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#this was so much work holy smokes
mmmatchasims · 3 months
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(I'm sick of meaning, I just wanna hold you)
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justinefrischmanngf · 4 months
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i’m sooooooooo stressed about a message i just sent but i am glad i sent it bc if i hadn’t i would’ve spent the rest of however long thinking about sending it and i don’t like that at all but also my heart is literally pounding in my chest what if he hates me and doesn’t want to be friends anymore…………………
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has-brain-rot · 1 year
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FINISHED SEASON 4: my takes time
SO I actually finished season 4 (after this I’m going to go binge season 5) and most of my notes are in the last post BUT the rest of my thoughts shall be below
LOTOR MY MAN you can’t just kill your friend/loyal coworker just because you think they’re a spy. Especially like. idk just saying that you had 3 other people (plus the cat) and you went for the blind person. seems odd :/
LOTOR ALSO BECOMING A CRIMINAL. Trying to sneak over onto the voltron side and you know what I’m down for that. The drama we’ll see. Will he be accepted? not?
They really just got rid of keith for the whole season and re-introduced him by having him just kinda in the background before he does some things. It’s especially odd since there was so much focus on keith in the last season?
Keith was out there doing epic adventure stuff where he could have died a ton while the rest of the voltron team were doing performance shows. hmm.
Shiro whyyyyyyyyyyy do you not get help. please this man needs help. Yeah sure he didn’t nearly die or go through something horrific this season but still there has been NOTHING about his trauma so far. In season 1 and 2 they touched upon the impacts of trauma and how it can mess with your mind but now that Shiro has another year’s worth of captivity testing and general horror, he doesn’t have any symptoms? HMM
also they completely dropped whatever plot was going on with Shiro in the last season. That’s odd right?
Can’t wait for Lotor and Keith to meet PURELY because I think it’d be neat if Lotor like, reforms some and becomes a mentor like figure to Keith. Teach him the half-galran ways without judgement. They can bond over poor childhoods and being broody. I think it could work.
WAIT maybe Keith gets the scar by Lotor switching on them and trying to kill Keith? That’d be dark but is a possibility? All I know is Keith gets the scar at some point but I still have no clue when aelrkgm
Slay Pidge, Slay Hunk <- I enjoy these characters. they deserve good things. They haven’t really gone through any development anymore though :/
Lance’s personality is a pendulum. who is this man. why is he there. why is he sometimes a silly guy and sometimes the only one that can give advice and pep talks. I find myself in the most hilarious position of being confused by his presence but finding him an otherwise meh character. idk my brain keeps going to him and being like “hey.. why are you here”
It’s cool to see them all get used to their lions again, but I’m kind of disappointed that they broke the character-lion symbolism. Red was passionate and ran with instincts first which matched keith. Hunk’s is grounded and tough, Pidge’s is lithe and connected to nature (which as the show said means the green lion is more connected to the base knowledge of the world, aka smarts) and the black lion is leadership and trust issues. With the shuffle they kind of lose all that.
I vote they should change the colours of their uniforms to match their lions. That’s what they did at first so why not now? /lh
BLADES OF MARMORA LETS GOO!!
Haggar exists and that’s chill. Love how she wants to kill her kid that’s very girlboss of her <- do not do this IRL. it is very bad and very NOT girlboss
Overall the season feels more similar to season 1 and 2 in terms of plotlines and general vibes. The comedy moments are good and funny but sometimes feel like they take away from the story? The story is at least more intact than the previous season but it doesn’t have the same level of building-towards-the-climax as the first two seasons. It’s good, plus it has Lotor and he’s cool.
LOTOR!!! Lotor would be an interesting person to go out and get ice cream with and ask him about his thoughts of the world and interests. NOT a date, I just want to study him like a scientist does a particularly funky octopus and I want to know what sort of ice cream he’d eat. Plus learn his hair care routine lmaoo
OKAY SO I know that Shiro gets married to a man at some point but I don’t know all the details. My theory is that it’ll be Matt. Matt and Shiro already have known each other for a while and after living together on the ship and fighting for the cause together they destroy the previous boundaries they had in the previous field of work and get closer. Plus they’re the only adult characters i think??? So it’d make sense. And then Pidge gets a cool older brother
Reason why the above won’t happen: Matt is straight I think -_- Shame on him /j
I NEED TO MENTION MY FAVOURITE SCENE. THE CLIP WHERE VOLTRON IS DESCENDING ONTO THE PLANET IN THE FOG AND SLOWLY GETS REVEALED. THE HORROR THE MYSTERY THE SUSPENSE. I AM IN LOVE WITH THAT SCENE I LOVE IT SO MUCH. It twists the version of Voltron we’ve come to know and show that HERE IS HOW THE ENEMIES SEE VOLTRON. I love that scene so much I went feral seeing it :3
TIME FOR SEASON 5 LETS GOOO. I’ve officially watched half the show and it’s really cool, I absolutely adore every single artist and animator that worked on it. They did an incredibly job, especially after learning they didn’t have much time to do it all
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querical-equinox · 8 months
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I've had this DCA Magic/Dragon AU in my head for a good minute now. And I don't know that I'll ever get this fully written out in a way that I'm satisfied with, but I've been wanting share the idea so bad!!
So in an act of whimsy and self love imma just jot down my thoughts here and throw em out to the world!
So as things start out, you live in an old barn you'd long since fixed up and turned into a home. It's nestled away in a mountain forest, out of sight of the village that rests in the valley below, but not out of reach.
Magic has a natural flow in this world. Some people or creatures may be more intuned, but anyone can learn and wield it if they try. While some places are gearing towards an academic understanding of it, most people still learn by pure trial and error. All feeling and emotion and ritual.
You do the latter.
You're a Mender, by Trade and Title. Always had an uncanny knack for fixing things up, and as you've fiddled and fumbled your way through figuring out magic all these years, you've only gotten better at it.
Anything you need is either made or grown at home, forged from the wilderness, or received from villagers who make their way out to your little loft. You pay and are payed in trades and favors, and are on good terms with most of the folk who live down below you.
They often come out seeking your help with repairs, most often knick knacks, or important tools. Sometimes treasured and sentimental pieces. And more and more as of late, mending of a medical variety.
This is something you still struggling with, but you're learning.
You also tend to keep close to your home. Mostly because it's where you're the most comfortable, you're really not seeking any grand adventure or fortune. You have most everything you need right here! But it's also in no small part due to your Delicate Constitution.
It's not so bad some days. Buzzing around your home and gardens, steady energy and a bright heart. Taking breaks when you need, but otherwise left unhindered.
Most commonly you get around with the aid of one of your canes or walking sticks (a good few are gifts/trades with folks from the valley.) Sometimes needing to wear compression braces. Definitely resting more in between activities, and usually relying on your magic a lil more than might be healthy.
At your worst though you're lucky to get around your house. Using magic is intensely detrimental in this state, and something you opt only to do under dire circumstances.
You're grateful to the folk who pop in and help when you're like this, even if the embarrassment/shame never fully fades, despite their gentle insistence. Even more grateful still that they'll leave if really ask them to.
-
On the flip side of things, are Sun and Moon! Living, Dragonoid Marionettes. Though one wouldn't guess them to be puppets at all, as they keep their true forms hidden under physical illusions.
Sun is all glittering gold and scarlet scales. A large, fluffy spiked mane the color of sunlight, and an adornment of flashy red frills around his neck and wrists.
Moon is all midnight hues, with a speckling of shining scales (are they silver or a muted gold, who's to say as they twinkle like stars.) A silvery mane trails more down his back than his counterparts. And he has two long, dark blue whiskers, that wink and glow a soft yellow at the ends.
Both can choose to keep closer to their original size, or take on a much larger form at will. They're wingless dragons, long and serpentine. All muscle with wicked sharp claws at the ends of their hands and feet.
Their true form are more akin to a child's wooden slither snake toy, just done up all fancy. They sill have their marks and fur and frills, but look decidedly more handmade. And those magically inclinde may just be able to spot pale, shimmering strings, fading off into an ethereal distance.
Who made them, and what for, is unclear. IF they were made for a purpose at all of course they were, but it's been so long, do they remember?
Their main concern at the present date however, is helping their dear friend Music Man. Also known as The Music of the Mountain, or on the occasion someone happens to spot him, oh goOD LORD THAT"S A REALLY BIG SPIDER.
He likes Music Man just fine.
He'd been acting strange as of late, and the final straw for them to intervene was one of his darling Minis seeking them for help so far from home.
This ends with them caught in an ambush at the mouth of his cave home (not the fault of the Mini seeking help mind you!) And the two are separated. With Sun flying down the Mountain, struggling to fend off the Minis swarming him as gently as he can. And Moon facing the Music Man himself, getting backed further and further into the cave.
-
This leads to your first meeting with Sun! He crash lands in a meadow you frequent for herbs and the like. Having shaken all the Minis off along the flight down the Mountain, but left horribly tangled in their incredibly strong spider silk.
It takes a lot of coaxing and gentle words to even get near him. But he seems desperate enough to accept your cautious help.
So you sit and carefully unwind him from this painful mess. You talk to him the whole way through, explaining the work you do (especially when he cant see you), but also just making idle chatter in the interim.
You can feel a powerful magic rolling over and through him, and would nearly be mesmerized by such a beast if it weren't for the serious task at hand.
Despite his rush to get back up and go help Moon, he's incredibly patient with you. Even as you insist on rubbing some ointment on his wounds once you've finished, not knowing the hurry he's in.
When he leaves, it's with a burst of warmth and intense gratitude, as he's seemingly carried off on a breeze.
You head home feeling lighter than you have in years. Cane loose in hand, with coils of spider silk wrapped around it, that you'd keep for a project of some sort.
The field sees a sudden, unexpected bloom over the next week or so after.
-
You meet Moon a little later after that. Again in the field, though it's raining this time. You were out hunting some storm only blooms for an upcoming potion, things like Gator's Tears, and Froggs Foot.
You catch a glimmer of gold, heart picking up in elation at the return of your sunny dragon friend. Though it quickly drops at your sight clears through the rain.
He's carrying a badly injured Moon. You become acutely aware of the anxious, roiling energy trickling down from them.
He brought Moon to you, entirely uncertain, but desperately hoping you could help. He didn't know quite what else to do.
And so you do what you always do. Help as best you can.
This is leads you to guiding Sun back down to your barn, where you thankfully have enough room to squeeze them both in on the ground floor. You set to work on fixing up a barely conscious lunar dragon, who gets hissy in his brief moments of lucidity.
You don't talk during most of this endeavor. More focused on the task, and channeling your magic as best you can the mend the poor dear. Sun is pure anxious energy coiled protectively nearby.
When you're done and Moon is stable, your watch with a startled awe as he seems to shift and dustily dissolve into his small dragon form. Sun follows suit, in what feels to you as sigh of relief.
Only then do you gently bubble with idle chatter, as you get them blankets and pillows to help them be more comfortable. You tell Sun that Moon will need to rest for a while. And that you'd like them to stay a bit to watch over how he heals.
You've expended entirely too much magic during his care , and end up out of commission for a while after yourself.
As so it goes, you have two Ethereal Dragons as house guest for a short while.
-
I have more loose thread for things I'd like to see later on. Like them seeking your help with Music Man, and possibly some other fnaf crew.
Funny moments of them being appalled by how you channel your magic. (Some spells and the like have very physical channelings, and you can get the same results from different methods if you're creative enough.) As beings soaked and strung with magic, they take to it a lot more naturally than you, like second nature it seems. They try teaching you easier/safer ways of harnessing it.
As well as some other fun things, soft visits and hijinks, their Marionette reveal to the reader, interacting with some of the villagers, and so on so forth.
This is all I have to share for now though, and if you made it this far thank you for taking the time to read!!!
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oglegoggle · 1 year
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My body feels so bad. I want it to stop. I wish I could make it stop.
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westernsunshine · 2 months
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I didn’t get the job
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baekuras · 11 months
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Update on my re4 remake playthrough
Saw the Merchant like get his backpack up higher and squealed bc it was cute and spend about a minute herding Luis around via a shotgun
it is 2am
i think these are good signs i need a nap
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moncherellie · 5 months
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𓆩⚝˚‧no room for the holy spirit ♱꙳˚₊‧
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a/n: finally it's here! been screaming into the void abt this one for... ever. a thousand thank yous to @thirsting-over-women who proofread this for me :>> my savior actually. if the religious themes offend you (whether you are religious or have trauma) i encourage you not to read, maybe check out my other works instead :D
content/warnings: 4,500 words, preachers daughter!ellie x fem!reader, nsfw, reader wears a skirt, semipublic/car sex, fingering, oral (r receiving), reader's first wlw experience, sexual awakening?, religious motif, christian themes, mild religious guilt throughout, mentions of religious homophobia, internalized homophobia, ellie smokes a lil, she's a bit mean, fuckin in a church parking lot
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The pressures of being a teenage girl were hard enough without the pressures of being a gay teenage girl. Being a gay teenage girl was hard enough without the pressures of being the daughter of a fucking preacher. Ellie had never really bought into the whole 'organized religion' thing, ever the skeptic. Even as a puny 8-year-old, she asked why she had to wake up early every Sunday for something she didn't even like doing. Her attitude didn't change much after that, but her parents got stricter and stricter in an attempt to control her sacrilege. She didn't spend much time with her family, instead seeking familial bonds at school, especially with her mechanics teacher, Mr. Miller. But, you know what they say:
Strict parents raise sneaky children.
And it's true. If Ellie's dad knew what she was doing outside the holy walls of the ministry, he'd have an aneurysm and have her exorcised. But, she always thought, what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
You were the opposite. Raised the same as Ellie, you took to religion and fully participated, though mostly out of obligation. Just go every week for an hour and your family will leave you alone. This tactic, for the most part, worked. Your traditional family had their rough moments, specifically when they mocked the outfits you'd wanted to wear to service and called you some... unsavory names. But if you could avoid any similar incident, any clash with authority, you were taking the holy road.
On the outside, you were the purest of people. There was never a bad or dirty thought in your mind. You were a pillar of the community, someone that parents pointed out to their kids. "Be like them," they'd say. Your parents were proud, so you should've been proud. Should've.
You and Ellie had grown up quite close due to being in similar social groups and seeing each other every week at service. Since then, you'd grown apart as you took different paths in life, though you still felt a sense of commitment toward her; So when she cursed out her father in front of the clergy, your eyes widened.
"You fucking dick! You don't know shit about anything! You use all this- this... bullshit- as a crutch so you don't have to own up to your own baggage!"
As she stormed out, you silently move from your spot in the choir, doe eyes shining in the bath of stained glass light, and shuffle up to the front of the room.
"Father, if I may, I would like to go check on your daughter." You're a model fixture, a saint.
"Of course, my child. I hope someday she'll be more like you. I pray that-" You shuffle off again, not wanting to hear about how he wishes his daughter was different. He really wishes his child hid who she was, you think bitterly. You admired Ellie's rebellion, though you'd never say it, and you wished you were as strong as her.
You walk away from the church to the little park you and Ellie used to go to. Your memories flood with nostalgia for simpler times, and you smile to yourself, pleasantly strolling through the large trees and foliage and looking for the rough girl. You find her crouching against a tree, squatting with her head between her legs.
Is she crying?
"... Ellie? Are you alright?" You whisper, not wanting to startle her.
You notice Ellie tense up before quickly standing up and whipping around to face you, a hand behind her back. "Oh! It's... you. Hey. Aren't you s'posed to be inside?"
"Yeah, but I just wanted to check on you. That was intense in there."
"Mhm, I'm good. Just needed some, ah, fresh air. Y'know?" She sounds a little too jolly, weirdly chipper. It's suspicious.
"Uh-huh," you say, unconvinced. "Whatcha got there?" You point to whatever she's trying to conceal.
She knows she's been caught. Her attitude suddenly shifts from faux-innocence to her usual snarky persona as she rolls her eyes, leaning against the tree and revealing what she had. She brings her hand up to her lips. "Nothing."
"Ellie!" You shriek. "You can't do that! Where'd you even get a cigarette?"
She laughs as if you'd said the funniest thing imaginable. "You think this is a cigarette? Are you stupid? No offense. But are you stupid?"
You scoff. "No! I mean, you're smoking it. What else am I supposed to guess?"
"A blunt, idiot. Kush. Mary Jane. Weed. Ma-ri-jua-na." She spells out for you like you're a toddler.
You cross your arms defensively. "Okay, I know what weed is, smart guy. You still shouldn't have it. Where's it from?"
"Stole it. I just wanted to see why people liked it so much. They say it relieves stress, and I think yes." Ellie grins lazily, eyes lidded. "I got another. You want?"
The answer to your question only makes you freak out more. "No! And you stole?! You stole? Oh my goodness, Ellie, you're gonna get us thrown in jail or something!"
Ellie wordlessly watches your breakdown, eyes red and amused, the corner of her mouth turned up. "Relax, man, it's barely illegal. Who's calling the cops for a single gram? Don't be lame like that."
"Lame?" You scoff. "Are you a first grader? Ellie, it's against the law, you could go to prison. And it's not juvie anymore, you're gonna go to real jail!" Your hands flail around wildly as you explain the repercussions of her actions.
"Jail..." She rolls her eyes.
"Yes, jail! That's kinda what happens when you steal something, Ellie!" The high-pitched, prissy tone with which you said her name was starting to annoy her, but the way you looked when flustered was intriguing. Maybe in another context, she'd enjoy hearing her name fall from your lips.
Ellie takes another hit, looking up at you. She tilts her head, asking if you're being serious. "Jail? Over a single blunt? Who cares that much?"
You gasp when you realize: "I'm an accomplice!"
"You're not an accessory just because you're here." She chuckles as the wind blows past and carries her smoke near your head as you duck dramatically and swat away the smoke. She looks at you for a moment, slightly smiling. Her green eyes meet yours briefly before turning her attention back to the joint.
"Why are you using it anyway? It smells rancid."
"Already told you. I wanna know why people do it. It relieves stress and I'm plenty stressed. Plus, I look dope as shit with it, right?" Ellie leans against the tree, and a small part of you wants to say yeah, you do. "You should try it. Maybe get that stick out of your ass."
"You're gonna get addicted."
"God, it's just this once. What are you gonna do, tell my dad?" She chuckles to herself, taking a long drag.
She checks you out, head to toe, examining the flowy fabrics and neat hair and the Mary Jane shoes that drive her crazy. Who wears those? Her gaze returns to meet yours, and she looks utterly dumbfounded by you. Your eyebrows furrow as you see how her expression changes. "What's that look for?"
She shrugs nonchalantly. "I dunno. You're just so robotic. It's like you never think about stepping the teensiest bit out of line. It's creepy. You've never had an independent thought in your life. Have you ever done anything even remotely rebellious?"
You make a noise that seems to say Well why would I? "No! Of course not! And you shouldn't either, I mean look at your dad, he's-"
Her voice raises, a tone you've never heard and don't care to hear again. "-My father? You mean the preacher?" She mocks. "What about him? You don't know anything about my father." Ellie's look hardens, eyes steely and mouth pursed into a thin line. It's a look you've seen maybe twice before, both in much more tense situations. Her voice says that you can't change her mind. You don't care to try. Whatever she's referencing, you believe her.
"Okay. Okay... sorry." You say gently, losing the defensive energy you'd held a moment ago. Ellie sighs and takes an irritated puff. To relax, you think.
"And you always apologize. It's so weird. You need to loosen up a bit." Another long, somehow sarcastic hit. "What's the worst thing you've *ever* done?"
An embarrassing, very private thought crosses your mind. You obviously can't tell her what you think about at night- you're barely able to admit to yourself that you have such impure thoughts. Instead, you shake your head. "Can't- I can't think of anything."
You watch her forest green eyes roll up, then down. It's a very familiar expression on her. "Thought so." She grins up at you, and you look away into the treeline nervously. "Do you wanna try something fun?"
"Is it... illegal?"
"No. Don't worry about that." She motions for you to come closer, so you take a tentative step forward, eyeing her like a wild animal. She hates the way you look at her, making her feel alien. Just because she lives authentically. It makes her want to ruin you, to have you stoop down to her level. Then maybe you won't look at her as if she were extraterrestrial.
You need an attitude adjustment, you need to chill the fuck out, you needed to get fucked, and hard. Ellie thinks she can help you with that.
She grins that toothy smirk as she watches you step closer, taking a puff and placing the blunt between her slender fingers. She doesn't miss the way your eyes trail the two long fingers that hold it. You wonder if she's doing this on purpose.
Ellie backs you up against a tree, and you recognize is as the same old oak that you would climb with her as kids. The branches and bark have left scars on you that Ellie helped you heal. She wonders how they look now.
Your back hits the trunk with an unceremonious thump, and you startle. Ellie keeps walking toward you, now getting uncomfortably close. "Uh- so what are we..." You trail off, thinking she'll explain what she's doing right in your face. She doesn't.
Her arm raises, trapping you between the tree and her body as she studies you. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, but feels incredibly electric at the same time- it's a sensation you've only felt around her, though you don't know why. She takes another hit and you nervously look away.
She tilts your jaw back to look at her. You have to face her pretty green eyes, unwavering as she stares you down, while you sneak glances just to check if she's still there. Your breath speeds up when she leans closer.
Ellie puts her stupid pink slightly chapped adorable smiling lips near the base of your neck.
