at the remnants in his office.

"Any other bright ideas?"

Rook bowed deeply, "If he is searching for a fairytale, we must play along. Oui?"

Plan C

Rook lead the march towards the dining hall, his cape and rapier complimenting his outfit nicely. He looked over at his men. The entirety of Heartslaybul. There was no one else he would rather have serve as his knights. Even if they had a hard time getting into character.

"The cape is pulling at my neck," Deuce croaked.

"Then be better!" Ace snapped.

"I will behead both of you this instant,"Riddle hissed, coming off more as mom than knight to the fair Princess.

Cater meanwhile was trying to get a selfie in his knight outfit with Trey, while Trey wanted no part of it.

"C'mon, Trey! We look too good not to post!"

"I'm too focused on the possibility of Y/N dying to look good for a photo!"

They were an unusual group of knights. But still. Rook knew they would more than serve their purpose.

They arrived at the door, but this time, there was a ghost guarding it.

"Who goes there?"

"We're the princess' knights. If you take Y/N, we have to come with." Rook gave a well practiced flourish of a bow, which was mimicked by the men of Heartslaybul.

"Ah!" The guard said. "Of course, forgive us! We should have informed you immediately!" He opened the door, and the men walked through, uninhibited.

Meanwhile…

"Mmm my back hurts. I can't stay in one position for this long anymore," Lilia groaned.

"And I'm bored," Floyd pouted.

"I'm losing out on beauty sleep. My skin will not be forgiving."

"Big brother has been trying to call me home for an hour."

Lilia smiled sweetly at Erik. "Look, forget the cake. How bout you just give her the smoocharoo?"

"What?!?" You shouted. Was Lilia selling you out?

"He seems like a good guy. You'll be fine, Shrimpy."

"I literally won't be fine, that's the whole point!" You cried. But Erik seemed to be thinking. And that wasn't good.

"You'll die, but there's a chance you'll be at the Isle of Woe! Then you have to visit big brother and I!"

"Ortho no! Not you too!" 

"I mean, our guests are saying they don't need cake, my love," Erik whispered, his voice husky as he leaned in slightly.

"No!" You shouted.

"Smoocharoo. Smoocharoo." Lilia began the chant, but multiple voices quickly joined in.

The door burst open, interrupting the chant, and the kiss that was getting closer. You heaved a sigh of relief as you saw Rook and the Heartslaybul boys….all dressed like knights?

"Forgive our tardiness, your highness. Your beloved knights have finally arrived," Rook said loudly.

"Ah, yes. My knights. Good," you said, a fake grin filling your face.

"Your highness, the fact that you did not alert the princess' knights to your intentions, brings this whole arrangement into question," Riddle stepped up next the Rook, his eyes narrowed.

Erik's jaw dropped.

"Oh. You see I was so excited, I didn't…"

"You don't even have proof you can protect our Princess! Look at this room! It looks like a war happened here!" Cater gestured around as he joined the line.

"You're taking things out of context! I defended her, which is why she is still here!" Erik was beginning to get angry again.

Trey cleared his throat and stepped forward, "And what's this about no cake? Our princess deserves the finest of baked goods, which I am more than capable of providing. Do you have a kitchen nearby?"

"Yay! Trey approves of operation smoocharoo!" Ruggie shouted, leading to a couple chants of smoocharoo.

"Oh my sevens!" Ace shouted. "You all have zero dignity! No wonder you're frozen! You don't deserve to be moving with those attitudes!"

"What I meant was," Trey glared at Ace, attempting to keep more lightning at bay, "our Princess deserves the best, and I don't believe you've provided it."

They seemed to have finally gotten through to him. Until Deuce's sword belt just…fell off.

"You aren't real knights!" All five were frozen in one blast.

Rook giggled, "Ah well, we tried to save you. And the bitter defeat, and pure sorrow we will feel at your loss will fuel many a work of art!"

"Thanks Rook," you growled sarcastically.

To dig the dagger deeper into your heart, it was at that moment that the new cake arrived.

"Finally! I can be wed to my Princess!" He dragged your rope lead over to an area that had flowers arranged, and stood you in front of the minister. Funny enough, the minister was self aware and never asked for your consent.

"Then by the powers vested in me-"

"I object!" A voice cried out.

Plan D

You turned your head to see Azul, flanked by Jade and Sebek. Azul wore a crown, and was dressed in the very image of a fairytale prince. Sebek and Jade were in full armor.

"You have stolen my Princess!" Azul said authoritatively.

"Y/N's my princess!" Erik hissed, his impatience finally getting the best of him.

"I have a document right here, between the Princess and I, stating an intent to marry, and join our two kingdoms, for love of each other. You may compare the signature to that of the princess, but you'll find it's quite authentic."

Erik stared at the document in his hands, and suddenly his blue glow turned bright red, nearly blinding all of you.

"No! Y/N IS MY PRINCESS! A PIECE OF PAPER ISN'T GOING TO CHANGE THAT!" You'd only been scared of him before because his kiss meant death. Now you were just scared of him in general. 

"Your highness," One of his ghost knights spoke up. "A true Prince would at least look, and honor the document, lest he becomes the villain." 

Erik took a calming breath, his color going back to blue, and put on a tight smile.

"You're right. Okay, show me your contract."

Azul smiled, and handed him the golden document. He read it over, then looked at you with a heartbroken expression.

"You truly are in love with this Prince Azul? He is your fairytale Prince?" 

Azul smiled smugly at you, and you fought back an eye roll as you nodded sweetly.

"Then I suppose I have to let you go," and suddenly the numbness of your body ceased, and you were able to move. You inhaled heavily.

He looked up into the windows of the dining hall. The sun was starting to rise.

He looked at you sadly, and gently cupped your cheek.  

"I wish you every happiness."

And you couldn't help but believe him.

"Before I go again, my princess, er, your princess, deserves her kiss," Erik whispered. You held back a dry heave at Azul's mock bravado.

"Anything to ease your parting, your highness!" He stalked towards you, and you saw Jade snicker over his shoulder, while Sebek turned bright red.

"Princess?" Azul said with a smirk, though now that he was up close, you could see a tinge of pink over his cheeks.

"Ew, please don't," Ace muttered, but he was struck by blue lightning again.

Deciding to suck it up, you grabbed Azul by the collar, and pressed your lips to his. His eyes widened in shock, his face going bright red, but after a moment, he relaxed.  

"Get it, Azul!" Floyd shouted, and he immediately separated himself from you. 

"There, may you rest in comfort," Azul said, an arm around your shoulders, but his red cheeks showed no sign of fading.

"Thank you," Erik smiled softly at you, and all the ghosts faded one by one.

You and Azul stepped away from each other the second the last ghost vanished.

All the people stretched as they became unnumbed, groaning.

"Well that sucked,"Leona grumbled.

"I'll never get the image of Azul kissing Y/N out of my head," Ace moaned.

Epel gagged next to him, as he ripped off the ball gown he was wearing.

"Now what?" Vil groaned, massaging his neck.

The door slammed open.

Plan Party

"Ha! While you guys were busy, the headmage put us in charge of victory party planning!" Kalim announced, his crew following him slowly. One seemed confused, the other didn't want to be there.

"Absolute nightmare. I got the bad end today," Idia muttered as he hid behind the stacks of food Kalim had given him to carry.

Malleus looked around the venue in full confusion. Then he looked sad. 

"Was there a wedding, and I wasn't invited?"

"Don't worry, Tsunotarou, I wasn't really invited either," you said bitterly. This made him smile sweetly, until he saw your outfit, making him confused again.

"But you're the one wearing the wedding gown?"

"Don't worry about it," you muttered. You turned to Kalim. 

"What do you mean you were in charge of the victory party?"

"Well, Malleus and I weren't allowed to try and help, and Idia was busy, so after the headmage sent out operation fairytale prince, he told us to start preparing for the after party!"

You blinked a couple times, then yawned.

"Can we party tomorrow? I'm going to bed."

You ripped off your veil, threw it on the floor, then left the dining hall.

"Quick! Azul! Go after her!"

"Shut your mouth, Floyd!"

It was at that moment, Silver woke up. He looked around in confusion, then frowned at Lilia.

"Did we win, Father?"

"That we did my boy! That we did!"

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader

[comfortscripts]

The Way I Love You ¬ Coriolanus Snow

Plot - All you want is one night with Corio, the real him. Pairing - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Best Friend!Female!Reader Notes/Warnings - Corio is ooc in this, but the idea is that he is slightly hinged for her and he is aware of his redflags. Possessive? Mentions of deaths. Reader is lowkey just blind to Corio's darkness. First fic back so let's see how it goes! Word Count - 1,443

9pm

“You promised!”

“And when exactly did I promise this?”

He watched as her fists clenched the corners of her skirt, breath dripping with exasperation. Calmly watching from the comfort of his leather chair, nursing a glass of amber whilst his eyes followed the milky fabric adorning his best-friend’s figure. Almost 30 minutes of her attempting to convince him to leave his opaque penthouse.

“Last year, when you were too busy on my birthday, you promised me that I could choose whatever I wanted to do for one da-” Stilling her movements, frozen as realisation washed over her. “You sneaky fucker! Not once have you forgotten a promise between us.”

Corio wanted to laugh as her face scrunched with faux anger, but all he did was cock his eyebrow as a gentle smirk settled on his lips. “Of course, I didn’t forget. However, this little song and dance has been quite amusing.”

Resting his drink to the side, he rose to full height and reached his delicate hand out towards the girl. “I will agree, purely on the premise that nothing we do could harm either of our reputations.”

A smile brighter than freshly fallen snow crept onto her face.

“You have my word.”

1am

Corio may have noticed the ache in his legs if he didn’t have such a captivating distraction hanging from his bicep. After aimlessly strolling through the Capitol, the myriad of hues illuminating their faces as they spoke of the most mundane aspects of their adult lives to giggling at memories of their youth. Having known one another since the tender age of 10, there is little left unsaid between the pair. Perhaps only one thing.

“I’ve missed you Corio”

Shifting his head to where her figure was pressed against his side, their tandem steps slowed. Only those who understood the inner works of Coriolanus Snow could see the cogs turning behind those azure eyes. Flickering across her face, attempting to decode her words.

“Don’t be silly. We see each other constantly; your office is barely 20 steps from mine.”

 The young woman bit back a sigh. In all the years she had known Snow, he excelled in many things but struggled with matters of the heart. “No, I see Coriolanus Snow constantly. Future President of Panem, prodigy Gamemaker. I can barely remember the last time I had a conversation with the real you, Corio, before tonight.”

Stilling completely, allowing her arm to slip from the loop of his. It was a rare occurrence for the young man to be devoid of words, only having ever been rendered speechless by the very same woman only a touch away. In all truthfulness, he yearned for her presence. He longed for the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled with delight when indulging in dessert, her uncanny ability to understand his thoughts, and most importantly, the way she allowed him to be himself.

He missed her too.

Perhaps it was his silence, or perhaps it was the cool air that unsettled her. Bubbles of anxiety began to rise in her stomach, fearing that she had overstepped or somehow offended the blond. “I only mean that you have sides to you. Whilst I like all of them, the one I care about most is the real you. I’m sorry, but I miss my best friend.”

“I barely know the real me anymore.”

It was truth. Being betrayed by Lucy Gray, the blood on his hands, the character he has had to play since; it was exhausting. The darkness swirling inside of him corrupting his daily thoughts, paranoia and greed clouding his mind. It was all too much to expose to her.

She embodied life, a breath of fresh air in a world torn apart by capitalism and violence. Coriolanus could never understand why she cared for him, why she befriended him. But he could never jeopardise losing her. The darker side of him wishes to lock her up in the Penthouse, so her sun only shines for him. Keep away the prying eyes of men who wish to glimpse the sweetness of her smile. But alas, he cannot. An innocent fragment of his soul forbids his darkness from tainting her, even if he must create distance to do so.

“After all that has happened, the Corio you know barely exists anymore.” Those stormy eyes refusing to meet her gaze by fixating on the gleaming silver ring adoring his finger. “If only you knew, you wouldn’t look at me the same.”

The warmth of her hand sliding into his captures his focus. “If only I knew about what happened during the games? If only I knew about Lucy Gray, and those people you killed? If only I knew how dark your soul feels? I know Corio.”

Snapping to meet her gaze, he feels as if she had knocked the air out of his lungs. How could she possibly know? Why would she be standing here with him? Was she going to hold this over him? A flurry of thoughts stormed behind his eyes, as she only tightened her hold on his large hand.

“Did you really think you could lie to me? I know you better than I know myself. When you came back from District 12, I could see behind those lies you were spewing. I saw the hurt she caused, the trauma you had witnessed, and how it broke the light inside of you.”

For the second time tonight, Coriolanus was speechless. Perhaps she didn’t know whose blood coats his hands, or the exact details of what happened those years ago, but she knew enough. And she was still standing there in front of him.

“And you still care about me?”

“I will always care about you Corio.  Now come on, I want to take you somewhere!”

And with that, she pulled him further into the night.

2:45am

Neither of them had uttered a word since their conversation.

Laid side by side on the refreshing emerald blades of grass as they look towards the stars above, only their subtle breathing filling the air. Despite the silence, the interlocked fingers expressed a thousand words.

A hitched breath broke the still atmosphere of the hilltop.

“Do you love me?”

Her words stopped his heart mid-beat.

“What? Of course, I love you. You are my best friend.” His words flow smoothly, as his thoughts run erratically to concoct the perfect lie.

The grass shuffles as she turns her head to face him. “No, do you love me like I love you?”

Corio continues staring straight towards the constellations, knowing that her alluring eyes could weaken his resolve in mere seconds.

“Because the way I love you is more than someone who loves a best friend. Almost as if you are the only person who makes my heart dizzy with joy. If you don’t love me the same way, it’s okay. Just needed to finally tell you.”

The breeze acts as a ticking clock, emphasising the lack of response from the young man and amplifying the anxiety building in the woman as she faces the stars once more.

Its almost too quiet to be heard, a whisper in the wind, but she hears it clearly. “I do love you the way you love me.”

Turning in unison to face one another, his free hand reaching to caress the toasty skin of her cheek.  Gentle strokes of his chilled fingers, drawing without destination on her skin as the blond builds the courage to speak once more.

“The way I love you terrifies me. You are the only one who brings me happiness, the only one who knows my sorrows, the only one I would sacrifice for. I obsess over you. I want to hold you and protect you. I wish to possess you. All because I love you the way you love me.”

Searching his irises for any fragment of dishonesty, her smile grows as she finds none. Inching closer to the man who has held her heart for a decade, his minty breath invading her senses.

With lips mere millimetres apart, a light whisper leaves her mouth “I’ll be yours Corio, for as long as you are mine. We can possess one another.”

As if those were the only words he ever craved, he intertwined his lips with hers. Soaking in the feeling of ecstasy as his hold on her tightens. She embraced the overwhelming sensation of complete bliss, revelling in every single second as her fingers interlock with his porcelain-locks.

Her lips fit with his so perfectly, it was clear that they were made to possess each other. And now that Panem’s king had his Queen, nothing could break him.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #president snow x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow imagine #the hunger games #tbosas #tom blyth x reader

[muchosbesitos]

So like what if. WHAT IF. Miguel ends up lusting after a new recruit. BUT she's a tatted up goth girl with an intimidating aura. He wants to screw her with every fiber in him. COULD YOU IMAGINE. BIG OL MIGGY WANTING TO GO AFTER HER. can you make this into a fic. Please. I'm foaming at the mouth. I love your work ❤

the girl with the tattoo

pairing: miguel o’hara x spiderwoman reader

warnings: masturbating (m), stalking(?), fingering, protected p in v, doggy, use of toy, overall smut 🫡

author’s note: thank so much for this request and i’m sorry it took me so long 😭 i hope you enjoy <33

word count: 4.1k

Your life as the spider-woman from your dimension was fulfilling, but it felt empty sometimes. You couldn't maintain any friendships because of how busy your schedule was, as a physicist and having to save the city. You'd lost your boyfriend a couple months back after a brutal fight with the Green Goblin, and you couldn't bring yourself to date anyone else again just yet. So when Hobie, the guy with the cool piercings on his face and same powers as you, recruited you to the Spider Society, you couldn't help but be enchanted by the idea. 

Miguel had spent a couple minutes staring into the monitors when you walked in through that portal with Hobie, ignoring LYLA giving him the debrief about their latest mission. He was captivated by everything about you: by the tattoos on your arms and legs, the ink running through your skin perfectly to make these tiny shapes to the exaggerated eye liner you had on. "MIGUEL!" LYLA yelled, snapping him out of his thoughts as he turned around to look at his assistant. "The new recruit's here, try not to drool so much on the way over," she said with a small giggle before disappearing. Miguel rolled his eyes as he got off the platform, rubbing the side of his lip just in case he actually was drooling.

You were in the middle of talking to Hobie, getting the introduction around the place (mostly just to avoid Miguel at all costs), when you felt someone behind you. "Who's this?" You heard someone ask, turning around to see a very tall man standing in front of you. Hobie appeared unfazed as he shrugged, crossing his arms as he looked up at the man. "Is the new recruit. Started to show her around 'fo you showed up," he responded and you couldn't help but feel the man's stare boring into you. "What did I say about bringing it new recruits?" the man hissed out, rubbing his temples as he asked. "Not to bring 'em. She's talented though, you just need to see her in action," he responded, before leaving the two of you alone.

You looked over at the man, stating your name and extending your hand out as you noticed his gaze go from the tattoo on your upper arm to your hand. "Miguel," he simply stated, shaking your hand as gently as he could, his large fingers engulfing yours. You looked around to see some of the other members in the society staring at you two, their gaze diverting when they saw you returning their stare. "Do you plan on saying something or do you just plan on looking like a scary vampire?" You asked after a couple seconds of silence from Miguel’s end, watching as his brows furrow, his gaze averting from yours. You could've sworn from the descriptions that Hobie gave you that he would've turned out to be more of an ass, but the man just looked plain intimidated.

You walk into the 'design room' as Miguel called it, where he would be designing your suit and making it. You looked up to see a couple examples on the wall and you couldn't help but feel a bit impressed at just how versatile he was with the suits. You took off the black sweater you had on, leaving you in a tee and skirt. If you would've looked closer, you would've noticed Miguel staring at your breasts, his gaze darkening as he saw the metal bar poking through. However, your attention was directed at LYLA as she asked you a bunch of questions about what type of design you were looking for and the material that you wanted.

"No, no spandex," Miguel spoke up after a while, the two of you turning to look at him. "And why not?" You asked, folding your arms as your brows furrowed. Because he was pretty sure his cock wouldn't survive it. "It's just a really restrictive material, really, you'll be able to move a lot more freely with the holographic suit," he replied, his gaze averting yours so you wouldn't catch on to his lie. You turned to look at LYLA, shrugging as you tell her to use the holographic material for the black suit you had in mind.

Miguel felt his cock strain underneath his suit with every passing moment in that room, watching as LYLA took your measurements. Everything about you was just captivating to him, from the numerous amount of tattoos on your body to the damn nipple piercings that would invade his waking thoughts from now on. He was fascinated by the intricate designs of your tattoos, all seeming to have their own special meaning. He wanted to ask you about them, what they all meant and symbolized to you, but he got the impression that you didn't like him all that much. He opened up his gizmo when he felt you turn around, not wanting to get caught staring as he typed a random message to Peter, asking him to join for lunch.

Somehow, the fact that you didn't like him turned him on even more. He was used to women throwing themselves at him and begging at his feet, but he never had the instance where he was the one being intimidated. He watched as LYLA handed you the gizmo, explaining how to use it and how to turn your suit on. His gaze travelled down your body as you turned on the suit, the material wrapping around your curves perfectly. Shock, he really couldn't catch a break. He bit down on his hand to prevent himself from saying something embarrassing, feeling his cock tighten up even more in his suit. You turned around and looked at Miguel, a pleased smile on your face after looking at yourself in the mirror. "What do you think, boss?" You asked, noticing that his eyes just wouldn't meet yours. "It looks decent," he muttered, getting up abruptly and stepping out of the room. "Rude," you muttered, wondering why you'd even bothered to ask him.

Miguel went back to his office, ignoring all the other Spiders who greeted him. He felt his cock straining painfully underneath his suit, his hand gently rubbing against it. He turned off LYLA's access to his office for the time being and turned the monitors to analyze the cameras for the room that you were in. He saw LYLA making some modifications to your suit, the holographic material hugging your ass perfectly. He let out a quiet "fuck" and deactivated his suit, his hardening cock hitting the side of his stomach.

He spread his legs on the chair, rubbing the precum that was spilling out of his red tip around his cock, using it as lube. He started off slow, tentative, as he wrapped his hand tightly around his cock. He knew that you would feel a thousand times better than this, that your cunt would feel like heaven to him, but he was too turned on to think properly. He gripped his desk as he started speeding up, his hips bucking up into his hand to find some pressure. His eyes zeroed in on your chest once more and he let out a pathetic whimper, wondering how it would feel to see his cum lathered on top of the piercings.

He tightened his grip around his cock, like he wanted to imitate how tight your cunt would feel around him, but a nagging voice in his mind told him that it wouldn't compare. He pushed that voice out of his head in a desperation to cum, to go back to focusing on his work. He heard his watch going off and remembered he was supposed to be giving a brief on a plan to catch an anomaly, but he knew that if he stopped now, he'd just show up with a hard cock and a bitter attitude. He swirled his thumb around the tip, letting out a soft groan as he pictured you underneath him, licking and sucking him off. How pretty you would look with that eyeliner running down your cheeks, crying just from how big he was. He gripped the side of the table tightly, feeling his balls starting to tighten up.

His hips bucked up into his hand at an embarrassing speed, eager for that feeling of release. He tightened the grip around his cock, moving his hand faster as he let out a soft moan, his orgasm quickly approaching. He watched as you smiled through the monitors, thanking LYLA for the work she'd done and his orgasm washed over him like a tide. He looked down at the mess he'd created, shaking his head in disbelief as he grabbed a napkin from the desk. He cleaned his hand off along with his thigh, putting on some hand sanitizer. He had expected to feel some sort of relief, but he still found the need to have you underneath him overwhelming. He activated his suit once more and calmed down his breathing before walking over to the briefing room.

He felt ashamed as he walked inside, all the eyes in the room looking at him. to think that they were all in here waiting for him while he was in his office fucking his fist to the thought of having your cunt wrapped around his cock. He coughed, pushing those thoughts aside before he got a hard-on in front of his colleagues as he started to give everyone their reports. He ignored the complaining some of the members had, rubbing his forehead as he stayed behind. Jess looked back at him worriedly, but he shrugged her off, saying that he was fine. Which was relatively true, he had no reason to be upset, just the fact that he'd grown attracted to you and didn't know how to go about his feelings.

He spent a while in his office as thoughts of you crept in his mind, most of them were lewd but some of them were a bit more wholesome. He pushed those thoughts off as he bounced a ball, turning LYLA's access to his office back on when he heard a knock on the door. He opened up the door, seeing Peter standing there with Mayday crawling on his shoulders. Ah right, the lunch.