"What are you doing?" You say breathlessly. You swear that you feel her ghosting over your skin, so close, yet not as close as you want her. Maybe if you lean in...
Before you can, she breathes out her smoke, lightly trailing her lips down your neck. Her tongue comes out to prod at the skin, tasting you. You whine. The smoke envelops the two of you, and your nose crinkles at the foul smell. You look down to chastise her but she's already looking at you with those eyes and that cheeky look. No matter what you say next to defend yourself, you know you're caught, that Ellie knows she's affected you. It's in your eyes, the way you've seized up so tightly, how you look at her like you can't wait to see what she does next.
She presses a chaste kiss on your collarbone and you crane your neck upward. You're not sure if you're trying to get away or if you're giving her more access. She pulls away and you find yourself leaning forward to try to get her back on you.
"Is that the most rebellious thing you've ever done?" She chuckles, taking another drag and blowing it over you, bathing you in the white haze. "You like being treated like that, huh?"
You shiver. "I don't get it," you say dumbly. You've never been this confused.
"What don't you get? I just think it's fun to make you squirm." She thinks you've had enough and blows her next exhale away from you. "I wanna corrupt you, sweetheart." It sounds derogatory coming from her but you find that you don't mind the tone. The spot Ellie had made contact with feels as if it's burning. You crave for that feeling all over your body.
You stammer over your words, pathetically unable to spit out any sort of coherent reaction to her. Any reaction would be better to tripping over your words. Fed up with trying to sound like a person, you decide to stop talking.
"You enjoyed that huh? Admit it." She inhales and repeats her action. "Makes you feel hot inside."
"What? No- no, are you insane?" The sane part of you is telling you that you shouldn't be doing this, especially not with Ellie fucking Williams of all people. She's everything you aren't- she's rude and snarky and devilish... and tall and strong and hot. Oh shit! The batshit insane part of you is slowly melting the angel on your shoulder, and you can basically see the little devil cackling as you feel yourself straying further from the good girl persona you'd cultivated. You feel your heartbeat in your pants.
Ellie begins to kiss down your neck, sucking and licking at your jaw and collarbone. This time, you're acutely aware that you're actively giving her access to do as she pleases with you. "Maybe I'm insane, but I can tell. You did like it. And if you deny, I'll do it again until you tell the truth."
"Well I didn't, so you can forget about-"
She places her thumb on your lower lip as you start your tirade, effectively shutting you up. "Too late." Ellie leans in and before you know it, her lips are on yours. Her arm snakes around the back of your waist and pulls you as close to her as you've ever been. That warm feeling flushes down your body, leaving chills across your skin. More. All you can think is that you want more. Your hands come up to grip her shoulders, you almost want to push her away, but you find yourself pulling her closer and closer. No room for the Holy Spirit.
Ellie pulls away, smugly looking down at you. "Told you you liked it."
"I didn't say that." You were being a contrarian on purpose at this point. Anything to keep Ellie treating you like this- you wanted to prolong this moment for however long you could. She hoists you up, bringing you out of the park and into the back of the parking lot. She throws you into the backseat of her beaten pickup and crawls atop you with darkened eyes.
You squeal in surprise. "El-lie!"
She continues to kiss you, making you wetter by the second. The heat pooling in your panties is so fucking embarrassing, but you find that you don't care how humiliating this is. You just want more.
"Els, what if someone sees?"
She scoffs as if the idea is preposterous; as if the prospect of getting caught is impossible. "Nobody can see us, and they won't leave until later. Don't stress about it." Ellie bites her lip and it makes your body get hot flushes. "I can do whatever I want to you. But you know what? I think you'd let me. Is that right?"
"...Maybe." Read: Yes, yes, anything! She leans down, placing her hand on the back of your neck and pulling your head closer up towards her. Her hand forces your legs apart further to allow her access. The way she lays on your inner thighs, atop your clothed core, makes you feel lightheaded. You love the way she manhandles you, and it's exactly how you thought she'd be. Every time she adjusts her position, your clit rubs against her and sends jolts of electricity up your body.
"I knew it. You're not as perfect as you try to be. You're dirty."
You want to deny it, you really do, but the evidence is clear. You're disheveled under her, lips swollen from hers, and she's pulling your panties to your ankles and shoving them in her jacket pocket, yet you're ashamed to say that you don't feel an ounce of guilt over it.
Despite how excited you are for whatever is about to happen, you're still incredibly nervous. This is the most physically vulnerable you've ever been with another person, and the fact that you're completely bare under your skirt makes your stomach flip.
Your face must betray your emotions because Ellie momentarily softens. She pulls her hands away from your hips and cups your face, peppering kisses across your cheeks and up to your forehead, making you laugh lightly. "You alright? We can stop."
"No... please don't." Her face lights up.
"Sorry, say that again?" You roll your eyes and she chuckles. "I knew you were like this. Not so pure now, huh?"
"Guess not."
"So you admit it?"
"...Fine. Yes."
Ellie sighs in relief as if her thirst were quenched- that's what she's been wanting to hear from you forever. She could see it in the way you snuck glances at her during mass, finding your wandering, hungry eyes from across the room. She could feel it in the way your hand lingered on her a little too long to be friendly, your touch suspiciously light, like if you touched her any harder you'd start to tremor.
But now, there's no semblance of the timid person you'd been. When Ellie pulls away, your hand comes up to the back of her neck to pull her back in. You're insatiable, and Ellie fucking loves it. She tugs at the bottom of your sweater. "Pull that fucking thing off. Show me those pretty tits." Her breath becomes heavy as you oblige and become needier. "Did you know you were this easy?" She teases.
"What? I'm- I'm not." Everything she says feels designed to evoke the biggest reaction from you. She keeps you on your toes, never letting you get too comfortable. How exciting.
"So it's just for me then?" You don't answer, and it excites Ellie to know that she's right. This reaction is purely for her. Nobody else has seen you like this, and she's grateful to be the one who gets to corrupt you. It really didn't take much effort. "You're so easy to control."
Her hands drift back to your thighs, sliding under your skirt, her lips press to your jawline. Hot breath trails along your neck, down further to your collarbone. Her fingers slide over your inner thighs, sensitive skin rippling as she applies light pressure, testing how reactive you are. You twitch, unwittingly opening your legs more and giving Ellie more access. "You look good like this, though."
Ellie's fingers dig into you, grasping the flesh of your ass and moaning softly into your ear. Her thumbs are on either side of where you desperately need her, and your hips buck up into her, seeking her touch. "Knew you had a nice ass, too."
"Shut up." You mumble.
"Why would I? You like it when I say things like that, don't you? You wouldn't be this drenched if you didn't." She swipes the pad of her thumb over your clit and applies delicious pressure. You nearly cum on the spot.
Is this what you've been missing? This pleasure, this euphoria? Ellie grins at your reaction, drinking in your desperation for her like a succubus. "Aw, sensitive little pussy. Haven't you touched yourself like this before?"
You had, a few times, actually, but it never went this far, deep-rooted guilt gnashing in your stomach and ending the moment before you'd been able to finish. After admitting this, she coos at you. "Poor baby." Her tone is so condescending, but it makes you clench around the tip of her fingers.
She slides the first knuckle of two fingers past your entrance, pumping them in and out painfully slowly. "Ellie, you prick. Come on." She continues her ministrations, gently stroking your entrance, never giving you enough to feel remotely satisfied. She uses this time to take in your disheveled, sweaty appearance. Your cute tits bounce as you shift uncomfortably, waiting for Ellie to please you. A bead of sweat rolls down and she can't help but bring her mouth up to lick at it as it slides over your nipple. Her mouth attaches to you and you sigh, holding her closer by her hair. She grins up at you, making eye contact through her lashes. You can see the tip of her tongue poking out, wetting your bud as the cool air nips at you, making you all the more sensitive. Even now, Ellie still hasn't stopped her teasing below.
"Can't call me a prick then beg for me to fuck you. 's not how it works, pretty girl."
"Then what do you want?" You whine.
Ellie can feel your clit flutter and pulse as she moves. "Fuck, you're so desperate for me, aren't you? I want you to tell me how bad y' want me."
"I- I d-" You begin to protest, being cut off with a squeal as Ellie licks a sloppy stripe up your pussy, finally tasting you.
"Don't bullshit me. If I'm gonna fuck you, I needja to be a little more honest with me. I see how you look at me. You been trying to push some thoughts down, huh?"
It was so humiliating how well she could read you. Whenever her tongue came out of her mouth to take communion, your eyes would be trained on the muscle, breath hitching as she would wink at you. Without fail, you would trail your gaze up her body when Ellie walked in with a suit, her way of dressing nicely for service. Always, always, she could feel the heat radiating off your body as she pulled you closer, not taking her eyes off the pastor speaking.
Your thoughts were impure, sinful, and how embarrassing that Ellie knew. You believed you were hiding it well- obviously not.
"Yeah. Maybe."
Ellie's big hands wrap around your thighs, fingers landing on the sensitive skin near your pussy. She looks up at you and you can feel her hot breath on your clit. It takes everything in Ellie to not eat you out immediately, but your embarrassment is too tempting to pass up.
"Tell me about it. You try to fuck yourself thinkin' of me?"
"I do. I- I tried to, at least. Doesn't work."
"Why not, babe? You're so responsive right now." Her fingers find their place back at your entrance, pushing in as you speak.
"I- oh, shit-" You gasp.
Ellie grins. "Talk to me."
"My fingers aren't good enough."
"Ah," she says, "and mine are?" She knows the answer.
"So good."
Ellie likes that she's made you desperate enough that you've abandoned your pride. She enjoys the flush on your face as you shamelessly admit your secrets to her, the good-girl persona a figment of the past.
She's so busy staring up at how your face contorts in pleasure that she doesn't realize that she hasn't moved her fingers in a hot minute. The teasing is torturous for you.
"Ellie," she hears you whine, "Please!" You rut your hips against her fingers and she feels lightheaded. Jesus fucking Christ.
"Sorry, pretty girl. Got distracted." She smirks. "I'll give you what you want now." Ellie finally moves her fingers, curling them in and out slowly. You groan again and she laughs. "Okay, okay! Sorry." Her face darkens and she bites her lip. "You want me to fuck you? Alright, I'll fuck you."
Ellie's fingers begin to pump inside you, hitting all the spots that make you jump and squirm, and you're sure the rusted heap of a car you're in is about to fall off its chassis. She's going so fast and hard that you're immediately overwhelmed and you don't know where to put your hands. In the span of a minute, they cup your face, a forearm slings over your eyes, and you throw your arms up against the window. Finally, you settle on cupping your cheeks, fingers slit open so you can peer down at Ellie's focus on you.
Her eyes haven't left your pussy since she started. She's absolutely mesmerized by how fucking wet you are, how you seem to suck her fingers back in as she tries to pull out and your body betrays how desperately you want her. Ellie's mouth is slightly agape and she can't help when her tongue flickers out to lick curiously at your clit, wanting to taste you again.
"Fu- fuck!" You yelp, bucking your hips up into her face. Ellie snorts as she watches how you squirm. You can feel something building and though you have an idea of what it is, it's building fast and slightly scaring you. "Wait, Els, hold on a second, something- ah- I think- I think I'm-"
You're nervous about how it creeps up on you so suddenly but you find there isn't time to be self-conscious about it because you cum, and you wonder why God could possibly think that doing this is a sin. How could it be a sin if it felt so right?
You don't know what sound you made or how your face looks, but by the way Ellie looks up at you, it must've been something. Her eyes flicker back down to how your clit pulses as you finish, leaking cum onto her fingers and trailing down her hand. You know what she's fucking thinking because you always do. Before you can form a sentence, she's licking up your cum like it's the best meal she's tasted.
You shudder violently. "Ellie, holy fuck, stop, I'm still sensitive! Oh m- Ellie, come on!" Only when you push her face up does she stop, giving you the cheekiest grin.
You roll your eyes and throw your head back against the car door, panting. The dull ache in your thighs is apparent when you attempt to sit, pulling your panties up and cringing at how your cum pools on them.
Ellie still hasn't said anything. You glance over at her, wondering how she feels about whatever just happened. She's looking down, grey hoodie still pulled up to her elbows, staring at the fingers she'd just fucked you with. She glances up at you, a shit-eating grin spreading across her face. 
“That was hot.” Her hand rubs up and down your thigh, a kind of comfort you’d never received from her. It wasn’t unwelcome.
You don’t quite know how to feel. There are twinges of guilt gnawing at your stomach, that religious guilt creeping in. Had you done something wrong? 
But at the same time, there was a warmth in Ellie’s gaze that made you feel like maybe, it was all worth it. Was it unholy? Almost definitely. But this awakening couldn’t be all bad if she kept looking at you with those soft, fond eyes.
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my masterlist...
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jaeminvore · 6 months
Text
Young God | L.DH (M) — PREVIEW
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READ HERE
SYNOPSIS: desperation had this funny way of skewing one’s perception, and since you were, in fact, way past the point of desperation, it wasn’t a surprise that you jumped the gun without even questioning the absurdly cheap rent price of the seemingly perfect apartment unit. What you failed to consider was the reason why it didn't cost you and arm and a leg and it soon came in the form of an incubus in your bathroom belting his heart out on a Sunday morning.
(alternatively: in which you were essentially scammed into cohabiting with a ridiculously clingy demon that lives off of sex. It could be worse. At least he staved off from sucking your soul out in exchange of you sucking something else—among other things).
GENRE: supernatural, urban fantasy, slice of life, humor, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut MDNI!
WARNINGS: incubus!hyuck, fem!human!reader, bickering, crude language (full list of warnings will be stated in the actual fic)
WORD COUNT: estimated 15K-20K (1.1K for the preview)
RELEASE DATE: 22nd of November
TAGLIST: send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged/notified when I post the fic!
NOTES: happy October! and what a better way of starting the spooky month with a preview for a fic that I've been working on (and screaming to the girls about im so sorry 😭) that fit the spooky aspect lol, but don't be fooled! This is actually funnier (and cuter) than it might initially come off 🫡
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“Now where’d you run off to this early in the morning?”
You gritted your teeth, feeling a vein pulse on your temple. That voice.
Pretty privilege could come next time because at this very second, you weren’t feeling privileged being graced by the so-called prettiness, but threatened to even fully appreciate what he’s got going for him. Physically wise.
Without thinking, your hand shot out to grab the closest thing to you, an empty vase, and hurled it with all you’ve got, aiming straight for the intruder’s face who didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. It was like watching everything in slow motion, how the decorative piece took its sweet time to smack his face and hopefully break his nose (best case scenario).
This was the worst case scenario, with the vase pausing in mid-air as if time just decided to stop being a thing, all in this demon’s favor.
You were actually going insane, that was the only explanation because no law of physics could explain the current state of the decorative vase—it’s still in the fucking air. Holy shit—nor did you think telekinesis could extend beyond the old, generic trick of bending spoons with your mind.
“Hey,” As if you weren’t terrified enough, the stranger peeked from one of the vase’s sides with a disapproving pout. You scooted further away until your back hit the arm rest. “I picked this out for you, y’know? Thought you’d like it.” With a lazy flick of his wrist the vase ended up floating all the way into the kitchen, much to your horror, to sit on top of the refrigerator.
“Maybe we should not throw things next time?”
Your eyes flickered towards him, dumbfounded.
“You… last night,” There really was no mistaking it. The voice already told you enough. It was all too distinct; the arrogance, the grating inflection that screamed he solely existed to get on your nerves, and it was working. “In my dream. That was you?”
“Wasn’t just last night, little human. I’ve been in all of your dreams since you moved here.” He shrugged, leaning laxly against the door frame with his arms crossed. “You were way nicer in them. Pliant,” he had two fingers up to prove whatever point he was making. “didn’t throw things at me,” and there goes the third finger.
Smoke was practically coming out of your ears as you sat up straighter, tense. “Oh, I’m sorry!” One of your hands flew to your chest, tone high and mocking. “I didn’t know I had to show proper etiquette to a fucking trespasser!” You scrambled for your phone. “Now, please leave or I will call the police—”
It happened all too fast. Too fast for your human brain to comprehend because just a second ago, you were really serious about involving the police in this. Now, you were flat on your back with the wind knocked right out of you and a lapful of the man plaguing most of your nights. The atmosphere felt heavier, now that the kittenish air surrounding him was gone and the very corner of his lips tilted down into a frown as he plucked your phone out of your hand.
“First thing’s first, no police. You won’t get rid of me that way. Second, this is my”— he pointed to himself —“home. My apartment. I was just nice enough to let you stay for how long you liked.”
“I paid for this unit you—you demon!” You didn’t even try to be subtle with the eye-rolling. Of course he would preen at the title. “If anything, it’s my apartment!”
“Okay? I tied a piece of me down to this place. My sigil is somewhere around here to prove it—meaning, I have higher authority.”
A sigil. Of course. This is your life now. Possibly sharing a space with a fucking demon of all things. Exciting, but not exciting enough to stave off your hunger and you were starting to get antsy. You were just arguing for the sake of arguing to blow off some steam and to get in the last word.
“I signed a lease. The lease has my name on it.” you said as if that was on par with whatever he was talking about (probably not).
“Technically, I signed away a part of my life, so.”
Fuck. Fine. He got you there.
“Are you always going to do this?” You resigned, wriggling underneath his weight. “You’re kinda heavy.”
“I mean if it works, right?” The demon giggled, tilting his head with a coy smile as he put more weight onto your thighs, one hand falling behind to rest on your knee. “It’s not like you complained before.”
“Technically,” (“I do not fucking sound like that.”) “you smothered me in my dreams—dreams, so they don’t count.”
Which meant that you had full control of your body out of the dreamscape, proven by the indignant yell the demon let out as he was unceremoniously pushed to the ground for the second time within the twenty-four hour time frame. It wasn’t enough to make up for the numerous times he had you under him, but for now, you were even.
“They sure do!” he exclaimed from where you left him still sprawled on the floor.
“Nope. This conversation is over.”
The stew was just about done, the soup reduced to the right amount as you switched off the stove and range hood, bathing your apartment in still quietness besides the bustling from outside. The soft padding of feet came in quick succession until warmth hovered just mere centimeters behind you.
Turning your head, the demon was there, his chin just shy of resting onto the dip of your shoulder as he peered curiously at the steaming pot.
“Is that… kimchi stew?” he wondered, taking a generous whiff and appearing just as hungry as you felt. “It is kimchi stew.”
You snickered, all animosity fading into faint amusement, “I take it that you’d like some?” It was such a human reaction that you couldn’t help but smile, reaching for the ladle.
“Please?” he pressed, amber eyes all wide and imploring. “I haven’t had a decent bowl of the stuff in, like, weeks.”
“Well, make yourself useful. Set the table, yeah? And pass me two bowls while you’re at it. You know where they are…” you trailed off, looking at him in silent question. You haven’t asked for his name, or what he would like to be addressed as.
Somehow, the demon was rather quick on the uptake, curling his lips as he pushed off to do what you asked him to.
“Haechan,” he called over his shoulder, grinning as he reached for the cupboard’s handle. “You can call me Haechan.”
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note: hyuck in the banner just screamed demon to me and it may or may not have caused the brainworms still wriggling in my brain to push me into writing this (rip to my wips i had before this) like just LOOK at these photos they awoken something carnal in me and i need him biblically actually
taglist: @jaylaxies @celeste-hoon @justalildumpling @dammit-jjk
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lofaewrites · 3 months
Text
Goodnight and Go
roommate!eddie munson x f!roommate!reader
★the apartment 42 au★
10.3k words (holy shit)
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hit this 🌆 for the playlist!
A/N→ Hi ya’ll - Happy (almost) Holidays! This came about courtesy of my Spotify day list giving me the best vibes -> tbh this is plot with porn at the end because if I love one thing it’s world-building -Ik this trope/au has been overused but It’s one of my favorites so plz enjoy my take on it!
Thank you to the smut wizard herself @lokis-army-77 for brainstorming with me and betaing alongside @mothmanindisguise & @chrissymjstan 🫶🏻 thank you also to @chrrymunson for his head-cannons I saw and immediately added into this fic (i love ya’ll so much, you always give me inspo and I am eternally grateful for it)
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includes → modern au w/ no upside down! - no y/n!- reader is called“Pidge” (short for Pigeon) - there are so many pet names used in this - fluff - mention of Eddie’s mom- allusion to Eddie being queer - mentions/descriptions of smoking weed - mentions/descriptions of drinking alcohol - sexual tension - masturbation - accidental voyeurism (flashing) - making out - consent checks - fingering - slight softdom!Eddie - Eddie “Big Dick“Munson - Eddie has a Prince Albert- unprotected sex (don’t do that irl) - aftercare - post sex conversations - getting together - stobin being menaces to *society(*Eddie Munson) - to quote that one vine “AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES!”
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Living with Eddie Munson was a crux that you had to bear every waking moment from the minute you moved in last year.  
It began before you had even moved your final box into the second bedroom of his apartment— now your apartment. 
From the moment you came into his orbit at a party your friends were throwing, it was a brief introduction just Hellos and names exchanged. You didn’t get to talk to him again, despite the pull you felt the second your eyes met. 
Then when those same friends (Steve & Robin) had heard you had to break your lease and they told you about his need for a roommate, they  vouched for the metalhead saying “Eddie’s great and i think you guys will get along” was what Steve had said.
And see you did, he’s the perfect roommate, he cleans up after himself, takes the trash and recycling out, always asks if you need anything from the store when he goes, he flips the laundry when you forget and sometimes when he has a day off he cooks.
He’s funny and kind, thoughtful, considerate and honest, always communicating when it matters. 
And to make things worse, he’s hot. Hot like an Indiana summer- eyes warm and intense like the sun in the middle of August, you melt under his gaze, saccharine syrup dripping all over the wood floor below. 
You avoid being under it at all costs, and it's almost easy, easy because he works nights at a dive bar, and you work days at a diner, because you don’t see each other often, the almost part is when you are together you get along well enough, almost too well— at least for you. 
It’s almost easy until it isn’t easy anymore. The bar he works at falls under new management, So he gets to cut back his hours and then he takes up your landlady’s offer of being the building handyman. 
With the new job the rent gets cut, and you celebrate with a bottle of Trader Joe's champagne and a joint passed between clammy hands on the fire escape, glistening in the moonlight.
Eddie’s got nice hands. He’s good with them too—long skilled fingers adorned with rings and calloused tips, evidence of the work done to get to the point he was at. 
It was one of the first things you noticed, from drawing to guitar to fixing things around the apartment. On quiet nights you wonder about what it’d be like to have the line between your rooms blur, you wonder if the goodness and skill extended to other things. 
You sink into the wonder, sticky heat clings to you, to the cant of your hips, whimpers, and whines, the peak and the plummet- 
When the haze clears, once ignited skin goes cold and your consciousness sets in, you feel guilty about thinking of him like that, about how his name is on the tip of your tongue, in the quieter moments.
Because you’re just roommates, just friends? Could you call yourself his friend, right? Was that okay to do? 
Instead of agonizing over it, you think of other things, the little glimpses of getting to know each other. 
Like when you first met, it was at a party thrown by Steve & Robin, the introduction was short—just names and hello’s until you were pulled into another conversation. 
And then the second time you met, it was at Benny’s, the little cafe down the street from the apartment you now shared, 
He was early, you were late, When you got in line to order he surprised you by ordering tea, said he was trying to cut down on caffeine, he made a joke about it with a toothy grin.
The lease paper he brought for you to sign had doodles in the margins when you commented on them he flushed and started to apologize, you stopped him with a compliment, and after that conversation flowed, you mesh easily, get along like a house on fire as your granny would say, 
It happens quickly, quicker than it ever had before, but you crave more than just getting along well little by little, you do become more. Friends, dinner companions, chore buddies, a team in the simplest sense, and yet you still want more.
A hunger lingers in the pit of your stomach, you don’t feed it, resigning yourself to just be roommates, to be the girl he lives with but doesn’t love. 
Deep down, in a place you don’t go, you know it isn’t one-sided, eyes meeting fleetingly, hands that brush in the kitchen, the same hunger is found in his umber-colored eyes. 
It’s something you share, common ground that goes unspoken, is it self-preservation or sabotage? 
The tension isn’t uncomfortable so the two of you don’t talk about it, you’re letting it take its course, your friends have a pool about when the tension will finally bubble over, when the two of you will in their words “get it over already and fuck” Robin and Steve were especially loud about it, but they didn’t understand, they don’t— couldn’t if they tried. 
It was always goodnight and go before, how could it be any other way, even with someone as good as Eddie Munson? 
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Seasons continue to change, summer’s snuffed out and autumn's torch starts to burn brightly, you both settle into new routines, you still work days, and he still works nights, except now it’s only half the week.
Today was a short day for him, 1-5 was what he had written on the communal calendar next to the door.
You worked an opening shift, it was uneventful, with regulars and a few tourists finding their way into the diner, you were scheduled to work 8-4 but it was slow so Joyce had said you could take off early.
Which was nice because you had plans with Robin and Chrissy, it was Friday half-priced drink night at The Rainbow Room.
The bus ride home is spent in comfortable silence, headphones on and hood up protecting you from the chill in the air. 
You let your music melt into the background noise of the bus, you get off at your stop and walk the block down to your building, you say hello to your doorman, His name's Jack, he’s a bit eccentric but still very very nice, Doris told you he’s been working in the building since it opened.
You make it to the steps - 2 flights up the 4 floor walk up to your apartment and your phone buzzes, you stop to look at it, a message from Robin is across your screen 
Bobbie🪿 : Hey! Cece is sick, raincheck on tonight?
Bobbie🪿: Drinks on us next time?!
You groan, the mild disappointment walks into the pit and says “Honey, I’m Home!”, it hangs its hat at the door, but just as fast as it settles, relief bursts through the same door, throws its backpack down on the couch and races up the steps to your chest.
If you thought about it, a night in? It sounds nice, to get crossed on the fire escape, watch YouTube on the TV, and cook dinner for yourself — and Eddie by extension. 
You feel a bit dazed when you finally reach your floor and then at the front door, you dig through your tote bag for your keys, you get them out and unlock the door, you still aren’t used to not having to jiggle the handle to get it to work- Eddie installed a new one at the beginning of the week.
When you make it through the threshold, a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in comes out, and the relief of being home sinks into your bones.
You lean against the door and take your shoes off, putting them in the cubby next to the side table that Eddie likes to call “The Keeper”. A brass octopus holding up a smoothed piece of driftwood, that was found on a trip to the thrift store right after you moved in. 
Every time you think about your year in the apartment you remember another little thing, another moment that led you to where you are now, on the precipice of falling in love, (or at least admitting you are) with your roommate. 
And it all just feels like a horrible cliche, like it's a Hallmark movie and you’re the quirky female protagonist in love with a guy who doesn’t realize it until the end.
You can have an existential crisis later. There are other things to do, important things. 
Like showering— a shower sounds heavenly right now, the feeling of hot water running over your shoulders, untying knots that had been tied in the muscles during your shift.
You pad down the hallway to your room, the soft thump of your footsteps carrying you through the open door, you shut it behind you. 
You walk over to your dresser, the mirror balanced on it reflecting the early evening sun, not yet setting but starting to, you bend down to your drawers, opening and closing them after every piece you grab, everything is thrown onto your bed for later. 
Stripping out of your uniform is quiet, muscle memory keeping your tired arms going. You throw everything into your hamper, you’ll do a load of laundry in the morning. 
There’s a chill from the open window in the kitchen that prickles your skin as soon as you open the door so you make your way to the end of the hall and quickly, taking a moment to stare at the black door across from you before wrenching the door open, walking into the warmth of the bathroom.
You notice his door is open and it makes a small smile creep across your face, he always leaves it open for you, and the fire escapes just beyond his window—after about a month of cohabitating the space, he realized it was your favorite place to unwind.
He leaves the door open because of it. 
It’s where you’ll inevitably end up, you’ll probably have a beverage, smoke, let the haze of a crossfade set in, and watch the sunset in between the buildings.
Your feet hit the soft yellow bath mat as soon as your back is against the door, you step over it and open the shower door, the frosted glass squeaks as you do, once you stand under the shower head you turn to the dial to warm, holding your hand under the spray as it warms up.
Once the temperature feels right you turn and lean into it, and the water washes over you, once dry hair soaks it in, the feeling is heavenly on your tired muscles, the ritual begins, shampoo, conditioner, body wash. The sweat and grime of the day roll off your shoulder, the suds-covered wash cloth is warm against your skin, and you find your mind wandering.
As always it’s to him, the sometimes drop of his tone, his hands, lips, his wide-eyed gaze, eyes that seem to sparkle just for you. He lives rent-free in your mind, the focus of your fantasy.
The pressure in the pit starts to tighten, your fingers itch to move and you don’t stop them, Hands flit down your body, one finding a home on the swell of your breast the other snaking its way in between the plushness of your thighs, you can feel the slickness of water mixed with you.
You dip them into the warmth, and a whimper falls off your lips as you circle your clit, back arched against the tile, you squeeze the pebbled flesh of your nipples, it's not enough, so you move your hand from your nipples to sink two fingers between your folds, even the slight stretch makes your breath hitch, you start to rock against them, soft moans slipping out as you do.
You let yourself imagine that your fingers are his, your brain supplies the sounds he lets out into the dark, the ones he doesn’t know you hear, he sounds so pretty when he moans, the gravelly noises being pulled from deep within.
That’s what tips you over the edge, you fall apart with a cry of his name, and after coming down you wonder if he ever thinks of you the way you do him.
He does. 
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You rinse off and with wobbly legs, you step out of the shower, feet once again hitting the bathmat, this time darkening the fabric with the water rolling off of you, you dry off, hair up in a towel, another wrapped around your body.
You throw the bathmat over the edge of the shower, you hope it dries out before Eddie comes home. 
Getting into your room is easy, and getting dressed is too, towels are hung up on your door frame, and the fresh smell of laundry detergent coming off your clothes hits your nose as you put them on, grabbing the necessary items. 
Your sock-clad feet carry you down the hallway and into the kitchen, you open the fridge to fish out a drink, headphones over your ears and pen in your pocket. 
It’s just chilly enough to need a blanket so you walk over to the couch and grab the one that rests there, it finds a new home over your shoulder. 
The walk back down the hall is quiet, when you get to your destination, your feet slide slightly as you push the door ajar, it reminds you of Eddie who regularly re-enacts that one scene in Risky Business just to make you laugh. 
You stand in the doorway for a minute to take everything in. Posters, banners, and pictures litter the walls, his desk next to his bed, dark wood covered in journals and art supplies, the polaroid of the two of you at a party is tacked to the wall in front of it, next to it are pictures of his band, DnD group, your friends, his uncle, the one picture of him and his mom. 
You stare at the picture of the two of you, two big smiles and half-lidded eyes, arms slung around shoulders—When he first put it up it almost pushed you over the edge, but you held steady. 
Snapping out of it you move to the far side of the room, luckily you don’t drop anything but the window is hard to open with your hands full so you put your things down on the dresser next to it. 
You make it through, sitting on the edge so you can lean back in to grab your stuff. You find your spot on the fire escape, the blanket from the couch is snug around your shoulders, and it smells like him. Makes your heart ache just a little bit more. 
Your headphones are connected now, a playlist drifts through them, and you have one ear off so you can listen to the sounds of the city too. 
They melt together, creating a beat that you hum along to, fingers tapping along to it on the side of the can in your hands, the condensation from it is making your hands cold, so you set it down next to you and dry your hands on the blanket while looking down at the street below you. 
You hit your pen, breathe in, breathe out, the smoke still burns your throat, it probably always will. 
You watch with half-lidded eyes as people walk by, kids who are getting out of school, ladies with baby carriages, businessmen with their briefcases and earpieces, the old men who stand in front of the bodega, smoking cigars and laughing, the restaurant across the street is packed.
It’s Friday night, the sun is going down, and with it, the pavement below you will be illuminated by the streetlights, the neon signs will blink and blanket the city, and you’ll hear the sounds of laughter float through the air from the bar on the corner. 
It’s a peaceful kind of chaos, one you find comfort in. 
It makes you think about Eddie, about how much your life has changed since he’d been in it— He’s good, genuinely good, He cares, makes you feel safe. 
If you pulled back the layers you’d realize you loved him, but you won’t, instead, you daydream- about going through the window back into his room, about curling up in his bed, to let him find you covered in his sheets, to look at you, see you. If only so you could look at him and see him too. 
But you won’t, Even if the hunger howls and scratches the hollow walls of the pit that rests within you. 
You think about him though, think of being surrounded by him, the mix of cigarette smoke, lavender, and pine—from the candle sitting on his dresser, and the aftershave in the medicine cabinet in your shared bathroom.
Sometimes, on evenings like these, you let yourself dream more—about a world where all your things are thrown together like that. Everywhere, your bright colored clothes mixed in with his wall of black. 
You think it’d look like a Jackson Pollock version of The Dark Side of the Moon cover.
It’s not something you like thinking about. You know what that would take, it would risk everything, change everything, you'd have to dig deep, rip your heart out, and offer it to him with bloody open palms. Have to let him in, to see your feelings, and to accept you and them.
The threat of his gaze and potential rejection seems too great, the ever-present buzzing just below the surface of your skin surges at the mere idea of it, the host of hunger in the pit chomping at the bit because the tension between the two of you is on the edge of a fever pitch.
You both know it is, and yet you continue to dance around each other, existing in the same space, neither wanting to be the reason it all bubbles over. 
The temperature seems to have dropped while you were lost in thought, you only realize when a shiver rolls through you, that it’s time to go back inside.
You put your pen into your pocket, throw the blanket through the open window, and start to make your way through it.
The combination of being in your head, having your headphones on, and having a drink in your hand all while trying to crawl out of a window turns out to be a bad one, your feet get caught in the blanket and you lose your balance, the final few sips of your drink spilling all over your shirt.
You groan, throwing the can in Eddie’s trash can as you walk out of his room, you start to pull your sticky shirt off of you as you walk, boobs fully on display when you bump into something hard. 
Wet and hard, you feel the hitch of breath against your bare chest- a wince you’d know anywhere. 
Calloused hands that you were just thinking about on your skin, steadying you after pulling your shirt back down, once your feet and planted on the ground, your eyes open from their scrunch you see a familiar inked bear head. 
It’s not something, it’s Eddie, Eddie who is home, fresh out of the shower, and has just fully seen your boobs. 
Shit.
————————————————
Eddie🎸
It was a good day for Eddie, the train was on time, it wasn’t busy when he clocked in and it stayed that way, the only time-consuming thing was inventory, but as usual he finished earlier than expected, which meant he got to go home early too. 
He likes coming home, likes being in the space the two do you had created, it was still weird, the difference between Eddie living alone to Eddie living with you is stark. 
He’d have the apartment to himself tonight, which in truth felt a little bittersweet, he had gotten used to the nights the two of you spent co-existing in the space, having dinner together, sometimes watching a movie together, 
He loved nights that had you sitting on the couch with your computer and headphones and him in his lazy boy reading or at the table drawing. 
But tonight wouldn’t be like that, instead, he’ll get the “omw home” text, hear the telltale creak of the door sometime after 2 am, the jingle of your keys, the thud and click of a closed and locked door, the deadbolt slide followed by clicking heels that melted into the thump of bare feet down the hallway. 
He’ll hear your door close and the giggles you let out in your drunken state, he’d think about how grumpy you were going to be in the morning, “I’m never drinking tequila again” he’d laugh and hand you a cup of coffee, you’d talk briefly and start your days separately.  
He never said it out loud, but it always comforted him to hear you coming home, to have the routine. Most of all to know you were safe. 
So, he didn't know you were home, didn’t know that your plans got canceled at the last minute —turning your night out into a night in, you had forgotten to text him, the typed-out sitting in limbo in your messages. 
He doesn’t worry though, you’ll check in eventually and he’ll spend the evening half wishing that you were home with him.
That’s what invades his thoughts in the quiet of the train ride home, the 5 pm rush was just about to start, and in another 30 minutes the train would be packed, he once again is very happy about getting off work early.
He keeps thinking about you, about how you brought and continue to bring color into his life, gave him a different kind of home, one that he hadn’t had since he was little, with his mom. 
He often thinks about how the two of you would get along, the last time he went home to Hawkins he told her about you, he still doesn’t know why, but it felt right.
The sound of the conductor saying his stop hits his ears and brings him back to the present, he stands up and walks through the door, the station is empty and it makes it easier to get out and back into the world above.
The sun is starting to set, casting a warmth against the building-covered skyline, this is Eddie’s favorite time of year, the weather is perfect, and the holidays are just around the bend of time.
He makes it to the front of your apartment building, The doorman is absent, probably on his dinner break, Eddie waves to Doris at the front desk, and she smiles. 
The walk up the steps is to the sound of his heavy boots against the steps, they stick slightly, the 4th floor comes quickly, and so does getting to the door, he unlocks it easily, the replacement works perfectly and he feels very smug about it. 
It looks exactly like it had when he left, the window is still open, the curtain fluttering from the draft, he’ll have to close it as soon as he gets himself situated. 
The tall man leans up against the door stumbling slightly as he unlaces his boots, they hit the floor with a thud, he bends down to pick them up and puts them on top of the cubby in their designated milk crate, you made a sign that says “shit kickers only!”  It was the first craft project you had done in the apartment. 
Eddie groans at the feeling of his feet flat on the wood floor, despite his socks being on it’s cold and hard underneath him. 
Even with his shift slashed in half, his back feels tight from hauling the boxes of new inventory, and then having to run errands for the back of house, it could have been worse, but the fact it wasn’t is something he’s grateful for.
He had already planned on showering but with the added ache, it’s even more appealing. The metal head makes his way down the hall and into the bathroom, clothes are pulled off and thrown into the hamper that hangs on the back of the door. 
The bathmat is hung up, he pulls it down and spreads it on the floor, stepping onto it before sliding the door open, the shower smells like your shampoo, and the scent gets caught in Eddie's nose.
It’s comforting, like when you walk into the house and can smell dinner cooking, or the sensation sends a wave of nostalgia over you.
He steps into the rectangular place noticing how the shower head is tilted downwards
You must have taken a shower before you left for work, he was sound asleep then, wished he hadn’t woken up alone. 
He had dreamt about it, about waking up with you, his room, your room—bed too. 
It was a bad idea to be thinking about you while having his hands full(at least in the shower). 
His ring-covered hand is moving the showerhead, all while the tattooed one is turning on the faucet- a face full of water is what he gets instead of a comfortable stream.
Eddie sputters, a loud hacking cough coming out of his mouth, If you were home you’d definitely, yell out of your door to ask if he’s okay.
And when he was dressed and you were in the same room you’d tease him, a knowing smirk on your lips, he’d flip you off and you’d laugh.
Your laugh is like music to his ears, like the first few notes of his favorite song, it sends a spark through him.
The metalhead realizes that he’s been staring at the wall daydreaming almost as long as he’s been under the water, he shakes it off, water runs down his long stands and splashes on the frosted glass next to him.
He tips his head back, hands coming up to get his bangs out of his face, he grabs his shampoo with his eyes closed, popping the cap, closing it, and rubbing his lathered hands onto his scalp. 
He washes his hair quickly, shampoo and then conditioner, his back is slick with it when he decides to grab his toothbrush from the macgyvered holder he made when he first moved in, putting it under the toothpaste dispenser next to it — it’s another thing you’ve teased him about.
He puts it in his mouth and starts brushing, singing Happy Birthday in his head as he does, it’s a carry-over habit from when he was a kid— he thinks you’d probably tease him about that fact too if you knew about it. 
He spits, watches the fluoridated bubbles circle the drain, rinses his toothbrush, and puts it back where it lives in the corner of the shower.  
He grabs his washcloth off the hanger and wets it under the spray, another bottle top popped and closed. The lather of soap on his body was quick, washing away the residual conditioner and the grime of the day. 
As soon as he’s done he slides the door open, carefully, he’d shattered it once when he first moved in and swore to never be careless with it again. 
Stepping out is precarious at best, he has to duck so he doesn't knock his head on the top of the door, he is successful and his head is spared from injury. 
The yellow bath mat is soft beneath his feet, he picks up his towels and leans over to grab the pair of boxers he had stashed on the shelf above the toilet, he dries himself off haphazardly, sliding the blue plaid fabric up his legs, they dampen slightly as he does. He looks at himself in the mirror, his eyes are slightly bloodshot from the mishap with the showerhead earlier, soaking ringlets against his cooling skin makes him shiver.
He looks down at the porcelain of the sink, picks up his hair towel, and plops it on his head. 
This time he’s more deliberate with the way he dries off, scrunching the water out instead of just rubbing it over, normally, he’d put some leave-in, in his hair but it feels good enough, he flips his head and wraps the towel around his hair. 
Shower and Post shower routine is done- which means there’s a choice of what to do next. 
What he wants to do is to get high, raid the snack cabinet, jerk off, and go to sleep. But adulthood means responsibilities and there's a grocery list on the fridge that needs to be filled in and a load of laundry that needs to be done.
Those are things for future Eddie to think about—problems for “Day-Off Eddie”.
He spins on his heel and reaches out for the golden handle in front of him, he opens the door and walks through it, his boxers are slung low on his hips. 
While trying to pull them up, his hair towel falls over his face, it’s why he doesn’t see you at first, until he pulls the towel off of his eyes, and right in front of him is you almost topless, shirt pulled over your head and your arms up.
He can’t stop it, and the two of you collide, chest to chest, well almost. Quick thinking stops it he helps pull your shirt down, his hands bracing your waist, to steady you, His breath hitches, his mouth has gone dry, and he gulps, Adam's apple bobbing as he does. 
He wasn’t alone, you’re home, he saw your boobs, and god if they aren’t better than he had imagined in his dreams. 
“Don’t think about that” is what he screams at himself in his head. 
It doesn’t work. 
Fucked. He’s fucked.
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The first thing you hear after finding your footing is Eddie’s wavering voice “Fuck, shit, Sorry, Pidge I shoulda been watching where I was going”
He huffs out an awkward laugh, it’s on par with the current situation.
You pull back from his grasp, shaking his hands on your waist off, you don’t let yourself think about how they felt on you, how now you know the feeling you’ll crave it. 
You slide your headphones off your ears,  your hands go up after, palms facing him. “It’s okay! Seriously, You didn’t know I was home, I understand why you weren’t”
“Technically we both didn’t know so.. No harm no foul right?” Another awkward laugh falls off of his lips, you stare at them, soft pink and quirked into a slight smile. 