"So imagine my surprise when my best friend finally invited me to lunch," Peter began speaking as they walked down the hallways, his slippers squeaking against the floor. He wanted to toss those slippers away, wanted to tell Peter that he only did it because he didn't want to get caught, but he didn't have the heart to do that today. He, however, did have the heart to ignore the man as he talked and started to play peek-a-boo with Mayday. He felt a ghost of his smile on his lips when he heard Mayday's giggles echo through the room, catching her when she fell off Peter's shoulders.

Peter had settled on getting the 2099 meal, a burger with Miguel’s mask on there along with some fries and a drink. Miguel rolled his eyes as he sat down in front of Peter, his eyes darting towards the burger as he took a bite out of his empanada. "Capitalism," he muttered, shaking his head as Peter took a bite out of the burger. "Okay, so maybe it's overpriced for 20.99 but it's so cute. You truly win at life when you have a burger with your face on it," Peter spoke up, watching as Miguel’s eyebrow twitched a bit. Miguel stood up, partly because he didn't want to see that stupid burger anymore, but mostly because he realized he forgot to get a kid seat for Mayday. He put her on the seat, giving her small pieces of his empanada. Even though most of the crumbs ended up on her cheek and some in her hair, Miguel couldn't help but feel a bit happy when he saw her take bites out of it.

The lunch hadn't gone too bad, most of it was just spent with him feeding Mayday small pieces from his empanada while Peter talked. That was, until he heard your voice. He turned around to see you walk into the cafeteria with Hobie, carefree as you laughed at something he'd said. He saw Peter's eyes brighten up as he waved at you, shaking his head. He wasn't sure why he was so jealous of a man in a bathrobe, maybe it was because he wanted you to wave at him that way. To acknowledge his existence as something more than just an overbearing presence, to smile at him the way you did to others.

"Have you gotten a chance to talk to the new recruit yet?" Peter asked, snapping Miguel’s attention away from Mayday as he turned to look at him. "Uh yeah, we've ran into each other a few times. You?" Miguel responded, trying to keep his tone light and conversational so he'd get more information out of Peter. "I mean, yeah, she's a little intimidating and all with all those tattoos, But she's nice once you get to know her," peter replied, shrugging a bit as he spoke of you. Fuck, how Miguel wanted the opportunity to get to know you.

Over the course of a few days, he kept hearing about the other Spiders talking about you. He listened to the way that they spoke highly about you, how nice you were once those barriers were put down. He couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy that he was the only one you hadn't made an attempt to get to know, that you regarded everyone with a smile and a wave and regarded him with a roll of your eyes, like his sole existence plagued you. He had resisted at first, not wanting to open up your file so as to keep your privacy, but the more that he heard conversation about you, the more that he wanted to find out about you.

He opened up your file late at night when everybody had left, not even LYLA was around to be nosy. He hesitated for a moment when he got the file unlocked, wondering if violating your privacy was really worth all this trouble before deciding to do it. He knew that it would take a while for you to open up to him and he just had a itch, an itch to get to know you as much as possible. The contents of the file weren't really surprising, your canon events were the same as the other Spiders'. He looked over to see the file where you lost your boyfriend, the tears in your eyes visible even through the hologram. He bit down on his lip, his fangs gently digging in as he started to feel a bit guilty. That night he realized why you were so eager to make friends, that you'd come from a place of loneliness and no family at all.

Miguel had reached his breaking point when you no longer acknowledged his existence, you simply looked over to the person he was next to and greeted them before walking away. not even the occasional eye roll. He cornered you when you were on your way out of the cafeteria, caging you against the wall and his large body. He tilted your chin up so you'd look at him for once, his gaze completely neutral. "So tell me, why have you been ignoring me lately? You don't even scowl at me anymore," He asked, keeping his tone light as he watched your eyes widen with surprise. You hadn't thought he would notice. "I don't see why you care," you responded, shaking your head as you pushed his hand off your chin. You pushed his chest away from your body, walking off to catch up with Hobie who was watching the interaction.

"What was that about, mate?" Hobie asked with an amused smile, looking back at where Miguel was standing. Miguel had a scowl on his face, like he was jealous he couldn't maintain your attention. "I don’t know. He was asking why I was ignoring him but not sure why he even cares," you replied with a small shrug, watching Hobie’s eyes light up with some kind of interest. "You're blind if you haven't realized it by now," was all he offered though, leaving your mind running with what possibly he could be referring to. Hobie took you to the briefing room where you'd be receiving information for your next mission, Jess leading the meeting as she handed out some manila folders.

Miguel got the news that you were off on your first mission, so he decided he would show up after at your place to see how it had gone. That, and he wanted to apologize for his behavior. Apologizing wasn't something he was completely used to doing, but he was willing to put his pride to the side if it gave him the chance to have an actual conversation with you. He walked over to Jess when she came out of the portal, asking her about how the mission had gone and if anyone was hurt. To his relief, the mission had gone smooth and nobody had gotten injured.

Your first mission wasn't too hard, but you felt the soreness in your arms from swinging around. You immediately took a shower and changed into your pajamas when you got home as a means to relax. It was starting to get to you, pretending you were okay with the other Society members just to get them to like you. You got up when you heard your doorbell ring, putting on your webshooters since you weren't expecting any visitors. Your eyes widen when you saw Miguel standing outside, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I'm here to apologize. I'm sorry for the way that I cornered you earlier today and for the way that I’ve been treating you these past couple days. I also wanted to come see how you were doing," he spoke up after a while of silence, his eyes drifting off to the skimpy top you were wearing, focusing on your breasts. You quickly came to the realization of what Hobie was referring to, watching Miguel struggle to keep eye contact with you. "Did you really come here for that or for something else?" You asked, hooking a finger to the strap of your shirt as you toyed with it. His eyes followed every movement of your finger and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "Tell me, Miguel, do I make you nervous?" You asked, tilting his chin down, the same he'd done to you. He nodded, flustered, as he stumbled over his words to come up with some sort of defense for himself. It was empowering, really, seeing your behemoth of a boss practically drooling over you.

"I have one condition if we're gonna do this, okay?" You spoke up when Miguel stepped into your apartment, folding your arms as you looked over at him. He looked so pathetic and needy, nodding like he would give you the moon if you asked for it. "Given some past experiences, I'm not really looking for a relationship. are you okay with this just being casual sex?" you asked, gauging for any reaction from Miguel. You blinked and he was right there on top of you, his lips crashing against yours. "I'll give you anything you want," he mumbled in between kisses, his pelvis thrusting against yours. You let out a soft moan as you felt his hands start to explore every inch of your body, his warmth almost setting a fire in his wake. He gently rolled the buds of your nipples in between his fingers, playing around with the piercings as he moaned. "Been thinking about these every time I cum," he whispered, his lips moving down to your neck.

He bit down on your neck, his fangs gently scraping against your skin as he did so, his tongue running over the bite to soothe the sting as his hand snaked its way to your pants. You let out a small whimper when you felt him cup your pussy, your hips bucking into his instinctively. "Looks like all I had to do was just fuck the attitude right out you, huh?" He whispered, his voice carrying a light tone of amusements as he gathered some slick with his pointer finger. He slowly thrust his finger in, pumping it in and out of you slowly. He continued his attack on your neck, leaving small hickeys as he kissed you. He knew that your accelerated healing wouldn't allow them to be visible tomorrow, but he enjoyed seeing some part of him marking you.

He eventually pushed his middle finger inside of your pussy as well, making a scissoring motion in efforts to open you up. He curled his fingers upwards, hitting your g-spot as you pushed your hips against his palm, hoping to get some much needed friction. You felt yourself getting closer to that brink of orgasm, only to get it pulled away from you. You turned around to look at Miguel, watching as he licked your slick off his fingers. "Only place you'll be cumming is around my cock."

The two of you eventually got your bedroom and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh as Miguel bumped his head against the ceiling. "You think that's funny?" he asked, a teasing tone in his voice as he placed you on the bed. He was quick to disintegrate his suit, his cock hitting his stomach as the tip started to leak precum. "There's some condoms on the bedstand," you spoke up, remembering your policy for one night stands. He reached over, grabbing a condom from the box before getting an idea as he saw your vibrator. He turned it on the lowest setting, setting it against your clit without any pressure as he started to slide inside of you. He let out a moan as your walls engulfed him completely, every part of you was enticing to him. He started off slow, getting you accustomed to the size of his cock before applying more pressure to the vibrator.

You let out a moan as you felt the vibrations shoot straight to you, your hands gripping the sheets. You shivered a bit as you felt miguel's tongue all across your arms, licking as much of the tattoo designs as he could. Even with all that he was doing, he kept his pace steady and even. He used your flexibility to his advantage, placing your legs on his shoulders and the angle allowed him to hit deeper inside of you with no trouble. He started to speed up when he felt your walls clenching around him tightly, the vibrator hitting your clit directly. He pulled his cock completely out of you and just when you were about to complain from the loss of contact, he slammed it into you once more. He started fucking you with a new vigor, his thrusts quick and sloppy as he turned the vibrator on a higher velocity. You clenched around him tightly as you felt your orgasm wash over you, your slick covering the condom completely.

Miguel flipped you over on all fours and he swore he could've come right there on the spot. He noticed that you had a couple other small tattoos on your back, but the one capturing his attention was the blue and red spider tramp stamp. He thrusted in you with ease, your previous orgasm providing him with all the lubrication he needed and he started off slow. He placed his hands on your hips, his heavy balls slapping against your pussy in the most delicious way possible. Miguel started speeding up, keeping his thrusts deep just to feel his tip hit your cervix. He placed the vibrator around your clit again, letting out soft moans of your name as he felt you shiver from the sheer intensity. You clamped tightly around his cock, your orgasm coming quicker than you expected with all the stimulation. Miguel let out a soft groan as you tightened around him, milking his cock for every drop. He filled the condom a few seconds later, delirious over the fact that he'd actually fucked you.

The two of you continued throughout the night, since you were one of the few people that could actually match Miguel’s stamina. You watched as he turned the suit back on the morning, and a part of you wanted to ask him to stay but you knew that wasn't what you told him. He leaned over, kissing you on the forehead before he opened the portal back to the Society.

#muchosbesitos #miguel spider man 2099 #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara smut #miguel o’hara fic #miguel ohara fic #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel ohara imagine #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 smut #atsv miguel #miguel atsv #miguel ohara #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara is hot #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel smut #miguel x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman smut

[berrieluv]

Rocket Queen. 

eddie munson x fem!reader.

summary: where you're Steve's girlfriend but Eddie fucks you to record your moans and put them in their new song. (inspired in the legend where fans say axl rose was having sex in the studio with steven adler's gf)

cw. chating kink, breeding kink, creampie, dub-con(?)

Eddie Munson wasn't one for revenge. He prided himself on being the 'freak' back in his High-school times, but in contrast with his looks, he always tried to show a good image to his fans. More when he knew some teenagers (Dustin, by example) saw him as a role model.

He knew how important portraying a good image was for all the teens, but when Steve Harrington made mocking comments about his band, claiming he would never listen that kind of music, he felt... his ego felt hurt.

Corroded Coffin was very successful when that happened, so Steve's comment shouldn't bother him that much, knowing that kind of music wasn't for everyone.

Steve Harrington didn't have many things he enjoyed in this life, he worked for his parents in New York and he wasn't a fan of his job just as he wasn't a fan of Eddie's band music. The only thing Steve Harrington truly liked, was you.

"so... How do you record everything?" You asked, big bright eyes looking at Eddie with a smile planted on your face and Steve rolled his eyes, annoyed, because it seems that lately the only topic in their conversation was Eddie. "Is it cool? Like the movies?"

"Oh, is really cool, princess" Eddie started, smirking, and he could feel Steve's eyes trying to burn him alive "I could show you. I mean, the studio, you could go one day, sometimes the managers allow visits"

"It would be so cool!" You clapped, looking at your boyfriend with an excited smile and he couldn't help but give you one back. "I'm not a big fan of rock, I have to be honest" Eddie could say "But I'm always open to hear new things"

He smiled, and Steve's annoyed face only made Eddie feel better.

And that took you there. A quick talk with Eddie's manager and you were walking around the Label. Eddie took you to the room where Corroded Coffin recorded their songs, he explained to you the panel and showed you the instruments.

"I was working on a sad song, you know, something heartbreaking" He starts, and you look at him with a smile "You have any anecdotes?"

"No, I don't think so"

"C'mon, princess. You're telling me Steve has never break your heart?"

"He's not like that" you murmur.

Eddie chuckled and then looked at you dead serious "wait... so you don't know?"

"know what?"

"I– I shouldn't tell you, forget I say something"

But now you were left with this curiosity killing you inside, because what didn't you know?

"Tell me" you begged, looking at Eddie with doe eyes.

"I feel like I shouldn't. I mean, Steve's my friend..." That's not completely a lie "But, I've never been the kind to lie" That was in fact a lie "Steve brought a girl to the last party we had... The one where we celebrated the release of our new album"

You frown "But he told me he wasn't going to that party. He had an extra shift"

That was true. Eddie knew, and everyone knew. But he shrugged "He was here. With a girl. She was really pretty. Blonde, tall, skinny, I think she had a few works done but they looked good" You felt your heart drop at Eddie's words and looked at him, worried "Not that, not that you're not pretty because you are. You just have different kinds of beauty"

"What does that mean?"

"I mean she looked... wild you know, she dressed a bit like me, kind of" He smiles "But I like the way you dress too, I've always been a fan of those skirts you use... always wondered how would it feel to slip my hand under"

He starts, sitting on the chair in front of the recording panel and opening his legs, feeling like he owned the place and showing himself confident when you felt your legs starting to shake.

"Do you... do you think Steve slept with her?"

"Well, he did disappeared for a long time to go to the bathroom. A friend, who had a little crush on her, told me he lost her when she headed to the bathroom" He smiles "But, hey, I don't know, just... just silly observations"

You nod, your mouth biting your nails and feeling lost, because you couldn't think Steve was one to do that. Because he has never lie to you, and suddenly you found out he was not only where he said he wasn't but with someone else. Cheating on you.

Eddie took advantage of your distraction and took your bare leg with his big calloused hand "Don't think about it too much" He says, pulling you close to him "It's probably not true" Now his hand was really fucking close to your core "Maybe he wasn't even here and I mistook him for someone"

He knew Steve wasn't there. He send him a text telling him how sorry he was he had to miss the party, because yes, they weren't exactly best friend but they were rolling with the same group of people, so eventually they learned to deal with one another.

"You think?"

He just shrugs, sitting you in his leg, his hand caressing your inner thigh and slowly putting your underwear aside. "Eddie?" You ask, he just looks up at you and murmurs something "Whatcha' doing?"

"Just... just want to show you what I think Steve was doing... with that girl"

You frowned, but didn't complain, it was Eddie, who you learned was sweet, good Eddie. A role model for teens, and he was a friend of Steve, he couldn't try to harm your relationship, and it was merely superficial, thought you would like to remind your pussy that, because it felt wet. Like you haven't feel it in weeks.

"But you said he wasn't here" You pout. And Eddie tells you, again, he couldn't be sure. It was dark, and this was Los Angeles, there were tons of brown heads with pretty hair. "What if he gets mad?"

"You would figure out how to fix it, princess. Tell him it's not your fault. You were trying to solve a doubt, weren't you?" You nod and you open your legs more, Eddie takes your leg and puts it on top of his other leg, allowing you to be well open for him "Aren't you the best girlfriend? The prettiest too"

Eddie puts aside your wet panties and chuckles at your desperation, because this wasn't your boyfriend, and no matter how much you tried to play the morally-right part, you were horny, needy for Eddie's fingers.

You tried to move, allow Eddie to put his fingers inside of you instead of just circling your clit, but he had other plans, and he showed you.

"Baby..." He started "If you want me to show you what Steve did, you need to stop moving" And you nod, because in your head the thought of Eddie knowing exactly what Steve did was completely posible, and the fact that you were 'learning' the mistake your boyfriend committed was what allowed your conscience to stay still.

"Eddie I think I go–"

"But Steve took longer" he murmured in your neck, taking your hips with both hands, your core was touching against the fabric of his skinny jeans and he moved your body back and forwards.

"Eds–"

You cried, not knowing if it was because you wanted him to stop, or because you wanted him to keep going, at this moment you knew two things;

This was wrong.

This feels really, really good.

Your whole face felt hot, your body felt like it was about to burn in pleasure and your body moved so easily against the rough fabric because you were unimaginably wet.

"You like it, don't you?" He started, but you couldn't admit it, because it made you feel even guiltier. But he has never be more right in his life. You were loving it, your body was reacting in ways it hasn't with Steve. "Don't try to say no, princess. I'm seeing those tears, you're crying on pleasure. Your body can't stop moving against my thigh"

And it was true. You didn't notice when he stopped touching your hips but now your body was moving by itself, desperate to feel the friction against Eddie's body, maybe desperate for something more.

"Steve won't be–" you moan "He won't like this"

"What he doesn't see, doesn't hurt him, mhm?"

His finger starts circling your clit, moving around at a fast pace, adding two more fingers to his touches. "Up" he orders, and you happily obey, without thinking about it, you lift your body a little and he puts his fingers inside. "Ride me, would you? Ride my long fingers, baby. Then I'll replace them with ma' cock"

You whined, and you did it like a whore, happy to hear that instruction and wanting nothing more but to find your release in Eddie's fingers.

Your cum was leaking from your pussy, wetting Eddie's fingers completely and borderline jumping on them, and if it wasn't for his strong hand on your hip you wouldn't have any self control over this. The pleasure started to build in your belly, intense, your sopping pussy meeting Eddie's fingers over and over, making you scream his name, and beg for more.

"Eddie, we should stop"

He slaps your thighs and shakes his head, leaving a burning sensation in your skin, holding you when you came again in his fingers, and standing you up so he can unzip his pants.

"Dick would be cheating" you murmur, looking at Eddie's pink and hard cock. It wasn't as thick as Steve but it was almost as long.

"But you have to, princess" He pouts "I can see how needy your slutty cunt is"

You pout and shake your hand, knowing he's not lying, you can feel your wetness drooling from your thighs. Eddie doesn't care, he's taking your hand and your body, sitting you in his cock, slowly instructing you to go down. Not like you mind, of course, you couldn't complain. You weren't complaining.

"Fucking your boyfriend's friend, I see" He teases, smiling back at you when he feels your pussy clenching thanks to his words. "Cumming on other man's cock, aren't you? You get so wet at that thought I can feel your pussy begging me to keep it up. Such a dirty, dirty slut"

"M' gonna fill you up with my cum, baby. Steve's gonna wonder where you got all that cum from, what're you saying?"

"Don't know"

He smiles and takes your hips to make you move faster on his cock "Pretty dumb girl, you can't know, can you? You're just so pretty, so cockdrunk"

"Faster, Eddie" You cry.

"You' cumming again? Already?" He thrusts "Fuck, baby, if you cum that much and in so little I can see why Steve's obsessed with you, you make a man's ego grow big"

You moan and yell Eddie's name, your walls tightened around Eddie's cock. Eddie smiled at the sight of his cum drooling from your swollen lips.

You thanked you were sitting on Eddie's lap, otherwise you would've fall. When he cums, his hands slipped under your shirt, feeling a bit sticky from his attempts to clean your cum when he was fingering you. He thrusts deeper into you, making you see stars, and his movement were sending another building orgasm to your body.

Eddie's movements became more desperate with your moans, needing, wanting, to fill you up even more, his cock was twitching inside your sore pussy and he pulled out immediately after he came for a second time.

He took you in his arms and combed your hair, leaving what felt like an intimate forehead kiss and ordering you to see the mess you made on his cock and his jeans, your full pussy still tainting the fabric. A white, sticky mess leaking out of your pussy, now that his cock was out you were able to see just how much he cum.

"Did so good, princess"

"The song is really, really good" Robin mentioned back at Eddie's place, a few months after Steve decided to make fun of him. "Like the rhythm too much" She chuckles.

"Whose moans are those?" Steve said, looking at Eddie. "They... they really add to the song"

"A girl I met back at the last album release party"

"Sound familiar" he murmurs, and Eddie just smirked.

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic

[peeweekey]

super graphic ultra-modern girl like me!

pairing: haley x reader

wc: 2k

tags: mature (NOT explicit) , closeted lesbian haley , both of you are drunk , making out

synopsis: where sharing lipstick with your best friend haley makes you feel… things.

a/n: reader: oh ho ho, i sure hope kissing my bff doesnt awaken anything in me! (it did)

i wrote this listening to super graphic ultra modern girl by chappel roan! haley fits so many of her songs its insane

your head is aching, spinning like you were sent to another dimension that consists of disco flashing lights and the nauseating smell of spilt vodka—all thanks to the sheer amount of alcohol you consumed in the past 5 hours. it’s pushing 3 AM—the strappy 4 inch heels are chafing your feet, the skimpy skirt clinging to your hips ride up in a way that would scandalize the small village mothers, and body glitter covering every inch of your skin. 

you feel light, weightless as you flutter and float through the rhythmic bass engulfing the club. you nod your head to the beat of the music, swaying your hips that loosen with every sip of the sweet alcoholic drink in your hand. 

you’re bouncing up and down to party rock anthem when your phone buzzes. fishing it out of your pocket, you squint your eyes to make out the notification. you bow your head, trying to make out the message over the flashing lights.

an amused laugh bubbles out of you. haley.

—> go 2 thr bathroon rn

—> hurry or else

you turn and wobble out of the middle of the dance floor, swaying to the beat while maneuvering the sea of sweaty bodies. the bathroom is in an isolated corner by the entrance of the club. you push the door open, stumbling slightly when it takes a little less effort than you expect.

you enter the club bathroom, shutting the ornate door behind you. it slams with a resounding slam, dampening the loud candy pop songs blaring through the party outside. 

your heels click against cool marble as you saunter to the long, seemingly endless, stretch of mirrors and faucets. twisting the knob, a rush of tap water flows freely; it contrasts satisfyingly with the heated skin of your hands. you wet your fingers, dabbing your cheeks and neck with cool water. you sigh, shivering with the instant relief it brings.

as you cool yourself off, you think—you do wonder what haley’s predicament is, she texted you with much urgency. 

perhaps she fell into the toilet—or maybe she’s drunk herself to the point of spewing her guts out in one of these very cubicles. the latter though makes you giggle. a notification buzzes from your phone, as if the sound of your laughter summoned it.

—> idiot

—> i can hear u laughing from here

you snort.

suddenly, without warning, you feel a warm hand pull you into a stall. it’s a sudden jerking motion, and you almost lose your balance to fall flat on your face. a gasp rips out of you as you clutch on to the very warm, very soft thing that keeps you from falling and twisting your ankle. before you even register the situation, you’re being dragged in to sit on the closed lid of the toilet. 

you’re frazzled, knocked off balance by a rude and very disrespectful stranger who obviously has no morals. you feel your blood boil, ruthless insults ready at the tip of your tongue—

—then you look up, and that feeling dissipates. instead, a cheshire grin splits your face, “haley.”

she’s the living breathing stereotype of a wild party girl like this; blonde hair in waves down her back that smells sweetly of strawberries, nails buffed and painted a pretty baby blue, and make-up done up to the absolute nines. her sequin skirt sparkles and winks as she shifts. pretty, you’ll ask if you could borrow it next time—

manicured fingers snap and you’re pushed out of your own thoughts. haley crosses her arms, standing in between your thighs, looking down at you with a displeased expression. “took you long enough.”

you offer a sheepish smile. “i was busy.”