You realize what you're doing and snap your eyes downwards, hoping he hasn’t noticed, but he does. You can feel the shift in the air. And then he leans in, gives into the itch that was crawling its way up his spine, you don’t pull back.
He takes it as a good sign, his hands moving without much thought, fingers finding the spot where they were before— His touch is tender, and you can feel his gaze on you.
You can feel the intensity of it but you don’t see it, instead still staring straight ahead, eyes meeting the swirling black ink adorning his chest.
A hand moves from your hips, calloused fingertips tapping your cheek, a palm cradling your face like you’re something precious. 
“Baby, can you look at me, please” The “Baby” comes out strained, it hits your ears and makes your skin prickle, a first that pulls you to oblige him.
A small part of you dies, its the part that holds the fear of him and his gaze, of potential rejection and loss.
Something else comes alive and clicks into place, the hunger in you swells, bursting into butterflies, their wing beats moving you towards him, your hands find his forearms. 
His eyes are so dark, pupils dilated, lust held in deep brown pools, they remind you of the black coffee he drinks in the morning.
He starts to back you up against the wall, and you let him, all while keeping eye contact, it felt like a magnet was hanging in the air between you, and you couldn’t look away. 
“Is this okay?” He asks as he takes a breath, the warmth of it on your lips makes you shiver, you nod and he dives in. 
The second your lips touch time seems to slow down, like molasses it sticks the clock’s hands together, not letting them move, his kiss is light, but as it goes on he grows hungry, and you meet him in it. 
His lips are soft, just like you thought they would be, his tongue slips over the seam of your lips, he’s asking again, and your answer is the same.
He tastes like cigarette smoke, mint, and something you know you’ll never taste in any other kiss. 
He tastes like love, licking into your mouth he paints you, like a wine stain on a dress you’ll never be able to wear again. 
You’ll never be the same again, you think you’re better for it. 
He pulls back the hand on your cheeks and shifts back down to your waist, you whine at the loss of warmth, and he lets out a low chuckle at the sound. 
The dampness of his hair has melted into the shoulder of your shirt, it’s cold- makes your once-open eyes squeeze shut, and you whimper at the chill it sends through you. “Shhh, It’s okay sweetheart”  
He taps your hip and you jump for him, wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s easy. like you’ve done it hundreds of times before, strong hands holding you securely at the crease of your thighs, you feel like something shifts into place, just from being this close to him.
There’s a hardness that pushes against you, a shiver rolls down your spine, knowing exactly how you are affecting him. 
He turns towards his door, keeps his hold on you, and walks with careful precision through the threshold and into his room.
You make it to the corner of the room to his bed, he sets you down on it, and you bounce slightly, your body being jostled into the middle of it. Your eyes flutter shut as you take in the feeling of being in his bed, it’s better than you dreamed it would be, softer than expected. The smell of him surrounding you makes you feel dizzy.
You feel the bed dip, he pulls you up to him and slides your headphones off your neck, shifting to put them down on his desk next to him. 
Then there are arms caging you in so you can’t move, he’s staring at you again, no doubt with the same hungry gaze- you feel his hand on your face again, his touch is rougher than before, but still, he holds you like you're special. 
You open your eyes but you don’t look at him, again fixing your gaze on his chest in front of you there’s a rose on his ribcage that you didn’t know he had. You wondered why it was yellow instead of red, maybe you’d ask him later.
The call of your name breaks your focus on it, Eddie’s timbre-tinged voice floats into your ears. 
“Hey Sweetheart, need you to look at me, need to see those pretty eyes again,” 
You listen, it’s against your better judgment because the sight above you makes your brain feel fuzzy,  he’s flushed, pink down to his neck, eyes blown wide, and his chain is dangling in front of your face. Between the hallway and you being on the bed he’s put his hair up in a bun, his shoulders are still wet from before. 
“There you are, pretty girl, listening so well” He leans into your space, balancing himself against the headboard behind you, the handcuffs hung on it jingle as he moves.
“Can I kiss you again, Baby?” 
You nod and he tuts at you with a wolfish smile on his lips. “Nuh uh, You gotta tell me for real“ he leans in closer, lips right next to your ear,  “Use your words.” 
You whine at his request, and you feel exposed like he can see right through you, into the inner workings of your being, your desires right on your face, 
“Yes, please. Please kiss me, Eddie”
“As you wish” he moves fully into your space, his lips slat against yours again, it’s a messy kiss, tongue, and teeth included, he’s kissing you like he’s starving and you're just what he was in the mood to eat. 
You giggle realizing that even in the heat of the moment he leans into your inside jokes- He’s quoting The Princess Bride before he kisses you, just because he knows he’ll make you laugh.
He pulls back slightly, humming words against your lips in between kisses “There’s my favorite sound, music to my ears, Baby” 
He pulls back again, far enough to where the tips of your noses touch, “I bet you’ve got prettier noises you can make though, I wanna hear them”
He experimentally moves his knee in between your legs, and slides them apart to make room for himself, the friction pulls an involuntary moan from you, Eddie chuckles “Just like I thought, Beautiful.”
You look at him and raise your hips, you can feel the hardness underneath his boxers on the inside of your thigh— Eddie groans at the pressure on his aching length. 
“You sound pretty too, like I thought.” 
“You thought about me huh? What else did you think about, Angel?”
You hum, reaching out for him to come back to you, this time he doesn’t make you speak instead he finds your lips, his kiss is deeper than before, and he licks into your mouth again, but breathes in your air as he does, you’ll have to pull away breathless if he wasn’t careful.
But he is careful, he slows down, and moves down to your neck just as his hand does, fingertips gliding down the soft skin, he stops just above your shorts, looking up at you with a quirked brow.
You grab his hand, sliding it underneath your shorts to reach where you need it most. 
“Thought about this, I like your hands, fingers most- so good with them,” you mumble the last part, he still hears you. 
The man lets out a breathy laugh against your neck, the warmth of it tickles you. “My hands huh? That can’t be all you think about—Tell me more baby.”
A whimper comes out of you and cuts through his sentence, his fingers finding your clit and circling it.
“Think about you touching me, your hands all over”
Eddie nips at your collarbone and moves his hand down more, letting two deft tips slide to breach your folds.
You keen and the touch, bucking into it, he stops your hips with his, pressing you further into the mattress.  
“What do you want me to do with my hands, Baby, since you like 'em so much.”
“Touch me please, please Eddie“ 
He moves his hand back up and taps your clit making you jolt as he responds, “I am touching you, Angel” it’s so condescending and just fans the fire burning in you.
You squirm trying to get him to do what you want without having to use your words again, it works because suddenly his fingers are plunged into you, and the stretch makes you moan louder than before, he curls them and it draws another one out of you.
“Singin’ so pretty for me, little bird.”  he moves his head back up to whisper in your ear 
“God you’re so tight and wet, I know you’re gonna feel so good wrapped around me”
His words pull the string in your stomach at both ends, you writhe under his touch, and he speeds up his movements, the soft sounds falling off your lips only embolden him. 
He kisses right on your pulse point, sucking the flesh, you know it will leave a bruise, his already present mark coming to physical fruition.
You experimentally rock your hips against his hand, and with each buck, his palm hits exactly where you need it to. 
He presses another kiss to the column of your throat and smiles, praises flowing from his lips to your ears, you never knew how good you could feel from words alone. 
The dip of his tone and vibration against your jaw makes you cry out, hips bucking faster without your permission. 
“That’s it, sweet girl, take what you need, I’ve got you.” 
You shake your head, not wanting the building tension to snap yet. Eddie has other plans, he moves his hand, taking his palm away from you and replacing it with his thumb as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of you. 
“Look at me. I wanna see you when you cum.” 
When your eyes meet, is when you realize the rope is fraying, you can hear the fever pitch boiling up in you, the feelings of pleasure and fear creshedo and you fall apart with Eddie’s name on your lips.  
He kisses you soundly, drinking in your noises, like he wants to taste his name on his lips. Later he tells you that is exactly why he did it, and you’ll laugh.
When he pulls away he lets a deep breath out, it fans your face and makes you shiver, he leans down to kiss your cheek. 
He pulls his fingers out of you, they’re slick with the aftermath of your high, sticky— he puts them in his mouth and sucks. 
“Taste so sweet, think you might give me cavities” 
He smiles down at you, it reaches his eyes and accentuates the blush on the balls of his cheeks
“You did so good, sounded so pretty for me, Baby” The look in his eye is hard for you to read, is it lust, adoration, or a mix of the two, you settle on the latter. 
“Do you want to keep going?”  Eddie’s voice is soft, not pressuring, not demanding. It’s a question, his earnestness about your comfort throws you off a bit.
The aftershocks of your orgasm have left you shaky but your voice is steady “Yes.” 
“Okay.”  It sounds like a promise, to take care of you, cherish you, a promise to worship, serve, and praise. 
He pushes off the bed and up onto his knees, his eyes don’t leave you, he’s taking everything in, the way the final rays of the sunset illuminate the freckles on your cheeks, the small wrinkles in your brow, the light accentuates your kiss bitten lips. 
You're beautiful, and in this moment, you're his, just as he is yours, as he will be after and he was before. 
You hadn’t noticed but Eddie didn’t date anymore, he didn’t go out and bring some girl or guy home from the bar, he didn’t talk about the horrible dates he’d go on, because there weren’t any to speak of. 
It was subconscious, he now realizes, the pull to you cut off any interest in another person, even if there was a small spark, the fire in him was already warring within him for you. 
You had done the same thing, but of course, neither of you knew about it.  
He leans over you, his chain is again in your face, and you bite your lip to stifle the sound coming up your throat. 
The lean muscles of his arms flex above your head, and you are hit in the face with the scent of him—body wash and the distinct tinge of perspiration from the activities you partook in and the heat being on in his room. 
After about a minute he gets the drawer open and rummages through it. “AHA!—Got it” he pulls back, leaning over you again this time there's a golden square in between his teeth, he grabs it from his mouth, looking down at it he sees the expiration date - 12/20/20XX.
It’s almost a year out of date, He knows what the date was- It was the day he realized he had feelings for you, an epiphany on a winter's day when the heat was out and you and he were snowed into the apartment. 
“Oh fuck.” You can hear the grimace on his face before you can see it. 
You look up from his chest and see it, you are right, even with his brows furrowed and his lip between his teeth, he looks so pretty. 
“What’s up?” Your voice comes out shaky, the world feels fuzzy around the edges, dream-like in just the right way.
“Condoms expired and I know that the other ones are too.” 
He tosses the condom out into the dark of his room, his arms caging you again, the warmth radiating off of them heats your skin. 
“Do you want to stop? We can just hang out, make out, maybe smoke if yo-“
You push up on your palms to get to him, your lips are almost touching, and the “No.” falls off them easily, you kiss him and he stiffens slightly.
That is until the feeling of your lips on his seems to register and he leans into it, licking into your mouth until both your lungs burn for air. 
Your noses are touching when he pulls away, his eyes are blown with that look again, the one that you spent so long hiding from.
You're both trying to catch your breath, just staring at each other, his brows furrowed as he falls into deep thought.
“Are-Are you sure?” His voice is raw, it comes out as a whisper against your cheek. He's just so sweet, it makes you feel dizzy at how much he cares about your comfort, about this being a good experience. For both of you.
“Yes. Eddie, please, need you.” You try not to whine when you speak but it breaks through in his name, he nods, leaning back on his knees again, and he taps your hip for you to raise them. 
You oblige him, pushing them up into his open palms, the feeling of his rings kissing your still-heated skin sends a shiver through you, he’s careful as he pulls back your shorts, the underwear you had on was now damp, and another shiver comes from the feeling of being exposed to the open air.
Eddie’s looking down at you, eyes fixed on your core, the puffiness from his touch, the slick that was sliding down the sides of your thighs from the lack of a barrier, his lip is between his teeth, and he’s stifling a groan. 
“God, there isn’t a single part of you that isn’t pretty.” His hands go to the waistband of his boxers, you move yourself up straighter, you move his hands, and there's a question in your gaze, he nods again, swallowing hard enough to make his Adam's apple bob, and you want to bite it.
Your fingers brush over his happy trail, his breath hitches at the contact, you pull the blue fabric down, and your eyes blow wide when you see what the boxers have been hiding, his dick is big. Long and thick, it curves a little to the left, a vein runs up the shaft, and nestled in the tip are two gunmetal balls. Your mouth opens but no words come out, just a squeak.
Your fingers itch to touch him, and you ghost the tips over the tip, grazing the skin between the metal balls. Eddie bites his lip, a moan hiding behind his teeth. 
“Before you ask, Yes, it did hurt.” He leans down, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear. 
“Pain was  a small price for pleasure, Baby, you’ll see” A shiver rolls through you from his tone. 
He moves back to look down at you, his gaze is soft, and his touch is gentle.--He's being so sweet. so caring, that it turns the heat on underneath your skin.
“You okay, sweet girl? What’s with that look huh?” You can hear the smirk on his lips, he seems to take pride in the way he affects you. 
“Mhm, just- just want you, please Eddie” You pull his hips down to meet yours, the feeling of him bare on you lights up your nerves.
“You’ve got me, Anyway you want.”  He kisses you soundly, his tongue runs along the seam of your lips, you let him in, his kiss is sweet, in a way you’ve never experienced before, you let yourself fall into it, into being with him, freefalling while knowing at the end you’ll be caught.
When the air runs out you come apart, Eddie’s eyes hold a question, “Is this okay?” “are you sure?” You nod at him and he takes a deep breath, one hand moving from its place next to your hip.
He lines himself up with you,, He runs his member up and down your folds,  the metal of his piercing against your heated skin gives you goosebumps.
After spending a minute looking down at where you’ll soon be connected, he pushes in, taking it slow so he doesn’t hurt you, the stretch is enough to make you whine, and the sound is followed by a moan from the man above you. 
He bottoms out with a groan “Oh fuck, so tight, like a fucking vice squeezing me”  his breath is ragged enough to let you hear just how much you're affecting him. 
His breathing is heavy as he starts to rock his hips, the pain of the stretch is turning to pleasure.  
“You feel so good, Baby. Bein’ so good for me” his voice is muffled, each word falling between the kisses he’s leaving up your neck.
He gets to your lips, grinding his hips experimentally as he does, he hits the spot inside of you, a broken moan falls into his mouth, he swallows it and smiles against your lips.
You reach your hands out for him, and he takes them, fingers interlocking easily, the shift presses you back further into the mattress, and him deeper into you, you wrap your legs around his hips to keep him there. 
Eddie’s hips still until he can adjust to the new feeling, when he finally starts to move again the feeling of the balls of his piercing hitting your cervix overtakes you, all you can do is melt into the feeling of pleasure, soft moans and the slick of skin on skin has invaded the air surrounding the two of you is overwhelming. 
“Eddie, fuck, f-faster please” Your moans are loud, words breaking through with a breathlessness that's new to you.
“You want it faster? You sure you can handle that, baby?” He coos at you, it makes you squeeze around him. 
“Oh fuck, You really wanna prove it to me huh? You keep squeezing me like that m’ not gonna last” he speeds up his thrusts just like you asked, and you can feel the crest building up from the way he’s splitting you open. 
He’s all you can feel, all you can see, and smell, every sense is overtaken by him and his touch.
Between your moans and his, his name spoken like a mantra and his praises, you never realized sex could feel like this. 
That you could connect like this from it. With every buck, Eddie was tying himself to you, with every roll of your hips you become more tangled up. There is no end in sight between the two of you. 
Eddie moves his hands, letting go of yours and moving them around his neck, you use the closeness to your advantage, kissing him hard—it’s all tongue, teeth, and swallowing each other's moans. In the moment you're glad that you're in the last apartment on the floor.
This time you’re the one who pulls back, taking a deep breath that turns into a high-pitched whine you didn’t know you could make.
You look up at Eddie, he’s all flushed cheeks and kiss-bitten lips, his eyes are blown wide, the chocolate color illuminated by the soft 
You think he looks beautiful. He thinks the same about you.
The pressure has started to build low in your belly, the string is almost pulled taught, fraying at the edges all over again. 
“Ed-Eds, I’m-“You don’t get to finish your sentence because Eddie kisses you, licks into your mouth, and your tongues dance against each other as the fever pitch grows nearer. 
You squeeze around him and his hips stutter,  his movements turning into longer, deeper strokes, you wonder if this is what it’s like to make love. 
“C’mon, sweet girl, cum with me, wanna feel that perfect pussy soak me” his voice is honeyed and thick, husky in a way that makes you buck your hips up into him, his hand goes down, fingertips finding a home on your clit, he rubs small circles in time with his thrusts. 
It’s the perfect combination. You fall over the edge with his name on your lips, your name on his, pleasure crashing over you and dragging you down like a wave.
The two of you stay like that for a while, letting your breathing even out, he’s staring at you again and for the first time, you don’t feel the need to look away. 
When the high wears off and the sweat cools you know it’s time to separate, to move on to the next part of your night, a night that will serve as a turning point for the two of you. 
You gingerly unwrap your legs from around Eddie's waist, he moves back and pulls out of you, watching his breath leak out of your puffy hole, he runs his fingers through it. The sight of your cum mixed makes something squeeze inside his chest.
Time for clean up and aftercare, because as Eddie will say later “Only douchebags cum & go” 
You whine when he pulls away completely, he gets up on shaky feet, waiting until he’s steady before walking around his bed to you. 
He leans down to kiss you, it’s halfway between a peck and a full kiss, slow and gentle, a stark contrast from how he had just been kissing you. Your cheeks flush at the thought of what had just happened. 
When he leans back he brushes your hair off of your sweat-covered forehead so he can memorize the look on your face. 
“Beautiful.”  His voice is fond,adoring even. Something you aren’t ready to name hangs in the air after he speaks. 
He walks over to his dresser, a washcloth sits on top, next to the water bottle he had forgotten to put in his bag in the morning. 
Uncapping the water bottle he wets the fabric, puts the dry end in his mouth, and grabs 2 clean pairs of boxers and one of his shirts. 
He walks over to his bed, and the sight of you on your side watching him makes the squeeze tighter.
He sits down on the bed by your feet, putting the clothes down in the corner and taking the washcloth out of his mouth. 
“You okay, sweetheart?” His empty hand goes to your hip, the nudge of it makes you turn back onto your back. 
You murmur something that sounds like a yes, so he continues. 
He's careful with the amount of pressure he puts on you as he wipes away the wetness, but you wince anyway, closing your legs and trapping his hand. 
“I know, I’m sorry, I wore you out huh?” He chuckles at you, and you swat at him for it. 
He pries your legs back open, moves his hand back, and throws the washcloth into his hamper.
Leaning over he grabs the T-shirt and boxers he got for you, he helps you sit up and pulls the T-shirt over your head, when you're wearing it he leans down to kiss you.
He wonders if he’ll ever get used to the feeling, the spark that comes from your lips touching. 
You both put on the boxers and lay back down, he wraps his arms around you and you settle into his hold, the thump of his heart underneath your ear is calming. 
“Was everything we did okay with you? I didn’t hurt you right?” As he talks his fingertips draw patterns on your hip. 
“Yes and you didn’t hurt me, I—I enjoyed all of it to be honest.” 
He hums above you, pressing a kiss to your forehead and taking a deep breath before speaking again. 
“I know that we aren’t doing this in the most “right way” but if you’d let me I’d like to formally take you out on a date, and do the whole wining and dining thing.”
You laugh, nuzzling your face further into his chest, 
“Ya know I’d probably be offended if you didn’t ask me. Considering I have a ‘Perfect Pussy’ and all “ 
Eddie’s fingers stiffen against your waist as if he’s suppressing an urge, the urge seems to win because suddenly you’re being tickled. 
Eddie’s not merciful with his actions, the giggles that start from them end in a high-pitched “STOP” He, he listens hands now on to your waist again, this time flipping you on top of his chest, and a small “oof” comes out of you, it’s a snoopy situation, and Eddie is your doghouse.
“I’m glad you were home.” Your voice is quiet, just quiet enough that even in the quiet of Eddie’s room, your words will only reach him.  
He presses another kiss to your forehead and whispers against it in the same tone. “I’m glad you were home too.”
“I’m always happy you’re home. Nothing felt like it before you.” 
“I love you” is what he means. 
His heartbeat against your cheek adds to the growing feeling in your chest, butterflies beat against your ribs.
“Me too.” You tilt your head up and catch his lips in a chaste kiss. 
“I love you too” is what you're saying. 
Soon you fall asleep in each other's arms, legs tangled, heartbeats melding together. 
In the morning, he’s still there, still holding you and you know there won’t be any more ‘Goodnight and Go’s’.
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It’s late November, another Friday night and the holidays are rolling in, soon the city will be covered in snow. 
You and Eddie have been together for a couple of weeks, but no one knows yet, you’d decided to flesh things out away from the prying eyes of your friends.
You created a bubble, a world that only exists within the confines of your apartment, you moved most of your stuff into Eddie’s room, your stuffed animals sat side by side, Eddie’s dragon and your teddy bear. 
All the other ones are living securely in the plushie hammock Eddie put in your old room, the one that now functions as a fuck around/guest room, your desks are set up side by side, and your old bed is parallel to them. 
Everyone's coming over for Friendsgiving dinner, You’ll tell everyone over dessert. 