“yeah,” she sneers, locking the stall door behind her. “busy shaking your ass to trashy zuzu club songs.” 

you ignore the sharp jab with a roll of your eyes. “what’s up?” you ask, your words slur slightly, almost tapering off into incomprehensible gibberish. “didya you puke or something?”

“ew. no,”the loud is just making my head hurt,” she replies, massaging her temples. “stick your legs together, i’m gonna sit on your lap.”

she knocks your thighs together with her knee. haley maneuvers you to her liking, your bare thighs pressing together when she spins and sits perpendicular to your lap.

“hm.” you feel the weight of her settle on top of your thighs. the warmth of her skin meeting yours under the cut of her skirt. you barely repress a shiver at the heat radiating off her skin. “woah! okay now you really have to tell me what’s going on.”

you're met with a faceful of strawberry-scented blonde hair when she shifts away—ignoring you. good news for her, your drink-addled brain doesn’t seem to care. in fact, your drunk brain figures it is a perfect time to shamelessly flirt. your tongue is loose enough, and your brain has completely thrown away its filter. as friends, of course; building camaraderie as people say.

“you smell nice, did you use that strawberry shampoo i gave?” you murmur, brushing the locks away from your face. you feel haley squirm in your lap. you know she used it, the pride bubbles up in you at the thought. 

it’s overly warm, that plus the buttloads of alcohol brewing in your gut makes your skin feel on fire. 

haley growls. “stop talking, dumbass.”

you roll your eyes, pinching her thigh. she yelps, high and breathy, swatting your hand away. she meets your eyes, her blonde brows furrowed.

“geez…” a lazy smile playing on your lips. “just take the compliment, hales.”

a ghost of a smirk appears on her cherry colored lips. glossy and pink. you wonder if they taste as sweet and tart as real cherries do—

you wince internally. thinking like that is not a good idea. damn your alcohol foggy brain, making you think of the inane idea of lusting after your best friend. 

you knock your forehead into her shoulder. “so are we just going to sit here all day?”

“i just need to touch up my lipstick,” she says. facing you with an expectant look. “then we can go back.”

“and that’s why you called me,” you raise a brow. your gaze trails to the cherry coat on her lips—it looks perfectly fine to you. in fact, she looks absolutely darling like this. 

“you need some?”

“…are you offering?”

“why not? we share all my shit anyway,” you shrug. “i think it’s somewhere in my purse—”

“where’s your purse?”

“i left it with the others, i think it’s with abby, i'll text her.” you say. fumbling for your phone, you reach in the hidden pocket of your skirt. the walls enclosing the cubicle restrict your movements; you bump your elbow against the flimsy wood as you dig deeper into the flimsy pocket. your skirt is skin-tight against your hips, you feel the woman above becoming increasingly agitated as your attempts to fish out your phone come out fruitless.

haley huffs above you, shifting; making your wary gaze snap back to her. she looks down at you with a pout—you’re damn sure she’s just as hammered as you.

“too far,” she whines, taking a firm grip of your jaw. your cheeks puff with the force of her squishing them, you feel the pointed tips of her nails digging into the fat there. she swings a leg over you, her hips bracketing your waist as she sits atop you. 

this position feels strangely intimate; like all your senses are overwhelmed with only haley. the heady scent of her skin, the short sounds of her breathing in your ears, the burning feeling wherever she touches—it’s all her, her, her.

which shouldn’t make you feel the way it’s making you feel; like you're buzzing with adrenaline. you feel the blood coursing through your veins at race car speeds—spreading all throughout your body. your cheeks feel hot, you feel dizzy with all your senses stimulated by your best friend.

the reverberating bass from the music outside shakes the walls; like some sort of finality as it thumps, thumps, thumps.

“hales,” you start, your mouth dry. “what—”

she stares at you, her crystalline eyes shining in the dim light of the bathroom. a pretty pink flush paints her cheeks til the tips of her pearl-adorned ears. you feel her breaths against your cheek—short and warm. “stay still, the gloss you have on your lips will do.”

your ears have to be fucking with you… your eyes widen and you swear you feel your heart jump up into your throat. “huh—”

“what?” she says in response to your wide-eyed expression. her tone drops to something akin to a purr. “your lipstick is such a pretty shade.”

helping is what friends are for, right? maybe this is merely the alcohol talking; because she doesn’t like you like that, totally—and the disappointment you feel is not because of that either. 

you swallow the heavy lump in your throat; your voice is strangled and stuttery when you speak. “f—fine.”

“perfect,” she grins. “hold still.”

this is the least you were expecting when you walked into the club bathroom; who knew you’d end up with haley in your lap and hovering over for what is technically a kiss. you will your eyes not to close, burning the view of her leaning over you into your brain. you shudder; this is not a sight that will leave you for months to come.

you squeeze her hip as her face hovers closer, palm lingering at her scratchy sequin miniskirt. you crane your neck, anticipating the brush of her lips against yours. your other hand travels to her upper back, stroking her locks of golden hair; under your ministrations, you feel her tremor slightly.

it feels like eternity when you finally connect. 

sparks fly the moment you feel the plush softness of her mouth against yours, moving in a salacious rhythm that you doubt is for only sharing lipstick. 

her lips are sticky with what remains of that cherry lip gloss; it smears all over your own lips, spreading your deep red lipstick everywhere; at the corner of your lips, at your chin. your eyes flutter shut, a contented sigh escapes your mouth and haley uses that as an opportunity to deepen the kiss. she drags her hand up and up, curling her fingers into the base of your neck.

you jolt, the pleasure fogs your mind; your thoughts are muddy, the only coherent thing is of haley. 

your tongue swipes at her bottom lip, chasing the fruity flavor of cherry cola on her lips. it’s sweet, she’s sweet. you feel lightheaded with the overwhelming sensations of it. sure, you’ve kissed once or twice—but it never felt like this; soft and desperate and hot and tingly, affecting you all throughout your body. 

your breaths are labored when she pulls away and you feel it's too soon. a clicking wet sound when her mouth disconnects from yours that makes you shiver. you feel dizzy with warmth; heat is pooling low in your belly, a low buzzing sensation overwhelms everywhere haley touches. 

her lips as wine-red as yours. the same color lipstick smeared messily on her lips. haley wipes the corner of your cupid’s bow, where some of the color had smudged, her breathing heavy and pupils dilated as you stare. her hands feel delightfully warm and soft against your skin. golden strands of hair brush against your cheeks, making you squirm in your seat.

you can barely restrain your delighted giggle, in awe of the absurdity of the situation. haley laughs too, a light sound like a tinkling bell. you slump against the cold tile wall behind you, boneless and in disbelief— did you really just make out with your best friend? and at a grimy club bathroom no less.

time seems suspended here, cramped in a stall with only the sound of heavy breathing. there will be a lot more questions when you leave, lingering glances at your pleasure-pulled hair and smeared lipstick. 

this is what friends do, what you and haley do. your eyes track her every move, unabashedly staring as she readjusts her top. haley catches your eye, smiling like the cat that got all the cream. 

she cranes her face to your ear, whispering. “thanks for the touch up, babe.”

#stardew valley #sdv #x reader #sdv writing #sdv haley #stardew haley #stardew valley haley #haley sdv #haley x farmer #haley x reader #stardew valley fanfic #stardew oc #stardew farmer #sapphic #sdv fanfic #fanfic #stardew valley writing #stardew valley fic #key’s-vault

[daisies-daydreams]

Okay. It’s me again luv. And as a chubby woman…HOW WOULD SIMON GHOST FUCKING RILEY REACT TO HAVING A CHUBBY WIFE? LIKE I MEAN ONE DAY READER JUST WEARS A MINISKIRT WITH NOTHING UNDERNEATH (IM TALKIN NO SHORTS OR PANTIES) AND WEARS A SHORT ASS CROP TOP (just to see how it fits and stuff Yk? Like playing dress up) AND SIMON COMES HOME FROM A MISSION AND HE JUST ABSOLUTELY LOSES IT. 😾🙏 I know Simon would appreciate a bit of cushion. (Maybe.)

Home Is Wherever I'm With You (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Plus-Sized!Wife!Reader)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Plus-Sized!Wife!Reader Category: Fluff & Smut (18+) Warnings: Oral Sex (M!/F!Receiving), Vaginal Fingering, Clit Play, Soft Sex, Unprotected P in V Sex (You Know the Drill), Creampies, Semi-Mating Press/Missionary, Slight Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Dirty Talk, Pet Names (love/lovie, honey/hun, daddy, babe, baby, sweetheart) Word Count: 3.4k+

A/N: Hello! It's so good to hear from you again! Thank you so much for your spicy/sweet request. And honey...I just know Simon would absolutely adore a woman with cushion. 🫶 I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

You sighed as you shut the front door behind you. To say it was a long week...no...a long month would be an understatement. Work's been a nightmare and you haven't had the pleasure of coming home to your husband's loving arms. Those long days and lonely nights all lead to you snatching your purse and walking out the door for some retail therapy. The plastic bag swayed in your grip as you padded to your bedroom, eager to try on your new outfit. You tossed it onto the bed before pulling out a very short, black mini-skirt and a cute crop top to match.

You hummed as you pulled off your dress...and then a thought suddenly crossed your mind. You blushed as your eyes flicked up to your reflection. Your nostrils flared as you tugged your bra and panties off before taking the skirt into your hands. You slid the soft, black mini-skirt over your thick thighs, the fabric pleasantly soft against your skin. You smiled as it perfectly glided over your curves, accentuating your round bum as you turned to look at yourself in the full-length mirror.

You grinned as you reached over and grabbed the crop top lying on your bed. The fabric also felt perfectly soft as you pushed your arms through. You grunted as you adjusted the top, your breasts bouncing within the confines of the dark fabric as you turned back around. You adjusted your clothes before striking a pose in the mirror.

“Why, hello there,” you giggled as you waved at your reflection, imagining you were speaking to your husband. You glanced down at your outfit. “Oh, this little get up?” you asked as you smoothed your hands down your sides. “Well, I bought it just for you, you know,” you winked before biting your lip.

“Really? Just for me?” you heard a gruff, familiar voice ask from the doorway. You gasped and spun around, your cheeks burning as Simon stood on the threshold of your bedroom.

“Simon!” you cried as you ran over. He instantly dropped his duffel bag, your heart lighting up as he stretched his arms out. You nearly tackled him to the ground as you embraced him, pushing your face into his broad chest as you squeezed him tightly. He stroked his thick fingers through your hair as he kissed the top of your head.

“You’re here, you’re really here,” you sniffed. Simon gave an warm yet exhausted grin as he leaned back and cupped your plush cheek.

“I missed you so much, love,” he whispered as he rubbed his thumb across the side of your face.

"I missed you, too," you smiled widely. Both of you gazed deeply into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity before you slowly raised yourself up on your tiptoes, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss. You sighed, eyes closing as you kept your arms wrapped around his taut back.

Simon groaned into your mouth as he cupped your face with both hands, the cool metal of his wedding band brushing against your cheek. Warmth spread from the top of your head to the tips of your toes as he held you close, the smell of gun oil and cologne flooding your senses.

“Were you expecting me to get home early?” he mused as he slowly bunched up the fabric of your mini-skirt. You shivered when the cold air instantly hit your slick slit, your walls fluttering as he slid his thumb over your throbbing clit.

“I-I was just trying on some new clothes,” you swallowed. Your husband quirked a brow.

“Mhm,” he hummed before sliding his other hand down the curve of your ass. You squeaked as he laid a soft slap against your bum, your spine arching as the mild sting sank into your skin. “Trying them on with no panties or bra?” he piqued before starting to circle your bundle of nerves with his thick thumb. You released a quiet moan as he massaged your nub.

“Didn’t know I had such a naughty wife to come home to,” Simon murmured with a wry grin. You squealed as he pulled your top up, your ripe tits bouncing down. Simon grunted as he watched your breasts jiggle.

“Fuck, I've missed being able to touch you,” Simon licked his lips right against your ear. You moaned softly as you felt something hard press against the inner plush of your thigh.

“Please,” you sighed, letting your warm breath fall against his clavicle. “Please, touch me, Simon,” you panted as he swiped over your clit.

“Fuckin' hell,” he breathed. You whined as you felt the pads of his digits tease your puffy folds, your slick coating his tips as you rocked your hips back and forth against his calloused palm. You looked up into his dark, chocolate brown eyes as your face flushed with heat.

“Simon,” you moaned a little louder than you intended. Simon's eyes widened slightly before he suddenly yanked your skirt down your thighs. You gasped as a blanket of goosebumps crossed over your skin.

“I'll never grow tired of this gorgeous sight,” your husband grunted as he hungrily eyed your exposed sex. You gave him a dreamy, half-lidded look as you wiggled out of your skirt. His sharp eyes were trained on you like a hawk as you slipped the crop top past your shoulders, your hairs standing on end as you swayed your hips a little.

"This is even better," he smirked as his hands fell to your waist. You slowly blinked as you snaked your fingers around two of his belt loops. He chuckled as you lead him towards the bed. You mewled as you sank down onto the mattress, his hands resting on your shoulders.

"You sure you want this? Got quite a bit of...tension that's been building up over the past month," Simon husked as his eyes raked over your naked form. You nodded, causing him to chuckle as he tugged his dark gray shirt above his head.

Your eyes trailed down the front of his chiseled body before pausing on the prominent bulge growing beneath his slacks. Simon gasped quietly as you traced your hands over every dip and curve of his scarred abdomen before grabbing his zipper. Your love looked at you fondly as your hands made quick work of undoing his pants. Your mouth watered in anticipation as you pulled his slacks and briefs down in one fluid motion.

Your eyes immediately locked onto his hard, twitching cock as it jumped from its confines and slapped against his lower belly. You licked your lips before looking up at him, his expression completely overwhelmed with pure desire.

“Si, is it okay if I actually spoil you a little first?” you asked as you gazed up at him with a pleading look, your hand already wrapped around the base of his shaft. Simon sighed as he gently placed his hand on the back of your head.

“Babe, you don’t have to,” he replied as he stroked his fingers through your locks. You shook your head and bit your lip.

“But I want to, Simon,” you said. “You’ve been gone for so long, and I just…I want to,” you finished as you gave him your best doe-eyed look. Simon’s eyes lit up as he gave you a gentle smile.

“You're too good to me, hun," he sighed before kissing the crown of your head. "Let me just-” he slipped away before climbing onto the bed. He grunted as he settled against the pillows, letting his muscular legs spread a little as you crawled over to him. You smiled before pecking his lips, your hand falling back down to curl around his thick cock. Simon sighed when you squeezed the base of his length with your warm palm.

He released a shaky breath as you pulled his foreskin back, revealing the flush, leaking tip of his swollen cock. You gave him a seductive smirk as you adjusted yourself on the bed. You braced your hand on his other thigh as you laid on your stomach, your breasts pushing together as you squeezed his cock in your fist.

A small grin crossed your face as you placed a long, loving kiss on his slick cockhead. Your husband’s thighs clenched beneath your hand as you began to slowly pump your other fist around his length. His cock twitched as you peppered his tip with quick, gentle kisses. You parted your lips and began to suckle on his bulbous head, the salty taste of sweat and precum flooding your tastebuds as you moaned.

Simon grunted as he watched you smother the head of his dick with your glistening spit. He gasped as you flicked your tongue over his slit before wrapping your lips around his mushroom-like tip. Your husband groaned loudly as you swirled your wet muscle around his burning tip. You moaned as you continued to grip and pump your hand at the base of his shaft while massaging the head with your tongue.

“Love, please. I-I need to feel your perfect mouth around my cock,” he choked. You grinned before quickly enveloping your plump lips around his dick. He released a feral snarl as you began to sink down on his length, hollowing your cheeks with every inch. Simon sputtered, the rough pads of his fingers gripping the back of your head as you eased his cock in and out of your warm mouth.

He gently bucked his hips forward as you slobbered all over his meaty shaft. Simon panted as you lovingly sucked his dick, his cock fitting inside your tight throat perfectly. You gazed up at him with tears in your lashes as you moaned around his cock, the vibrations causing him to gasp and shudder.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he praised as he fucked your face in time with the bobbing of your head. You breathed through your nose as you felt his heavy balls slap against your chin as he pistoned his cock down your throat. He stiffened as you let your tongue glide across the thick vein on the bottom of his shaft before you swirled it around his tip again, repeating the process each time your head came up.

“(Y-Y/N),” Simon grunted, his muscular thighs twitching as you began to bob your head at a faster pace. You closed your eyes as you felt his cock throb inside your mouth, more precum leaking down your throat as you keened around his girth. You could feel arousal drip from your slit as you felt his balls twitch against your face. You sputtered when he suddenly grabbed your hair and pulled you off of his length. You coughed before gazing up at him with a puzzled expression, your scalp stinging slightly as his hand slipped away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. Simon’s chest heaved as he rubbed his hand through his matted, dirty blond hair. He licked his lips before leaned forward. You squealed as he pressed his front against yours, your back crashing against the mattress as he hovered above you.

“Sorry for bein' rough with your hair, but I really want to cum inside you, sweetheart,” Simon confessed with a sharp exhale. Your eyes widened as his hands glided across your breasts, his eyes deep and yearning for the comfort of your soft body. Your heart pounded against your sternum as he slid a pillow beneath your lower back.

“But first, I want to return the favor and eat this sweet, juicy pussy of yours,” he purred as he spread your plush legs open, his mouth soon hovering above your slick pussy lips. You shuddered when he pulled your legs over his broad shoulders, his eyes now set on yours.

“Please,” you nearly choked on your own spit as your walls clenched around nothing. It was all Simon needed to press his eager mouth against your mound. A bolt of electricity shot down your spine as his tongue rolled out and gently lapped at your folds. Simon’s eyes closed as he hummed against your wet slit, his hands rubbing your muffin top as the balls of your feet squeezed his upper back.

“S-Simon!” you mewled as your hands gripped his dirty blonde hair. Your head tilted back as your husband shoved his entire face into your pussy, his crooked nose brushing up against your swollen clit as he painted bold, sloppy stripes up and down your slit. Your legs shook around his head as you felt the tip of his wet muscle swirl around your entrance. A sharp cry left you as he slowly shoved his thick tongue inside your gushing, tight hole.

“Oh my God,” you whined as he began to pump his tongue inside your pussy, your gummy walls molding perfectly to the shape of his muscle. You sputtered as he pressed his thumb against your clit, circling it slowly while he plunged his tongue deep inside your aching core. Everything burned inside and out; your body and mind consumed with bliss as he devoured your cunt like it was his last meal. You whined as you felt his tongue slip out, only to moan when he slid two of his thick digits inside your sopping cunt.

“So fuckin' tight-gonna have to stretch you out after bein' gone for so long," Simon groaned before wrapping his lips around your swollen clit. Your back arched off of the pillow as your thighs jiggled in his grasp, his fingers dipping and curling within your plush walls as your husband moaned against your sex. Your fingers dug into his scalp as he suckled on your bundle of nerves, his fingers caressing every inch of your cunt.

“S-Simon,” you whined as he swirled his tongue around your button, his spit dribbling down your already soaked slit. Stars began to sprinkle your vision as he slid a third digit inside your squelching pussy. Your walls spasmed as he licked up and down from where he stuffed your cunt with his digits all the way up to your quivering clit. You let out a few shaky breaths before your hips snapped forward, your walls pulsating around his digits as you screamed his name.

You sobbed as you were hit with wave after wave of blissful contractions, your belly puffing out as you heard your husband greedily slurp your nectar into his mouth. You babbled his name like a broken record as your hips rubbed against his face, completely soaking his chin with your arousal. Your entire body trembled as you floated back down from your high, hot tears pouring down your flushed cheeks. You slowly blinked your eyes open, your vision blurred as Simon gently pumped his fingers inside of your hole a few more times.

“You taste just as good as when I left,” he lapped at the corner of his mouth. "So. Fuckin'. Sweet," he purred as he licked the tips of his fingers, sending ripples of arousal across your trembling form. He kept his eyes on your blissful face as he let your legs fall back onto the bed. Simon smiled as he wrapped his hand around his cock, pumping it a few times as he positioned his hips. “Is it alright if we keep goin', hun?” he murmured. You nodded your head and rested your hands on his upper back. Simon chuckled and kissed your forehead.

“Good...‘cause I’ve been waiting a whole month to cum inside this perfect pussy of yours,” he groaned. Your face grew hot as he guided the now cherry red tip of his cock to your entrance, his other hand bracing the side of your face. Simon grunted as he rubbed the head of his dick against your soaked folds before gently sliding it past the rim of your entrance. Both of you moaned as the fat tip of his cock began to spread your sensitive hole open. You dug small crescents into his shoulder blades, making him release a deep grunt.

“So fuckin’ warm,” Simon choked as his thick, veiny cock sank further inside your chubby cunt. Your pussy ached as you felt every curve and vein of his cock stroke your juicy walls. “Feelin’ alright, lovie?” he asked. You nodded as you felt the fullness inside your cunt swell with every inch he fed into you. Simon stuttered a bit when he finally bottomed out inside of you, his balls bouncing against the plush of your asscheeks.

“F-Feels so full,” you whined as your walls pulsated around his heavy cock. Simon kissed your forehead.

"I know, love. I'll start real slow, yeah?" he said lowly. You nodded, your eyes still glistening from your previous orgasm. Simon took a deep breath before slowly pulling his hips back, letting his cock ease in and out of you at a steady pace. You sighed as you felt the rock of his hips, his plush balls slapping against your wet folds as your round ass jiggled with every tender thrust.

“Y-You're stretching me so good, Si,” you moaned. Simon grunted, a sheen of sweat coating his body as he furrowed his brows. Your husband's hands moved to grip your muffin top as his cock twitched inside you.

“Fuck,” he hissed through gritted teeth as he snapped his hips forward. Your eyes nearly crossed as your walls clenched around his shaft.

“Oh God, daddy,” you whined as he picked up the pace. Simon chuckled as you gasped, the tips of your ears burning as you sheepishly looked away.

“Daddy, hm?” your husband mused before suddenly curving his hips up. You cried out as the thick head of his cock perfectly rubbed against your soft g-spot. “Never heard that one before, lovie,” he teased. You laid there, eyes wide and jaw slack.

“Does that mean you want me to make you a mommy?” he suddenly husked. Your chest felt like it was about to burst as your bottom lip trembled.

“Y-Yes,” you admitted with a loud gasp. Simon groaned before suddenly hooking his arms beneath your plump legs. You yelped as he leaned his body forward, his hips slotting against your inner thighs as he pistoned his cock inside your fluttering cunt.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that,” he moaned, his cheek brushing against yours as he kept the bend of your knees slotting behind his burly arms. Your cheeks began to clap as he thrusted faster and faster, the momentum quickly bringing you to the sharp edge of your second orgasm.