When you went over the logistics of everything Eddie had groaned about how Dustin was going to yell at him, which meant the rest of the “sheepies” would too, and then there were “The Wonder Twins”— A name Eddie had come up with that unfortunately for them had stuck. 
Robin and Steve, From the moment they had brought you into the fold, had been pushing you and Eddie together, both before you became roommates and in the year after. 
They were going to be insufferable unless you told them first. 
So you called and asked them if they could come over to help set things up since it was such an undertaking to host. 
And It wasn’t your fault, the way they found out. It was Eddie's. He can’t keep his hands off you on a normal day. And it was only made worse because of the impending time of “NO PDA” — at least until after your announcement. 
So they walk in on the two of you, making out in front of the mac and cheese that Eddie had made. 
Robin comes through the door first, the tote bag on her shoulder that is no doubt full of alcohol, she takes one look at the two of you and back at Steve and then she screams, “PAY UP JACKASS, PAY UP! I WAS RIGHT!” She puts her palm out flat towards him. 
Steve groans, having walked through the door behind his best friend, he makes a beeline to put down the tray of mashed potatoes & pie basket he was carrying in his hands.
“You guys couldn’t wait till Christmas could you, you just had to get together right before I won the bet!” He throws his hands up, his voice has an exasperated lit to it, one you knew was only for the sake of teasing.
You and Eddie fall into a fit of giggles, his arms pulling you into his side, the cold of his ringed fingers pricking the skin under your shirt. 
“It was inevitable, She’s just so cute” he presses a kiss to the crown of your head and mumbles his next words low enough so only you can hear him. 
“It’s impossible to ignore her, believe me, I tried.” 
You hum, a smirk dancing onto your lips, you stand on your tiptoes so you can kiss him, and he smiles into it. 
Steve and Robin both gag and then laugh along with you, they're happy for the two of you, and that’s what matters most. 
Dinner goes well, and the reactions of the party, the boys, and everyone else who came by are the same. They all embrace you and congratulate you on finding something together. For finding love- because even if the words haven’t been spoken, it can be seen, and felt in a crowded room. 
You're falling in love. Impossibility be damned. 
688 notes · View notes
tightjeansjavi · 17 days
Text
The Rite of Movement | part four
“so move me, baby”
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A/N: so like the little slut that I am…I was kicking my feet and giggling at my desk yesterday while writing this 🤭 I surprise myself with just how filthy I can get, woo doggy! Please read the warnings and if this isn’t your cup of tea, just scroll on by baby love! No harm 💗 thank you to my bug @strang3lov3 for the moodboard!! I love u so much & a big thank you to @itsokbbygrl for betaing 🥺
~word count: 6.4k~
Summary: you meet Tommy Miller for the first time, and he takes you for a spin ;)
Pairing | pornstar!joel x pornstar!tommy x pornstar!female reader
Warnings: smut, fluff, established relationship, Joel is in his 40’s, reader is in her 30’s, mentions of alcohol and smoking, consent, unprotected piv, fingering, pussy play, f!masturbation, semi-public sex, reader and Tommy fuck and Joel’s into it, amateur porn video in the back of Tommy’s truck, language, filthy talk, praise kink, daddy kink, over stimulation/fucked out, light degradation (by Tommy but in a sexy non-offensive way), dumbification kink (endearing), readers nickname is baby love, reader has no physical descriptions, reader, Joel, and Tommy, are sexually liberated individuals, NSFW, +18 minors dni! Please let me know if I missed anything!
playlist🎧 series masterlist
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“Joel…” you trailed off, picking at a loose thread on your denim skirt absentmindedly. “What if your brother doesn’t like me?” You questioned in an unsure tone.
He turned to face you, leaning over the dashboard while he rested his elbow along the steering wheel, “baby love, you ain’t got nothin’ to be worried about with my brother, okay? Think y’all are gonna get on like a house fire.” He winked in an attempt to soothe your budding nerves. “What about meetin’ him is gettin’ ya all worked up? Talk to me, darlin.’”
He gently grasped your bare knee in his big, warm, palm.
“This is going to sound so fucking stupid, Joel. But what if he finds me annoying—repulsive? I always get nervous when I’m meeting new people. I’m surprised I didn’t completely shit a brick when I first met you for instance.” You stifled a nervous laugh as you looked over at him.
He gave you that warm reassuring smile of his, dimples peeking through as he gently squeezed your knee. “Y’all are gonna get on just fine, ‘Kay? And listen, between you and me, Tommy and I—we uh—we discussed the possibility of the three of us filmin’ somethin’ together at some point. Now, there ain’t no rush for any of that, okay? Last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable or pressured to get along with him.”
Your pupils dialated, thighs clenching inwards at the prospect of fucking…Tommy? Holy fuck—was this real life?
“You, and Tommy—fucking me?” You spluttered out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. There was no denying that Tommy Miller was a real hunk, with the personality of a horny golden retriever. He was the complete opposite of Joel, but that intrigued you nonetheless.
“Only if you’d be interested in that, baby love. You don’t gotta decide right now, okay? Tonight’s all about you. If you’re feelin’ my brother, I want you to act on it only if you’re comfortable. He’s a real looker, but I’ve made sure that he’s a good Texas gentleman.” Joel reassured you as he was silently trying to gauge how you were feeling thus far based off your body language.
“And you’d be okay with him and I…?” You trailed off, meeting his gaze as you reached for his hand on your knee, interlocking your fingers through his.
“Of course I would be. I’m not gonna get weirdly jealous or possessive if you want to fuck my brother, baby love. That’s why I wanted to have this conversation with you ahead of tonight, because Tommy? He’s interested, but I told him to let you feel it out, and to not spring it on ya right away.”
He watched the subtle clench of your inner thighs, your pupils blown wide and your lips parting. He knew you were turned on by the prospect of fucking his brother, and your arousal inherently turned him on as well.
He dropped his forearm from its resting spot along the steering wheel and brought his hand to your other knee where he proceeded to coax your thighs open just a tad. You didn’t need much coaxing at all as your thighs naturally parted open, thoughts running wild.
“Look at me, baby love.” He rasped, rubbing soothing circles into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Is the thought of fucking my brother turnin’ you on, darlin?’ Ya drippin’ all pretty for him already?”
“Fuck.” You breathed out, eyes rolling back into your skull. Joel had barely even touched you yet, and you were leaking like a damn faucet through the gusset of your thin panties. You could feel a droplet of your arousal drip down and create a wet patch through the fabric. Your eyes met his, lower lip harshly taken between your teeth, pupils darkened like an oncoming storm, blown wide like a doe’s.
“I never thought the possibility of fucking your brother would arise, Joel. It’s like—a fantasy coming true.” You breathed out, head lolling to the side, “I think he has such a nice fucking cock.”
Joel preened, leaning the upper half of his body further over the center console as his fingers trailed closer to your covered core. He could feel you pulsing already, the anticipation of being touched igniting a fire in your veins the closer his fingers drew nearer.
“A fantasy come true, huh? You think about my brother a lot, baby love? S’okay if you do. Got yourself all worked up now…almost creating a mess on the seat with how fuckin’ wet your pussy is gettin’, baby.”
You whined out his name, letting yourself fully succumb to your depraved thoughts of fucking Tommy. Your brain felt fried, imploded to complete mush, and yet your Joel didn’t show a lick of judgment towards your arousal. In fact, he encouraged it and therefore you had no reason to feel shameful.
“Why don’t you get me all ready for him, Joel. C’mon baby, please. Play with me a little. Play with my pussy while I think about fucking your brother’s cock, Joel.” You shamelessly shifted your hips towards his hand, chasing his touch with unabashed desire.
He checked the time on his watch, a coy smirk playing on his sinful lips as he looked over at you, “Think we can afford to be fashionably late, baby love.”
-
Joel and Tommy’s local watering hole was exactly how you expected it to be: not the classiest, and certainly not your first pick, but if Joel were any other man, you would have hightailed out of there. But this was your Joel, and his warm palm guiding you to a booth that was tucked away in the corner. You were grateful for the outfit that you chose to wear for the evening could grant easy access. And with the residue of your release still coated between your thighs, you felt the trepidation and anticipation of what was to happen when Tommy would inevitably show up.
The thought had you buzzing all over again as you found yourself tucked into the wall seat of the booth, Joel’s hand finding purchase around your bare thigh as he leaned in, the tip of his aquiline nose brushing against your pulse point.
“Want anythin’ to drink, baby love? Or just water for now?” He rasped low and deep, sending goosebumps rising on your skin.
“Tequila, on the rocks.” You purred out your request, gripping on the edge of the booths worn leather for dear life.
“‘Kay, baby love. One tequila on the rocks comin’ right up.” He pressed a sweet kiss to the side of your face, leaving a whiff of his cologne and musk on your skin.
You watched as he slipped out of the booth and made his way over to the bartop, sleeves rolled up revealing broad, tan, forearms. His fingers that had only just been plunged deep into your pulsing cunt twenty minutes ago, were now casually flipping through a stack of twenties.
“S’cuse me, ma’am. This seat ain’t taken, is it?”
You peered up from your phone at the sound of the stranger's all-too familiar voice. A deep Texas drawl straight out of a western film, paired with two dark espresso colored eyes, a broad nose, and a head of dark, luscious curls that fell in ringlets.
Tommy fucking Miller, and that shit eating smirk of his that sent your thighs clenching together in tandem.
Holy—I need a glass of water.
“Oh, no. It’s not taken. Please, sit down.” You gestured to the empty seat across the booth with a nervous smile.
Tommy slipped into the booth with ease and reached behind his ear and pulled out a single cigarette, twirling it between his fingers before he placed it between his lips. He reached across the booth's table, hand outstretched in your direction. “Y’must be my big brother’s baby love. M’Tommy, the hotter Miller brother. It’s a pleasure to finally meet ya.”
You blinked, registering in your brain that Tommy Miller was in fact sitting across from you and looking like a goddamn snack nonetheless.
You reached for his hand, shaking it firmly, “charmed.” You grinned.
“Damn. And she’s polite too? My brother got the whole package with ya huh, sweetheart?” He chuckled smoothly, shaking your hand a moment longer before he retracted his. “Y’don’t mind if I smoke do ya?”
“Oh, no. Of course! I don’t mind.”
He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulled out his lighter, lighting the cigarette with ease before he leaned back against the worn leather cushion, stretching his arm to rest along the backside of the booth, long fingers stretched out—flexing.
“Where’s the son of a bitch anyway?” Tommy asked casually, the lit end of the cigarette dipping downwards between his lips.
“He’s right here.” Joel had returned with your tequila on the rocks, and two glasses of neat whiskey. He slid one over to his brother with a small nod. “And you can’t smoke in here, Tommy.” Joel reminded him as he slid into the seat next to you.
“Says who? Doreen don’t give a damn.” Tommy quipped back as he reached for his glass, tipping it in yours and Joel’s direction.
“That’s cause Doreen’s got the fattest fuckin’ crush on you and that big head of yours.” Joel scoffed against the rim of his glass taking a sip before he turned his attention towards you. “Gotcha a water as well, baby love.”
“Who the hell you callin’ a big head, huh?” Tommy wiggled his eyebrows playfully and grasped the cigarette between his two fingers, replacing it with the rim of his glass as he took a sip. “How’s y’all’s evenin’ goin’ so far? Gettin’ into any trouble?”
“Believe I called you a big head, Tommy.” Joel chuckled, letting his free arm gently drape across your shoulders, squeezing them gently as you took a sip of your tequila on the rocks, letting the liquor burn down your throat and warm your stomach. “S’goin’ pretty good. First time baby loves been here, ain’t that right?”
You didn’t register that Joel was talking to you, his voice sounding fuzzy in your ears as you took a bigger sip of your drink. “What?” You questioned softly, being brought back down to earth when you felt his warm palm gently squeeze your shoulder. The heat rose to your cheeks fast and you cleared your throat, turning your face to the side to hide how flustered you were.
“Whatcha ya gettin’ all shy on us for, sweetheart? You don’t gotta do that with us. I swear, I don’t bite, unless ya want me to.” Tommy said with a coy wink.
“She’s just a lil’ bashful is all, cause on the way here she was—”
You cut Joel off, squeezing his bicep firmly in your palm. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom really quick, okay?” You kissed his cheek sweetly, and before he could even get up from the booth, you were slipping past him when you saw an opening.
Joel and Tommy both watched as you quickly walked to the nearest bathroom before they looked back at one another. Tommy took a long drag of his cigarette when Joel spoke again,
“She’s got the hots for you, little brother. She made a goddamn mess all over my fingers on the way here cus’ she was thinkin’ about your cock.” Joel said in a hushed, low tone.
Tommy’s brows raised as he leaned over the table, resting his cigarette off to the side. “Fuck. Y’serious? Goddamn. She make a mess all over the seat too? Bet she fuckin’ did.”
“Mhmmm.” Joel hummed, leaning back against the seat. “She told me that you have a nice fuckin’ cock.” He chuckled, shaking his head to the side before he leaned forward, “Now, when she gets back here after composing herself, I want you to flirt with her a bit. Let her come to you, okay? Y’gotta play nice with her, Tommy. She’s a sweet thing, and I know y’all are gonna get along jus’ fine.”
“Good god.” Tommy said lowly, holding back a groan. “You hit the fuckin’ jackpot with that one, Joel. I’ll play nice with her, scouts honor. Y’know I’ll take extra good care of her.”
“I know you will. She jus’ couldn’t believe it when I said that you and I discussed the possibility of filmin’ a video with her. Absolutely blew her fuckin’ mind with that one. But god, she looked so pretty all flustered and turned on thinkin’ about the two of us fuckin’ her.” Joel reached for his glass, swirling the amber liquid around and took another slow sip.
“Fuck, I bet she did look goddamn gorgeous like that. You got yourself a real filthy and nice girl, Joel. A man’s fuckin’ dream, you lucky son of a bitch. Don’t think I’ve ever seen your grumpy ass smile that much in my whole life. It’s refreshin’ seein’ you grinnin’ like a sinner in church.” Tommy chuckled warmly.
Joel preened as he thought about you. “She’s really amazing, Tommy. She’s been so supportive and brave, and we’re having so much fun with it. It’s been so long since work has felt fun, you know? Who’d’ve thought fucking would get old.” He chuckled with a small grin playing on his lips and a flush rising on his cheeks. “Never really met anyone quite like her, honestly.”
“Goddamn. Who’s in here choppin’ up the fuckin’ onions, huh? Fuck. You’re in love with her, ain’t ya? That’s amazing. I’m seriously so fuckin’ happy for you, Joel.”
“Fuck.” Joel said suddenly, feeling his heart lurch in his chest. “Shit. Yeah—I think, I think I am in love with her. It’s not too soon, is it? I mean—we jus’ we get eachother. I’ve never felt more comfortable with another person before. She gets me, Tommy. The real me. She sees my heart before she sees my job, and no other woman in my life has ever seen me in that light.” He sniffles, feeling tears prick the corner of his eyes at his emotional confession.
“Yeah, you got the love bug bad, brother. Really, really, bad. But y’know what? I know you ain’t bluffin’ about this one either. You’re speakin’ from your goddamn heart. I hear it in your voice, and that’s a beautiful fuckin’ thing, Joel. Cus’ if anyone deserves love in this world, it’s you. So you keep holdin’ onto that, ‘Kay?” Tommy said earnestly and reached across the table to gently squeeze Joel’s shoulder
“Shuddup, Tommy. Or you’re really gonna make me cry.” Joel chuckled through his tears, quickly wiping at his eyes. “I’m gonna keep holdin’ onto her for as long as she’ll have me. I’m hopin’ she’s endgame for me.”
“I reckon she will be.”
-
After you splashed a bit of water on your face and gave yourself a detailed pep talk in the women’s bathroom, you finally mustered up the courage to face Joel and Tommy again. Joel had reassured you in the car that nothing had to happen right away. He always wanted you to be comfortable and this was something that you were still getting used to. The idea of someone caring about you that much? It used to be unfathomable .
You never realized just how good it could get until you met Joel Miller. You were hoping that he would be your endgame too.
After taking one last glance into the mirror you left the bathroom with a new confident stride as you approached the booth. Joel greeted you with a warm and reassuring smile, and when he went to get up, you gently placed your hand against his chest, easing him back down onto the leather seat before you slid in beside him.
Tommy gently nudged your ankle with the toe of his boot, testing the waters with you and heeding Joel’s words to let you come to him.
“Y’feelin’ alright, sweetheart? Can we getcha anythin?” Tommy asked softly, brown eyes looking warm and inviting across the way.
“I’m okay.” You reassured him with a small smile. “It was just—getting really hot in here.” You said with a light laugh to ease the tension.
“Tends to happen when you’re feelin’ flustered.” Tommy added as he leaned in over the table. “Y’know, sweetheart,” he started, “S’okay if I call ya that?”
You nodded, reaching for your glass and took a quick sip.
“I watched one of your films the other day, and I gotta tell ya, you have some real talent. Not jus’ sayin’ that either. I mean it. You’re gorgeous, and I jus’ wanna let you know that there’s no pressure or anythin’ alright? We don’t even gotta do anythin’ tonight if you ain’t feelin’ up for it.”
Joel leaned in close to you then, warm whiskey coated breath kissing your skin as his arm gently wrapped around you, giving you a squeeze.
“Wouldn’t believe how good that pussy is, brother. Like nothin’ else you’ve ever had. Never wanna have another, truly.” He preened, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.
Your thighs clamped together immediately and you could feel the corners of Joel’s lips upturn into a small grin.
“Don’t doubt that for a second, Joel.” Tommy nodded and ashed his cigarette along the rim of his empty glass. “Sweetheart, you’re such a natural, babygirl. And I have no doubt in my mind that you’re gonna become a star.”
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks from both Joel and Tommy’s words and if you were already on your way to hell, well—you just bought yourself a first class ticket!
“You really think I’m gonna be a star, Tommy?” You leaned forward against the table to match his energy, feeling yourself gravitating in his direction.
“Absolutely.” He nodded. “Now, Joel here wants me to take care of ya for a little. Y’okay with that, sweetheart? He’s gonna sit here nice n’comfy if you wanna—”
You were already up from the booth, reaching for Tommy’s hand in a haste and pulling him down the aisle and towards the door of the bar.
Tommy stumbled after you, his palm warm in your grasp as he followed you to the door. But being the gentleman that he was, he held the door open for you, letting you walk past first before he followed suit. “Where do you wanna go, babygirl?” He rasped against your ear, broad arm swooping around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.
“Your truck.” you said confidently, slipping your hand into the back pocket of his dark washed jeans.
“Fuck. You wanna make a mess all over my seats too, babygirl?” He reached for his keys, twirling them around his fingers.
Goddammit, Joel. You thought.
“Did he tell you that?” You squeaked out, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.
“He sure as fuck did, sweetheart. He also told me that you think I have a nice fuckin’ cock.” he chuckled, guiding you towards the direction of his parked pickup truck.
“Well, you do have a nice fucking cock, Tommy. And while your brother was playing with me earlier, all I could think about was you and your cock fucking me.” You lowered your voice when an unsuspecting couple walked past the two of you.
“Mmm. I knew that you were a little freak under all those nerves, babygirl. Gonna take real good care of you, okay?” He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, letting his hand curve around your hip. He was thankfully parked in a secluded spot in the lot where people would really have to pay attention to even see the debauchery that would soon be taking place.
He unlocked the back door for you, but before you could climb in, he gently pressed you back against it. “Before I fuck your brains out, I jus’ wanted to let you know that even though you’re consentin’ now, you can change your mind, okay? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone with blue balls, babygirl. I want you to enjoy yourself and if you end up not wantin’ to continue, jus’ let me know, ‘Kay?” His words were genuine like Joel’s, and as much as you appreciated them, you were going to lose your mind any second now.
“Tommy, respectfully, thank you. Disrespectfully, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last without your cock stuffed inside of me.” You breathed out, letting your hand drop from the side of his truck and palm him through the tight confines of his jeans. “Please, fuck me.”
That’s all it took for Tommy to surge forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head as his lips met yours in a bruising kiss that was all tongue and teeth, very different from Joel’s style but you fucking loved it already and wasted no time to wind your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his thick curls, giving them a good firm tug as he reached around you to pull the door latch open.
He bit down teasingly on your lower lip, tugging it out before chasing the kiss once more. “Get that sweet ass of yours in the backseat, babygirl” he mumbled against your lips and quickly pulled the door open.
Your lips detached from his for a moment only for you to climb into the backseat, falling onto your back as you blindly reached for the hem of your shirt and yanked it over your head.
Tommy was between your legs in seconds after the door slammed shut behind him. His hands grasped at your thighs, spreading them open and positioning your calves to rest over his shoulders. He had a direct view of your covered cunt, a fresh new wet patch blooming through the fabric that sent him grinning like a devil.
“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. You that wet already? Those little panties of yours are practically ruined, babygirl.” He tsked under his breath as he situated himself as best as he could on his elbows. “Can you show her to me, baby? Show me that pretty pussy.” He nipped at your exposed inner thigh, dragging the stubble along his jaw against your skin while keeping his eyes locked on yours.
“I almost thought about touching myself in the bathroom when I was in there.” You let out a soft sigh as you dragged your hand down over your bare stomach and underneath the hem of your skirt. You looped your thumb around the outside of your panties, pulling them to the side revealing your puffy, soaked cunt to Tommy’s lustful gaze.
“You shoulda, babygirl. Little slut like you probably needs it all the time, huh? Fingers, a cock stuffed in you, a mouth on that pussy?” He chuckled with a grin. “Spread her open for me, sweetheart. Wanna see all of her before I fuckin’ ruin you.”
You let out a soft whimper from his words just as a droplet of arousal dripped down from your opening and slid down between your cheeks. You used your middle and forefinger to delicately spread yourself open, playing with your arousal that began to coat your fingers, and you couldn’t help but slip one finger in before slowly pulling it back out.
“Is she wet enough for you, Tommy? Maybe you need to give her a taste. See how wet she is for yourself.” You encouraged him with a subtle grin.
“Mmm. Try daddy, babygirl. Think you can call me that? You’ve got such a pretty pussy. My god. She’s already making a goddamn mess all over the seat. Go on and play with yourself for me, sweetheart. I wanna watch.”
“Oh, fuck. How did I already know that you were into the daddy kink?” You giggled softly while your fingers began to play with yourself in a teasing motion. You lightly played with your clit, letting out a soft moan as you dragged your fingers lower, teasing your entrance before slipping two fingers in. “Oh, fuck, daddy.” You moaned, watching him with hooded eyes as he began to palm himself through his jeans.
“That’s it. Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good little slut playin’ with her pussy for daddy. Gettin’ her all nice and ready for daddy’s cock.” He preened and reached for his belt buckle, undoing it so he would have a bit of relief. “You okay if daddy takes a video of this? That way you can watch it later and remember just how good I took care of you, babygirl.”
You nodded enthusiastically as you began to shallowly pump your fingers, curling them inwards before slipping them back out. “Of course you can take a video, daddy. It’ll be your souvenir.” You shot him a playful wink.
“Fuck. You’re really a naughty little slut, babygirl. Touching yourself in daddy’s truck. Gonna have to get it detailed after I’m done with you.” He snickered and reached for his phone and pulled it out of his pocket. He typed in his password quickly before opening the camera app. “Smile for the camera, babygirl.” He angled his phone towards your face and you responded with a cheesy grin, fingers working over your clit to keep yourself stimulated.
“Daddy’s here with his newest slut and her pretty pussy that’s going to be stuffed to the fuckin’ brim with daddy’s cock soon.” He brought his phone down between your thighs getting a good view of your fingers playing with yourself. “Drippin’ all over daddy’s fuckin’ seats like the naughty little slut that she is.”
“So fuckin’ wet for you, daddy.” You moaned, holding steady eye contact between Tommy’s phone and his face. “Show me your cock, please. I want to see it.”
“Ask and you shall receive, babygirl.” He shot you a wink and popped open the button of his jeans followed by his zipper. He pushed his jeans down over his hips along with his boxers. Your eyes went wide for a moment when his cock sprang free and slapped up against his taut stomach.
Tommy’s cock may have not been as thick as Joel’s, but it was longer, and curved at just the right angle.
“Get on all fours for me, baby girl.” He requested while he wrapped his fist around his cock, giving it a few languid strokes from base to tip. You couldn’t help but watch as he spit over the bulbous head, rubbing in his saliva for extra lubricant as you worked your skirt and panties off, tossing them into the front seat before you flipped over onto your stomach, situating yourself on your hands and knees.
“Well, if that ain’t a sight made in fuckin’ heaven.” He whistled and grabbed a handful of your left ass-cheek, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers before he gave it a good smack, watching it recoil back as you lurched forward, looking over your shoulder at him. Your pupils were blown wide, lower lip harshly taken between your teeth as you rocked your hips back towards him.
“Please fuck me, daddy.” You arched your back, wiggling your ass in a tantalizing motion just as he brought his hand down over your right cheek in a swift motion eliciting a surprised yelp to slip past your lips.
“You want daddy’s cock that bad, huh? Such a desperate little slut wantin’ to be stuffed full of daddy’s cock.” He slapped your left cheek then before he let his hand drift upwards against your spine, and to your shoulder blades. He gently pressed you further against the seat so that your back was arched even more.
"gonna stretch you out, gonna be ruined for anyone else." He growled against the shell of your ear. “You’re gonna be daddy’s favorite fuckin’ slut when he’s finished with you, babygirl.”
And then you felt the head of his cock press against the seam of your dripping cunt, teasing your folds and bumping against your neglected clit. “Look at you already creamin’ all over daddy’s cock. Barely even inside of you yet, sweetheart.”
You lurched forward when you felt him begin to press you open inch by inch till he was bottomed out with his hips pressed firmly against your ass. Your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ shape as he set an immediate punching rhythm that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Oh—oh fuck!” You moaned, listening to the lewd sounds of skin on skin slapping together. The squelch of your pussy and his heavy, guttural grunts as he pounded his hips into your ass over and over again.
“God, you're such a slut, babygirl. Daddy’s perfect little slut. You give it this good to all the boys, huh? God, your pussy is huggin’ me so goddamn tight.” He groaned out, almost forgetting that he had his phone in his hand still as his forehead came to rest upon your upper back. He slowed his thrusts down momentarily so you could catch your breath and he could check in on you.
“You good, babygirl?”
“Mhmm. Never better.”
He ground his hips against your ass, rolling them forward so you could feel all of him inside of you. Just when you had a moment to catch your breath, he picked the pace up once more and tossed his phone to the side so he could wrap both arms around you, yanking you back against his chest.
"such a whore, babygirl. Workin’ your way through our whole family, aren't you?" He whispered against the shell of your ear, biting down on it with his teeth as he fucked up into you at a new angle.
One hand groped one of your breasts while the other rested along the base of your neck. He was careful to not apply any pressure and get too caught up in the moment. He could feel your pussy fluttering around him, squeezing him like a vice with each pull and drag of his cock. Your eyes were shut in bliss, unabashed moans slipping past your lips as the coil in your belly was pulled tight.
The windows in Tommy’s truck had significantly begun to fog up from the steam that your activities were producing. And despite the discreet location that Tommy was parked in, you couldn’t help the rush you felt when you thought of the possibility of someone—or even Joel catching you and Tommy in this position.
Would he join right in? Fuck—
“Daddy—don’t stop, please!” You cried out, feeling that coil being pulled even tighter as your thighs began to tremble, and tears flooded your eyes: tears of overwhelming pleasure.
“That’s it, babygirl. Such a good fuckin’ cockslut for daddy. Good fuckin’ girl. You gonna come all over daddy’s cock? C’mon! Wanna see you fuckin’ coat me, sweetheart. Come all over my fuckin’ cock.” He snapped his hips forwards then, feeling his own release begin to catch up to him, but you always came first. Tommy would never let you, or any of his girls, not come before him.
He dropped one of his hands from your breasts to thum at your already sensitive clit to push you right on over the edge as you cried out his name, pulsing around his cock and seeing stars dancing behind your closed eyelids.
“There you go, babygirl. There you fuckin’ go.” His tone was much softer now as he slowly slipped out of you, his cock gleaming in your release. He gently flipped you over onto your back, cradling your face delicately in his big hands.
You had a cockdumb look on your face. Completely blissed out and in a whole other world. Your thighs fell open, as your own release drooled down the the seam of your fucked out hole and onto the interior leather seats. In this relaxed position, your pussy let out a squelching sound of air being released, causing you and Tommy to both laugh.
“Fucked her pretty good, didn’t I?” He chuckled to himself and pressed a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “You okay if I take a little look at her, babygirl? I wanna see the mess you made.”
“Mhmmm.” You hummed, lashes fluttering shut as you stretched your arms behind your head in a languid, relaxed movement.
Tommy reached for his discarded phone bringing it back down right over your still pulsing cunt as his fingers gently spread you open, sliding through the milky residue of your release.
“Fuck. So pretty, babygirl. You have such a pretty pussy.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss to your clit, getting just a little taste before he pulled himself back up. “Definitely gonna have to get my truck detailed after this, sweetheart.” He ended the video, falling back against the seat beside you to catch his own breath.
You let out another soft, cock dumb giggle, peeking one eye open to look over at him. “You really think my pussy is that pretty, Tommy?” You dropped one of your hands to lazily rest along your stomach before dipping it between your thighs, missing that stimulated post-orgasm feeling already.
“Baby, she’s so fucking pretty. Like seriously I could happily watch you play with her for hours and easily get off to it.” He tilted his head to the side to look over at you, grin playing on his lips. “How are you feelin’?”
“Mmm. Joel loves to watch me play with myself too. Guess it’s just a Miller brother thing, huh?” You winked with a giggle. “I feel fucking amazing, Tommy.” Cock dumb and satisfied, you thought.
He preened at your response, resting his arms along the backseats as he let out a relaxed sigh. “Good, baby. I’m real happy to hear that. Means that I did my job right. And what can I say? Joel and I are big pussy lovers.” He chuckled and reached for his phone, texting Joel that they would be back shortly, and attached the video as well.
“Yeah, you guys sure are.”
-
After about twenty minutes, Tommy had to physically help you to sit up and redress. Your entire body felt like jello and you were still positively fucked out. He helped you out of the backseat, keeping his arm wrapped around you for support as he guided you back inside to the booth.
“Easy now, babygirl. Back into my brother’s lap you go. You just cuddle up with him now, ‘kay? Pussy took a real poundin’, let her rest.” Tommy cooed softly against your ear as Joel gently eased you into his lap, letting you bury your face into his neck and lazily wrap your arms around him.
“Mhmmm.” You mumbled against his neck, face scrunching up as you breathed in his natural aroma while he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your back underneath your shirt.
"Did such a good job, baby love. Tommy showed me how sweet you were to him, let him feel how soft and warm you are, hmm? My good girl. Here, baby, I got you water. Need you to take a sip, you worked hard out there." Joel murmured softly to you.
“It was so much fun. Tommy was so good to me, baby. He thinks I have such a pretty pussy.” You softly giggled and blindly reached for the glass of water, pulling your face out from where it was pressed against his neck to guzzle the liquid down before cuddling right back up against him.
“I’m happy to hear that, baby love. I knew y’all were gonna hit it off. M’so proud of my girl. And yes, baby. You do have a pretty pussy. Rest now, ‘kay?”
You were out like a light then all curled up in his lap like a koala without a care in the world.
“Whatcha do to her, huh? Got my baby all cock drunk, Tommy.” Joel asked softly, reaching for his fresh glass of whiskey and took a small sip, careful to not disturb you.
Tommy was back across the booth, a new cigarette between his lips and his arms crossed behind his head in a relaxed position.
“Took ‘er for a real good spin.” He grinned, tapping his fingers along the worn, frayed leather. “Gonna have to get the truck fuckin’ detailed though.”
“That so? She make it all messy?” Joel asked.
“Fuck. Yeah, she made it real messy alright. Had her drippin’ all down the seats.”
Joel grinned at this, glancing down at your sleeping form in pure adoration and pride. “Mmm. I believe it. She’s always fuckin’ drippin.’ Doesn’t matter what time of the day it is, my baby love is always soakin.’”
“That right? Pretty slutty cunt like hers always ready to have a big cock in her, huh?” Tommy stifled a chuckle as he sank further against the seat.
You thought you were just having a wet dream, until your hand found Joel’s and discreetly tucked it between your thighs, pressing the pads of his fingers against your ruined cunt that was pulsing once more. Little needy breaths slipped past your parted lips when he gently began to play with you, understanding that you were silently asking him to make you come one more time. You kissed along his neck, open mouthed with little nibbles here and there as you came in his lap, falling back into a relaxed state.
“Okay, think I gotta get my baby love home and in bed. She’s gonna sleep so good tonight.” Joel softly announced as he nudged you gently.
“Oh, I reckon she will be. You take good care of her, Joel. And text me when y’all are home safe, ‘kay?” Tommy nodded in Joel’s direction.
“You know I will, Tommy. I’ll text ya when we’re home.” He gave his brother a little nod and helped you out of the booth and towards the door. Once you were outside, the fresh air seemed to help you wake up a little more as you leaned all your weight into his side.
“You’re so beautiful, baby love. I’m so thankful for you, y’know that? You did so fuckin’ good. I’m so proud of you, so fuckin’ proud of my girl. Let’s get you home, okay? You’re gonna sleep so good tonight.”
“I love you, Joel Miller.” You murmured into his shoulder, one arm draped around his middle for support. You may have been cock dumb, and completely fucked out, but you words were true. You loved Joel, and he deserved to hear it.
“I love you too, baby love. My beautiful, beautiful girl.”
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kiirotoao · 24 days
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No but holy shit the implications of “I think there is someone he likes, because he has been acting… weird.”
Just imagine El’s confusion over her brother. California is obviously not that great for the Byers. In that very intro scene, we see El making her diorama (which, as sweet and lovely as it is, it ends up getting nothing but ridicule in school), Joyce getting frustrated with a client, Jonathan hurriedly hiding the fact that he’s smoking weed; things are not picture perfect. But Will? Will’s in his own world, in a dreamland of his own, holding to his friends and his life back home by painting it with a focused and tender look in his eyes.
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While everyone at home openly struggles with something, our first glimpse of Will this season is something precious and untainted, a struggle that doesn’t develop until much later when he chooses to face his feelings.
We never see Will acting, quote, “weird.” Will has never really been a character that we see out loud. It all lies underneath. It always has. And when I think about that underlying struggle and yet deep fondness, it just. God, it breaks me.
Imagine Will months prior, starting up this project. He picks out a giant canvas, a page that covers his entire easel. Maybe this is his first time using paint as his medium. Maybe not. But whatever the weather, it’s bigger than anything we’ve ever seen him craft. Ever.
Imagine El’s excitement. She learns that Will is a great artist, and she knows it the minute he shows her a single piece. After that, she’s interested in his art, and yet… it’s at the worst time, because he doesn’t let her into his room, anymore. But she knows that he’s working on his easel day in and day out. The minute he’s home from school, he’s playing music, painting again. Maybe he throws out one or two torn-up drafts. Maybe he skips dinner over it. Maybe he ends up so tired that he’s fallen asleep with paint on his face and doesn’t even know it until she points it out.
She’s impressed and she wants to see what he’s doing, especially because he seems so passionate about it all the time, but he never lets her. He bites his lip and shakes his head. He guards it with his very life. And El is left wondering what has him acting so secretive. So nervous. What is the emotion, where is the energy coming from?
It’s out of place. It’s weird when moving to California isn’t as fun as whatever is on that canvas’ face.
So it must be love. Of course it is. Of course it’s for someone, some girl. What else could it be? What else would make Will seem that out of place, seem that… crazy?
And for all of it to be happening upward of six entire months? That painting didn’t take a day or two, I mean, look at it. It must’ve taken him weeks to get in every detail.
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And all of it. Every little smile. Every dreaming thought. Every ounce of passion. Everything. Was because of Mike.
God.
God.
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kremlint · 26 days
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@wikwalker hi sure yes anything to give me an excuse to procrastinate the post i should be writing right now. here are all teh drugs and how to manage them. you can trust me, a drug addict
first of all: https://www.erowid.org/ , erowid always
don't be afraid of drugs, if they're the right drugs, you should do them since they will be a blast regardless and overcoming fear is also good (but outside the scope here)
OK to do as much as you want: alcohol - social benefit greatly outweighs health effects, no reason to avoid if predisposed to abuse since that'll happen sooner or later. what can i say? don't be a fucking dork. when you start drinking, really overdo it as much as possible without dying and get a few real nasty hangovers under your belt so you know how much is the right amount to drink.
weed - innocuous enough to be fine but will make you stupid in the long term. make sure to only buy from a real drug dealer and never some legal institution. cut it out when you're a "real adult". don't smoke weed and watch TV routinely, go out and do things so you naturally grow to hate it. good to go through this as early as possible to minimize the time you spend as a cringe weed enthusiast
i guess those are the only two.
ok to do infrequently (annually): "lsd" - or whatever it is, probably not lsd, blah blah blah, if it works and is sold on blotter its fine and won't make you go nuts or whatever. opt for a better psychadelic imo. see psych rule at bottom of section
mushrooms - better than acid since you know what they are. rule of thumb is to always do more than you think you want. minimum 1/8oz. see psych rule at bottom of post
dmt - if you somehow have a dmt hookup you don't need to be reading any of this. lasts 10 minutes which leads to tendency to way overdo it, don't do this, my favorite webcomic artist is permanently crazy from exactly that. using a crack pipe is also not the uhhhh most dignifying-feeling thing to do either. it's harder than you think.
mdma - for use at electronic music event or rave. overuse causes brain lesions or something.
coke - wait until you're in your 20s, have maxed out your roth IRA for a couple of years in a row, and havent missed a car payment in a similar timeframe. better still if you've worked a very shitty low paying job and know the value of a dollar. if you still find yourself buying candy you're not ready. too expensive to be worth it to get hooked on. know that you are VERY ANNOYING to anyone who also isn't high. don't fuck around with the guy selling it to you. avoid discussing or thinking about business ideas. you can't afford to make it a habit + kinda turns you into a piece of shit after a while, but at least a very interesting one
ketamine - another sick drug that rules, but save it for a special occasion. don't try and go into the k-hole your first time
rule for psychedelics - you get one good strong trip a year and that's it, make it count, always opt for doing a bit more than a bit less. but don't make it a habit, otherwise you turn into a very stupid very annoying "hippy" style cliché and believe in ghosts, aliens, crap like that.
ok to try once prescription opiates/benzodiazepine (xanax), valium, this kind of shit - worth trying so you can go "holy shit, this stuff is way way way too good to ever use responsibly" and then never do again. especially if you're white. for some reason we just can't handle this shit. if a doctor prescribes it to you, idk, that's your call to make.
ayhuasca - this is just dmt in a different form. do some other psychadelics a number of times before you do this. once you realize the whole "substantial visual hallucinations" thing is made up, its time. do exactly this: -buy root online (legal). receive box of dirt -boil dirt into "tea" (read erowid for exact recipe) -take over-the-counter anti nausea medicine or anything that will give you a stronger stomach -drink tea (its nasty as fuck, get it down quick) -have someone bigger than you keep an eye on you for the next five hours. -have the experience, which is absurdly intense, has no bearing to the real world, etc etc. don't be a bitch and throw up, if you do it'll only last an hour or so. again there is no way to provide a consistent description of the experience except that you will meet god. you only ever need to do this once and never again. trust me
peyote/salvia/etc - try em if you want, you'll never ever want to again afterwords. these are drugs for idiot teenagers too lame to get real drugs. imagine being very very sick from poison and utterly terrified at the same time. No good
whippets/nitrous oxide - just find a dentist that uses it and don't bother creating hundreds of pounds of trash on your floor for this crap that lasts ten seconds. you have to understand the extremely short timeframe coupled with the cost makes zero sense. go to a phish concert parking lot and do some people watching -- you do not want to be these people. only use is as a motivator to get routine dental exam. also if you somehow manage to make it a heavy habit your fucking legs stop working, no shit, but they start working again once you quit.
don't ever do heroin/meth/pcp - is is truly a mystery why you should never do these 🙄
synthetic weed/k2/shit from the gas station - it is so funny that they sell this as "weed that won't pop you on a drug test". its not weed. it is some dubious chemical sprayed on yard waste. smoke it to have a terrible time and go nuts. only buy drugs from legitimate drug dealers!
kratom - anyone's guess as to why this is legal but it's heroin for pussies. its still heroin
dxm/cough syrup - do you ever wonder why it is exclusively teenagers robotripping? it's because it sucks ass. is like a cheesegrater on your brain in terms of health effects with repeated usage. you're better than this king
inhalants - these are at the bottom of the list for a reason. do not huff gas. don't huff paint. do not consume computer duster. not fun + fastest way to make yourself a complete, uh, (word i can't say anymore) and then dead
not listed quaaludes- unavailable due to no longer being manufactured. these ruled apparantly
sincis2c - unavailable due to not existing, i just made this up
amphetamines - cannot provide objective take here. they're my albatross, lifelong (posted 4:55am natch)
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actual--satan · 2 years
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augh my fuckin bones
#spine hurt#lumbar not supported holy fuck#owie#so rude#fr tho idk what i did maybe it was leaning over too much at work but fuck this aint fun#been gaming with friends to relax a bit#enjoying my new job though. despite the Having to Drive portions#its a prevailing wage job in Illinois#my friend isnt a fan bc he hit his head on the scaffolding like 90 times#96 actually#i think that hes over exaggerating a bit however it can be annoying#actually sma rant time: mf has no work ethic a sizable amount of the time#and its not like we don't get frequent breaks (when coworkers smoke)#so im usually doing most of the manual work which sucks so bad#we both got sick and i got it after he got better and i think i worked harder sick than he did healthy#and i don't mean to sound like a pro-work mf but when hes the only person not working of the four of us it's pretty obvious#and pretty annoying#it sucks to always be asking 'hey wheres (x)' when im struggling with shit#also i know that mf doesnt wash his hands after going to the bathroom bc we roomed together for a week so.#never touching his hands again fuck that. also would leave the door cracked sometimes when peeing.#it aint like the door couldn't close all the way that shit was definitely conscious#top 10 ppl to never live with#fuck#anyways#that's a lot of words#and my back still hurts I'm gonna buy a lumbar support thing somewhere#cus i do really enjoy the job sometimes#when it ain't butcheringly hot outside#woo ohio weather#also if anyone reads this far do u get incredibly angry when overstimulated?
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theragethatisdesire · 9 months
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cowboy like me - jean kirschstein x reader, 18+!!!