“O-Oh Simon!,” you moaned as your head rolled back. Simon cooed as you wailed, your walls hugging his throbbing shaft while he continued pistoning his shaft deep inside you.

“(Y/N), I’m-ah-I’m gettin’ close,” he grunted. Simon rested his forehead against yours as the back of your thighs began to burn, your tummy rubbing against his as he panted.

“Gonna be such a good mum-so patient and caring,” Simon murmured, his hot breath falling over your cheek as you whined. You arched your spine as his cock twitched inside you, his tip kissing your swollen cervix as he crashed his lips against yours. Your cheeks filled with heat as you felt his thrusts grow more sloppy and erratic, his breath stuttering as he snapped his hips forward one last time.

Both of you moaned as he pressed his cock all the way against your cervix. Your heart skipped a beat as you felt him spill his seed into your stretched out pussy, rope after rope of his thick cum painting your gummy walls. Simon panted as he gently rolled his hips, his cock squirting out the last of his spend as the two of you shivered with pure bliss. The two of you caught your breath as he slowly opened his eyes, his lips parted just above yours.

You sighed through your nose as he leaned down and instantly caught your mouth in another heated kiss, his lips tenderly caressing yours. He smiled and brushed a strand of hair from your face as he let his softening cock rest inside your snug pussy.

“You did so, so well, sweetheart,” Simon grinned before pecking your lips again. Your face felt flushed as he leaned back, letting your legs fall back onto the mattress before he laid himself on top of you. You sighed as he gently kissed your cheek.

“I love you,” you murmured sweetly. Simon’s dark eyes softened as he pecked your lips.

“Love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispered.

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[lovebugism]

i am so sorry but reader talking about robin right before making out with eddie is like absolutely the best thing i’ve ever read i’m obsessed i genuinely can’t wait for anything else in that universe that you do

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT | god help the girl

summary: in which you come to terms with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with eddie munson. pairing: virgin!eddie munson x reader word count: 13k warning: phone sex, more discussions of shitty boyfriends, j*son c*rver name drop, talks of unhealthy eating practices, smut 18+ mdni! a/n: this ask has been sitting in my inbox for ages now, but i wanted to save it until robin made an appearance in the series! thank you, anon, for being so sweet! and for the few of you who've been waiting on me to finally post <3 hope you enjoy! xoxo

( PREVIOUSLY ) | ( SERIES MASTERLIST ) | ( NEXT )

They only met once, but it changed their lives forever. 

That’s what the movie cover reads at least, but the words have long blurred into a jumbled mess at your tunnel vision. John Bender stares you in the face, but all you see is Eddie — boyish and brazen and scowling because he thinks it makes him look intimidating, but nowhere near as cruel as he seems. 

He’s certainly got the hair for it, much longer and curls far wilder than Judd Nelson’s measly set of brushed-back locks. He’s got the terribly animated personality down pat, too; the one that either makes you laugh uncontrollably or squirm in discomfort when it’s pointed your way. And the style’s a pretty fine match also, though you’d argue that no one sports a leather jacket quite like Eddie Munson does.

Wallowing in your boredom at the empty Family Video store on Main Street — where your best friends slave over mundane work with aching backs and a lingering sense of gratefulness that no customer has been in in well over an hour — you find yourself analyzing each character pictured on the front cover of The Breakfast Club.

Robin would surely be Allison, you conclude rather quickly, because their deadpanned glowers are eerily identical. They’ve also got this sort of atypical aura to them, too, like a dark storm cloud or the promise of a long night. But strangely it sparkles — strikes of lightning or a sky full of stars. It draws everyone’s attention to them; even when they’re desperately trying to hide in the very back of a room.

And Steve would be Andrew, not particularly because of his affections for this Allison-Reynolds-Robin-Buckley hybrid you’ve concocted, but because "popular guy with daddy issues" is a trope that fits him far too well. He’s way more likely to get detention for trying to look cool in front of his assholes friends than for anything actually malicious of heart. But that would’ve been years ago now. He’s not that kind of guy anymore. 

He’s soft and sweet — a Brian Johnson sort of soft and sweet, if you will. If Brian wasn’t the brains, but the sweetest dumbass anyone’s ever met.

You realize then, that Jim Hopper would make a mean Richard Vernon. He’s impatient to a fault, almost too stern at times, but never enough to make you genuinely fearful of him. You’ve found that it’s virtually impossible for you to take him seriously when he’s so cartoonishly angry. It’s a match made in heaven, you find, though Jim might take offense to the comparison.

And if Eddie is Bender, then that’d make you the Claire Standish of the bunch.

She’s dreadfully stylish, a bit stuck-up at times, and perhaps a little bit more spoiled than the average person; but it’s not like she ever claimed to be perfect. And you wouldn’t either.

You’ll take more pride in your wardrobe filled with pretty pleated skirts and flouncy dresses than your somewhat glacial disposition. And you might not be drowning in daddy’s money, but you’re certainly spoiled in other ways — if only in the employee discount at Enzo’s that got you wine for cheap and your connections at Family Video that meant free movie nights whenever you wanted.

The bad boy and the princess was a tale as old as time itself. It’s a fairytale you wouldn’t mind living in if it ended how it did in the movies — with a kiss on the cheek and an exchanged diamond earring in the calloused palm of another. A soft pink smile and a celebratory fist in the air.

But you’ve met your fair share of John Bender’s and none of them had been particularly kind to you, let alone had fallen in love with you. 

Maybe that’s because you were no Claire Standish. Never pretty enough, never mousy enough, never pure enough.  You try and dissect why you’ve never been successfully loved, and all the signs point to you, you, you.

You hope Eddie’s different. You need Eddie to be different.

“Something’s wrong with me,” you blurt out of nowhere.

Well, it’s not totally out of the blue for you. You’d been stewing over that thought since you got there — since you left the woods with damp underwear and the scent of you on Eddie’s fingers.

But to Steve and Robin, who’d stayed relatively silent and locked eyes only once after they noticed how abnormally hushed you’d gone, it catches them quite off guard.

Steve lifts his heavy head from where he mans the counter. His tired eyes leave the computerized catalog for the first time in forty minutes, and he has to rub at them with the bottom of his palms to see you properly. Meanwhile, Robin crouches at your side, taking returned tapes from the bin sitting next to her and placing them back upon the shelf you lean against. 

She blinks up at you, deep ocean eyes swimming with apprehension, like she can sense the spiral you’ve just about twisted yourself into.

“What do you mean?” she wonders, ever the supportive best friend, as she plucks Heather’s, Pretty in Pink, and Weird Science from the bin and sets them onto their assigned rows in the Teen Drama section.

“Eddie won’t fuck me.”

Neither of them is particularly stunned by the unabashed nature of your admission.

Not only have they both fucked you at one point or another, but they’re your best friends — no one’s ever going to know you quite the way they do. It leaves little left unsaid between the three of you, with secrets you’ve all sworn to take to your graves. Steve once stuck a finger in his ass to see if he liked it (he did) and Robin sometimes gets off on her childhood teddy bear (rather ironically named Mr. Snuggles). 

So this? This was nothing. Especially in comparison to all the other shit you’ve confessed to them because god knows the whore of Hawkins has a plethora of stories to tell.

Steve is more shocked by the name that leaves your mouth than anything else. “Eddie Munson?” he repeats with furrowed brows, like he had to have heard you wrong.

You bring your chin to your right shoulder to look at him, then nod.

“Eddie… The Freak… Munson?”

You nod again, slower for him this time.

“You wanna fuck… Eddie Munson?” Steve reiterates once more, as though the idea was too appalling to be true. “Eddie Munson — The Freak?”

“Yes, Steve,” you huff in irritation.

His face contorts into a puppy-like confusion. A frown settles between his bushy brows and he cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching and his lip quirking slightly. He couldn’t look more disgusted if he tried.

“…Why?”

You groan and tilt your head back dramatically. “That’s not what’s important here, Steve. The better question is why won’t he fuck me?”

The boy’s lack of any actual assistance doesn’t surprise Robin in the slightest — his dumbfounded gaze and innate confusion are actually pretty on brand. It just puts all the burden on her, to help you wriggle out of the mess you’d tangled yourself into. 

It’s not like she isn’t used to it, though, nor does she mind doing it for you. She walks you through your emotions like a professional, squashing out all the burning orange embers for you before they have the chance to burst into flames.

“Well, what do you mean he won’t fuck you? Like… did he actually say that or does he just wanna, you know, take things slow?”

The latter would’ve been way too easy. Eddie’s always been nice enough to you. It’d make sense for him to want to stay unhurried and gentle with you, but those words weren’t exactly in your vocabulary. 

The first time you were alone with him, you were getting yourself off on his thigh after making him come in his jeans. The next time you saw him, after four days of him clinging to your consciousness, there wasn’t as much small talk so much as there were two of his fingers stuffed knuckle-deep inside of you.

You don’t know Eddie’s birthday, but you know how he likes to be touched — squeezed and not rubbed. You don’t know his middle name or how he likes his eggs in the morning or what his relationship with his mother is like, but he’s already made you come. Twice.

You are completely, utterly, and totally incapable of taking things slow. So it wasn’t that. It couldn’t be. So it had to be the other thing. The very scary, terrifying, boogeyman of a thing.

“I mean, I offered to give him a blowjob and he completely turned me down,” you lament in reply.

Robin and Steve wince. Like, physically wince. Their faces scrunch and their heads flinch from something invisible. Audible ooh’s fall from their mouths without them even realizing it, because you don’t get rejected. Ever. Especially not after offering to pleasure someone without much of anything in return.

They don’t mean to react the way they do. The visible shock that coats their features is involuntary more than it is anything, and it only adds to your fears.

“Exactly!” you exclaim.

“I hate to say it, but I think hell might be freezing over as we speak,” Steve half-jokes.

“Well, he was working, right?” Robin asks with raised brows. “Maybe he was just busy.”

“Sorry, Rob, but no guy’s too busy for a blowjob.”

“Real charming, Stevie.”

“Maybe he just has a small dick,” the boy concludes with a shrug.

“I felt his dick,” you shake your head almost immediately. The feeling of Eddie’s hard cock through his denim jeans, all rough and warm against your palm, hasn’t yet left you. “It’s not small.”

“Well, maybe he can’t get it up—”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem either.”

Eddie was rock hard when you left him, throbbing and aching and obviously needing some kind of relief. That’s partly why you’d been so ardent to return the favor, though the other half of it was purely selfish — you haven’t seen a more beautiful sight than Eddie Munson getting off. To deprive yourself of that masterpiece made you feel like you were starving.

You have a hard time imagining the raging hard-on just… dissipating after you’d left him. That means he probably jerked off in the back of his van and you missed it. And if he came, right after he promised everything was okay, that means he just didn’t want you to do it… right?

Steve seems to be caught in the same inner turmoil you’re currently stuck in; and for good reason. In all the years he’s known you, he can count on one hand how many times he’s had to turn you down. And every time, it was because he’d gotten back together with Nancy. It was never because of you. Not once. And sometimes he felt like it hurt him as much as it did you. 

As far as Steve’s concerned, you’re so out of Eddie Munson’s league that you’re not even in his fucking orbit — so the freak show, turning you down, doesn’t make whole lot of sense to him.

“Huh…”

“It’s me. It’s definitely me,” you conclude with the shake of your head. A bitter, almost hysterical laugh spills from your lips. “He thinks I’m fucking ugly or disgusting or something. It’s totally fucking me—”  

Robin completely abandons her basket of tapes then. She rises to stand in front of you, looking timid as she does so. Her raised brows form wrinkles on her freckled forehead and her blue eyes widen to reveal more of the whites of them. She looks like she’s approaching a wild animal. A bomb that’s about to explode.

“Okay… You’re starting to spiral, alright? So let’s just try and take a few deep breaths—”

You don’t listen to her. 

Actually, you do quite the opposite, as you begin to blurt every fleeting thought that crosses your mind.

“I’ve made out with nearly everyone in this stupid town— I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked almost half— and you’d think Eddie would wanna take advantage of that, the way everyone makes him out to be some sort of freak, right? But he hasn’t and at this rate, he won’t, and I just don’t understand why,” you ramble without taking in a single breath. “Usually being a slut is a huge turn-on for guys, you know? But what if Eddie thinks it’s gross? I mean, it is gross— I’m gross—”

You only stop for air when Robin takes your shoulders in both hands. She looks less apprehensive and more stern, as she forces you to look at her.

“Look. I love you, but you need to get a hold of yourself, alright? I know you’re not used to being told no, and I know how much it sucks, but shit happens. I’m willing to bet all the money I’ve ever seen that whatever is going on with Eddie has nothing to do with you, okay? And if it’s making you this upset, maybe you should just talk to him.”

“But I don’t wanna seem like I’m too eager, that’s gross—”

“Then find someone else to fuck,” she offers with her signature Robin Buckley half-smile. “I’m sure it would take you less than five minutes to find a willing participant.”

“Yeah, right here,” Steve jokes from the counter with the pathetic wave of his hand and a dumb grin on his lips. 

You don’t hear him over the voices in your head — half calling you crazy for letting a boy drive you this mad over nothing, and the other half bitterly affirming each of your deep-rooted insecurities.

Your face screws up, like the thought of being with anyone other than Eddie upsets you — it does upset you.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then what do you want?” Robin yells in your face, shaking you by your shoulders.

“I want Eddie!” you shout back without thinking. The words seem to spill out of nowhere. It takes you of all people by surprise. No one in this rat trap town would ever expect the whore of Hawkins to want to settle down, least of all the harlot herself. It’s strange; it’s riveting; it’s really fucking scary. “…Fuck.”

The brunette smirks, proud of herself. “Well. There’s your answer.”

“I hate when you’re right,” you mumble to yourself, pouting as she crouches back down again.

“I know.”

It was a terrifying thought, to know that you were head over heels for someone else. You try to come to terms with what that means. 

Sometimes you think you fall in love with a new person every day. A cute guy holds the door open for you, a pretty girl compliments your outfit — they never think about you again, but they’re on your mind for days. It was so easy to develop such meaningless infatuations, especially when you were bored.

But Eddie was different.

He was a nice guy. A nice guy that was sweet to you just for the sake of being sweet to you; not because he secretly wanted something in return. That made you fall for him at first, but then you just… kept on falling. Eddie Munson was an infinite void you couldn’t crawl your way out of even if you wanted to, even if you tried.

And that’s what frightened you the most.

Because if you really thought about it, you’ve only truly been in love a handful of times. And, sure, it didn’t work out — that was normal — but some of them fucking ruined you. 

You’re still trying to figure out who you are without all of the people that have broken your heart. You’re still fighting like hell every day to recognize the person you see in the mirror, while Billy Hargrove fucks off with a new girl every other week like he didn’t totally destroy you.

But, even still, Eddie was completely different. No one’s ever made you feel the way he makes you feel. And it’s more than the stupid heavy petting — it’s more than anything. It’s never been like this before; not even with the blonde mulleted asshole who ripped your heart to shreds. 

And you’re scared that if you get hurt again, you’ll never be able to come back from it.

“Steve, do you have another copy of Fast Times in the back?” you suddenly ask the boy, tossing him a look over your shoulder.

It’s your last ditch effort to rid yourself of the ponderous, gray doom and gloom surrounding you like some storm cloud. Your comfort movie solves all of your problems — or, at the very least, Phoebe Cates does — but it seems everyone else in town has developed a similar fondness for minute fifty-three of the film and got all the tapes off the shelf before you could get your hands on one.

“You know I keep on in stock for you,” he answers quietly.

He reaches below the counter to pull out a spare copy for you, and your heart swells with the rays of a thousand rising suns and the songs of every morning bird.

Steve told you some time ago that he could change. And back then, all it did was piss you off, because he didn’t want to change for the town slut — for the girl he put through the goddamn ringer. He wanted to change for Nancy. The princess bruised his brittle ego a little, and then he realized what an asshole he’d been to everyone, to you.

But as angry as it made you, you never believed him. “Once the King of Hawkins High, always the King of Hawkins High,” you remarked bitterly.

You wouldn’t say it to his face, for the sake of keeping his ego from inflating all over again, but you could tell he was really changing.

He was kinder, he was softer. He stopped caring about what everyone thought about him, about what not caring would do to his reputation, and started giving a fuck about the people worth giving a fuck about. 

Apparently, you were one of them.

“…Really?”

He nods with a subtle shrug. Like it was no big deal. Like it wasn’t one of the sweetest things he’d ever done for you — keeping your favorite movie on hand so you’ll always have a spare, knowing that it’s the only thing that gets you out of a deep, dark funk sometimes.

“Stevie… You’re gonna make me blush,” you lilt with a grin as you saunter over to him, hands innocently laced behind your back. “You need to be careful, Harrington. I’m gonna start to think you actually like me.”

He scoffs. “I do like you.”

“Yeah, when it’s convenient.”

It’s obvious your joke hits him where it hurts. It serves as a bitter reminder of the asshole he used to be, the douchebag he’s trying like hell to grow out of. He looks up at you with a sheepish, honey-tinted gaze before ducking away again.

A year or more ago it would’ve made you feel good, to know that you hurt him just a fraction of the way he hurt you. But you know that that isn’t the same man standing in front of you now, that he’d rather die than make hurt your feelings, and it makes you feel like shit for saying it in the first place. 

“Sorry,” you apologize with a scrunched nose. The palms of your hands dig into the edges of the counter as you lean against it. Your shrug. “It just kinda came out…”

The barcode scanner in his hand beeps as he passes the thing over the back of the tape — never charging you, just getting the movie out of the database.

“So, uh…” he starts before clearing his throat. He focuses his gaze on the computer and types on the bulky keyboard with the tip of his pointer finger. “You really like this Eddie guy, huh?”

“Maybe. I think so.”

“And he’s not, like… a total freak or anything?”

You can’t tell if he’s trying to look out for you or if he just wants intel on what it’s like trying (and failing) to bang the local weirdo. Either way, it makes a smile tug slow at your lips as you joke: “Not in the way everyone thinks.”

“Jesus,” he winces at the obscenity of your words.

“Sorry,” you apologize again, though the laugh that bubbles from your lips after cancels out any hint of actual sincerity. “You don’t need to give me the talk or anything, Steve. I can take care of myself.”

“…Can you?” he half-jokes.

It makes you falter. “Well… With you and Robin and Hopper constantly on my ass, then yeah.”

“Just don’t want you to get hurt,” Steve finally admits, soft and suddenly shy as he hands the VHS over to you.

“That’s rich coming from you—”

He jerks back the tape before you can take it from him, leaving your hand reaching for thin air. His cinnamon eyes glimmer with a foreign seriousness, not completely unkind, but lacking their usual blithe. “That’s why I’m saying it. I just… I want you to be okay.”

Steve is one of the rare ones, you conclude right then in there — in the liminal emptiness of Family Video, beneath fluorescent lights that cast sharp shadows upon his already chiseled features. He was a mythical creature of a man, one who breaks your heart and does everything in his power to mend it again.

He hasn’t forgotten about what he did to you, not like Billy did, and he won’t. Not ever. He saw what he did to you and he never moved on from it, just matured enough to make sure it never happened again. And he won’t let another unworthy douchebag hurt you like he did. Not if he can help it, at least.

And he did try to warn you about Hargrove, to be fair. You were just the dumbass that didn’t listen.

“Well, me and my Phoebe Cates wet dream are golden, Pony Boy,” you promise. He hands you the tape again and lets you snatch it from his grip this time. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Stevie.”

Steve Harrington was right. 

The fleeting thought flashes across your mind for half a second, and you quickly realize that those words have never been uttered in the same sentence before now. But he wasn’t wrong in what he’d said about you, just before you left — you were completely, totally, absolutely, and implicitly unable to take care of yourself.

You nearly passed out in the bathroom after taking the hottest shower of your life, feeling too woozy to slap on anything other than moisturizer because you failed to remember to actually eat something that day. It wasn’t totally your fault, though; if anything, it was because of Eddie and all the butterflies he’d given you that made food the very last thing on your mind.

You half-heartedly dry yourself off, keeping your hair in a towel, while you slip on a cotton set of underwear you’ve had for way longer than what's likely acceptable. Damp and half-naked, you prance into the kitchen to fix Bowie her bowl of dinner before you feed yourself.

You fork a can of wet food onto a flower-shaped plate and let her eat on the counter — because you’re an adult now, and you can do that sort of thing.

The calico purrs while she feasts, but your stomach thunders with negligence. You peek into your mostly bare refrigerator and make a mental note to go grocery shopping when you get paid next week. 

With a lack of food and an even lesser will to cook something, you settle for the half-eaten chocolate bar you keep stashed in the very back of the fridge; kept only for the most special of occasions — when you’re reveling in your loneliness and trying to convince yourself that you can make it on your own.

It was practically the size of your forearm when you first bought the thing at some too expensive candy store in the city. Now it’s no bigger than your hand.

You eat the thing in bed, even though you know you’ll get crumbs everywhere and that it’ll make sleep agonizing for you — if you get any, that is. You’re bound to feel like a total zombie by the time the sun rises and the late-night sweet will likely make its appearance on your skin by then, in a red and raging blemish of a consequence.

You’ll feel empty and starved and surly, a snapping grouch instead of an actual person, until you get some actual food in your system.

And you’re more than aware of all of these things, but you don’t do a single damn thing about them.

You’re nothing but a sulking lump upon an unmade bed, lying in a pitch-black darkness that’s evaded only by the static-y television across your room, trying your best to pretend like you aren’t waiting for Eddie’s phone call. It’s hard to remember to forget him, though, when the movie you’re watching is practically a feature film of him and all the ways he makes you feel.

Spicoli and his terribly inebriated friends slur as they chorus “No shoes, no shirt, no diiiice” and you swear you can feel Eddie’s shoulder bump softly against yours as he laughs, hear every sound of his melodic chuckle in your ear that made you giggle right along with him. The low bass of Moving in Stereo plays in the otherwise empty silence of your bedroom, and every beat feels like the rhythm of your thrusts against his thigh.

Eddie Munson is all-consuming.

Even the thought of him feels physical.

Phoebe Cates all but undresses herself in front of you, but you’re stuck thinking about some guy who lives in a trailer park across town, deals drugs for a living, and can’t graduate high school. You’re a total fucking goner.

Your eyes flutter shut, and instead of the backs of your eyelids, you see Eddie’s trailer. Your lips start to tingle as they kiss his for the first time — hungry, yearning, needing. His thigh is pressed snugly into your cunt, denim jeans rough against your soft cotton panties, and you have to bite back a moan when he tenses every time you squeeze his hard, covered cock.

You can feel it, all of him, like he were here with you now. 

You wish that he were.

His fingers would feel far better, leave far more sparks of electricity in your belly, than the ones as you sneak through the hem of your underwear.

You try and take things slow with yourself, to be as gentle as he had been with you earlier in the woods, but it feels strange to treat yourself with so much tenderness. To touch your pussy like it’s the first time it’s ever been touched. Like it’s a beautiful thing you need to be sweet to.

Maybe you find it so foreign to be careful with yourself because no one has ever been careful with you.

No one, except for Eddie.

Your touch doesn’t rival his. It doesn’t even come close.

No matter how tightly you squeeze your eyes shut or how hard you try to pretend that they’re his fingers inside of you, you can’t make yourself feel as good as he did.

Your fingers aren’t as rough as his guitar-string-scarred ones and they don’t caress your clit with the same methodical care. They don’t fill you quite the same either, nowhere near as satisfying as his much thicker ones.

And you’re no stranger to masturbation, not by any means. Sometimes it’s the only way you can guarantee an orgasm for yourself when you’ve got a partner who cares so little about your own pleasure. But Eddie was different. Eddie cared — so much so, that he’s gotten more orgasms out of you than you’ve gotten from him, which is something you’ve never said about anyone else you’ve been with.

It’s rare and unfamiliar, a bouquet of all things refreshing and terrifying and strange, tied together with a pretty little ribbon.

You know that you can make yourself come. It’ll just take way too long to actually be worthwhile and won’t be nearly as mind-blowing as you need it to be. You won’t be left with trembling thighs and nearly numb legs — just a pitiful excuse for an orgasm that you could get from any one of your exes with half as much work.

What you need is Eddie. 

And you hate that. You hate how much you need him and you’re terrified of what that means.

As far as precedent goes, right when you start needing someone is usually when they start to leave. It’s like fucking clockwork most of the time — like everyone knows that you’re a ticking time bomb and eventually it gets too risky to stand too close to you. 

You’ll just have to keep Eddie at arm's distance. So he won’t see the grenade that you are.

You pull your fingers out of your wanting cunt, still slick and throbbing with a need that you can’t give it, when the phone rings.

The high-pitched shrill in the quiet makes you tense like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard the damn thing. Your breath catches in your throat, first out of fright and then at the inclination of who waits for you on the other line.

Suddenly, you’re scrambling to collect yourself. As though there was any possibility that Eddie might be able to see you through the phone line.

You wipe your wet fingers haphazardly on the cotton of your underwear and sit up straighter from your ungracefully lazed position. Then you count to five — one mississippi… two mississippi… three — so Eddie won’t think you’re some kind of crazy person who doesn’t have anything better to do than wait for his call. 

So he won’t know that’s exactly what you are.

You lift the ruby red rotary from its hook at your bedside table and stretch the corkscrew cord to press it to your ear. “…Hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I’d like to order a pizza. Half pepperoni, half hawaiian.”

You roll your eyes at his dumb joke, even though the familiarity of his voice makes you smile. It warms you like a home-cooked meal, like you were high-pitched and starving before and now you’re on the soothing comedown of finally being satiated.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re closed.”

“Then why’d you pick up the phone, huh?” he teases back. You swear you can hear the grin in his voice. You didn’t know a smile could be so audible. It makes you wonder if he can hear yours — if you’re doing a real shit job at pretending. You anxiously twirl the cord with the pointer finger of your free hand.

“Because I’ve been waiting for you to call me all night, dummy.” 

Your answer is more honest than either of you were expecting. 

Eddie’s sigh crackles through the shoddy reception. “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I’ve been working all night. I only got home, like, five minutes ago.”

You can hear the heavy exhaustion in his voice. “Rough day?”

“Kinda,” he answers with a shrug. You can hear the grating squeak of his mattress as he plops down onto his bed. “I dealt to one of Jason’s goons today… They always give me a hard time.”

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to answer. 

Eddie’s been the brunt of every joke since seventh grade — people made fun of too big clothes, his too wild hair, his too loud music. But he took it all in stride, laughing with everyone else before volleying a harsher joke back in response. You almost started to think that he liked it. That, somewhere deep down, he was fond of all the attention he got from people who supposedly couldn’t stand him.

But it hurts to know that it hurts him.

“Don’t apologize. It’s not like you did anything,” he assures with a soft laugh. He makes the bold decision to be honest then, too. “You, uh… You made my day a whole lot better, actually.”

You don’t know if he’s talking about the brief fling in the woods or the phone call you’re sharing now or if you particularly care either way. Your heart flutters like it’s been kissed by the wings of a butterfly.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean… I don’t know— I couldn’t stop thinking about you, you know. And, knowing that I was gonna get to talk to you again kinda got me through the day, I guess… And, yes, I am fully aware of how lame that sounds, but—”

You don’t get to hear the rest of his excuse, of why what he just told you totally isn’t lame, because you’re covering the receiver with your palm and turning to squeal into your pillow. A far more pathetic sight, in your humble opinion.

There hasn’t been a more fulfilling feeling than this one, to know that he’s been feeling the same way you’ve been feeling about him this whole time. It’s better than all the orgasms he could give you combined, to be loved so wholly.

“…You okay?” you hear his muffled voice ask after you’ve gone suddenly AWOL.

You press the phone back to your ear and nod like he can see you. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. The phone… fell— you said you just got home?”

“Uh, yeah. I met with Hellfire for a bit at school. We’re almost at the end of the Cult of Vecna, so they’re kinda on my ass about it. The little shits are obsessed.”

“Well, they should be. It’s a really good campaign, Eds.”

“Thanks to you,” he mutters. You can almost picture the glimmer in his button eyes and the shaky half-smirk he always looks at you with when he gets all shy.

“That was all you, Eddie Spaghetti,” you retort. “I still have no idea how you did it.”

“Did what?” he wonders, chuckling a bit at the nickname.

“Make something so beautiful out of thin air.”

Lying in the depths of his bedroom, blanketed by the darkness and bathing in streams of moonlight, Eddie feels his breath catch in his throat. 

For the first time in his life, he doesn’t have a joke to spew out on the spot. He’s speechless, just for a moment, a quick blink of a second, with nothing to say. Because, if he really thinks about it, that’s sort of what happened with you.

You were just his customer and he was just your dealer.

You were a loyal client and then a girl way out of his league that he developed a too big a crush on. Then you made him come in his underwear and washed the sticky stains out of the denim for him. Now you’re on the phone with him. You let him tell you all about his shitty day and apologize like you weren’t the only good thing about it — like you aren’t the only good thing, period.

It’s not the most cliche love story, nor is it the most beautiful, but it has his cynical little heart beating like the wings of a hummingbird.

Then, when all the mushy mess fades like fog, he finally thinks of something to say.

“It’s the witchcraft, sweetheart,” he shrugs to himself. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a devil-worshipping freak.”

“You know that’s not it, Eds,” you retort with the roll of your eyes.

You know that it’s hard, to be a metalhead from the wrong side of the tracks in the eighties — at the height of the Satanic Panic and all the delusional craze. That shit’s followed him since freshman year. Even still, it nips at his ankles like rabid dogs.

Maybe you were never naive or bored enough to believe all the rumors, but Eddie Munson was always more than that to you.

“No?”

“You can blame it on being a freak show all you want, but I know it’s because you’re one of the funniest, smartest, most creative guys I’ve ever met—”

“You must not know a ton of guys then, sweetheart,” he interjects playfully, like he couldn’t stand to hear you compliment him any longer. You’d give anything to see his blushing cheeks just now.

“…You’re kidding right?” you giggle in response.

“Sorry— that’s— I didn’t mean it like— It was— I was joking,” he stammers, frightened that he might’ve offended you in some way. 

It only makes you laugh harder. Both of you know you lost count of all the guys you ‘know’ a long, long time ago. You do imagine it’s somewhere near ‘a ton’, though.

“I know, Eds,” you assure with a contented sigh. “I was just teasing.”

“Oh.”

“The slut and the freak… Who would’ve thought?” you wonder all dreamily, like it’s a fairytale as old as time itself. That’s what it feels like, sometimes.

Eddie isn’t sure what you mean — who would’ve thought you’d be friends? Two people caught in that in-between stage of platonic and romance that’s complete agony and total, total bliss? A couple of kids falling in love—

“It’s sort of kismet, huh?” he answers.

“I think so.”

“So, uh… What are you up to?” Eddie wonders then, equal parts curious and eager to keep the discussion going. He’s frightened any lapse in conversation is going to lead to saying goodbye. 

He wants to stay on for hours, until both of you are fighting to stay awake, and then listen to the sound of your heavy breathing when you inevitably lose — like that isn’t the creepiest thing anyone’s ever wanted. He’ll fight Wayne about the bill if it comes to that, he doesn’t care, he just never wants to stop being this close to you.

“Do you want the real answer or the fake one?”

“Uh… Both?”

“Well, I’d say I was doing something super productive with my night, you know, catching up on all the boring adult shit, but then I’d be lying. And I don’t wanna lie to you, Eds,” you tell him with a teasing lilt playing at the edge of your voice.

Eddie swallows thickly, fearing he’d somehow been caught in his own lie — or rather, his half-truth. He moves on quickly, though not exactly full of grace. “Right. Yeah. Totally.”

“Honest answer is, that the only productive thing I’ve done tonight is shower, and now I’m in bed watching Fast Times and eating all the chocolate in my house, because I can’t cook for shit and I have nothing else better to do with my night,” you admit to him, picking at the thread of your comforter.

“Oh, don’t tell me I missed the ‘Moving in Stereo’ bit,” he agonizes.

“Just.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, sweetheart, but it sounds like you’re having loads of fun tonight.”

“I’m having a lot more fun now,” you assure him.

“Glad I can be around to make you laugh,” he retorts like he’s not all too happy to do it.

“You’re a total comedian, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“If I’m the jester, you’re the queen, sweetheart,” he promises, a grin evident in his voice.

Your breath catches in your throat something fierce; you’re almost worried that he’s heard it. His words pierce your heart, a stroke of lightning or a blade of steel. He’s joking, but it’s so strangely profound, the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to you and it’s dripping in sarcasm. 

It’s sort of Eddie’s love language, you’ve come to understand, to say something so sweet but coated in venom to make it sour again. It makes you feel special, loved, almost.

A fire builds behind your rib cage, sharp and distant and all-consuming.

“Are you alone, Eds?” you ask him suddenly.

The sudden curve ball in the conversation takes him by surprise. “Uh, yeah, Wayne’s at work right now… Why?”

“Because I want you to talk to me…”

“Oh?” is all he can say because isn’t that what he’s been doing this whole time?

“And I want you to say things that… maybe other people shouldn’t hear,” you explain slowly to him.

“…Oh.”

He’s heard about this only once before, the whole phone sex thing. 

It was from Andy in the back of Ms. O’Donnell’s class a year or more ago, though Eddie never called him by that name. Andy, in all actuality, was Jason Carver’s right-hand man, and he meant that in every sense of the phrase. Eddie was more than convinced that the guy was so obsessed with the blonde haired, blue eyed douchebag that he was giving him handjobs on the regular.

But it seemed the dick brigade couldn’t function properly without their leader and Eddie had the misfortune of hearing all the mindless bullshit they were spewing behind him — basketball, parties, girls; in true white bread fashion.

His friends gathered around him like he was telling some sort of secret, though it was loud enough for anyone in a three foot radius to hear. Eddie, caught directly in the line of fire, heard all about Chrissy’s older sister, Wendy, who was two years older and off at college. 

He’d gotten her number from some party he’d crashed. At least that’s how he told it, right before telling everyone that she swore like a sailor when she came and that she told him all the dirty things she wanted to do to him while she did.

“It was like her hand was on my dick, dude, I’m serious. That shit was crazy, bro,” he’d laughed after retelling the whole conversation in excruciating detail.

Eddie rolled his eyes to himself then, inwardly jealous that he’d never get to meet Wendy — or any other girl that would be willing to have phone sex with him, for that matter. His phone only ever rang for telemarketers or a rogue Dustin Henderson calling to annoy him.

But, here you are now, the most wanted girl in Hawkins, offering it to him on a silver platter. He wonders if you’ve done this before, surely you have — oh god, he thinks to himself, what if you’ve done this with Andy?

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him after his unusually long silence. “I know you’re probably busy and tired and everything—”

“No! No, yeah, I— I want to. I totally want to.”

“Okay,” you nod. Petals of a flower begin to bloom in your chest as you lie back in bed, settling further into the mattress. The movie, already long forgotten, serves only as light and background noise. “So… What are you wearing, Eds?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” he laughs. 

On the other side of Hawkins, in a trailer in the middle of nowhere, Eddie rises from where he’d originally flopped back onto his bed with the notion that it was going to be a semi-normal night. He props himself against his headboard. His fingers twitch at his thigh.

“Beat ya to it, Munson.”

“Well, I’ll have you know that it is very sexy, sweetheart. I’m wearing the same Hellfire shirt you saw me in, I don’t know, five hours ago — except now it’s got a rip in it because I totally ate ass on the way back to the van.”

He tells you this to make you laugh — it works — but he prays you don’t ask any questions. Because he got it while hurrying back to his van mere minutes after you’d left him, so hard he thought he was going to burst, with no more than seven minutes until his next client arrived.

 Thankfully, he only needed three.

“I love that shirt,” you respond in place of saying what you really want to — ‘I love how that shirt looks on you’ — how it clings to his lean torso and reveals his midriff whenever he stretches his arms over his head.

“She’s a lit-tle worse for wear now, sweetheart,” he lilts.

“I’ll stitch it up for you.”

“And I’ve got on a pair of boxers that are so old they’re practically see through because I’m pretty sure they used to be Wayne’s back in… I don’t know… the eighteen-hundreds.”

Eddie was right. It was sexy, though, for the exact reason they weren’t supposed to be. 

There was something so domestic about it all. You can picture him lying in his bed, in the most comfortable clothes he owns, in the one place he can feel at peace. Like a renaissance painting, something familiar and comforting and beautiful — fuck, you’d give anything to be next to him.

“…I think that means it’s your turn now, sweetheart,” he teases.

“Is it?” you mock in return.

“C’mon. Don’t leave me hangin’ over here.”

“It’s nothing, special,” you assure. Your eye flits down to peer at your own body — nothing special, indeed, you think to yourself. The lilac cotton set came from the grocery store downtown on the clearance rack you so often frequent. “I just have my underwear on. It’s very boring, I’m afraid.”

It’s not boring. Not to Eddie — the boy who prides himself on his insanely active imagination. He might not be able to pass english with his brain, but he can certainly create worlds with it, and it’s too easy for him to picture you. He imagines you, freshly showered, and smelling of the warm lavender-vanilla scent you always smell like, mostly bare and lazing upon a fluffy comforter.

He swallows thickly. “Oh, that’s— that’s really, uh— that’s really sexy.”

His thankful that you don’t seem to mind his poor excuse for dirty talk.

“It’s only because I was too lazy to get into actual pajamas.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you press, smiling to yourself and caging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Yeah.”

“Can I tell you a secret, Eds?” you wonder, made brave enough by his own admission.

“‘Course you can.”

“Before you called…”

“…Uh-huh?” he eggs on, intrigued at the way you trailed off, sounding suddenly shy.

“I was…” The thought of telling him what you were doing mere seconds before he called makes you nervous. It wasn’t like you were ashamed of touching yourself or anything, nor is the art of dirty talking lost on you, but something about Eddie makes you timid.

“You were… what, sweetheart?” he wonders gently, with a too audible grin.

“I was touching myself.”

That’s all you tell him. The words linger and hang in the air of your separate bedrooms and you cling to the silence — almost mortified and anticipating his reply. Eddie, meanwhile, feels like his tongue has swelled in his mouth and all the air has been punched out of his lungs.

“Oh...” he tries to respond without the breath to accurately do so. “…Yeah?”

“You know what Phoebe Cates does to me,” you try to joke.

His laughter crackles through the receiver. “Yeah. I kinda have her to thank for the other night, don’t I?”

“Give yourself some credit, Eds. The hottest guy in Hawkins was sitting right next to me, what was I supposed to do?”

“No way you think I’m the hottest guy in town,” he scoffs. “Everyone knows you’ve got a thing for pretty boys.”

“Pretty boys?” you echo with a giggle.

“Uh-huh. The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington type, you know?”

“Well, I think you’re a hundred times prettier than he is.”

“Really?” he scoffs cynically, obviously not believing you.

“He wasn’t the one I was thinking about with my hand shoved down my panties,” you admit, immediately quelling his self-doubt. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Eddie clears his throat and then stammers, “I— I guess so— yeah.”

“Are you hard, Eds?” you ask in a breathy whisper.

And he just nods to himself at first, too stupid to answer audibly. He can feel himself stiffening in his boxers, only halfway hard now, but getting firmer by the second. Soon, he’ll be aching. 

“Yeah…”

“Can you touch yourself for me?”

Eddie would rather take a bullet to the chest than say no to you — at least, he figures that’d probably hurt less — so he slips his fidgeting fingers through the band of his boxers and takes his warm, stiffening cock in his hand. He squeezes himself just enough to make his stomach tighten.

“Want you to touch yourself, too,” he admits, neither asking or demanding it, just telling you.

“Yeah?” you tease.

“Well, I think it’s only fair, sweetheart.”

You can’t help but notice how breathy he’s gotten — how it shakes on the inhale and hitches on the out. He’s got his hand shoved down his underwear and you’re jealous of the fingers that get to wrap themselves around his cock. You wish they were yours. Both of you will have to settle, it seems.

“Whatever you want, Eds,” you answer playfully. 

You obediently slide your hand back into the warmth of your panties. Your fingers slot between your lips and collect the slick that had gathered there since before you’d even answered the phone. You bring it up to your clit, circling the pads of your fingers there until you twitch, then dragging them down to press into your opening. They slip in with ease. 

Both of you have turned into lovesick idiots, separated by so many miles, and missing the other most ardently. Lying in the depths of your bedrooms, basking in a velvet loneliness, building with a mutual pleasure with nothing but yearning hands and longing sighs.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut at the sounds of your low moans and fragile whimpers that crackle through the static — beautiful still, but certainly no match to the ones you were breathing in his ear just hours ago. 

His lashes dance across his cheeks as he tries to remember how you’d felt against his fingers, soft like velvet and delicate like silk, weeping and pulsating with need. 

He drags his hand from his boxers and lets the band snap against his pelvis. He spits into his palm and wets his cock with it, sighing as he tugs at himself without much friction.

“Are you wet, sweetheart?” he asks, though the words threaten to get stuck in his throat.

“Yeah,” you whisper back like it’s some kind of secret. 

You work yourself open with your middle finger and slip your pointer in next to it without much trouble. Your walls flutter around them while you fight to find the spot the makes you keen. You’re only able to tease it, fingers not quite long enough to caress it completely. Your thumb keeps working at your clit, though, to make up for the lost pleasure. 

“I’ve been wet since I left you,” you admit through labored breaths. “Haven’t been able to… to stop thinking about you, Eds.”

“Glad I’m not the only one whipped over here, sweetheart,” he manages a laugh.

“No one’s ever made me come that hard before. Not just with their fingers,” you tell him mindlessly, dumb on pleasure, as you feel yourself climbing that peak.

“Really?”

“Never,” you promise, then whine. “Doesn’t even feel as good now… Can’t get as deep as you can—”

Eddie hangs on your every word as he works his palm up and down his stiff cock, squeezing at the base and swiping his thumb over the head with an expert hand. His face scrunches as his stomach starts to tighten, he’s close to coming — too close for his liking. He doesn’t want this to be over so quickly.

“You’ve ruined every other guy for me, Eddie Munson,” you confess, more than pleased to hear how it makes him whine. It sounds like it comes from the depths of his chest, the way it crackles low and needy through the receiver.

“Good,” he grumbles through his pants after he’s gathered himself all over again. “Don’t want anyone else to have you, sweetheart.”

This time you’re the one letting out the most pathetic of whines. It makes a smile flicker at the corners of his lips.

“You like that?”

It sounds so dirty, but you can tell by the sincerity of his tone that it’s genuine. So you answer with a longing truthfulness, a delicate “yes”entwined with a yearning moan.

“You just wanna belong to me, don’t ya?” 

Now, this is dirty talk. The teasing lilt of his tone — it’s almost degrading —  and makes you clench around your fingers. “Yes, please,” you whine, all but pleading for him now.

Eddie’s close, so dreadfully close, with a pleasure so tangible he could taste it. Your words make his cock twitch in his hold as the fire builds in his belly. 

Through your whole-hearted promises and wanting moans, he can hear the sound of your slick through the receiver. The static reception doesn’t do it justice, but the wet click of your fingers working you open was unmistakable.

A moan grumbles in his throat as he digs the crown of his head back into his pillow. “Holy fuck— I can hear you, baby.”

“I’m so wet for you, Eds,” you tell him through fragile slurs, like it wasn’t inherently obvious. 

You were wrong before, about wanting to hide from him. You couldn’t conceal your need for Eddie if you tried. The honey you drip, all sweet and just for him, wouldn’t let you keep it a secret.

“I know, baby, I know,” he nearly coos. “Are you— fuck, please tell me you’re close?”

“Yes,” you promise in a whine. Your thumb presses harder into your clit. It makes your thighs tense until they’re shaking.

“You rubbing your clit for me, sweetheart?” he asks like he knows. “I know that’s what you like.”

You whimper, working at the spongy spot within you as your hips buck off the bed. “Yeah.”

“Keep rubbing yourself like that for me, okay? Want you to keep going until you come for me.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, it’ll come a lot quicker than he’s prepared for. 

It’s too soft to be much of a demand, but you listen obediently anyway, rubbing at yourself though your sensitivity keeps building. It grows like a morning tide, rising and flowing like white waves on an ocean, stirring something fierce in the depths of your stomach.

“Eddie,” you sigh out his name, broken through staggered pants.

You hear his stuttering breaths, too. “Y—Yeah?”

“I’m about to come,” you promise through a whine when the familiar crescendo sends a shock through your body.

“O… Okay,” he responds, pathetically, then whines, even more so.

“Want you to come with me… Please…”

“Fuck— okay. Shit, sweetheart, I’m almost there.”

“What are you thinking about?” you ask him.

“Your pussy,” he answers without thinking — he’s not doing a whole lot of that anymore. “Wish I’d gotten to taste you earlier. Wanna feel you… fuck… Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”

“Holy shit, Eds,” you moan at his words, at the vivid picture they paint in your head.

“And you get so… God, you get so fucking wet. Just want you to drench me, baby.”

It feels good, to be complimented for something boys used to make fun of you for, to realize for the first time that’s it’s sexy — that you’re sexy — and that Eddie is more than happy to drown in you. The feeling almost rivals the impending orgasm that’s bound to hit you like a tidal wave.

“I’m thinking about how I coulda took you on that bench… Just, fucking, get on my knees for you. Shove my head between your legs. Hold your— shit, baby— hold your thighs open, keep you exactly where I want you,” he rambles but then cuts himself off to moan at his own words. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Wanna taste you so fucking bad.”

The moan you let out is pitiful. It leaves your mouth in the most delicate cry. 

No picture has ever been clearer than the one of Eddie between your thighs, your hands knotted in his hair to move him to exactly where you need him most and forcing him there. You can feel his fingers digging into your hips, his rings pressed against your burning skin, and the way your legs tremble on either side of his head.