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DISCLAIMER X2: this work was heavily inspired by lily valley by @shepnicolo and i wanted to try my hand at my own version of a blue collar jean. i love her and owe her everything in life she is the best and lily valley is the best fic of all time please go read it!!!!!
i honestly don't even know what to say, this au just came over me last night and i wrote the entire thing in one day lol. y'all seem to like the jean one-shots, so i'll keep them coming!! this one's a little different than my usual stuff, i'm experimenting with my writing style, so feedback would (as always) be so appreciated <3333 fair warning, this one's tasty. like, really tasty. pure filth.
pairing: jean x reader
wc: 8.1k (holy shit lmao)
DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.
cws: smut (ofc, are u new here), drug/alcohol use, voyeurism, masturbation, unprotected sex, fingering, squirting, biting, dirty talk, use of pet names (baby, sugar, pretty thing), multiple orgasms, jean being outrageously hot
u know the saying, save a horse, ride a....
enjoy ;)
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Honeysuckle. Cherry coke. Marlboro Reds. Dirt. Pork chops. Marigolds. Desperation. Campfire. Sweat. Cheap beer. Gasoline. Potato chips. Four-wheelers. Horses. Want.
That’s what summer tastes like to you, even after all the time away at college, far from your small town. Frat parties captivated you for long enough, the buzz of neon lights strung along the wall and the thump of bass in your chest, but when you graduated, you knew you’d be drawn back here eventually.
There’s something intoxicating about your little hometown, sprawled over flat fields, sweltering and sticky in the summer heat. It’s all Joan Jett and Guns ‘n Roses and Hank Williams, true to its reputation of three stop lights, two bars, one diner and not much else. It sweats in the brutal summer sun, melting into the asphalt six miles from your family’s farm. You missed it, you realize, coming up the winding drive to your family’s ranch house, missed it desperately and deep in your bones.
The horses come next, polka-dotting the horizon of rolling land like your favorite sundress, pin-pricked black dots among the green landscape. You’ve always loved them, had the suspicion that even if you hadn’t grown up in a barn that you would have loved them anyway. They love you back, all slow blinks and rearing heads. It’s been three weeks of driving your horse, Ace, through the trails surrounding your family’s land, galloping away from the fluttering in your stomach whenever you see the summer stablehands, one in particular.
He’s inconspicuous, not much different from the other staff members that your father hires on to the ranch every summer. You aren’t sure what it is about him that’s gotten so under your skin, like sugar distilled into a gallon of sweet tea, dissolved but still there enough to pack a punch.
You often wake in the middle of the night, clutching your chest and hot between your legs, the memory of grazing your fingers through sandy brown hair and the feeling of a stubbly jaw mouthing around your chest glimmering in the front of your mind, dissipating like smoke in your waking hours. It’s unseemly, how bad you want him.
It might be the way he’s entirely unaffected by your presence. The rest of the stablehands gawk at you, wrapped in the tight jeans and tank top you wear to ride through the trails every day, falling over themselves to fetch you a glass of water or pluck your ball cap for you from where it hangs on the coat rack near the barn door. Jean never does that, cool and collected as he leads Ace over to you, tacked up and ready to go.
You make an effort, not enough to be forward, but enough to make it known you want his attention. You’ve tried batting your eyelashes, whispering a quiet word of thanks, even going so far as to bring fresh lemonade out to the corral where they break the unbroken. There, perched on the fence, you can have your favorite view, drink it in all to yourself.
Jean’s never been bested by a horse, not once. Your family prides themselves in corralling mustangs, breaking them in the blazing summer sun, saving them from the corporations that try to exterminate them. You admire the mustangs that are brought in, always trailing a soothing hand over the ranch brand burned into their hides, but you’re not stupid. They’re always wild cards, as likely to lean into your touch as they are to nip a finger clean off your hand.
Jean possesses no such caution. You hop yourself up on the fence, day after scorching day, watching as he holds tight to the reins, leather creaking under his firm grip, taming each unbroken creature that’s brought in, one after another. He has a way with these wild things, they speak to him in a way you’ve never seen before. You watch the way he strokes their manes, drawing long, weathered fingers through the coarse hair. As you watch him, you stroke your fingers through your own unruly strands, brought to misbehavior by the dry air and the whipping wind, imagining that your fingers are longer, more calloused than they really are.
Your father’s set you up well, a little cabin on the outskirts of the main house all to yourself, plenty of space from the rest of the ranch population to slide your fingers between your legs, bite back the name of the stablehand who’s barely spared you a passing glance over the weeks he’s been here. You’ve brought plenty a handsome stranger home from your work behind one of the two bars in town, often leaving your dignity and your Jeep behind in favor of half a bottle of whiskey and some cheap affection, lips grazing your collarbone as you become accustomed to the sound of slapping skin.
It’s always quick and unpleasant, never enough, never what you imagine Jean to be like. You imagine him to be thorough, the way he is breaking a horse. Intentional, like each little stroke, each pat, each cant of his hips into the saddle might make all the difference.
And maybe it does, maybe there’s something you’re unaware of, lurking in each well-practiced rock of his hips against the leather beneath him. You think you’d like to know, like to feel that strong, insistent, know-it-all grind against your own hips, but again, Jean’s stubborn. You’ve caught him taking a second look, peering beneath the brim of his hat to appraise you, like a filly up at auction. He never makes a move, though, never steps a hair out of line under the reproachful eye of your domineering father, stomping around the ranch and keeping everyone on task.
It’s when you see him that night, struck off on his own away from the campfire that holds the other stablehands hostage, promising refuge and shit-shooting in its warmth, that you can’t take it anymore. You can’t take the salivating, the cyclical thoughts, the shameless wanting that overwhelms your mind day in and day out.
“Heading in?” you venture, keeping your voice as breathy and causal as you can, reaching into the barn fridge he’s propped up beside for a beer.
“Soon.” That’s so Jean, from what you know of him. One word answers, tart as a lemon drop between your teeth. God he looks good enough to eat, button-down open enough to tease little wisps of blonde hair on his chest, sleeves rolled and displaying veiny forearms. His eyes drag over you, slower than molasses, but no spark of interest hides in the hazel, nothing promiscuous flickers across his dusty features. It’s something, though, more than the polite nods he usually grants you.
“Me too.”
“Sleep tight.” Without another word, he’s disappearing over to the cabin your father constructed ten years ago when the business started taking off and it became necessary to hire seasonal help for the high season. You slump against the now-closed refrigerator, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. Whether he’s skittish or just flat-out uninterested, it’s maddening, the way he refuses to give you even an inch.
The minutes drag by long and heavy, maybe even close to an hour creeps by, weighed down by the stifling desire crawling up your throat, digging its nails into your skin. You watch moths buzz around a lantern, flitting and flying around until they dive into the blue glow headfirst, meeting their inevitable death. Stupid little bugs, never knowing what’s good for them.
Your feet are carrying you before you can stop to think what’s good for you, stop to remember that there are still staff awake, crowing around the campfire and drinking Natural Lights, chasing a glow of your own. You’re outside of his window, feeling no better than a common lecher, peering into the warm light dripping onto the grass below your flip flops, below your girlish pink toenails.
You can’t see him, can’t see his lean, half-naked form, wet from a shower, on the other side of the windowpane, but you can hear something. If you press your ear to the glass, damp with the condensation of air conditioning, you can hear something low, rumbling.
It’s a groan, thick and strangled in a man’s throat– Jean’s throat.
“Just like that, Jean! Fuck!” A woman is there with him, squealing.
You wish you had enough shame to get red in the face, but you’re too fascinated to feel a smidge of guilt, too enthralled by the little breathy moans they’re making. It’s the answer to your prayers, a stinging antiseptic on a skinned knee, a knife between your shoulder blades. You don’t want to know who she is, you don’t need to to drink her down like this, fit her moans in the shape of your mouth.
She’s begging for more, harder, harder, and it seems like Jean grants her wish. Her moans escalate to shrieks, then screams, sharp enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck. You’re no virgin, having let the boys from town with the crooked grins and the backwards hats behind the belt of your jeans more than once, but you’ve never sounded like that– cried out like that for any of them. Was he breaking her like one of his horses?
You can’t see, only hear, but you imagine he has her bent over on all fours, maybe even still has a cigarette dangling from his lips as he ruins her, one hand fisted in her hair. Your jean shorts are starting to grow damp and uncomfortable at the apex of your thighs, you can feel little crescents forming in the palms of your hands where your fingers are curled into petulant fists.
You skitter away, a startled, flighty creature, when you hear him swear one last time, hear the rhythmic rocking of the headboard into the wall cease. Your hands find their way between your legs that night, breathless whimpers of his name coming out, taking the woman’s words from her mouth and tasting them on your own tongue.
The next morning, you’re prowling around the property, eyeing the women on staff to see if any of them look different, smell a little muskier. You find your answer soon enough; one of the women who work the horse-riding lessons has a telltale bounce in her step, giggling childishly along with her friends. Your face burns; not with shame, with envy.
It becomes a bit of a bad habit, the way a father dips the too-many-eth beer bottle against his lips, the way the cowboys slip the final cigarette of their daily pack between their teeth. Nothing but an addict and her drug of choice.
You know he’s not attached to anyone, not claimed; the women are different every night you catch him. Some are breathy, heady little whimpers; some are demanding, loud; some are porn stars in the making, shrieking and wailing and narrating what he’s doing, like they know you’re listening, like they’re rubbing your face in it. Your fingers feel so good, Jean! You’re so deep! I’m gonna cum! Sometimes you’re brave enough to sneak a tentative hand down your body, rub yourself over your shorts, but most nights, you stand vigil at his window, memorizing every detail to relish later, grinding up into your palm like a bitch in heat.
You’re not sure how much longer you can go on like this, pining after him, no better than a schoolgirl. Jean goes about his daily routine, giving no indicators that he’s aware of your nighttime activities. But that’s just the problem, isn’t it?
Jean’s daily routine consists of hosing down trucks with his shirt tossed carelessly over a nearby fence, shoveling hay with his sleeves rolled up, breaking every one of those damned horses brought in. You never thought you’d stoop so low as to be jealous of an animal, but here you are.
“Jean!” You’ve had a few drinks over dinner, dug into your father’s bourbon collection to quell the sad thudding in your body (whether it’s your heart or your cunt, you’ll never be sure). Drowning your sorrows on the porch of your little cabin had seemed like a good idea at first, but when Jean comes sidling past your house, his lean silhouette instantly recognizable in the dimness of twilight, your lips move without your permission, calling his name into the dark. You almost slap a hand over your mouth.
“Yeah?” He’s wandered onto your porch now, walking with the gait of someone who expects to be needed– god, he’s so tall, towering over where you cower beneath him in your rocking chair. Jean’s eyes make quick work of the situation at hand: one glass, a half-empty bottle, your flushed cheeks and tank top strap slid off your shoulder. God help you, Jean does something you never thought you’d see up close. He smirks. “Got into the good stuff?”
“Maybe,” you shrug, confidence evaporating from your body with each passing second as he leers above you. You’ve got him, right here in your sights, this is your chance, shoot. “I don’t think I can finish the bottle, though.”
“No?”
“Not by myself,” you bite into your lip, praying to a god you haven’t believed in since you were seven. Jean’s eyes flicker down to your glass again.
“Looks like you’ve only got the one glass.”
“We can share.” Your voice is nothing but a breath, a puff of desperation thrown out into the void between your bodies, sizzling where it hangs in the heavy summer air.
Jean sighs, rubs a hand over the back of his head. “I shouldn’t–”
“Please?” You’re very aware of how pathetic you sound, begging one of your father’s stablehands for his company, but it’s like he’s made of stone, impenetrable to any of your more subtle advances. Jean’s brows furrow, just the slightest bit; you can practically see him thinking, if you squint, you think you could see his thoughts buzzing around behind his eyes. Moths. Lanterns. Which are you?
“Okay,” he acquiesces, sinking into the chair beside you. A bug hits your porch lamp, meeting its end with a quiet hiss. You slug some of the amber into the crystal glass to your side, hold it out to him as invitingly as you can manage with your nerves in a fray. Jean sips, you notice he places his lips right over the stain your lip gloss has left on the glass. When he swallows, he frowns. “Why’s it…sweet?”
You bring a pink fingernail up, tap your wet lips meaningfully. “Strawberry.”
“Mm,” Jean acknowledges, averting his eyes and taking another sip of the bourbon. You aren’t sure what to say. How was your day? Why can’t I get you off my mind? Do you know I get myself off to you every night?
“What’s that from?” You notice a scar on his hand, pink and puffy along the line of his thumb. Jean examines the scar, raising his eyebrows as if it was new to him, too.
“Almost forgot it was there, no one ever notices it.”
“I saw it the other day.”
“When?” A memory flashes in your mind; Jean’s hand wrapped around a woman’s throat, pulling her face to his so he could wrench her jaw open, spit in her mouth. Jean’s brows knit together.
You swallow thick around the lump in your throat. “I dunno. At the barn.”
Jean doesn’t smile, doesn’t give an inch of himself away, but you catch a glimmer in his eyes. Hazel squints, crinkles, ever so slightly, glints at you menacingly in the low light. Does he…? “My pocketknife. A few years back I found a calf that had got all caught up in some twine. Kicked like hell when I was cuttin’ him loose.”
You nod, pulling a knee up to run a finger along a nasty, jagged run of skin on your left thigh. “Tripped and fell onto a machete blade in the shed.”
He pulls his t-shirt collar to the side, revealing a fresh scar, still red and angry. You suck in a sharp breath at the cliff of his collarbone, close enough to reach out and run your tongue over. “Dove into a lake. Didn’t see the rocks on the bottom.”
The side of your right foot. “Stepped on a broken beer bottle.”
His right hand, knuckles. “Punched a stud in the wall.”
Your left palm. “Grabbed the wrong end of a branding iron.”
His chest, right side, this one comes with a sheepish half-smile. “Drunken dare. Branding iron.”
You let out a soft giggle; it’s hard to imagine Jean as anything but the monolith of your desire, hard to think of him as one of the drunken cowboys that slosh their way through your bar, fighting in the parking lot when tempers run too high. Jean pulls a face, the corner of his mouth curls.
“What, like you’ve never done a stupid dare before?”
“All dares are stupid.”
“So goody-two-shoes,” Jean tuts, shaking his head. It’s something approaching humor, a rickety, wooden bridge forming between his rocking chair and yours. Not enough to put weight on yet, but you’ve bridged the gap. Jean holds the now-empty glass out, and you unscrew the bottle cap, place it to your lips and take a healthy swig before dumping two fingers into the glass. Jean raises an eyebrow at you. “Maybe not.”
“I’m pretty good on both sides of a bar,” you shrug, wondering if he knows about your bartending job, if he’s asked around about you behind your back.
Jean’s grin is canine-heavy, his voice sweet as syrup when he asks you. “What about both sides of a window?”
Your blood runs cold, and all of your muscles lock up. You’re staring at him, mouth slightly ajar– your mother’s voice rings in your head. You’ll catch flies that way! You clench your jaw shut, bracing yourself like you’re about to take a punch before you speak. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The corners of Jean’s mouth grow sharper, threatening to add to your collection of scars. “You didn’t see me catch you the other night?”
Your mind reels, hurtles through the nights you’d spent lurking outside of his window, when you find purchase. Four days ago, Wednesday, a leggy blonde from town. He’d had her on her back, legs thrown onto his shoulders, driving into her like his life depended on it. You thought—prayed—that you’d imagined it, the way his eyes had flickered to the window, the small tilt of his head, the little wrinkle in his nose, before he picked up speed, pulled ear-shattering wails from the woman below him. He had caught you. He knew.
“I…” what are you even supposed to say? What does he want you to say? “I’m so sorry–”
“I heard you the first night you came. If you’re going to sneak around outside someone’s house, you should probably be doing it barefoot.”
Humiliation is drowning you, you’re a bumblebee stuck in a swimming pool, you’re a mouse snapped under the bar of a trap. Jean’s not riding a white horse, he’s not spinning you around in the kitchen at midnight, he’s wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt and he’s gorgeous and he’s staring at you while you splutter, waiting patiently for you to respond. You can’t find the words, the entirety of the English canon is lost on you. A prayer runs through your mind. Our Father, who art in heaven…
“You never said anything.” It comes out broken, closer to a whimper than a string of words. Oh yes, those are tears in your eyes, welling and threatening to wet your hot, pink cheeks.
“I never said anything,” Jean repeats to you, nodding along. There’s something on his face, something he wants you to interpret, a smoke signal in his eyes, but you’re too flustered to understand much of anything right now except the fact that he caught you.
“Why?”
“Did you like it?”
It’s a strange question given the circumstances. You’ve been peeping in his window for weeks now, invading his private life, watching his muscles move under tanned skin without permission, and he’s asking if you liked it? Yeah, I run home and make myself cum afterwards every night, actually. Another bug hits the light, fizzles into nonexistence. For the second time in your life, you’re jealous of an animal.
You can’t bring yourself to respond, shaking your head in confirmation that no, you did not like watching the one man you wanted bad enough to make your knees wobble fuck other women. Jean frowns.
“Why not?”
“Jean, I said I’m sorry, okay? If you’re just here to embarrass–”
“You jealous?” Jean’s smirk is back, razor-sharp and barely reined in, barely schooled into a knowing expression. You blink stupidly.
“Yes.” The word leaves your lips before you can stop it. A Coke can cracked and fizzling into the hot air, a latch on a gate left open, a glass toppling over the side of a table without a hand nearby to catch it.
“Why is that?” Searing skin against searing skin, Jean ghosts a finger over your cheekbone, nothing more than a wisp of a touch. It sets a bonfire blaze deep in the pit of your stomach.
“You know,” you sniffle, angry eyes set on him. He’s toying with you, you both know it, but it’s not the way you want him to, not the teasing you’d set yourself up to endure.
“I do know,” Jean confirms, knocking back another sip, “‘ve known for weeks. You think I don’t see you? All dolled up in your little sundresses, those tight-ass little shorts around the barn? You’re always hanging off the fence at the training corral, hearts in your pretty eyes while you watch me ride. I know, sweetheart, trust me.”
“Jean…” your voice breaks before you can finish your sentence, and your palms fly up to cover your burning face. There’s a hot grip around your wrists, one hand dwarfing both of yours. Jean pulls your hands into your lap, studying you.
“You wear those for me?” You nod miserably, gaze firmly locked on your hands, on your thighs, on the scar running along the side of your foot. You think you’ll cry more if you look at the scar on his hand.
“You should go.”
“Why? Why should I go, baby?”
Baby. He called you baby. You slide your gaze, tentative and mistrusting, over to his. Oh, there’s something new on his face. Something…wanting. “Because you’re just being mean.”
“Am I?” Jean feigns surprise, a cruel smile cutting through his cheeks. “Not trying to be.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“From where I’m standing, you’re being mean.”
You frown. “How am I the mean one?”
“You’re my boss’ daughter. Can’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole, no matter how bad I want to, and you’re runnin’ around teasing me all day, peeking in my window at night while I’m trying my best not to picture your face underneath me. That’s pretty mean.”
There’s no air in your lungs, thoughts flying around your mind at a dizzying speed. You’ve played the part of the moth, but maybe it’s entirely possible you’re the lantern too. You hadn’t realized. “You think about me?”
“Drives me fuckin’ crazy how much I think about you,” Jean confirms, tongue darting out to wet his lips.
“But…it’s because of my dad?”
“I need this job, sugar,” Jean’s thumb finds its way to your lip, absentmindedly collecting some of your strawberry lip gloss. He pops his thumb into his mouth, sucks, groans. “Need you too, need you bad, but it’s wrong to come into a man’s house and wind up in his daughter’s bed. You know that.”
“I’m not a little girl, Jean, I’m a grown woman. My dad has nothing to do with this.” Your voice has finally come back to itself, firm and steady as you speak to him. If that’s all that’s holding him back, keeping his hands at such a safe distance, you need to correct him.
“God, trust me, I know good and fuckin’ well how much of a woman you are. But if he found out…”
“He won’t,” you soothe him, finding the confidence to bring your hand to his face, cup his sharp jaw in your little palm. Jean leans into your touch, a flicker of hesitation passing over his face as if he realizes he’s indulging in something he shouldn’t. Forbidden fruit. One more drink. Cigarette after supper.
“You’re killing me.” It’s no more than a breath when it passes his lips, a confession made under the stars, just for you. Your heart pounds, wet and heavy behind your ribs.
“Do it,” you urge, dropping your voice to a whisper, “please.”
“You want it?” Jean’s eyes search your face, looking for that one last bit of hesitation, any small part of you that might want to say no. Poor, stupid boy, you think, wishing you could confess to him that he already owns you, every little piece of stardust that built you out of dirt yearns for him, aches for his hands. “You want me?”
“Please, Jean.”
His arm reaches for you, lands at the button of your jeans, cold against his hot fingers. He flicks open the button with ease, tugs your zipper down, peers over to get an eyeful of your pretty white panties. Cotton, with a little pink bow at the top. Jean bites into his lip, unsuccessfully tries to swallow the groan that comes inching up his throat.
“You want me right here?” He fiddles with the bow, twisting the delicate fabric between calloused fingers.
“Everywhere,” it’s a prayer, it’s a plea, it’s a promise, “I want you everywhere.”
“Show me inside.”
You stand, not bothering to zip your fly but absolutely bothering to grab the glass bottle on the table, taking Jean’s hand in your own. You wrench open your screen door with your bare toes, wince when it comes back to smack you on that scar, kick the heavy wooden door closed behind it.
Jean’s eyes never leave you, letting you show him one intimate part of yourself after another. This is my house. This scar still hurts when I hit it on something. This is the cotton that stays wet between my legs when you’re around. You pull him into the kitchen, reaching into the cabinet for another set of glasses that you can take back to the bedroom, when Jean grabs your wrist, brings you down.
“Don’t need those,” he huffs, “you thirsty? Give me that.”
He pries the bottle from your clammy fingers, tilts it down towards his mouth. When he surfaces, he hasn’t swallowed, you realize. Two strong fingers come to your jaw, pinch it until your mouth hangs open, and Jean—like a wet dream made real—spits the liquor between your lips, closing your mouth and forcing you to swallow.
He chases your shot with his lips, surprisingly soft, but demanding against yours, forcing your mouth to move at his rhythm. His hands sneak around your waist, pausing on your hips to squeeze tight, moving to your back to press you flush against him, not leaving any room for the sticky summer air between your bodies. You nip down on his bottom lip, earning yourself a hiss and a sharp smack to your bottom that Jean doesn’t back out of, grabbing a handful and feeling his way around your ass. He’s got you pinned to the kitchen counter now, running his hands underneath your tank top, making the hem ride up. You shove at his chest, desperate for air.
“Bed– my, my room, Jean,” you manage to gasp out between his relentless kisses. Jean mouths his way along your jaw, leaving you panting and clutching desperately at his shirt.
“Show me.”
You practically drag him behind you, grateful that your room is only a few steps away. Every part of you that he’s touched, now bare of his hands, burns, bottomless want threading its way through your nerve endings and aching for him, however he’ll have you.
Jean’s already ripping his shirt over his head once you’ve crossed the threshold, giving you an all-access pass to drink him in. He lets you have your fun for a minute, running your hands over ripples of smooth muscle, trace the tattoo on his bicep, even go so far as to press your lips against the brand on his chest. That makes him shiver, makes you smile to yourself where he can’t see you, nestled against him.
“Let me see you,” Jean pulls insistently at the hem of your tank top, “you’ve seen me. It’s only fair, right?”
The shame hits you as soon as your top’s on the floor, and your arms fly up to cover you: face, chest, any exposed part of you that’s threatening to flush at his reminder that he’d caught you watching him. Jean tuts, disapproving.
“Can’t be shy now, baby, c’mon,” he fits your arms snug against your sides, bringing a hand up to cup your breast, “fuck, you sure are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”
You tilt your head up, already missing the taste of him on your tongue, but Jean ignores you, leaning his head down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You only have a moment to be embarrassed at the tackiness of your skin, still slick with summer sweat, before he digs his teeth in, wrenches a strangled moan from your throat.
“Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” Jean grits out, scooping you under the arms and setting you perfect and pretty for him on top of your dresser, bringing you to a more manageable angle for him to lick and suck at your chest. His tongue is hot, scathing even, as he maps your body out for himself, looking for each little spot and pressure point that makes those pretty little sounds spill from your lips.
“Jean,” you can’t help but sigh wantonly, running your fingers through his hair. It’s softer than in your dreams, not coarse like you had imagined, but silky and giving under your touch. You twist your fingers in it, tugging lightly, and Jean moans against your skin.
“Is this what you think about?” It’s no louder than a mumble into your breasts, Jean’s still ambling his way around, nipping and teasing, but it perks your ears up.
“What I think about?”
“When you touch yourself.” Jean’s sliding your jeans off of your hips, letting them crumple on the floor at his feet. He plants a kiss right over the pink bow on your panties, smiling appreciatively at the dark spot where you’ve soaked through them. “You always get this wet?”
“No,” you admit, a light flush rising to your face. Jean stands to his full height, presses his lips against your warming cheek, tender and laughably chaste. A bandaid on a bullet hole.
“Just for me, then?”
“Just for you.”
“You didn’t answer me,” Jean presses three long, work-worn fingers against your panties, pushing down just enough to catch the tip of your swollen clit through the fabric. You buck against him, staring up at him with moony eyes.
“What did you ask?”
“Is this what you think about, touching yourself in the dead of night?”
“Yes,” you nod, canting your hips towards him for more friction, more pressure, more anything, but you were right. Jean touches you like one of his wild horses, careful and meticulous, giving you just enough to rile you up but never letting the reins slip from his tight, white-knuckled grip.
“What else?”
“I think–” you suck in a sharp breath when he pushes his middle finger down a little harder, wetting his fingers against the damp cotton– “I think about your fingers. How strong they are, how much bigger than mine.”
“These?” Jean brings his fingers to your lips, swears under his breath when you open up, place them on your tongue, suck on them and run your tongue in between.
Your cute, cotton panties are gone before you even realize Jean’s hooked his fingers in them, hitting the floor beside your crumpled jeans. Jean swipes up through the mess between your legs, rubbing your clit in little circles.
“Is this how I touch you? When you think about me?”
Somewhere in the back of your mind, you worry that you’re going to bite clean through your lip the way you’re digging your teeth into it. “No.”
“No?”
“You put them inside me.”
“Oh,” Jean simpers, a smug, knowing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “like this?”
Your mouth falls open in a silent scream when he pushes a finger into your wet heat, sliding it in and out experimentally just so he can watch the little wrinkles form around your nose, the heave of your chest.
“Yes, yes. Like that.” Your voice is thin, already strung out. Jean chuckles at your desperation, the need laid bare in the way your hips roll towards him, begging to take more of him into your body. You want to swallow him whole, never live another second without him inside you.
“That’s a good girl, so tight, aren’t you?” Jean hums to himself, eyes trained on where your slick is connecting his palm to your clit in thick strings. You’re whining and opening yourself to him completely when he hasn’t even taken off his pants, but you can see it in his eyes that he loves it. His pupils are blown wide, hazel turned to mahogany above you.
Jean slips another finger in beside the other; his hands are much larger than yours, and it’s a stretch, makes your eyes fly open.
“J-Jean–”
“Don’t tell me it’s too much already, baby,” Jean coos, crooking his fingers and punching a groan from the caverns of your chest, “never gonna fit my cock in you if you can’t take these.”
“Not too much, feels–mmm–feels good,” you moan, biting into the bare skin of his shoulder. He tastes like dust, hard work, Budweiser, manly things.
“There’s my girl, taking it so well, aren’t you?” You mumble something unintelligible into his skin, Jean leans back ever so slightly to line his ear up with your mouth. “What was that?”
“Faster,” you beg him, feeling that euphoric thrum running up and down your limbs already. It’s been weeks of torture now, weeks of tension simmering in your body. Jean’s kicked the heat up now, bringing you to a boil. It’s not even July, but a thick August heat settles over you, restless and begging to be turned higher.
“Needy, so fuckin’ sweet and needy for me, aren’t you?” Jean growls, picking up the pace. He’s got you with your legs spread wide enough that the heel of his palm is bumping your clit just right, fingers crooked against the perfect spot, and you’re spiraling, tumbling over the edge before you have a chance to warn him.
“Shit,” Jean’s in awe, watching as you gush around his fingers, stain his jeans, writhe on the cool wood and ride out your orgasm. He pushes his mouth to yours, swallows down the cries you’re pouring out into the thick air, never slowing his fingers as he fucks you through it. You begin to whimper, to curl in on yourself, a flower blooming backwards, shoving at his hand as overstimulation crashes over you. “Better?”
Your eyes are hooded and glistening when you shake your head at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Jean smirks, wicked and prettier than sin, eclipsing the light at the far side of the room.
“You need more?”
“Need you,” you clarify, fumbling with the big, brass belt buckle that’s keeping you from what you really want. Jean takes it from your hands, undoes his jeans, drops them to the floor.
“Bad girl,” Jean tuts, “so fuckin’ needy.”
He’s everything you ever could have dreamed of, long and girthy with a pretty pink tip, glistening like strawberry ice cream. Your mouth waters; you make a move to wriggle off the dresser, take him down your throat, but Jean’s quick to correct you, grabbing your hips and shoving you back against the wall.
“Can’t wait any longer,” Jean runs a hand through the cum between your legs, slicks it over himself, grins sharply when you moan, “I’ll put it in your mouth later.”
“Please,” you’re not even sure what you’re asking for anymore, all you know is it’s him, whether it be sinful lips or strong hands or his perfect cock, you need him, and you need him urgently.
“Shh, I’ve gotcha,” Jean shushes you, pulling your hips flush with his. You whimper as his cock slides through your folds, the sound of your wetness against him making you dizzy. “You ready for me, baby?”
You nod, lip tucked into your teeth, urging him forward with your ankles locked behind his back. He pushes into you, just the head, but the stretch already has you throwing your head back, ignoring the loud slam it makes against the wall, the burn between your legs distracting you from the pain blooming across your scalp.
“Ah ah ah,” Jean grabs you by the nape of the neck, forcing you to look at where he’s splitting you open, “look at that, look at how good you take me. Born for this, got this perfect little body that’s just begging to get fucked open.”
The Jean bullying his way into your pulsing walls is markedly different from the Jean you’d watched through the window. That Jean was rough, uncaring, silent. This Jean is drinking you down, a well-earned beer after a long day, letting his stream of consciousness pour into your ears, muddle your mind like a cherry at the bottom of an old fashioned. He’s so big it hurts, feels holy and sinful and right and wrong all at once.
“There it is,” Jean sighs as he bottoms out, pressing his fingers into your hips like a bruising kiss, “feel good?”
“Feels good,” you agree, nodding, slick forehead rubbing against his, “want you to fuck me now, fuck me good.”
“Oh, I’ll fuck you good,” Jean chuckles, pulling out a bit and snapping his hips forward, making your jaw drop, “yeah?”
“God, yes, please,” you’re pathetic, clinging to him like you’ll float away if you remove your fingernails from his arms. Jean thrusts his hips into yours, the same way he’d break a bronco out in the corral, fucks you like he’s got something to prove, something to win at the end of it all. You take it like you were made for him, your cunt sucking him in greedily. You don’t know where you end and he begins; maybe there’s no separation anymore, no him and no you, just skin and sweat and stickiness melting together into a puddle on your wooden dresser, creaking in protest under your movements.
“Got the best pussy, baby,” Jean wrenches your face to his, talks right onto your tongue, “best I’ve ever had.”
You wail into his open, waiting mouth, feel pleased with yourself at the grin that lights up his face. He looks like a predator, toying with his prey before he swallows you whole.
Jean grabs you under the arms, lifts you, never slipping out, all but tackles you onto the bed in a heap of limbs and gasps. He pulls your legs up by the backs of your knees, folding you in half. Oh, this is better– this is so much better. He’s deep enough in you now to make you see stars, cry pitifully into the night air.
“Like taking you like this– shit, can see your pretty face,” Jean brings a thumb to your clit, thrumming against it, “wish you could see this, see how filthy you are around my cock. My messy fuckin’ girl, ain’t that right?”
Jean punctuates his rambling with a firm smack against your clit, making you squeal and nod frantically. How he’s got you pinned now, there’s no running from him, no mercy from how he pounds into you like he’s determined to break you in half, snap you like a fourth of July glow stick and watch how you shine under him. There it is, that low hum in your bones, a signal of what’s on the rapidly-approaching horizon.
“Jean, I– harder,” you squirm in his firm grip, cunt already raw and sore from where you’re stretched around him. You can’t think straight anymore, swimming in a pool of honey and overindulgence.
“Harder?” Jean grunts, angling his hips to hit against the perfect spot inside of you, making you claw desperately at his biceps, whining. “Like that?”
“Fuck, yes, just like– oh my god.”
Jean practically growls above you, pistoning his hips even faster. “You gonna cum again for me? Fuck baby, didn’t know you needed it this bad.”
God, you’re so wet now you can fucking hear it, hear the lewd slap of skin on skin, the messy sounds of yourself drooling around him, wetting your thighs and dribbling onto the bedsheets. You’ve never been this fucked out before; you understand addicts in an entirely new way now. Now that you know he can do this to you, you’re ruined, nothing will ever amount to the fire licking at your veins, threatening to eat you alive.
Your fuzzy mind wanders to a story about the rapture, a time when angels will sing and the earth will crumble, give way to starlight and fall away into the endless dust of the universe. That’s what’s come over you, you think as you cum around him, tightening like a vice around his cock. That’s the only word for it, something divine and otherworldly strangling you, locking you into this prison of bliss, endless fountain of desire that has you crying out, swearing.
“God, feels so fuckin’ good when you cum on me,” Jean pants from above you, wiping your tears, “so perfect just for me.”
“Y-yeah,” you hiccup, watery and wet against him, “for you.”
“Gonna cum for you,” Jean promises, leaving a searing kiss on your forehead, “cum all over this tight little body, alright?”
“Please,” nothing’s ever sounded more enticing than the promise of his cum painted all over you, not a cold drink on a hot day, not a cherry stem between your teeth, nothing. You clench down around him at the thought, make him swear.
His hips stutter, thrusts growing sloppy against you. He’s got his hands planted firmly on your hips, jerking you back and forth on the bed like his own little fuckdoll, and you let him move you, so blissed out you don’t think you could fight back even if you wanted to. You’re more than compliant, you’re willing, yet another wild thing going soft at his touch.
Jean pulls out and jerks himself into his hand, shooting cum all over your puffy pussy, the little roll at the bottom of your tummy. He collapses into your waiting arms, melding your lips together in something slow and languid, a movement of mouths that feels familiar, like it’s been etched into your bones since the day you were born. You whimper into his mouth as he kisses you, exhaustion slowing the drag of your hand over his shoulders. Jean finally rolls off of you, propping himself up on one elbow to study his handiwork.
He trails a finger through the cum splattered across your skin, brings it to your lips so you can have a taste.
“Look real pretty like this, y’know,” he drawls, breathless. Your cloudy mind can’t grasp that it’s really him, streaked yellow by the hazy lamplight and sticky and beautiful like an angel curled up next to you.
“Feel sticky,” you giggle, sucking on the finger he offers you. Jean chuckles too, something boyish and innocent that you’ve never heard before.
“Where’s the bathroom? I’ll grab something to clean you up.”
You point a lazy finger off in the right direction, biting back a grin at the way his ass moves when he walks. When Jean returns, he’s holding a pink washcloth, dampened and so cool it nearly steams in your stuffy room. He wipes you up, careful and considerate, you laugh under your breath at the scratch of the cloth on your ticklish belly.
Your breath catches in your throat when he finishes cleaning you. You know this routine from your spying; this is where he pulls his jeans over himself, still half-hard, bids the woman goodnight, maybe grants her a last kiss or a smack on the ass if she’s lucky. But you’ve pulled him into your space, and it’s an entirely new ball game. Your field, your rules.
Jean stretches out beside you, bringing an absentminded hand up to play with your hair. “Pretty.”
“You’ve only said it about a thousand times,” you roll your eyes playfully, feeling confident in your post-sex glow, confident enough to play the vixen, the radio vamp, the tempting little sliver of moonlight that calls a drunk bastard to stay out for just one more. The glow, the lantern, the moths, the hiss of a quick death.
“Mean it,” Jean taps your nose, “pretty enough to keep.”
“Is that so?” You pop up on your elbows, nearly coming nose to nose with him.
“Sure is,” Jean smiles at you, close enough that you can see a heartstopping twinkle in his eye.
“Thought it was wrong?” You mimic his words from earlier, carefully weaving in a teasing note to your voice. You’re teetering on the wooden plank that crosses the creek behind your house; one wrong move, and you’re wet, cold, and alone. You’re a summer baby through and through, and you want nothing more than to drown in this heat until you’re burnt to a crisp.
“Could be a secret,” Jean toys with your fingers.
“A secret?”
“Our little secret,” he amends, brushing his lips over your knuckles.
“I’m not a little girl, Jean–”
“You think I’d fuck you like that if you were?” He laughs breathlessly again, makes your stomach swoop. You’re spent, you know you are, but that laugh, those toned muscles– adrenaline’s still buzzing hot under your skin, a neon sign in the window of a bar flashing open! open! “I know better now. You’re a bad girl deep down, wild little thing.”
“Maybe,” you tuck your lip between your teeth, blinking up at him owlishly. “You not a bad boy, Jean?”
“I’m a boy that needs to keep cash in his pockets,” Jean winces, wiping a hand over his forehead.
“You need to stop worrying about this stupid job,” you swat at his chest, “he’s not as scary as he looks.”
Jean scoffs. “You haven’t seen that gun safe in the house, then.”
“You can’t fuck me like that just once,” you protest, snuggling your naked body into his, “we’ve still got all summer to go.”
“Greedy, aren’t you?” Jean chuckles, brings his lips to your hairline, pulls you closer. “Want more already?”
“Don’t you?”
“Guilty. But–”
“You’re off on Sundays,” you cut him off, sit up on your elbows again to look him in his eyes. “Could take me out for a drink, even though it’s a little backwards, considering.”
“Is that what I could do?” the corner of his mouth twitches tellingly, betrays the hesitance in his words.
“S’what you will do,” you correct him, smoothing a stray lock of hair on his head. Jean laughs at that, laughs loud and deep from his chest, scooping you into his arms and pulling you onto him in a fit of giggles and kisses and tenderness, sweet and soft like the inside of a ripe peach once you tear out the wooden pit.
“Yes ma’am.”
You mean it, too. You wanted him carnally– still do, but he’s too sweet to let go, too tasty, like a hit from the first cigarette in a pack. You’re addicted, but you’re addictive, too. Jean might be the best stableboy in the county, but he’ll learn. You’re only tame for him for the time being. You’re just resting your sore muscles until you can find the strength to rear your head again, ready to kick back against the world. He might stroke you, pet you, ride you like one of those broken broncos now safe from the fields and tucked away from the cruel nature of the grasslands, but you’re not a creature that can be tamed. Jean will learn, given time. It’s going to be a long, hot summer, and nothing, not blackberry moonshine, not a good romp between the sheets, nothing can keep a bad girl down.
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savannahsdeath · 3 months
Text
a part 2 of -this- ❈ dealer!ellie . an unspecified-criminal's daughter!reader and her father's reunion . this is v short but this lil part had to be done anyway and the next part(s?) will be a rollercoaster istg!!!
warnings: only smoking and language
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she tried to cover up her surprise with a nervous smile on her lips. the same lips which quickly ended up babbling curses anyway.
you hesitantly grinned at the view of the spooked girl. "yeah, daughter!" you haughtily declared, though your voice was even more surprised than hers.
"holy shit." she extended her hand. "i'm ellie. i work for him."
"you do?" you almost squealed and shook her hand, murmuring your own name in exchange. she started to lead the way and you were happy to see that you were walking in the right direction the whole time.
"yeah. it's nice to meet you, tho..." without turning around, she looked at you over her shoulder, as if to make sure you're still following her footsteps. "he never told me he has a kid—" and just like that, in a swift moment — like a snap of fingers, she realised why.
you didn't know what to answer. you weren't shocked, yet something about this fact made you somber and melancholic. you just nodded, before slightly changing the topic to a more optimistic side. "so, what is he like?"
she turned and started walking down a narrow, claustrophobic street, which welcomed you with two buildings surrounding your sides.
you couldn't help but feel like your question knocked her out of rhythm. "uh-oh— well, he's a good guy, just... harsh," she admitted, "but i'm sure he will treat you like a princess."
you smirked as you got to an exposed surface again.
ellie stopped in front of a meager pub. "trust me, you prefer to not come inside. i'll call him outside in a second, 'kay?"
you agreed and restlessly stamped your foot while waiting. you forcefully put the letter in your pocket, crushing it mercilessly. all you could hear was the muffled voices of men inside and the smashed piece of paper, which crunched as your leg moved.
ellie came out in the presence of a man twice your age. you tried to notice any similarities between you both and, though you couldn't point out any specific ones, you were sure you have his genes.
the girl backed away and leaned against the pub's wall, leaving some space for you. she took a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and stuck one between her thumb and index finger.
you felt the paving tiles turning sticky like a slime, making you unable to take a step in any direction. all you could do was stare at him, with your lips going dry, aching head and eyes unable to cry, yet lachrymose.
you cleared your throat and heard him whisper your name, as he stood right in front of you now. he raised his hands and cupped your face with them, lightly caressing your skin. yours found their place on his, brushing your fingers against his. you felt his muscles flex and hypothetically but properly conjectured his job made him strong, whatever it was.
you smiled, favoring him with your pearly whites. your cheeks felt scorching, almost sizzling and your whole body somehow painfully tingly. he pulled away after what seemed like eternity and patted your shoulder.
"what a pretty girl" he whispered, amazed and dazed, before taking a step aside, revealing you to ellie's eyes. "she looks just like me, doesn't she?"
as the girl parted her lips, a cloud of smoke soared and smudged in the air. "i can't spot any differences," she shouted, "it's hard to tell you two apart. identical like two drops of water!"
your father gently but quickly spun you around, so you weren't facing her anymore. "not funny!" he hissed, what made you flinch, though you could hear ellie chuckle in response. he turned back to you, his hand landed on the small of your back. "i know a very good restaurant near!" he exclaimed, moreover you just noticed how hungry you are and how much things there are to tell and talk about.
✧˖°
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