“Yeah. Keep— Keep doing that. Keep moaning for me,” Eddie tells you. “I’m about to… holy fuck, I’m about to come.”

“Wanna feel your tongue in me so bad, Eds,” you whimper, egged on by the moan he lets out. “Want your cock even more.”

That’s what does him in, the assurance — the promise — that you want him just as bad as he wants you. 

He tightens his fist around his cock, achingly hard and raging a crimson at the tip, trying to imitate the way you’d feel around him. It’s not all that close, not nearly as wet as the honey you’d be dripping for him, but his imagination does the rest of the work for him. 

All at once, you’re on top of him, riding him for all he’s worth, your pussy threatening to swallow him whole. You’ve drenched him, just like he’d begged for, and that wet schlick noise still echoing from the receiver is the evidence of each of your assured thrusts over top of him. 

You’re still pleading for him anyway — for more, for his tongue, for his cock — and he wants so desperately to give everything to you.

“Oh god, baby—” he sputters. He grips the phone in a white-knuckled, fist trembling. “Oh, fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

“Please, Eddie. Please come for me,” you plead over the low sounds of the forgotten film playing across the room and all the dirty wet sounds your pussy makes against your fingers. You sound like you need it, like you want his orgasm more than your own.

“Want you to come with me… Can you— Can you do that for me, sweetheart? Please?” It’s not dirty talk anymore. He’s actually fucking begging you and doesn’t feel the least bit ashamed to do so. 

He wants to hear all the pretty noises you make when you come — that initial cry that stems from the depths of your soul, the high-pitched whimpers that come when the sensitivity builds, and the whines that leave you when it ebbs.

He wants to hear it over and over and over again, like a worn cassette, and play it until the tape spins out.

“Yes…” you promise through a set of stuttering breaths.

There’s no talking when either of you come. Eddie’s long forgotten to talk you through it, but you would barely hear him if he had. The phone slips out of your hand when your grip slackens and it falls to the pillow beside your head.

You chase your orgasm full throttle, working through the crescendo and the strikes of lightning, focusing only on his muffled moaning and the pretty sounds he makes as he comes. 

The breath of your name whimpered through a tight throat is what does it for you. Your body has hardly any time to warn you before you’re gushing all over your fingers, twitching every time the pad of your thumb rubs over clit.

That cry, the one you always let out as you come — all wet and full of need — makes Eddie orgasm right alongside you. 

He swipes his thumb over his head again, collecting the pearls of precum gathering there and sliding them down the base to squeeze himself there like he’d been doing this whole time. He clutches harder this time, imagines it's your cunt locking him in a vice-like grip, and whines in his throat when he comes.

Several loads of it spill onto his cotton boxers, most of it gathering along the side of his hand and dripping down his knuckles. His breath staggers as he works himself through his high, praising you through the phone like you’re the one who brought him to it. 

“Fuck, baby… You’re so good… So fucking good.”

You’ve long settled from your own orgasm, still tingly and numb in some places, but not as gone as you had been just moments before. You still float on a cloud, getting lost as you stare through your window at the half-hidden stars sprinkling the night sky and feeling as though you could reach out and touch them.

You can feel the satin moonlight bathing you, and the jittery static of the neon of the television screen. You can feel everything and somehow nothing at all. 

“I don’t know how you do it, Eds,” you confess, hardly thinking about the words spilling from your mouth when you lazily bring the phone to your ear again.

“Do what, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know… You always make me feel good. Even when you’re not here… Even when we’re not getting each other off.”

“I feel the same way,” he promises you, all mushy, even though he feels like a slob for wiping his hand off on his discarded jeans on his bed. “Just… wish you were here.”

“I wish I was there, too… Wish I could clean you up.”

Eddie’s eyes shut tight as his head tilts back to his pillow at the thought. “Fuck… You’re gonna make me hard again, sweetheart.”

You perk up suddenly as an idea sprouts like a flower in your head. A smile blooms on your lips, and you rise up onto your elbows, glowing with an unanticipated excitement. “How long would it take you to get ready?”

“…Get ready?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” is all you say.

“I mean, I— I don’t know. I figure if I put on some new underwear and a fresh pair of pants, I’ll be good as new... Why?”

“You wanna do something?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Anything,” he answers clumsily in place of saying, ‘Anything to not have to be without you.’

“I wanna go to Skull Rock.”

“Skull Rock?” he repeats. 

Legend has it, you and Steve made that place a local landmark. People have always said that Hopper caught the both of you one too many times up at Lover’s Lake and the Quarry, that you needed a more hidden place to fuck. So you’d stumbled around in the middle of the woods until you found a place the chief wouldn’t think to look for you.

You’d certainly found it. Then every other horny high schooler did too.

It’s the place you go to fuck, the most private place in all of Hawkins — hell, maybe even Indiana entirely for teenagers who can’t get the house to themselves. And as appealing as it sounds, to take you beneath a sky of twinkling stars, Eddie doesn’t want his first time with you to be on dirt or in the middle of the woods. That’s how all the horror movies start, don’t they?

So, needless to say, your answer takes him by surprise.

“Yeah! You can see all the stars really good from there. It’s too hard to see them so close to town.”

Eddie’s heart swells all at once at how sweet you are, like sugar poured directly onto his tongue. You’re not eager to be without him either, it seems, and that thought is as gratifying as it is thrilling. 

You’re an adventure he’s about to go on, without a map or a way out, a journey he’s happy to go into blind as long as you’re holding his hand the entire way through it.

It breaks his heart to hang up the phone. He practically begs you to do it for him, and it makes you laugh — a kind giggle entwined with a tease ‘you’re such a baby.’ It rings in his ears long after the receiver clicks.

Most of all, he hates all the stoplights that separate your place from his. He hadn’t known where you lived before now, not until you uttered it over the phone. He makes a mental note to figure out a quicker way, somewhere through the winding back roads that his old van can speed through to make the distance less daunting.

He pulls into your apartment complex, a quaint two-story thing on the quieter side of town, where the woods are plentiful and the street lamps far fewer. He turns his radio down out of respect for all your neighbors that he’s sure he’ll never meet and spies you through the neon orange porch lights. You shut and lock your door in quick succession, then scurry across the way to meet him.

Eddie leans over to unlock the passenger side door for you, already beaming, and finds you’re smiling too when you climb in next to him. The grin you shoot his way outshines the night sky and makes a bright yellow sun of the girl sitting in his passenger seat.

“Hi,” you’d greeted him, all shy like you didn’t just make him come all over his hand thirty minutes ago.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he volleys back like he always does, with that big ol’ smirk and teasing lilt as he cock his head to the side — using his playfulness to cover up the bashful mess you so easily reduce him too.

Neither of you had gotten particularly dressed up to see each other. All he did was put on fresh under and pajama pants. You succumbed to a smilier laziness it seems, haphazardly brushing through your half-damp hair, throwing on a too big t-shirt, and calling it a day. 

The cotton hangs low at your chest, stretched out and obviously well-loved. It falls well past your thigh, though you spend much of the drive anxiously tugging it down. 

It makes him wonder what you’re wearing beneath it. If you’ve tugged on a pair of shorts or if you’re in the bra and (undoubtedly wet) underwear you’d told him you were wearing over the phone. 

Eddie winds himself up all over again while you sift through the flimsy case of endless cassettes he keeps tucked in the glove compartment that never quite shuts all the way.

“How do you now have any ABBA tapes?” you wonder like it’s baffling, with an Iron Maiden tape in one hand and Cinderella in the other. Metallica plays lowly, nearly inaudibly, from the stereo.

Eddie laughs and darts his eyes from the darkened back roads to look at you, all smiley and bathed in moonlight, before turning back to the road again. “Uh, because I’m not a thirty-year-old woman. That’s the shit moms listen to.”

“Moms and hot girls,” you retort jokingly.

“Right, moms and hot girls listen to ABBA — of which, I am neither, sweetheart. Sorry to be the one to break it to you… Besides, it’s not like you walk around listening to, fucking, I don’t know— Van Halen or whatever.”

“Hey. I listen to Van Halen,” you shoot back.

He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

“It’s got what it takes!” you sing suddenly, not quite catching the rhythm of the song, but smiling anyway as you reach for his forearm resting on the center console. “So tell me why can’t this be love!”

“Oh, my god— that’s literally their worst song,” Eddie chuckles through the widest grin you’ve ever seen from him. 

It makes you smile big too, looking like an idiot who’s totally head over heels for the boy next to her. And of that, you’re happily guilty of.

“Not true,” you shake your head defiantly. “I love that song.”

“So that means it has to be good, right?” he retorts playfully, shooting you a teasing look, though his beam is more than sincere.

“Obviously,” you answer with a scoff that makes Eddie roll his eyes.

He knows he’s going to start to love it, though, if only because it’s the only Van Halen song you halfway know.

He’s going to hear that song on the radio and he’s going to want to turn it, but he’s going to remember this moment now — the one with you reaching for him while you sing the lyrics to a song he can’t stand, sitting pretty in his passenger seat, while the moonlight blanches your smile and the bare skin of your thighs.

Eddie Munson is going to love that goddamn song for the rest of his life.

He parks as close as he can to Skull Rock, knowing his van can’t work its way that far into the woods. The two of you are forced to walk the rest of the way, not exactly minding it, though Eddie’s incessantly worried you’re going to get cold. 

He’s already forced his jacket upon you, which you took with little fight. It warmed you almost immediately — with his cozy heat and musky cologne.

You make mindless conversation the entire way there, about music and then about his band and then what animal you’d want to be in your band if that were the least bit possible. Eddie chooses a sheep without any hesitation, though you’re confident that a penguin would be far cooler. 

You keep a careful distance between you, at first, like both of you are too scared to initiate the first move. That is, until you trip over a raised branch and nearly eat ass on the forest floor. Then Eddie’s holding your hand the entire way, keeping you close.

“If you wanted me to hold your hand, you coulda just said so, you know?” he jokes. “Didn’t have to go through all the dramatics, sweetheart.”

You try and yank your hand out of his grip in protest then, but he doesn’t let you. In fact, he pulls you closer and twirls you into a bear hug that you happily relax into.

He feels your sigh fan against his collarbone as you rest your head at the nape of his neck, his arms wrap around your shoulders as yours settle at his waist. He rocks you back in forth, in a moment that’s too almost sweet to make fun of.

Eddie finds a way, of course, “See?” he singsongs. “I’ll hug you like this all the time, if you want. You don’t have to almost kill yourself to get my attention, babe.”

“All I did was trip,” you laugh at his theatrics.

“Death by tree root… What a gnarly way to go.”

He holds your hand the entire way to Skull Rock. 

He doesn’t let you go once, not until you’re ascending the large boulders to plant yourselves at the very peak of them. He’s grabbing you again once you settle, though, and the two of you just sit there, for several long moments, just gaping at the stars that dance with life above you. They sprinkle an infinite void with enough light that manages to touch you, trillions of miles away.

There’s a subtle beauty in that Eddie never would’ve appreciated before now.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes through a whimsical existential dread. “You were right. The stars are really fucking pretty out here.” 

You love how much he loves this, to come to Skull Rock with you and count the stars. Any other guy would’ve had their tongue down your throat by now, stuffing your hand down their unbuttoned jeans.

But not Eddie.

He just holds your hand because he likes the feeling of his fingers entwined with yours, grasping tightly onto you while he gazes at an infinite universe — like you might float off right along with it.

His neck is stretched to gape at the night sky. You catch his adam’s apple bobbing every time he swallows. You want so desperately to kiss his milky white skin and sprinkle blotchy red bruises there.

His curly locks fall over his shoulders. He shakes his head to get his bangs out of his eyes while the chocolate buttons of them dart around the endless void.

He’s more beautiful than every star in the sky combined. You can’t be sure of how many that is, of course, but it’s a whole bunch if you had to guess. It makes sense, though, for the prettiest boy in the whole damn galaxy.

“Told ya,” you answer with a smile, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with yours. “You come out here often?”

You’re asking if he takes girls here and he knows it, but it’s not like you’re being inconspicuous about the whole thing. Eddie gauges it almost immediately, the subtle jealousy hinting at your tone — something no one else would’ve caught — and he squeezes your hand in reassurance.

He shakes his head. “No… Never.”

“Never?” you press with raised brows, like his answer shocks you.

“Ever. It’s not really my scene, I guess… But what about you, sweetheart? Never seen you around these parts before.”

You knock his shoulder again, harder this time.  “Shut up. You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah…” he nods to himself, eyes darting back and forth as he reminisces on something. “You and Harrington, you and Hargrove. Hell, I think I heard about you and Jason one time—”

“That was a long time ago,” you argue. “Before I even knew you, okay?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs in defense. “You totally have a thing for pretty boys, sweetheart.”

“I never said I didn’t, Eds. Just that you were pretty, too.”

“Whatever,” he scoffs and rolls his eyes like he isn’t glowing red beneath the moonlight.

“You’re better than all three of them, Eds,” you confess with a sudden softness that catches his attention almost immediately. He turns his attention from the sky to look at you properly again. His breath catches at you sad you look — all beautiful and coated in shades of blue.

“…Yeah?”

You nod and drag his hand into your lap to fidget with his fingers. You trace the skeleton heart on his middle finger, subverting all your attention there because it’s easier than having to look at him now. “Better than all of them combined— not even just them, you know? Out of everyone. No one’s ever been this nice to be before.”

“Me neither, sweetheart,” he confesses with a morose grin. “The freak of Hawkins High attracts a lot of assholes, believe it or not.”

“Is it bad?” you wonder cautiously, like you’re scared to hear the answer. In some ways, you are. 

You hadn’t known him in high school, not really. For obvious reasons, you ran in very different circles. You never even had classes together. There was never any excuse to be close to each other before now, never a reason to become friends. So you didn’t.

You grew to know him as a freak, and he knew you as the town slut. Then somewhere down the line, he became your dealer and now… here you were. 

But you’ve graduated now and he’s still army crawling towards a diploma. You couldn’t save him from the hell of Hawkins High even if you wanted to.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he shrugs. “Jason and the dick brigade just wanna make my life hell, that’s all.”

“I hope they aren’t,” you respond shyly.

Eddie scoffs then shoots you a smile. “Oh, of course not. Look at me. I’m at Skull Rock with the most wanted girl in Hawkins. I’m living the dream, sweetheart.”

“So you don’t care?” you wonder, peering at him through your lashes, as you twist the silver cross around his finger.

“Care about what?” 

“That I’m a slut,” you laugh like it’s obvious.

Eddie doesn’t think it’s all that funny. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s not like it isn’t true, Eds,” you retort with a trembling smile. “I mean, that’s literally what people call me — most people don’t even care to call me by my real name anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t care about that. I don’t give a shit about what people say about you. If everyone cared about what everyone said about everyone, neither of us would be here right now… Because you’d think I was some devil-worshipping freak and I’d think you were too busy getting it on with Chief Hopper.”

You screw your face up immediately at the thought. The mere idea was repulsive. The asshole was practically your father these days. Jim Hopper was in that small bunch of available people you would never fuck, and happily so. 

“I’d never stoop that low,” you joke.

“I like you, how you are, right now,” Eddie promises. “Don’t want you to change a damn thing.” 

His brown eyes twinkle with a sincerity that rivals the stars above you. All of a sudden, you don’t care about a bunch of heavenly bodies light years away from you — you care about this man, the one sitting beside you now, holding your hand even though your palms have gone all sweaty.

It’s too good to be true — the way you looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he treats you. You’re scared that it’s a dream, that you’ll wake up and find that none of this was ever real. Or worse, that he was, and that he just didn’t care about you the way you cared about him.

It’s almost irrational. Almost. 

But it’s happened before. 

And it’s left you a scarred and mangled mess.

You shake your head to yourself and scrunch your face as you turn to look him. “Have you ever done this before, Eddie?”

“Don’t what?” he wonders with furrowed brows.

“I don’t know…” you shrug. “Any of this? With anyone else?”

He’s grateful he doesn’t have to lie. Or tell some clumsy half-truth for the sake of saving his own skin. He realizes tonight is perhaps the most honest he’s ever been with you, baring his pale soul beneath a silver moonlight. 

“Never,” he answers, unwavering, with a firm shake of his head.

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, then swallows thickly at a gut-wrenching realization. “I’ve never felt his way about anyone else before.’

“Me neither,” you promise. 

It’s a tad more meaningful coming from you than from a boy who’s never had someone to love and to love him back.

You’re experienced, you’ve found what you like and what you don’t like. You’ve been with guys who have given you the world and guys that have ended yours altogether. And out of all of them — all of the assholes in Hawkins you could’ve picked — you’ve chosen the freak. 

You want him. 

You want Eddie.

The revelation makes him grin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, Eddie Spaghetti.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #virgin!eddie munson x reader #virgin!eddie munson

[byuntrash101]

headache

reader x soft dom!seonghwa smut | mdni 1.7k you've been suffering from headaches recently but your boyfriend knows exactly how to get rid of them nsfw tags under the cut

very gentle and soft dom!hwa, established relationship, daddy kink, pet names (babygirl, angel), making out, oral (f), fingering (f), hwa is pussy drunk, tiny bit of possessive!hwa, praising, edging, watersports + omorashi

a/n: i stumbled on a twitter p♡rn link and it blossomed into this <3. a lot of you asked me for more ws so here it is hehe. i hope you enjoy. if it's not your thing it's okay! just dont read okay babe? i have other fics for you in the masterlist <3

DISCLAIMER: PLEASE MAKE SURE TO READ THE TAGS AND TO CLICK OFF IF ANYTHING SEEMS LIKE SOMETHING YOU WOULDN’T ENJOY.

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Recently you’ve been suffering from recurring headaches. At first you thought it was your cycle. But then you became more attentive to when the headaches occurred. And it turns out you simply were not drinking enough water! The thing is that your headaches always happened when you got home after being at your boyfriend's place for a couple of days. Simply because, well, when you were there you’re too busy cuddling and kissing to be taking your lips off him for even a second to drink a sip of water. 

The good thing is it’s an easy remedy: just drink more water.

And Seonghwa intends to ensure your good hydration this time. Out of kindness of course, out of love! Nothing more! He just hates when you get home and call him the next day with your small little voice to tell him you had to lock yourself up in the dark, because your head is ringing and he can’t even be around you to pamper you and take care of his baby, that breaks his heart. He hates to know you’re in pain.

So today your loving boyfriend makes sure you do just that: drink more water.

When you watched the latest episode of your series on Netflix he paused several times to get you a full glass of water. When you ate your take out again three full glasses of water. 

Chilling on your phone watching tiktok “don’t forget your water baby~”. Listening to his hilarious work stories “your water babe”. 

Even going as far as making you drink when he held you in his arms and you complained about not being able to reach the glass on the coffee table. 

“Here baby” he said, putting the rim of the glass against your lips. 

He couldn’t explain it but he felt himself twitch at the way your lips pursed up and opened slightly around the glass, your neck bending and following his wrist as he tilted the glass to let the water flow into your mouth. He throbbed at the way the water disappeared into your mouth as you swallowed in big gulps until the glass was completely empty, the ice cubes tinkling against the glass as he set the cup back on the coffee table. 

“Aaaaah~” you sighed in satisfaction. “Thanks Hwa”

“You’re welcome my angel” he said before pecking your lips made cool from the fresh water.

God how pretty you were like this, wrapped up in his arms like a fragile little bird, looking up at him with this bright smile and shiny wet lips. 

He planted another kiss right on your wet mouth but this time he parted his lips, his hot tongue reaching out to your cool one. Kissing you gently but deeply sharing his warmth and spit until your mouth was burning hot. Long fingers wrapping around your nape and pushing your face further into his. The gesture made you moan into his mouth making him smirk into the kiss. He loved the sounds that you made. So much so that he haphazardly reached for the TV remote to mute the device. He wanted to hear you, only you.

Then Seonghwa slipped you out of his lap to sit you on the couch. He kneeled in front of you to very carefully flip the hem of your skirt over your stomach. He couldn’t help but to smirk when his eyes finally laid on the beautiful lacey panties you were wearing today. One of his favorites. Baby pink with a pearly bow in the center. A pair he picked and gifted you.

“So fucking perfect” he breathed as you pushed your thighs together, feeling your arousal pool into the lace as he praised you. 

He bent over your legs to kiss the soft skin of your thighs, working his way up until he pressed a couple more to your pubic bone. You jerked a little as he pressed his face a little too hard on your lower stomach, given how much water you had drank.

“Now be a good girl for daddy and spread your legs” as he sat back up. You looked down at him through your lashes but still you obeyed and parted your knees as you heard your boyfriend curse under his breath. He smirked, spotting the wet patch of fabric, making the pink ever so slightly darker. 

“You’re wet already angel?” he snickered, his palm caressing your open thighs.

“Y-yeah. I got wet when daddy was tongue kissing me” you confessed before biting down on your lower lip.

“Fuck” Seonghwa swore again, his dick twiching in his pants, he could feel himself already leaking precum onto his boxers. He just loved when you were so upfront with him. You looked so innocent, covering half of your face with your back hand and breathing rapidly but your pussy was already soaked and gushing for him. And you had no shame admitting it and exposing yourself to him. To his eyes only. You were his only

He pulled on your legs to bring your ass to the edge of the couch before pulling your panties down, not even taking the time to discard them, just letting them hang on one of your ankles before he prompted you to spread your legs for him again.

The way your pussy lightly twitched and sparkled covered in your juices had his cock quivering in his sweatpants. He wanted to taste you. He needed to.

He approached his face to your sopping center and licked a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. Right before curling his tongue back in his mouth, scooping as much of your slick as he could, smacking his lips to fully take in your taste. Your flavor was sweeter than honey and more intoxicating than the strongest liquors.

Seonghwa wrapped his arms around your under thighs and pushed his palms on your hips. Securing you right in his hold and spreading you like a buffet.

“Fuck daddy~” you whined.

He approached his mouth once again but this time his lips wrapped around your clit as he gave you light kitten licks. He looked up at you lapping away at your bundle of nerves, you couldn’t help but to moan at the pleasure you felt. Soon you started to rock your hips, rubbing your juices onto his face as he didn’t alter his pace.

“Please Daddy” you complained, yearning for more.

“My baby girl is so eager” he said, not parting his lips from your heat.

“It’s because I love daddy’s mouth so much.” you whined. “Please let me cum on daddy’s tongue”

“Soon my baby. But daddy wants to taste you thoroughly first”

Minutes passed and Seonghwa was taking so much pleasure in edging you. Licking and sucking on your clit only to back away when he felt you twitch on his tongue just to see your precious little cunt throb around nothing and gushing out more of your juices just to be savored by him and repeat the process over and over again.

But at some point you couldn’t even focus on the pleasure anymore. The only thing you felt was how full you were. How full your bladder felt.

“Daddy” you started cautiously. 

“Yes angel?” your boyfriend replied, face still buried deep in your throbbing cunt.

“I-I think I drank too much water. I need to go to the b-bathroom” you said, shame slowly creeping under your skin.

Seonghwa smirked against your folds. Only to latch onto your clit again, this time licking more precisely on the sensitive bundle of nerves, making you moan loudly and arch your back.

“It’s okay baby. Daddy doesn’t mind.” he growled, eating you out like a starved man.

“No please daddy stop” you begged as you felt your pussy contract around nothing, your bladder also contracting dangerously. “It’s gross daddy” you complained, kicking your feet as the pleasure kept on rising.

“If it’s too much for you, just let go, okay angel?” He cooed against your folds.

“Please daddy…” you inhaled sharply, feeling yourself filled to the brim with piss. “Gonna p-” you whined but Seonghwa interrupted you.

“Just piss in daddy’s mouth baby” he said, pushing on your hips angling them just right. And you just couldn’t hold it in any longer. You let out your hot steamy piss right into your boyfriend's mouth. Seonghwa backed up a little and stuck his long tongue out as the powerful stream hit him right in the back of the throat letting out gurgles of satisfaction, gulping down as much piss as he could, mouth rapidly filling up to overflow and wetting his gray sweatpants.

When the stream started to slow down he wrapped his lips around your clit again and shoved two long fingers inside your cunt that he curled right into your g spot, pressing against your bladder again. The stream of hot piss picked up.

He wanted to drain you, take all of your piss for himself. 

He started to pump his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt rapidly.

“Fuck daddy loves your piss much baby” he briefly said before sucking and licking your clit again, swallowing more of your delicious nectar.

“Daddy I'm cumming” you cried out.

“Cum for daddy baby” he allowed. And you finally leap over the edge. The orgasm is one of the most intense ones you’ve experienced. It completely rips through your body and shatters the earth beneath you as your legs tense up and your hips shake uncontrollably. Your hungry little cunt violently twitching around Seonghwa’s relentless fingers still pumping in and out of you, accompanying you on your descent, grunting and humming against your folds and he licked and sucked on your swollen bud until the pleasure died down and your legs fell limp, hanging over Seonghwa’s toned shoulders. 

Seonghwa took a moment to admire your red and swollen cunt, occasionally twitching with the remnants on the strong orgasm your felt, sticky juices still lazily oozing out your entrance. He licked out one last stripe from your entrance and parted your lips with his tongue to twirl around your pee hole one last time.

“I think you’re cured now” he beamed at you smacking his lips, relishing in the intoxicating taste of your slick and piss one last time.

What a good boyfriend he was making sure you drank enough and making you cum to prevent your headaches.

IF YOU ENJOYED DONT FORGET TO REBLOG 🖤

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a/n: im still so self conscious about publishing watersports and this one was very filthy sooo pleaseeeeee comment and tell me if you enjoyed okay? just drop an anon ask if u dont want to leave ur userid on here! i would appreciate it so much <333

#seonghwa smut #ateez smut #seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa fanfic #seonghwa fic #ateez fic #kpop smut #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x reader #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours #seonghwa hard hours #seonghwa hard thoughts

[bippot]

Hi! I love your writing. Do you have any ideas for an enemies to lovers w Spencer?

Ask and you shall recieve. Happy new year!!!

Summary: Spencer's mouth moves faster than his brain whenever he's around the Film Studies professor. She's smart. She's cool. And he's made a fool of himself in front of her.

So, to save him from heartbreak, he's decided he doesn't like her. It's a lie, and not a very good one.

Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Idiots in Love, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Language of Flowers, Professor Spencer Reid, professor reader

Criminal Minds, Dr Spencer Reid Masterlist - here

Summary: Spencer's mouth moves faster than his brain whenever he's around the Film Studies professor. She's smart. She's cool. And he's made a fool of himself in front of her.

So, to save him from heartbreak, he's decided he doesn't like her. It's a lie, and not a very good one.

For all of his life, Spencer thought he was an easy person to get along with. He had friends who were happy to have him around despite the fact that he often lectured them about everything and anything. Diana had raised him to be polite and well behaved, so he never failed to answer anyones questions with an appropriate response without hesitation. He wasn't vulgar. Didn't swear. Never stolen anything in his entire life. He did not drink or smoke, and drugs were a touchy subject these days.

Then, he met Y/N. She was a fellow professor at Marbury University and was renowned across campus - if she wasn't teaching, she could be found either helping the drama club film videos or doing follow up tutorials and study sessions for whatever students needed it - and was loved for it.

And she was pretty. Like, really pretty. Whether it was her skill at lecturing or her face, Dr L/N held the unofficial record for the most audited class. Dr Reid was second place - and for once he didn't mind getting a silver medal - and it would take him a while to close the gap between their class sizes. He'd heard about her in the staff room. All good things. A real glowing report card. Everyone loved her and for good reason, apparently. Their paths were yet to cross.

That was until he realised her lecture was directly before his every Monday at 9 and decided to be early - a full two hours early - to check out if she was as good as everyone said she was. And there she was in all her glory, the Dr L/N he'd heard so much about sat back on her desk and waved everyone as they walked in, the occasional student getting a 'Like your new haircut, Bethany!', 'Ready for class, Joe?' or even 'Did you get the email I sent you about the Paramount internship you asked me about, Darla?'

Okay, she was kind too. Kind and pretty. Kind and pretty and obviously smart enough to get a doctorate. Admittedly, she did have a doctorate in Film Studies, and Spencer wasn't entirely sold on the idea that Film as a subject was something worth getting a doctorate in. He liked movies.

A particular favourite of his was 80's Soviet parallel cinema - well, he was a fan of most forms samizdat (rebellious ideals and ideologies presented through art in an attempt to be an act of defiance in the face of the Soviet Union) - because there was so much so much poignant commentary and emotional depth that it was impossible not to love.

But why would you devote your life to silly little movies rather than maths and science and the study of thought - like Psychology or Philosophy - that can literally help save lives? How was knowing about the French New Wave ever going to be useful in real life? In pub quizzes, yeah, but where else?

"Hello, hello, hello everybody!" She greeted cheerfully and stood up, waving her arms around for emphasis. "Welcome my lovelies to our first meeting of the semester."

The black skirt she was wearing was long and frilly and had a pattern that mostly consisted of crescent moons and, most important to Reid, swished whenever she took a step. For the first couple of minutes, he didn't hear a thing she was saying because the swishing was far too mesmerising. It wasn't like him to avoid learning and put all his focus on the aesthetics of a person rather than what they were teaching him. Yet, he was doing just that.

Y/N didn't look like a stereotypical lecturer. Her outfit was far from professional attire. The aforementioned skirt was paired with a graphic tee with Indianna Jones and the word 'DILF' across the chest - and even though he had no idea what DILF means, Spencer knew it was something risque by how one of her students covered their giggle with their hand as soon as they saw it - and worn out bright red cowboy boots. She had smudged eyeliner that looked messy enough that she may have slept in it. Her hair was fluffy and untamed, but in that way that is obviously styled to look like that.

Weirdly, even though he was conforming to the standard he'd seen among his fellow lecturers, right then in the room with her, he felt like he was the odd one out.

"I know when I was going through school, all my professors kept assigning movies that college kids don't really want to watch," she began, leaning against the podium casually, her hands resting on her hips like she owned the place and he was nothing but an honoured guest. "One of my professors - his name was Mr Lockley - he assigned my class the film 'The Cure for Insomnia'. Has anyone heard of it?"

Silence. Once Spencer realised that her students didn't know, he was raising his hand.

"Yes, Dr Reid?"

Oh, she noticed he'd snuck it. And she knew his name. Cool. They did work together so it wasn't that outlandish.

"The Cure for Insomnia is the longest film ever made. It's 5,220 minutes long - that's 87 hours, or 3 days and 15 hours - and has no plot. Instead, the filmmaker read his 4,080-page poem," Spencer answered, looking around the hall, waiting for someone to tell him to shut up. He was also aware that he probably sounded like a total nerd, but he couldn't help himself.

No one did tell him to shut up. That was the main thing he loved about lecturing, he got to ramble and was paid for it. His students got to learn extra details and it's not as if they were going to tell him to be quiet like his friends at the BAU did.

She smiled sweetly, confirmed, "That is correct, Dr Reid," then returned her focus to the class. It made sense. Why would she pay attention to him when she had a job to do? It made a little pang in his chest appear but he ignored it because that was beyond unprofessional.

What could he do? Stand on the desk and demand that they have a conversation that ends with her saying, 'Wow, Dr Reid, you're so smart. Would you like to get coffee some more so you can continue to impress me with the sheer amount of knowledge you have stored inside that adorable head of yours?'

Her explanation continued. "John Henry Timmis IV, whose name sounds fancy but this guy was an unsung rock god who created music that he called 'heavy glitter' or 'destructo-rock', and for his movie, apparently he got his poet buddy, Lee Groban, to recite his very long poem then spliced that together with porn clips and heavy metal," Y/N said, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she said the last sentence.

Instantly, a mumble went across the class, primarily because a teacher mentioned x-rated material, but she shushed them quickly by clapping her hands together. It was a casual movement, but one that got everyone looking at her once again.

"Can anyone hazard a guess what's weird about this movie, other than the run time?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a hand go up but she wasn't going to call on them, and so, Spencer was left with his palm facing towards the stage. Y/N amended her question, "Can any of my students take a guess? Dr Reid, I'd appreciate it if you'd give my class at least 2 minutes so they can Google the answer."

Once again, silence met her question until it was broken by a shy voice. A girl in the front row with curly blonde hair was looking at her expectantly. Y/N smiled encouragingly and nodded for her to speak up louder. "The film was lost?" The girl said hesitantly.

"Like always, Jennifer, you are correct!" Y/N exclaimed happily. Jennifer blushed, embarrassed by the attention and compliment but smiling nonetheless as Y/N moved on to another question. "The film was lost. The film was shown at the School of the Art Institute in Chicago Illinois, and it ran from January 31st to February 3rd. So when Mr Lockley set his essential viewing, he knew exactly who'd tried to do their homework based on their reaction when he asked what they thought of the film."

The lecture went on for another twenty minutes and for the entire time, Spencer was completely transfixed by Y/N. She spoke passionately and lit up as she explained things to her audience, and sometimes, when a particularly insightful answer came her way, Spencer was sure he could see the stars in her eyes. Her enthusiasm was infectious, it almost radiated off of her and filled up the classroom in an instant.

He couldn't help himself, Spencer found his eyes wandering over every part of her body, studying every inch of her before he'd had the chance to properly comprehend that he was being a creep. Appreciating beauty was one thing, leering at women he hadn't met before is another.

As her student piled out of the lecture hall, all chatting loudly as they walked out, Spencer waited. A group of girls surrounded Y/N and asked her a bunch of questions, and she answered them all like she was their cool older sister rather than someone who was paid to teach them things. Then they left too, and the pair were alone.

"Did you enjoy the class, Dr Reid?" she asked kindly, a smile tugging at her lips as she turned around slightly. She sat on top of the nearest desk and folded her legs under her, resting her elbow on her knee and her head on her fist.

"I've always thought of film studies as a throwaway field of study - if I were to study it, it would be more of a recreational degree than my other ones. But yes, you were very entertaining."

Shit. Her face fell. And he instantly regretted having said that. He hadn't meant to offend her. But he clearly did.

"You're a professor of...?"

"Psychology."

A second passed in which Y/N processed that. She blinked, looked at the floor and started fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve.

"But I probably should've picked Mathematics, Chemistry or Engineering because that's what I have my PhD's in. I only have a Bachelors in psychology - along with my other Bachelors sociology and my most recent in philosophy - but I have a lot of field work in the general area of psychology (or more specifically, Criminology) so I didn't feel as if I was under qualified for the position," he rambled, knowing his words were coming out of his mouth incredibly fast, like he had just poured everything out at once, but he was unable to stop himself.

Spencer wanted to apologise for offending her but that was the one thing his mouth wouldn't let spill.

"Did you feel qualified for your position?" he inquired, intending it to be a genuine question but when he heard it out loud, oh no, it sounded far too much like he was questioning the legitimacy of her employment.

Her eyebrows raised for the briefest moment as she stared at him, searching for the reason behind his words and not finding one. Then, once she made her judgement, she stood up, brushed off her lap and gathered her bag. "I have to go," she said abruptly, "Good luck with your lecture: I can hear your class arriving. I hope you find it more worthwhile than mine."

With that, she left without sparing him another glance. The door closed with a thud and Spencer took a minute or two to stare blankly after her, the feeling of disappointment washing over him as he watched her leave. Well, he'd fucked that up.

They'd occasionally see each other in passing. If Spencer ever did sit in on her lectures (which he did quite a bit), he didn't engage. Any time he happened to see her at a staff event and she would be kind and laugh along with their peers, but would become quiet whenever he was pulled into the conversation. So, after a while, he stopped trying to interact with her. Why would he? She was judging him based on one interaction - yeah, he'd called her life's work worthless during it - but that was just a slip up. If she stopped being so childish and let him speak to her, they could be friends.

Months and months went on. What was hope turned into hate. Did Y/N really think her job was more important than his? He literally used his knowledge to catch serial killers! What did she do? Write lengthy books about the Marxist interpretation of the Shrek franchise. Or the feminist allegory of Jennifer's Body. Or whatever about some niche movie that nobody's heard from and probably never cared about. Could she save someone's life with that?

Once upon a time, he'd planned to apologise. Now? Fuck that. Would she apologise to him about being so dismissive to him? Probably not. It was better that way. He lived a hectic life and if they were ever friends - or something more than that - she'd be indirectly dragged into a part of that. Besides, he didn't need any more friends anyway. It wasn't worth it. She wasn't worth it.

Sure, it didn't help that he did the occasional thing here and there to annoy her.

If she was in her office with students (which conveniently to the right of his), he'd play his jazz records a smidge too loud.

Any time she'd offer to show one of the investors or a prospecting customer around the humanities buildings, he'd pop up and listen just in case she got a fact wrong so he could correct her right in front of her guests.

And there was this one time he'd heard her promote some of the safer movie pirating websites to her students. She'd said that there was no conceivable way that a student was going to be able to pay to watch all of the movies she'd put on the essential viewing because they were scattered across all of the streaming sites. Spencer agreed with that logic. He still wrote the Dean an email about it though. It is illegal.

When the new academic year commenced, their disagreement with one another turned into a feud. It was over something so simple and easy to sort out that it was as if they were acting like children. It was a squabble for the sake of it.Both of them had been called to the Head of Humanities office the day before classes officially started to have a meeting about their new schedules and it had not gone well, mostly because Spencer had requested her usual time slot.

"I booked Taliesin Hall for 9-11 on Mondays like I've done every year since I started working here," Y/N argued, leaning back in her chair and throwing out her arms.

Why had he done it? To be a dick? Well, yes and no. He wanted to be a dick to her, but it was also because he'd moved apartments and his new place was further away. He didn't want the original time they'd given him for Monday mornings because he wasn't a morning guy and he'd have to get up early to make it on time.

Because Spencer was more accomplished and more people knew his name, he brought a lot of attention to the university just by being employed there. Therefore, if he wanted the hall at 9 on a Monday, he'd have the hall at 9 on a Monday. It didn't matter that Y/N had worked there for longer, or was more proactive about engaging with the uni's residents, or that she had more students than he did.

"Dr Reid, are you willing to change time slots with Dr L/N?" Dean Mitchell asked with a sigh. If he had hair to pull out, he would've at this point.

"No I am not."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to deal with your current time, Dr L/N."

Spencer crossed his arms and leant back in his chair to mimic Y/N teasingly, unable to hide the smug smile from his face. This was a little different from their usual spats. They rarely ever argued. It was primarily Reid going out of his way to make her life just that bit more difficult and Y/N rolling her eyes but, ultimately, it didn't change much about her day.

On that day he managed to get a reaction. She let out a groan - one that was defeated and tired and almost seemed desperate - and tapped her foot a few times. Her hand came up to wipe the corner of her eye briefly as a couple of stray tears escaped. And it made him feel like shit.

"Thank you very much, Dr Reid," she replied sarcastically. He watched as she stormed down the corridor, muttering something about visitation times, and left the office.

Yeah, he'd won. He should've felt victorious. He didn't. There was something far too raw in her voice for him to truly think this was part of the fun little game he was playing on her. He felt awful. And guilty. And stupid for making her cry. This was something beyond just a schedule change, he knew that. And if he pretended not to care, eventually he wouldn't care.

"What was that about?" Mitchell queried, taking a sip from his tea and watching him intently as he put the cup down.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Technically, that was a lie. Spencer could use his profiling skills on Y/N to deduce as much as he could about her, but looking at her in a deeper way would mean that he would really have to look at her. He'd have to see that face for an extended period of time and not fall into her trap of thinking that she was the most interesting woman he'd ever met. Because she wasn't. How could she be? Y/N was just another person in a line of hundreds.

Instead of saying all that, Spencer shrugged nonchalantly and exited the room, waving his goodbye to Dean Mitchell as he left.

That night, he stayed up thinking and tossing and turning about what he said. He thought a thousand thoughts that night, but he kept coming back to one thing: he made her cry. He'd actually done that. Like a fucking asshole. What was he even trying to prove? That he was better than her? That she was missing out on him being in her life? Because, if anything, he'd purposely trying to fuck with her for months now and probably was better off before she met him.

He'd find out the reason why it had gotten to her so badly a few weeks later. It was time for the monthly staff meeting and there was one chair - that was usually occupied - unoccupied. Both of them were creatures of habit and always sat in the same spot so it was obvious when the chair in front of Spencer remained empty. He'd often kick the back of her foot - like an actual child instead of a fully grown adult man - to annoy her until she sat cross legged on the chair to prevent him from continuing. But, Y/N wasn't there. He was staring into space and not the back of her head.

Gordon Patel, one of the performing arts lecturers that Spencer had observed talking to Y/N often, leant across and whispered to him, "Y/N's not coming."

"Do you know why?"

"Her mother's getting worse."

Honestly, he had no clue what was going on with Y/N's mother and urged, "Yeah?"

"She's been bad for a while now." Gordon paused. "If I remember correctly, Y/N said she's in and out of the ICU. Y/N used to check up on her after work but 'somebody' messed that up."

A sick mom? A pang of empathy hit him hard at that comment. He could relate to that. And he'd made her life harder when she was in a situation like that, well, he felt like shit about it now. He nodded silently and tried to focus on his own discussion, though his mind was elsewhere entirely. If he thought he felt like shit before, he sure as hell felt ten times worse now. The whole thing with Y/N really was eating him up inside and he had no idea how to deal with it or where to go. He couldn't even talk to her without sounding like a complete idiot.

So, he didn't talk to her. Yet, Spencer was always watching - maybe it was a habit of being a profiler, or maybe it was because why would he pay attention to anything else if Y/N was there? - and he'd noticed that she was getting more withdrawn by the day. Even her smile wasn't genuine anymore. Eye bags were her new accessory.

Somehow, her passion remained. It was evident in her actions, even if they were short lived. She was still determined to teach and she didn't take no for an answer, especially when it came to her class. With everything going on behind the scenes, she'd arranged for her class to go on field trips if there was anything filming in the general area of the uni and was often seen out in the quad with a camera in her hands, aiding whichever student was deciding to make a film that week.

However, Spencer did allow himself to be a little kind to her. Every Monday right after her lecture she'd find a single daffodil on the desk in her office and was accompanied the first time with a post it note on top that read:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

Although Wordsworth was talking about finding pleasure in the natural world - specifically a field of daffodils - to Reid, the natural world was filled to the brim with germs. There was no pleasure to him in dirt and trees and the flowers themselves. Replacing Y/N with daffodils was very doable. Just like the flower's meaning, he wanted to start over with her, to have a rebirth of their relationship.

There was still a lot of anger inside of him, all pent up because he'd been trying not to fall back into his routine of being a dick and it was becoming more tempting every time she ignored him.

Surprisingly enough, the one, the only, Penelope Garcia was the reason they spoke again. For New Years Eve, Penelope had gathered her nearest and dearest in her apartment. Emily had gone back to England. JJ was with Will and her kids at Will's mother's place. Hotch and Jack were with his sister in law and father in law. Tara, Luke, Derek and his family, Kate and hers, Spencer and a couple of Penelope's buddies that he'd never met before were all squished in her apartment, which definitely wasn't suited for that many people.

Spencer was sitting on the couch with Sergio pawing at his leg when the door opened, his brows furrowing as Penelope ushered Y/N inside with an excited, "You came! I missed you so much! Come in, come, come." Penelope was crushing Y/N into a hug at the very first opportunity she had. The pair stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes, slowly swaying in their embrace, until Penelope finally broke away with a big grin.

"Look at this dress! Look at you! You're so pretty that I might die!" Penelope cheered, pulling the other girl by the hips to inspect the leopard print cami dress she was wearing. Penelope even fiddled with the fabric right at the leg slit and Y/N smoothed her hands away before the whole party was unwillingly flashed with hot pink underwear. If that had happened, Spencer wouldn't have been all that disappointed.

"Me? Look at you, my lovely! Most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Y/N cooed, twirling her friend around once so her dress would swish around a little, then Penelope did the same for Y/N.

On anyone else, that dress may have looked tacky. Spencer knew that. He didn't know much about fashion but he knew that. On Y/N? Well, he thought it was gorgeous. His eyes raked over the rest of her as she hung her leather jacket up (that Spencer knew definitely wasn't warm enough for this time of year) and was pulled toward the kitchen by Garcia. Those legs. Her thighs, her hips, those breasts, those curves, those...

Spencer blinked. Like a teenage boy, he was ogling and it didn't matter if Penelope caught him or not.

From his seat on the couch, Spencer watched the two of them interact with curiosity. They clearly knew each other well. But how? When? Where? His brain was running through all possible circumstances that could explain Penelope knowing Y/N. He didn't even realise he was glaring in their direction until two strong hands clasped down on his shoulders. He was at a party with a fair few people, one of them was going to notice at some point.

"Pretty boy, did Penelope give away the last cookie? Is that why you're brooding over here?" Derek asked, shaking him lightly as if trying to jostle him from his thoughts.

"No."

"What's wrong with your face then?"

"Nothing."

Sighing dramatically and sitting himself down next to Spencer, Derek rolled his eyes and began playing with Sergio's ears. "What's Penelope done now?"

"She hasn't done anything."

If Penelope wasn't the issue...

"Oh, I get it." Morgan nodded, looking smug as he took his eyes away from Sergio for a split second. "You haven't been introduced to Y/N yet, and instead of doing it yourself and saying hi to a lady you obviously find attractive, you're here, sulking with poor ol' Sergio."

Right on the money. Spencer groaned loudly. Of course. Why was he surprised? Morgan was good at reading his mind. He'd learned long ago that there was nothing he could do to stop his buddy from finding out anything he wanted. Spencer turned and gave him a death glare.

"I'll introduce you to Y/N."

"I already know Dr L/N."

"Dr L/N, huh? Let me take a guess, you lecture at the same college?"

Derek knew he was right. Spencer's reaction told him everything he needed to know, but he still couldn't resist teasing him further. Spencer groaned, turning red in embarrassment as he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding eye contact completely and hoping to god that the conversation didn't carry any farther. If it did, he had to come clean.

But Derek had already begun laughing. "Come on, Pretty Boy." Derek teased, bumping him lightly. "Get up and talk to her."

Reluctantly, Spencer groaned louder this time but obliged and got up off the sofa with a deep sigh. It was time. He made his way into the kitchen and watched Penelope as she poured two glasses of wine, just lurking in the doorway until they noticed him.

"I made you some cookies," Penelope offered, hopping up on the counter and grinning at Y/N. "They're chocolate chip."

"My favourite."

"I know. Why do you think I made them?" Penelope reached for the tupperware of cookies and shoved them in front of Y/N. "Eat!"

Y/N said a quick, "Thank you, Penny. Love you, Penny," as she took a bite. Her eyes widened immediately at the sweet taste of the cookie, mumbling, "Soooooo good," through a mouthful of crumbs.

Just as Penelope was about to reach out to take a cookie, Spencer accidentally pressed his elbow into the light switch and plunged the whole kitchen into darkness, letting out a loud, "Ow!" because he'd hit himself right on the funny bone. He flipped the light back on. "Sorry, Pen."

"Spence! I have to introdu-"

"We know each other, Penny," Y/N cut in, placing her arm on Penelope in the hopes to calm her excitement down. The techie had been telling Y/N all about the Spencer she worked with and they'd often joked that Penelope's Spencer was miles better than the Spencer from Y/N's job. Weirdly, his last name had never come up. And alas, they were the same Spencer.

"You two know -" The penny dropped. "Oh. Oh! My dreams of the two of you becoming fast friends has been squashed flat." Penelope shook her head disapprovingly, sipping her wine and eyeing Spencer in disdain. She slapped him on the arm. "That is for being so rude all the time!"

Two more slaps on his arm soon came when all he did was whine in protest. After he got his own slaps for acting like a child, Penelope turned back to look at Y/N, who was hiding a little smirk behind her hand. "Spencer Walter Reid, you are going to be polite and kind to my very sexy friend or I will reveal your browser history to everyone at this party. Capeesh?" Penelope warned, looking like an angry pomeranian as she glared at him, a finger pointing between his eyes.

Spencer raised his hands in surrender. "Okay! Okay! Okay!"

"Say hi to Y/N. Nicely."

After a minute of silent awkwardness, Spencer cleared his throat and addressed Y/N. "So, uh, yeah. Hi."

"Hi?" Y/N repeated back with confusion written all over her face. She tilted her head to really look at him and that was it. He was suddenly even more self conscious and shifted uncomfortably on the spot under her gaze.

His eyes darted to Penelope's, who was looking between the two with a mischievous glint shining in her eyes. She wasn't a profiler but she'd known him long enough to read him like a book. The look on his face said it all. He was just a little boy pulling on the girl he liked pigtails.

"How, uh, how do you know each other?" he stuttered out to the girls, who immediately turned to catch each other's eye.

"You know I took you to the Dr Who watchalong at Noble's?"

Oh no, she likes Dr Who, too, he thought. That was another thing they had in common.

"Y/N here is a regular, just like me. We've been to how many Ren Faire's together now?" Penelope gushed, throwing her arms around Y/N and that action was very quickly reciprocated.

"Five."

"I swear it was six."

"We didn't go together the first time, we just happened to be at the same mead vendor and you didn't let me leave without forcing me to buy you a drink," Y/N reminded with amusement dancing in her eyes as she brushed Penelope's fringe out of her face with gentle fingers.

They were so affectionate to one another it was adorable. It was clear they had the kind of female friendship that was on the borders of lesbianism at times but most often was platonic. There was this yearning - not just for Y/N to act affectionately towards him - for himself to be open enough to be touched and petted and have hair lovingly stroked away from his face without retreating. He liked physical touch but there always was this barrier in the way that stopped him from allowing himself that joy.

So, yeah, he was a little jealous of Penelope. Who isn't? She's super cool and likeable?

"I count that time!"

"It's six then," Y/N conceded immediately, chuckling at Penelope's exaggerated pout.

From the other room, one of the party goers called out for their gracious host and Penelope rushed off to help, leaving the two professors to stew in the awkwardness of being alone together. Y/N looked to Reid and saw him looking nervously at his feet. He was biting on his bottom lip.

"Would you like a cookie?" she offered kindly, gesturing to the tupperware in her hands and holding them out to him when he nodded.

"...Thanks."

It was quiet again. Y/N shyly smiled in response as she handed it over to him and watched as he picked one out carefully and popped it in his mouth before making his way across the kitchen to lean against the counter opposite. They were both hesitant. It was only natural; neither of them wanted to make a scene at this party. Y/N didn't know what to say to him and Spencer seemed to notice.

"I've never been to a Ren Faire, what's it like?"

All the tension in her shoulders relaxed at once. She hadn't expected him to initiate a conversation but she was grateful for the chance to talk to him about something else. Anything else. So, she told him about her time at Ren Faire's, peppering funny stories about Penelope whenever it was a natural moment to do so, and was surprised when he listened to her.

Like, really listened with follow up questions and comments every once in a while. It was nice, she thought, to finally stop squabbling with Spencer after months of doing it nonstop.

"Maybe you can come with us next year?" Y/N offered, taking a sip from the glass of wine. She gave him a soft smile in return and then looked down at her glass, feeling a little bashful. The corners of Spencer's lips twitched into a small smile. "I'm sure Penelope wouldn't mind."

"Yeah, okay," He agreed. "I would love to try it out. Thanks for inviting me."

"And I understand if you have a case and need to go off halfway through. I'm used to it with Pen." Her fingers tapped against the counter. "I didn't know you worked for the FBI. Do you go by Dr or SSA?"

"Dr. I've worked in the BAU for so long now, but when I first started my mentor, Gideon, he made sure that everyone knew I was capable even if I was young and inexperienced." Spencer rubbed at his neck awkwardly, avoiding Y/N’s inquisitive stare. "He was a good man."

Was. She heard that loud and clear. It was a night of celebration, why would she delve deeper into the death of his mentor. One, she barely knew him. Two, it was a time to be happy. Three, they'd crawled their way from the awkwardness, she didn't want to accidently plunge them back in.

But, Spencer didn't think of that.

"How's your mother? Is she still sick?"

Y/N blinked, taken aback by the change of topic. In all honesty, she didn't think he knew her mother had been ill. Why would he know that? Why would he care? For some reason, it became difficult for her to speak, to breathe. A lump began to form in the back of her throat which forced her voice to crack in surprise. She cleared her throat and took another swig of wine in an attempt to steady herself.

“Oh, I don't want to talk about that right now.”

"Not good, huh?"

Why didn't he let the topic slip? Shit! Shit, shit, shit! She looked down, avoiding Spencer's curious gaze as she fiddled with her fingers and tried to figure out what to say. She'd never been comfortable talking about it with anyone and especially not Dr Reid.

Some innate need to comfort her came over Spencer. He was never good at this sort of thing but he'd try. He'd try so hard because he'd been such a super dick and maybe - just maybe - being a super nice and comforting guy would help ease his conscience. If not, well, that was fine too. Because at least she would get some peace of mind and the weight of everything that happened would lessen a little bit. He was determined to make amends and he needed to start somewhere, so why not start now?

His hand was reaching for hers before he could second guess his decision but he didn't pull back. Instead, he laced their fingers together, letting his thumb rub over the back of her hand gently, a gentle soothing action that felt nice. The warmth radiating from his skin and the strength of his grip on her hand made her feel safe, secure and protected in its grasp. The gesture brought her back to reality.

The sound of the party was still roaring on the other side of the wall, the noise reverberating throughout the apartment but that was just white noise for the moment. Right now she could concentrate solely on Reid.

Her eyes flicked down to their intertwined hands then up to meet his. They were warm. Comforting. A soft sigh escaped her lips. His thumb caressed the back of her hand ever so gently and his gaze was intense as they held onto each other. His eyes were filled with a certain sadness that Y/N couldn't decipher but she did know that whatever it was, it could be found in hers too.

"My mom is sick too - schizophrenia and Alzheimer's is not a great combination - our situations probably aren't entirely the same, I don't think, but I do understand and relate to it more than most." He swallowed thickly, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. His free hand gripped tightly around the edge of the countertop so it could keep him grounded. "I'm sorry you're going through this, I know the burden it is."

In a flash, her arms were around him, pulling him close to her. Spencer froze but soon melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms around her very, very slowly. He finally hugged her, his cheek resting atop her hair as he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his throat constrict at the overwhelming amount of emotions threatening to spill over.

Holy shit. She was hugging him. Actually hugging him. Physical contact! And even better, physical contact that didn't spook him into pushing her away. Even though they both knew that this wasn't how they normally acted towards one another, it was okay. They were allowed to hug even if they weren't exactly friends.

Their bodies stayed pressed against one another not saying anything for a while and, in that peace, Spencer's hand ran along the length of her arm, softly stroking upwards, until he got to her shoulder, then drifted down to her wrist, then up again, then down again, repeating the motion over and over.

"I'm sorry, I know you don't like people touching you," Y/N whispered, pulling away just slightly so she could look up at him properly. There was a hint of regret in her tone and that broke his heart. He quickly shook his head to dispel those thoughts.

"No, no. You're good," he reassured her and wound his arms around her waist again, bringing her closer to him. He hesitated briefly, not wanting to push her boundaries. "You don't have to apologise-"

"I do."

"No, if anyone should be apologising, it's me for being...this." He released one arm from around her torso to gesture to himself. "For being an ass, I mean," he amended. Y/N sighed, leaning her forehead against his shoulder, and closed her eyes. She couldn't help but chuckle at his attempt at an apology.

Yeah, he had been an ass.

Awkwardly, they disentangled from each other, not really knowing where to stand next since none of them had known quite how to behave around each other before now. Spencer stood up straight, clearing his throat in a hurry to seem normal, and Y/N mirrored his actions.

"Listen, uh...about the way I've treat-" He started, not looking Y/N in the eye because if he did, there was no way he would be able to stop his cheeks from heating up.

Confessing now would be a good thing. It would explain why he was a dick - although, did it really? - and help her piece together his motive. And, he just really wanted it off his chest. Maybe if he let the words out into the world, they might manifest into something good.

"So someone finally introduced you to the famous Dr L/N!" Derek cheered, interrupting Spencer and effectively distracting the both of them from the conversation they were supposed to be having. Reid's head dropped in anguish.

"Chocolate Thunder, how lovely to see you again," Y/N replied in an equally cheery tone and turned around to face him, being enveloped in a bear hug as soon as Morgan reached her. He patted her back lightly, grinning brightly. "Is Hank here?"

"I swear you like my child more than me? That hurts, woman!" Derek chuckled, letting her go from his hold. "Yes, my baby boy is here but you'll have to pry him from Penelope's arms to say hello."

It made sense that Y/N would know Morgan if she hung out with Garcia a lot. Before Savannah, Derek and his babygirl were attached at the hip whenever they didn't have a case or were in the process of finding a significant other since it's hard to explain to potential romantic partners that you have a platonic twin flame that you spend 24/7 with in and out of work without them getting the wrong idea. If Y/N had been friends with her during that time - which she was judging by the fact that Garcia limited herself to only one renaissance faire per year because that makes it extra special when you do finally go - she'd definitely know Morgan.

From where he stood, Spencer shifted his weight from foot to foot, his eyes trained on his feet, his hands in his pockets, and his expression unreadable. Morgan noticed and furrowed his brows curiously. He nudged Y/N's arm, mumbling, "Why don't you attempt to convince Pen to take a break? I bet Hank can do with a breather from all the bright colours," and Y/N did as he said.

She did do something she'd never done before, however. On her way out of the kitchen, she craned her head over her shoulder to shoot Spencer a smile and uttered a quiet, "See you later, Dr Reid."

With that, she left the two men alone. Spencer watched her retreating form with mixed feelings; on the one hand, her smile warmed him inside out. On the other hand, his confession still only existed in his brain, the words ringing loudly in his head as he tried to ignore the ache that settled deep within his core.

"Oooooooh, Dr Reid, huh? There's got to be some sort of catnip in your bumbling genius deal because that woman was throwing herself into your arms. I saw it through the door." Derek teased. "And I'm glad she did but please, for Pete's sake, get a grip already! I've seen you pine over girls before and I've only witnessed this for less than 10 minutes but this is ridiculous!"

Spencer winced in embarrassment, cursing Morgan silently to Hell and wishing that the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

"I was going to then you interrupted me!"

"Oh sorry, player. My bad."

"...Morgan."

Morgan cackled at Spencer's scowl before getting back on track to ease his little brother, who seemed to be struggling even worse than before. "Hey bud, come with me, Tara has been arguing with me for the past hour and I need my encyclopaedia to kick her ass," he suggested with a grin, ruffling his hair in the process.

Time ticked on, and after what felt like forever - but was in reality just an hour or so - the countdown to the new year was about to begin. As everyone gathered around the tv, Derek and Penelope winked at each other.

5...

Garcia took Hank from Y/N's arms so they'd be free, ignoring her friend's confused complaint. Morgan guided Spencer by the shoulder until he was in pushing distance of Y/N, and then he proceeded to push the lanky man in her direction.

4...

Derek wrapped his arm around Savannah's waist directly afterwards, as if he hadn't just set things in motion.

3...

Y/N caught Spencer's forearms to steady him, and her fingers curled around the sleeves of his shirt, holding on tight so he didn't trip over his own feet and hurt himself on the way.

2...

Before it had reached the inevitable conclusion of the year, Spencer was ducking his head and capturing Y/N's lips between his. For the first few brief moments, she paused, startled at the sudden action, but soon returned the kiss nonetheless. Her hand slid under the collar of his, cupping the side of his neck as he tilted his head forward to deepen the kiss.

1...

It continued through to the new year. Although when the countdown did get to 0, there were other couples having a smooch. Garcia even gave Hank a big sloppy kiss on his cheek, causing his giggle fit to make everything even more hilarious. Morgan laughed out loud while watching their friends making fools of themselves - he'd given his wife a sweet smooch and pulled away to find that the two were still lip locking.

"Jesus, pretty boy, there are children around!" Derek joked, clapping his hands loudly.

The couple broke apart, blushed bright red in embarrassment and attempted to brush themselves off as inconspicuous as possible. Spencer cleared his throat, averting his gaze towards the floor for several seconds. When he raised it again, he realised that his friends were all giving him teasing thumbs ups and whoop-inducing cheers.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this," Spencer sighed, but his being was suddenly overcome with chuckles. Happy chuckles. 'Thank fuck I finally did that' chuckles. Because, thank fuck, he finally did it.

They were teased and good naturedly taunted as everyone began to leave, one by one. It was way beyond Hank's bedtime so Morgan and Savannah were the first to part, both being insufferably enthusiastic and encouraging towards Spencers. Kate and Co were next. Penelope's other friends all seemed to leave in one big herd.

Tara quietly slipped out the door so she didn't have to fifth wheel since Luke was lingering around, looking as if he was going to be staying the night.

"I better go," Y/N stated, reluctantly pulling away from Spencer's side since he'd been trapping her against him since midnight. It was a consensual trapping, and Y/N was allowed breaks to get another drink or use the bathroom, but it was clear that he wanted her attached to his hip whenever he could.

His coworkers were astonished. Jaw dropping stuff. JJ would be so pissed she missed it for more than one reason.

"I could walk you to your car?"

"Y/N got the train, didn't you, sexy?" Penelope informed him with a smug grin. "She doesn't like driving."

Another thing they had in common.

"I got the metro too, would you want to walk there together?"

"If you're happy with leaving now, yeah... yeah, I'd like that, Spencer."

She'd never called him by his name before. It felt weird and wonderful, and so right. His name was like the sweetest, most wonderful sound in the world when it came from her lips.

"Okay, yeah."

He was beaming, and as soon as his eyes met hers, his dimples making an appearance. Penelope gripped Luke's hand far too tightly to restrain herself from letting out a ear piercing squeal of joy, and she looked like she was on the verge of bursting into happy tears at any moment.

While Y/N was in the process of gathering her belongings and bidding Penelope goodbye, he didn't move. He was frozen in place, watching her with a huge grin, as if he was afraid that I'd he broke his gaze or something, he would wake up alone in a lumpy bed and have to get to work on another gruesome murder case as soon as his feet touched the gross hotel carpet.

Luke slapped Spencer on the shoulder, physically saying 'time to go, loverboy', and pushed him towards the open door. Spencer stumbled a little and looked like he was going to say something, but he just shook his head and waited for Penelope to stop whispering in Y/N's ear before they made their escape.

It was so quiet.

Without all the music and chattering of party guests, it was so quiet. The air was cool and refreshing, and the world was practically asleep or too drunk to bother walking home. They walked side by side, at a leisurely pace, and it was nice. There was a smidge of tension - obviously, you don't make out with your coworker in front of a bunch of people without there being some unsaid things still lingering in the air - but it wasn't unbearable. If anything, it felt... comforting, almost.

They'd got to their train with mere seconds left to spare. The automatic doors closed behind them, and they were seated in the carriage as soon as they spotted free seats. There were more people on the train than in the streets, though the pair would've been huddled together even if the carriage had been free. Mostly because it was really fucking cold out.

"Are you cold?" Spencer asked Y/N as she pulled her coat tighter around herself. "Do you want my jacket?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'm fine."

Spencer didn't listen - he could literally see her shivering in her boots - and was tugging his coat off his shoulders for her.

"Spencer-"

"I'm trying not to argue with you anymore but I will. Please? If you're cold, I can help you with that."

And this time, she didn't protest as he slid his coat over her shoulders. "Thanks," she said softly, and he felt a little giddy. Even though his jacket didn't really go with her outfit, it was the best thing he'd ever seen. Y/N was wearing his clothes. His! He didn't even know how that was possible, but it was before his eyes so it had to be. He didn't know why it made him feel so damn good, but it did.

"Any time."

He couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear.

Coincidentally, they had to get off at the same train stop and, without verbalising it to her, Spencer had decided to walk her home. He was a hardened FBI agent (that was allowed to skip the physical tests because his brain was too valuable to rule out, but hey) and could walk home without being scared by all the shadow monsters that come out in the dark of the night. Plus, his apartment was in the same general direction.

During their walk, one completely normal streetlamp - completely the same as the rest of the others on the street - happened to be shining its light directly on a store that Spencer was very familiar with. Y/N, however, was more familiar with the item on show in the middle of the shop window.

"...Daffodils."

Daffodils can be found in almost any florist across the world. But it was the fact that the florist was named 'Wordsworth's', that twigged Y/N's attention. That paired with the poem meant that it wasn't so outlandish to assume that whoever left her weekly flowers probably got them from this shop. Out of the two of them, Spencer was the profiler but he could tell he was made.

The case of the appearing daffodils had been solved.

"How much money have you wasted on me?" she asked, eyes still fixed on the price sign right next to the bouquet in the window.

Spencer continued to grin at Y/N as she ogled at the flowers in the window, standing under the spotlight. It was nice to see her still be so enamoured with something he frequently bought for her. "It wasn't a waste," he announced, and he meant it. "You're worth it."

"I am?" she asked, sounding surprised. "I guess I kind of assumed you hated me before tonight."

A huff was released from his nose and averted his gaze to his shoes for a brief moment before he looked back up at her. She tilted her head a little, curious as to why he seemed so put out. "I'm really bad at dealing with my emotions," he clarified.

"Okay," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "You don't have to buy me flowers."

"I want to. I'll buy you whatever you want," he said without thinking.

Y/N laughed, the sound so light and carefree and getting closer to him until she was right before him, and for a moment, he didn't feel the chill in the air. Y/N seemed to think about it for a second, her expression flickering between amusement and nervousness, before she grabbed his face and kissed him.

It started out slow, lips barely touching lips, but it soon picked up pace until the kiss became frantic and Spencer lost his footing on a patch of icy pavement, causing them both to plummet to the floor. They hit the ground with an 'oof' and tumbled into a heap on the curb, Y/N falling on top of Spencer's chest.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, all of a sudden, they burst out laughing. Spencer leant on his elbows, grinning up at Y/N and feeling his heart rate increase at the sensation of her pressed up against him.

"Are you okay?"

"Shhhh... Just kiss me again."

So he did.

Eventually, they got up, cleaned their hands with the pocket squeezy sanitiser Spencer kept on him at all times and continued their walk home.

"Did you know that putting a bouquet in the fridge prolongs the lifespan of flowers?" Spencer began, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Really? That's not true."

"The daffodils I have in my refrigerator say otherwise."

"You don't have daffodils in your fridge."

"I do too."

Despite how earnest he sounded, she still didn't believe him. Was it really believable that he filled up his fridge for weeks with a bouquet of daffodils for her? Because he liked her so much? What did he do with his food? Did the flowers contaminate it? Or did he store them in containers? Why would he do that for her when he treated her like he had before tonight?

"I could prove it to you, if you want?"

Oh. He subtly just asked her to his place without thinking - which was good, overall - but his apartment was in no shape to host guests in. There were books everywhere. Laundry strewn on the couch. One or two half drunk coffee cups left out on the kitchen counter. It was a mess. A clean mess, but still.

"You want me to come over to check out your fridge?" she asked him.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah, we could have a coffee and I have a tub of mango sorbet that we could share." He shrugged, pretending to be all calm and casual. "But only if you want to - no pressure - seriously, none. We can forget I ever asked if -"

"Show me your fridge, Dr Reid."

Being a homebody meant that Spencer was always excited to go home. He'd never been this excited before. They hoofed it to get out of the cold, and once they were indoors, they stood in front of an opened fridge to peer inside at the batch of flowers that took up an entire shelf. He didn’t have much else going on in there - why would he keep a lot of fresh produce when he is away for extended periods that they'd become rotten during? - but the daffodils was enough entertainment.

That night, the pair ate sorbet and talked. Really talked. Spencer apologised over and over for his behaviour, and though one night wouldn't erase multiple semester's worth of annoyance, it was a start.

And when the new term commenced, Y/N was expecting to see a single daffodil on her desk as she had the previous.

She didn’t. Not a single flower was in sight.

So, in her momentary disappointment, she reached into her drawer and pulled out her scrapbook to flick through all the flower pressings and post it note poems she'd glued in a fancy looking layout.

"I didn't know you kept them all."

Spencer's voice caused Y/N's head to shoot up from the page and found him in her office doorway with a whole bouquet of daffodils in his hand. Her eyes lit up and she beelined for him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"My train was late, petal."

"Excuses, excuses, Dr Reid."

"Oh, it's Dr Reid today?" he teased, leaning close enough to nudge his nose into hers. "Do you think sweet cheeks is too unprofessional, Dr L/N?"

"Maybe it is, sweet cheeks."

The flowers were gently placed on the nearest surface so Spencer could use both hands to cradle her cheeks and pull her in for a kiss. He smiled against her lips and the corners of his eyes crinkled in happiness. Because he'd done it. He'd actually done it. He'd gained her affection.

And now he had it, he was never going to let it wilt. It may have to go in the fridge for a moment or two, but it would always be brought back into the sunlight.

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds