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delirious-donna · 2 months

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Awake At The Witching Hour [Part Four]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: You can't sleep and it seems your handsome host can't either. What is there to do in the middle of the night?

pairings: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: NSFW, mutual masturbation (but separate, you’ll get the gist), Nanami being pent up, imaginations running wild (both Nanami and reader), cumshot, reader described as being generous and soft in body

Part Three | Series Masterlist | Part Five

The witching hour. When it is said that the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, and the power of the nefarious is at its strongest.

You weren’t entirely sure what had roused you. No sense of fear gripped your heart so you doubted it was due to some bad dream, though it had taken a moment to remember where you were.

Black velvet darkness impaired your vision at first, drowsiness adding to your inability to pick out the details of the room you were lying in. The air was pleasantly cool against your warm sleep-soaked skin. You pushed back the duvet to feel the faint breeze play across the soft squidge of your abdomen—the oversized t-shirt you wore pushed up to your chest in the disarray of a tumultuous sleep.

The events of the day unfurled in your mind’s eye like a low budget movie. It still didn’t feel real, though you well remembered the blind panic and sense of anger then irritation at being walked in on whilst bathing. No, not walked in, leapt in on. Now that you knew Nanami Kento a little better it was hard to fight the smile that rose to your lips in memory.

He seemed so different at that moment, the booming “booo” not something you would ever expect from the rigid man he had been since then. You wondered if he was a little more relaxed with his friends and loved ones. Did he even have friends?

A suspicion told you that he was the type to keep to himself, or maybe one or two close friends at most. That was relatable, and made him all the more human in your eyes. What might he be like as a boyfriend, you wondered? Attentive and loving or distant and cold? Either was possible, as well as a multitude of other attributes and combinations.

Sighing deeply, you turned onto your side and pulled the covers up to your chin now that your body had cooled from the stream of air that crept in from the ajar window. A glance at your phone told you it was late—an hour you should be asleep at—but you were annoyingly awake.

It seemed the only thing on your mind was that of the man asleep in the room next to yours. A man that didn’t want anything to do with you, a perfect stranger. Yet, you couldn’t help but wonder… couldn’t help but fantantise that he could be interested. If he were to knock on your door right now, his hazel eyes, dark pools speared with lightning, and desire evident on his cheeks you would welcome him.

Did he sleep naked? The thought of all that glorious skin bare beneath covers that matched the ones you were snuggled under sent a throb directly between your legs. You were developing a second heartbeat at an alarming rate and it was all his fault. It was ridiculous how good looking he was, and what made it worse was he didn’t seem to know it. You imagined your fingers running through his neatly parted hair and knew he would look even sexier with it all mussed. The just fucked look.

He was well built and definitely strong. Biceps didn’t bulge against shirt sleeves in the way his did if you weren’t bench pressing a decent amount regularly. That and the small home gym were more than enough to know with certainty that if he meant business, you’d be in a heap of trouble. In the best way. Your mind whispered, and you felt fiery warmth fill your cheeks.

You weren’t honestly sure when your hand had begun to stray.

The peaks of your nipples rubbed against your shirt, thumb and finger tweaking the sensitive buds and rolling them deftly until your thighs pressed together at the crave for friction. It was wrong to be thinking such lewd thoughts of your generous host—unwilling as he might have started out—but you couldn’t stop. Kento’s broad frame filled your mind, the looming shadow dwarving you enough to make you feel diminutive by comparison, and equally as thrilled.

The laboured breathing of his barreled chest hard to resist, the rise and fall evidence of a man close to the limit of his restraint and you badly wanted to reach out and touch him. Wild desire radiating from his every pore like a heady musk that you inhaled greedily, longing to become entirely intoxicated by him. Who would break first in the game of lust and longing? Regardless of the answer, there would be no loser.

This was so wrong. So stupendously wrong, not to mention, futile. A veil of madness shrouded the bed and you couldn’t stop nor did you actually wish to. In the darkest part of the night your deepest desires unfolded in perfect clarity. He ticked so many boxes and left question marks in many more. An enigma that you longed to solve. A riddle that you wanted to crow over the answer when it finally revealed itself.

Nanami Kento…

Your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, eyes widened at the searing heat you encountered. The skin of your pubic mound was warm to the touch, but as you raked through the neatly trimmed hairs and moved closer to the heart of your sex, it increased tenfold. You might have hissed if you weren’t concerned with making any noise that could alert the object of your arousal. Wetness glided over the pads of your fingertips, sticky and abundant. It spread along your plump folds engorged with blood until your tented knees butterflied outwards and you could feel the twitching urge to toy with your clit.

What would he think of this madness? A young woman intent on masturbating to the thought of him. Would he deepen that permanently etched scowl and reprimand you? And why did even the idea of that outcome spark the ends of your nerves with raw electricity?

Speaking of the man in question, he was awake. Blinking into the darkness as if the ceiling held the answer to his current dilemma. That dilemma being the tent in his tight navy boxer briefs.

Without looking, he palmed himself and manoeuvred his cock to lie flush against his thigh. There. Now it didn’t appear like he was pitching a tent that could sleep a family of four. Instead, the heat of his erection seeped into him and roused his mind all the more.

His dreams had been a jumbled black and white mess, an indicator for the state of his mind. Sleep had found him easily, but the wrinkled and twisted covers showed that it had not been a sound slumber.

Kento puffed, grumpy and aching. He couldn’t recall the last time he wrapped his palm around himself to let off some steam. It had always seemed like a poor use of his time. Opting for cold showers to numb his swollen member, focusing on getting in a rigorous albeit begrudged workout in before the commute to work.

He baulked at the realisation he hadn’t cum in nearly six months. The last time he entertained the idea of dating even further back than that. So what was different?

You. You were something different. Smiling before he could school his features into neutrality, he surmised that your presence was fucking with more than just his routine. It was you that he thought of when he adjusted himself, trying and failing not to think of your smaller fingers around his shaft.

“What is wrong with me?”

He recalled the smile you gifted him when you parted ways for the night, how your small hand had once again reached out to lightly touch his bicep in thanks for carrying your small suitcase into the room. His cock twitched in response. Groaning, he smacked the pillow next to him over his face. If he were a dog his tail would be wagging. Not just a dog, more like a mongrel.

Kento swore your scent lingered in his room. The wafts of your perfume were stronger in the bathroom and he tried to ignore the subtle sweetness even as it infused inside his nose. Right now, it seemed to have settled into his sheets and he longed to bury his nose in the high count cotton and inhale deeply. Nothing was dissuading him from lowering the band of his briefs until he stood proudly erect.

Maybe if he satisfied the urge now, the fog that clouded his judgement would clear and all would be right again. That was what he told himself while pulling back the covers to free himself. Precum dribbled from the angry slit of his cockhead, turning the near purple tip glossy and sticky.

His thumb swiped through the mess and his hips rose instinctively. Behind his shuttered eyelids he saw you approach the bed, generous hips swaying clad in the softest satin. In truth, he couldn’t give a fuck for expensive lingerie, but it was aesthetically pleasing and this was his fantasy so why not indulge? He’d be just as happy to greet you in sweats or better yet… his shirt.

Oh fuck.

The tendons in his neck strained, head thrown back whilst he pumped himself lazily at first. Would you be shy in bed? Assertive? Would you drop your jaw to let your tongue run over the seam of his balls whilst using that quick witted mouth of yours on him?

The unknown was almost more tantalising to him than the act itself. It had been so long since the experience of working someone out appealed to him. To learn their nuances and what made them tick. More specifically, your nuances and what made you tick.

With months of denying himself under his belt, it didn’t take long for Kento to feel that familiar tingle begin at the small of his back. His balls drew tight and full, and he flushed a darker red at how easily he was ready to cum. His free hand clenched into a fist, the cotton of the sheets held tightly whilst his toes curled. A guttural groan escaped his throat before he could smother it, quickly biting his lip as spurts of hot cum lashed his quivering stomach. Warm honeyed pleasure dripped in inversion from the bottom of his spine to the base of his skull until his eyes rolled over.

Kento slowed the stroke of his hand, wringing his cock of every last drop until he was close to whimpering from the sensitivity. Panting from the far too quick ejaculation, his eyebrows pinched at the mess he had made. Streaks of milky release pooled near his navel, his hand and softening cock sticky and webbed from the moment of madness. As soon as he was certain his legs would work, he trudged into the bathroom to clean up with guilt weighing heavy in his gut.

A similar sensation burned in the pit of your stomach. Your chest heaved from the release you’d found, but it came at a price and now you were paying it.

You didn’t regret your actions but there was still a guilt associated with them. You were two unattached adults, and you couldn’t deny or sweep aside your attraction to Kento any longer, but he was Karin’s brother. He should be forbidden. You wouldn’t give oxygen to the mean voice in your head that said she deserved it for not telling you about him sooner.

The little pulsing aftershocks of your orgasm were fading, fingers sticky from how you had done your best to fuck yourself before switching to manipulating your sensitive pearl until white sparked in your vision. All the while you thought of how it would look to have his head between your thighs, his mouth on your pussy and your fingers tangled in his hair. Would he eat you sloppily or bite at the tender inside of your thighs? Would he welcome you rutting yourself against his mouth or would he hold your hips steady?

You sat up, legs wobbly when your feet fell to the floor. The bathroom wasn’t far and you needed to clean up and change your underwear. The reflection in the mirror over the sink looked hesitant despite the soft glow your skin exuded. A healthy dose of dopamine and the pump of blood circulating your body brightened you up even though it was the middle of the night, and you looked away with a troubled sigh.

The apartment was silent, your footsteps the only sound as you tiptoed barefoot into the kitchen for a glass of water before heading back to bed. Leaning your forehead against the cabinet, you listened to the rushing water for a moment or two longer than necessary before filling a glass and taking a sip. The sound masked the footsteps that approached, pausing then continuing on.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

A strangled scream caught fast in your throat, muffled by the water now rushing down the wrong way and making you cough and splutter. You whirled on the spot and came face to chest with the man you had spent the last half hour pleasuring yourself to the thought of.

Kento was bare chested—a fact your bulging eyes couldn’t believe—with a faint smattering of ash-coloured hairs decorating between his meaty pectorals and leading down towards his stomach. You didn’t dare follow it any further for fear of knowing whether it went right down to his happy trail, a fact that most definitely would see you moaning aloud.

A pair of pale blue pyjama trousers hid the rest of him and you were grateful for that. He stalled next to the kitchen island, an unreadable expression on his face, and were his ears red? It would be comical if you weren’t burning with mortification. Your heartbeat raced so thunderously that it was amazing he couldn’t hear it from across the room.

“I… couldn’t sleep,” you finally offered once you could breathe again without coughing.

His eyes seemed to search your features, whether for signs of lying or something else, you weren’t completely sure. At last, he nodded and walked closer to grab his own glass and fill it with water.

The silence was oppressive, thick and charged with an energy that bristled down Kento’s spine. “Do you need anything?”

Your head snapped around so fast he was surprised you didn’t give yourself whiplash. If he didn’t know any better he would say that warmth seemed to fill your face. The question was innocent but perhaps… no. He was trying to see things that weren’t there.

“An extra pillow. A thicker duvet.” He elaborated when you didn’t answer.

Having this casual conversation was excruciating enough given what he had just done to the image of you in his mind. It was made worse with the realisation that the reality of you was so much more appealing than his imagination could ever conjure.

The almost comically oversized t-shirt you wore dragged nearly to your knees, with the sleeves reaching well past your elbows. It kept your modesty intact and the mystery of it all made his mouth water. Discovering the curves of your body, which parts dipped and the soft rolls of your body would be hours of fun if he were given the chance, not that he would be. He idly wondered if you would look this good in one of his shirts before dismissing the thought, or trying to.

His cock twitched in his clean briefs and he cleared his throat and turned away, terrified of pitching another tent when one was not wanted nor needed. Kento didn’t need to think about how close you were, how all he had to do was reach out a hand and discover whether you would step away or approach. He couldn’t decide which outcome would be the better one.

“No, I don’t need a pillow or anything like that,” you said finally, though you left the sentence hanging because you did want something, but you couldn’t tell him that. “I’m just adjusting to sleeping in a new place, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, but don’t hesitate if there is something I can do to help.”

You could stop looking like a damn five course meal.

The thought was in your mind so suddenly you nearly gasped, instead, masking it by taking a long gulp of water and walking towards the hallway. You needed to put some distance between you, to retreat to the relative safety of your room and chastise yourself for being no better than a lustful bunny.

With a faux smile and an appreciative nod, you turned one last time to glance at him. “Thank you, Kento.”

Kento watched you slip out of sight, back along the darkened hallway and listened to the soft snick of your bedroom closing shut. He was throbbing, a hand drifted to his crotch to hide what was growing. That was the first time you had called him by his given name, and he liked it.

What a mess, he thought whilst returning to bed. His eyes never wavered from your door until he was safely behind his own. His guts still twisted in memory of his unsavoury actions, but something more pressing was on his mind as he screwed his eyes shut and prayed for sleep.

I want to hear my name from your lips again…

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk fluff

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woahjo · 3 months

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Pls pls pls how do you imagine bkg’s first bj went😫

nonnie, i want you to know that i had a dream where i answered this the night that you sent it. and instead of writing about katsuki's first blowjob, i wrote it (for some reason) about his first kiss, posted it, and then experienced a kind of remorse that no man has ever experience before.

cw: blowjob, unintentional edging, reader takes the lead here, it's a little messy towards the end, experienced reader and inexperienced katsuki, first time jitters, that's all i can think of

anyway, i think katsuki is a late bloomer sort of. it takes him a while to get warmed up enough to someone for something physical. he's a somewhat guarded person and he doesn't take physicality lightly, so i think his first blowjob is the slow and steady kind.

he's sitting on the edge of the bed, pants halfway unbuckled and hard under the denim of his jeans. a junior in the pro-hero equivalent of college and so nervous that his face and ears have gone scarlet.

katsuki stutters when you put your mouth around the tip and he feels the warmth of the inside of your cheeks. it's not so much a nervous stutter, but the kind that comes from the back of his throat, mostly comprised of a mix of shock and pleasure. at first, he struggles to look at you. he'll probably come too fast if he does, but as you continue, he finds that he has a different problem.

katsuki hits the edge and then can't... take the leap. your mouth is moving over him beautifully, cheeks hollowed, pretty eyes looking up at him, but he's so oddly nervous that he finds it difficult to cross the finish line. he teeters at the edge for far longer than he'd like to, face flushed and eyebrows screwed together as he angles his head up towards the ceiling. his voice comes out in choked groans, pleasure mounting but never cresting over, until eventually, you stop.

you tilt your head up at him and he furrows his brows, trying to concentrate on the lingering feeling of your mouth. when you lean up to put your lips on his neck, he shudders. you mumble quietly that he should take his time getting there. that it's not a big deal if he can't. it's not so much about the finish line as it is about the race itself and you hum pleasantly against his neck as you feel his muscles flex beneath your lips.

katsuki tilts his head down slightly so that his mouth is by your ear and you reach to run your fingers lightly over his twitching, leaky cock.

"how about you do it in my hand for now, okay?"

then, you grip him softly, moving your hand up and down over his slick-soaked cock, squeezing when you get to the head of him. katsuki groans, his voice catching again, and you continue moving your lips up and down his flushed neck. his breathing picks up and you can hear the way he struggles to compose himself a little better from here.

he knots his fingers into the bedsheets and cums almost immediately. his expression contorts lightly, eyebrows furrowed as he tips his head back with relief. cum drips down your knuckles and you take a moment to smear it down his cock before removing your hand and kissing the side of his jaw gently.

"fuck," he says, breathless, "sorry."

you just hum softly, pausing for a moment before lightly kissing his lips.

"probably just a little nervous," you mumble through a soft smile, "that's all."

#cal care package #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #tw.edging #cal.writing #yeahhhh idk what this is but i like imagining him to be awkward #char.katsuki

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st4rfckerz · 3 months

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church mouse | priest!anakin skywalker x reader

word count: 4.0k

warnings: MDNI 18+, blasphemy, age gap (reader is in her 20s), mild manipulation, infedelity, pet names, dubcon, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, virginity loss, rushed ending dead dove do not eat

summary: After confessing your sins to the priest, he encourages you to talk to him privately.

The sun shone brightly outside the church windows, casting warm rays across the peaceful town square. Birds sang melodiously in trees lining the peaceful avenue leading to the church building. Inside, candles flickered gently, casting warm light on the ornate wooden pews filled with devoted parishioners.

Many attendees wore their finest clothes as they listened intently to Father Anakin's sermons, occasionally whispering prayers under their breath or reaching for their rosaries. The scent of incense mixed pleasantly with perfume and cologne wafting through the air.

"Today's lesson is about finding solace in our faith during difficult times, we have all faced trials and tribulations throughout life, but remember that God is always with us, guiding us through these dark moments," he paused dramatically, letting the words sink in before adding. "Just like how I am here for you all, If anyone needs guidance or support outside of church hours, please don't hesitate to visit me personally."

The crowd applauded politely, some even raising their hands in praise.

Anakin stood tall and proud in front of his congregation, his hands resting gracefully atop each other in prayer position. "But first, let us pray," he began solemnly. Everyone followed suit, kneeling on their knees, and bowing their heads in unison. He led them in a heartfelt prayer asking for strength and guidance throughout the week ahead. Your eyes were closed tightly as you prayed fervently, the beads of you rosary clicking softly in rhythm with each breath you took.

The prayer ends and you raise your head. Anakin's warm eyes met yours briefly before returning his gaze to the congregation. "Remember, my dear friends, if you ever need someone to turn to in times of trouble or doubt, I am here for you. Now, let us proceed with the sermon." He said softly yet firmly.

Anakin's sermon lasted well beyond the usual hour mark, his words resonating deeply within you. He talked about sin and repentance, forgiveness and redemption. Each sentence seemed tailored specifically for you, hitting hard at places you didn't even know existed. His voice was mesmerizing, lulling you into a trance-like state where all you could think about was him.

After thanking everyone for attending church today, Anakin announced that confessionals would remain open for anyone who needed to speak with him privately. He urged those waiting outside the confessional booths to enter one by one. People started lining up outside the confessional booths, waiting patiently for their turn to unburden themselves.

You hesitated briefly, unsure whether you should go or not.

Finally, mustering up courage, you walked slowly towards the nearest booth, taking deep breaths to calm yourself.

You couldn't help but notice how many women seemed particularly entranced by Father Anakin; they hung onto his every word during sermons and lingered longer than necessary after Mass ended. Some even approached him directly after services, seeking personal guidance or counsel.

When it was finally your turn, you nervously stepped inside the dimly lit booth. The thick wooden panel separated you from him, giving you some semblance of privacy. You hoped no one could hear what you were about to say.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned." You begin timidly.

You could hear his soothing voice responding softly, "What is it my child? Remember, here you can speak freely without fear of judgment." His deep baritone reverberated through the wooden walls, making your knees tremble slightly.

Unsure of how to begin, you struggled to find the right words. Your voice trembled slightly as you managed to spit out the confession that had been weighing heavily on your mind for days now.

"I had an encounter with a boy and it was wrong," You explain. "He touched me Father." The admission felt like a heavy stone being lifted off your chest, but also brought forth a wave of guilt and shame.

Your heart raced faster than ever before, and you could feel sweat forming on your palms as they clutched tightly onto the confession railing.

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, a slight frown creeping onto his otherwise serene face.

His warmth radiated off him like a furnace, making you feel as if you were melting in his presence. "And did you enjoy it?" he asked bluntly, his tone laced with curiosity rather than judgment.

Slightly taken aback you respond meekly, "No sir."

After a brief pause, he continued, his tone becoming more commanding. "Meet me in my office once everyone has left." With that cryptic statement, you hear his door open, signaling the end of confession time. After gathering yourself, you cautiously left the booth and returned to the previously vacant pew.

As everyone else left the almost empty church, you sat in silence and waited. The sun casted a warm, golden light through the stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the pews surrounding you. It was only you and a woman only a few years your senior. The woman's eyes lingered on Anakin hungrily as she waited for him to acknowledge her presence

The woman, dressed in a somewhat modest dress and heels, stood in front of Anakin. They engaged in conversation for several minutes, their voices low enough that you couldn't make out what they were discussing. Anakin gave you a small nod towards the hallway leading to his office, indicating you should wait outside while he finished up with the other woman. Reluctantly, you stepped into the empty hallway, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. Every step felt like walking on eggshells, and every sound echoed loudly in your ears. Finally, after what seemed like forever, you reach his office.

With haste, you slip inside and shut the door. You sat nervously in the chair, trying to compose yourself as you waited for Anakin to finish his conversation with the woman. The office itself was tastefully decorated, featuring a large wooden desk with numerous religious trinkets and pictures of Jesus Christ adorning the walls. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes on religion, philosophy, and psychology. A large cross hung prominently above his desk, casting eerie shadows across the room.

The door creaked open, and Anakin stepped inside, closing and locking it behind him. His long legs striding confidently towards you as you remain sitting in your chair. Reaching out, he gently caressed your cheek with his warm palm, his fingers brushing against your jawline. His touch sent electric shockwaves through your body, making it hard for you to focus on anything but him.

"Did you enjoy today's sermon little lamb?" He asks softly.

"Yes Father," You managed to croak out, your voice cracking slightly. "It was very moving."

Anakin walks over to his desk and sits down across from you, his presence nearly overpowering as he leaned forward in his chair. His large frame loomed over you, making you feel small and insignificant yet simultaneously drawn to him.

"I noticed how attentive you've been during my sermons," he admitted with a slight smirk. "It's quite flattering, actually." You couldn't help but blush at his candid admission, feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment and excitement wash over you.

"Now, tell me more about this encounter you mentioned during confession," he said calmly, leaning forward slightly. His presence was suffocating yet strangely comforting, making it difficult for you to form coherent sentences. "What exactly happened between you and this boy?"

"W-well the other day me and this boy were studying together, and then he kissed me." you admitted sheepishly.

"Is that all he did?" Anakin pressed, his eyes boring into yours. His question caught you off guard, and you hesitated before answering truthfully.

"No sir, when we kissed he put his fingers...inside me." Your face flushed even brighter at your confession, and you felt heat rising in your chest. Anakin's expression remained unchanged, but you could feel the heat emanating from him intensifying.

"Was it consensual?" he asked bluntly, his eyes boring into yours.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. On one hand, you knew what you had done was wrong, but another part of you couldn't deny the thrill and excitement it brought you

"Yes Father," you whispered softly, barely audible above the ticking clock on his desk. You hung your head low in shame, tears threatening to spill over at the thought of betraying your faith. "But I didn't...you know." Anakin's brow furrowed slightly, his eyes searching yours intently. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze intensifying. Anakin paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully.

"You didn't have an orgasm." He stated bluntly, his tone devoid of judgment. You shake your head quickly, too embarrassed to speak again.

He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk, his forearms resting on his knees. His icy blue eyes bore into yours, searching for some hidden truth that you refused to admit. "It's natural for a young woman like yourself to be curious about her body and sexuality," he said matter-of-factly. "But remember, these desires must be channeled appropriately. God created us with these urges, but we must learn to control them."

Anakin rose from his chair, towering over you as he extended a hand towards his own seat. "Please, sit," he commanded softly, his voice carrying an underlying command that left no room for refusal. You hesitantly stood up and walked tentatively towards him, your heart racing wildly in anticipation of what was to come.

Anakin stood behind you as you sat in his big, leather chair. He opened a large, leather-bound Bible on the desk, flipping through the pages until he found a particular passage. "Read this passage aloud for me," he commanded softly, his hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair. "I believe it might resonate with you." You cleared your throat and began to read the passage about self control, giving it your best effort despite the heavy breathing behind you.

"2 Peter 1:4 Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires." You read quietly. Anakin listened intently as you read the passage, his fingers lightly tracing circles on your nape and down your spine. With each touch, your brain became foggier, making it difficult for you to concentrate on the words written centuries ago.

"That's beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky. Anakin leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you understand what these words mean?" he whispers.

"Yes Father." You reply quietly. Anakin's fingers traced lower, brushing against your cleavage through your top. "Good girl," he praised, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Now, I want you to close your eyes and imagine that these words are being spoken directly to you by God Himself."

He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Imagine that He's telling you, 'My child, I love you unconditionally. You are mine, and no one else can ever take that away from you.' Do you feel it spreading throughout your body?" A surge of warmth washed over you like a tidal wave. It started at your feet and spread upwards, engulfing every inch of your body. You shivered in delight as goosebumps formed on your skin.

Anakin flipped the Bible page to another passage, his fingers brushing against yours lightly as he did so. "Now, read this one aloud for me, 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5" he commanded softly, his warm breath tickling your earlobe.

You obediently did as he commanded, trying hard not to focus on the growing arousal between your legs. You clear your throat and speak again.

"For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God."

As you read the passage, Anakin's lips traced slow, gentle kisses along your neck, his breath hot against your skin. Each touch ignited a fire within you, making it increasingly difficult to focus on the words written on the page. Anakin's lips reached your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

"You're still pure, aren't you?" he asked softly, nipping lightly at your earlobe. "No one has ever claimed you like this before?" His hand reaches down and slides underneath your skirt, brushing his knuckles against your wet, cotton panties.

"Yes." you managed to choke out, your voice cracking with desire. Your body arched into his touch, begging for more. You bit your bottom lip hard, trying to suppress the moan escaping your throat as he continued to tease and torment you. You felt your resolve crumble beneath his relentless assault on your senses. His words had substance, they seemed so full of meaning. You were mesmerized.

Anakin groaned lowly, his voice low and husky. "I knew there was something special about you, my church mouse," he whispered in your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. Anakin's hand moved to the edge of your panties, his warm fingers pulling them to the side. His thumb teased your throbbing clit, circling around it slowly. "You weren't this wet when that boy touched you, were you?" he purred, his voice filled with satisfaction.

"N-no Father, I wasn't." you moan softly, unable to contain the growing need building inside of you. Anakin's fingers plunge into your aching cunt, moving in and out of your tight entrance slowly at first, his thumb still circling your sensitive nub. His breathing grew heavier, matching the rapid pace of your own as he continued to explore your most sacred parts.

"That's my girl," he praised, his voice laced with lust. "Feel how much you need me?"

You nodded vigorously, unable to form coherent words as his touch escalated. Each curl of his fingers inside your drooling cunt heightened your arousal, making it nearly impossible for you to concentrate on anything else. His touch was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before—it was both rough and tender, possessive yet caring. The combination of his power and gentleness left you feeling both terrified and exhilarated at the same time.

Soon your body tensed up, and you could feel your orgasm building rapidly. Anakin pulled his fingers out of your core just as you reached the brink of ecstasy, leaving you hanging on the edge of orgasm.

"No, why'd you stop?" you whine softly as you turn around to face him. You pouted, your lower lip quivering in frustration as he denied you the release you so desperately craved.

A smirk played at the corners of his lips. "Not yet, little lamb." he teased, his voice laced with power and control. Anakin stood up straight again, his erection straining against his pants. He pulled your chair back slightly, creating enough room for him to stand in front of you. His large frame loomed over you as he placed a hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Anakin's eyes bore into yours, searching for any signs of hesitation or deceit. "Do you pray every night?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded earnestly, unable to hide the truth from him. "Yes, Father. I pray every night before bed." Anakin knelt down in front of you, his broad shoulders framing your body. His hands moved to rest on your knees, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over your skin.

"What do you pray for? What do you ask of God?" Anakin asks softly, his eyes searching yours intently.

You glanced down at your lap, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "I ask for strength and guidance, mostly." you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Anakin's eyes narrowed slightly, studying your reaction. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice low and husky. "Good," His hand moved up your leg, lifting your skirt enough to expose your panty-clad pussy. "I can't help but notice how devoted you are during my sermons," he said, his voice dripping with false concern. "It would be a sin for me not to reward my favorite student.

With one swift motion, he yanked your panties down to your ankles, exposing your slick coated cunt to his hungry eyes. Anakin placed your leg on his shoulder, giving him better access to your now-exposed folds. His warm, wet tongue traced slow circles around your entrance before dipping inside, his tongue flicking against your sensitive spots with expert precision.

"Read again," he commanded, his voice mumbling against your warm flesh. "Proverbs 18:21."

You fumbled with the Bible, your hands shaking slightly as you tried to focus on the words written on its pages.

"The tongue has the power of life and death, and those who love it will eat its fruit."

Anakin hums in approval against your mound, causing a rush of vibrations to flow through your body. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Your grip tightened on his hair, pulling him closer, your nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

You whimpered, your body tensing up in anticipation of imminent orgasm. "Father, I-I feel it coming again." you managed to choke out between moans.

Anakin's hand moved to your entrance, two fingers slipping inside of you, stretching you wider. "That's it," he said, his voice low and husky. "Let go and let yourself succumb to His will."

A wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, your entire body convulsed, and a string of lewd moans escaped your lips. Your orgasm was unlike anything you had ever experienced before—more intense, more powerful, and more fulfilling than any previous encounter. It felt as though the heavens themselves were opening up to claim your soul.

Anakin's tongue continued to lap up your juices, his eyes locked on yours as he savored the taste of your arousal. With a smirk, he stood up straight again, towering over you in all his glory. Anakin's eyes were ablaze with desire as he stood over you, his hardened cock straining against his pants.

"We're not quite done yet," he said, his voice low and raspy. "Stand up."

He reached down, undoing his pants and boxers in one swift motion, freeing his thick member from its confines. It stood tall and proud, glistening with pre-cum, its head flushed a deep crimson.

"Bend over," he ordered. Slowly, you stood up and turned around, your back facing him. Anakin's hands gripped your hips, positioning you over the desk. You felt his cock poking against your ass, and a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine.

Anakin's large, calloused hands gripped your firm ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them roughly. His fingers traced slow circles around your puckered entrance before moving lower, teasing your wet folds. He held his member in his other hand, rubbing the head against your entrance, teasing you mercilessly. "Do you still want this sweet girl?"

You gave a soft, breathy moan of approval, your hips wiggling slightly in anticipation. Anakin's hand connected with your ass cheek, a sharp slap that made you yelp in surprise.

"Speak up."

You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. "Yes, Father." you finally managed to utter, your voice trembling with need.

"There you go." he coos his voice filled with faux sincerity. "Now, relax and let me take care of you." Anakin's cockhead pushed past your tight entrance, stretching you slowly but surely. A sharp cry escaped your lips as he began to thrust into you with deliberate slowness, his hips rocking back and forth in a rhythmic motion.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk tightly, nails digging into the wood as he claimed possession of you, filling you completely. After several deep thrusts, the initial pain subsided, replaced by an overwhelming wave of pleasure. Anakin's hands keep hold of your hips, holding you steady as he pounded into you, filling every crevice of your tight passage. Your moans turned into whimpers, becoming more desperate as he picked up speed, his tip kissed your sweet spot with precision.

"Thaaat's it, give yourself to Him, let him cleanse you." he managed to grunt out between gasps for breath.

Your hand slipped off the desk, accidentally knocking over a family photo frame that fell to the floor with a loud crash. Anakin didn't seem to notice or care, his focus entirely on claiming you, taking what he believed was rightfully his.

The tight coil in your stomach began to build up once more, and you knew it wouldn't be long now. You arched your back, your hips moving in sync with his, begging for release. His pace quickened, his breath hot against your neck as he growled out, "Cum for me angel, I know you're close." His words were like a trigger, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

Anakin groaned, his hips bucking wildly as he felt your worn cunt clamp around him. With a final powerful thrust, he erupted inside you, filling you to the brim with his hot seed. His cock twitched and pulsed, draining every drop of his essence into you.

You collapsed against the desk, panting heavily, your entire body covered in sweat. Anakin leaned forward, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His cock slowly pulled out of your sore cunt, leaving you feeling empty and drained. He stepped back, admiring his work, his cock still semi-erect, dripping with your fluids. He extended a hand to help you steady yourself. Anakin turned to you, his eyes softening slightly. "Are you ok sweetheart?" he asked, concern etched on his features.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. " 'm fine," you managed to mutter, your voice hoarse.

"You did so good for me," Anakin panted, his eyes glazed over with fufillment. He helped you pull your panties back up your legs, his fingers brushing against your sensitive folds, causing a shiver to run through you.

Anakin sat back down in his chair, and motioned for you to sit on his lap. "Come here." he smiles. You tentatively approached him with wobbly legs, unsure of what he had in mind. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close, so you were sitting sideways on his lap, your legs draped over his thighs. Anakin placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, his breath tickling your scalp. You remained like this for a moment, both caught in your own thoughts.

Breaking the silence, Anakin spoke softly, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm. "I want you to know something angel," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I would never hurt you, physically or otherwise. Our interactions are between us and God's eyes alone." You nodded, still processing everything that had transpired.

"If anyone ever finds out about today, we won't be able to see each other like this again." Anakin's hand tightened slightly, his fingers digging into your skin. "Do you understand me?" he asked, his voice taking on a threatening edge.

You nodded solemnly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand Father."

Anakin placed another soft kiss on your head before resting his cheek against your temple, his hand still firmly holding you in place.

"Good girl." he whispered.

Your eyes wander off and you suddenly see a cross hanging on the wall, the sight of it immediately brought an uneasy feeling to you. It felt like it was casting a small ominous and disapproving aura.

Uncertainty and confusion warred inside you, but there was also a strange sense of belonging and connection.

As you stare longer you feel as if it's judging you and looking at you as if it is not happy with what you have been doing.

You remain in his arms, you felt an odd mix of emotions, the sense of euphoria and bliss you felt with Anakin being so tender with you was overshadowed by the feeling of something not being right. You feel a tinge of regret for what you took part in but a part of you wants to do it again.

Maybe next Sunday.

#nai writes ୨୧ #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #st4rfckerz

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porcelaindoll-exe · 2 years

Text

☇ SECRET — E.M.

— pairing ；Eddie Munson x Fem!Popular!Reader

— summary ；Y/N's convinced her boyfriend is embarrassed to be with her in public, why else would he want to keep their relationship a secret?

— warnings ；Fluff, Angst, Swearing, Season 4 content, Eddie and Reader misunderstanding each other.

— A/N ；I'm normally a slut for Steve Harrington, yet here I am, writing for my new favourite character. This is my first fic on tumblr, so feel free to leave a comment on how I did! Requests are open for any stranger things character, feel free to drop one! ♡

— word count ；3,089.

You loved his hands.

No matter where they were, they always felt amazing, running through your hair or simply rubbing up the sides of your waist, it was as if they had been graced by god.

"G'morning, sweetheart."

Eddie's breath fanned against your neck as he shifted, pressing open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin, his hands coming up to rub your stomach as pulled you closer.

"Morning, Eds.."

You mumbled back as you snuggled your back into his chest, his fluffy hair tickling at your cheek as he moved around, making sure to cover your entire neck with kisses.

"You slept well, right? I slept like a fucking baby."

Eddie chuckled, the vibrations against your skin sending shivers up your spine, your hands coming down to interlace your fingers with his.

"Yeah, I slept well... Your bed's way comfier than mine..."

You firmly believed that was a fact.

Even in the small dingy caravan he shared with his uncle, his room seemed like a safe space from the rest of the world.

A little isolated corner in Hawkins for the both of you to relax after school, away from everyone else and every problem you had.

You'd spend hours lying in bed in his arms, his face snuggled into your neck much like he was now, his warm hands roaming your body and finally resting on your breasts or stomach; some random vinyl that he had put on hours ago forgotten in the background.

It had been the first time you had actually slept overnight at his caravan, and it truly felt like heaven. His warm body encasing you as you slept, his light snores filling the room once he nodded off, the sounds the TV made from the living room mixing in pleasantly with his own noises.

Although you wished you could stay forever in his arms, feeling the cool air coming in through the window from behind the curtains, listening to his random thoughts and feeling his sweet kisses, you knew everything good had to end.

Eddie pulled his arms from around you, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before leaning up and stretching his arms into the air, making his shirt ride up and reveal his tummy, a yawn leaving his mouth once he had finished his obligatory morning stretches.

"Fuck... Wish I could stay longer here, sweetheart, but duty calls. Got a campaign to organise for tonight, the guys have been cheewing my ear off all week."

He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before getting up onto his feet and making his way to the bathroom, a faint "hey" coming from outside as he said hello to his uncle.

You shifted underneath the duvet (which smelt just like Eddie, although a bit more weed-ish than he did), looking up at the poster of Black Sabbath he had pinned to the wall right next to his bed, claiming that it was as if god looked down on him while he slept, when for you and everyone else it was just another rock poster among all the others.

As you heard the shower go on, you sighed, knowing that you should probably get up yourself, not wanting to intrude in his uncle's home more than you already had.

Even if he claimed that he didn't mind, that he was glad that Eddie had found someone and was actually going out more often due to you and his club, you couldn't help but feel nervous around the man, feeling as if you always overstayed your welcome.

He would embarrass Eddie in front of you, taking on the roll of the typical mother and showing you pictures of a small Eddie in baths or wearing sunglasses that were too big for his tiny head, the boy whining and complaining the whole time until he was able to pull you away from suffering even more embarrassment.

His uncle claimed that you two were like those cheesy couples he'd watch on late night TV, the picture of a perfect relationship.

Your relationship with Eddie was in fact perfect, everyone knew that.

Well, everyone would know that if you actually came out as a couple.

For some unknown reason, the first few dates you had had with him were done in secret, up on top of a hill at night or in his caravan after school.

You hadn't mentioned it at first, thinking maybe he was new to dating or that he simply felt more comfortable alone, which you of course weren't going to judge.

But you started to gain suspicion when he shot down your ideas of going out together to somewhere like Starcourt (when it was still up and running), or simply meeting up at school to have lunch together.

Then when you had finally started dating, he asked you to keep it a secret for a while until he was ready, but that 'while' quickly turned into half a year.

You loved Eddie, you really did. But sometimes you wondered... Did he love you the way you did? Was he embarrassed of you? Did he feel uncomfortable being around you when you were with other people?

Your thoughts were interrupted as Eddie came back in, his hair slightly damp from the condensation and a towel wrapped around his waist as he walked around the dimly lit room to try and find his clothes.

You smiled at the way he rummaged through that big pile of clothes on his chair, pulling away one of your bras in confusion before throwing it over his shoulder, continuing with his quest to find wearable clothes for that day.

"Here, let me-"

You pulled the curtains away from the window, rolling your eyes as Eddie hissed dramatically as the rays of the morning sun hit his skin, striking a vampire like pose with his arm covering half his face, stopping instantly as he saw your eye roll, watching you start to tidy up his bed.

"You're killing me here, babe."

He mumbled under his breath, grabbing his Hellfire shirt and slipping it on, turning away from you to pull down the towel and put some boxers and trousers on.

You couldn't help but sneak a peak at his ass as he leaned down to pick his clothes up, blushing bright red as he quickly shimmied into his jeans, finally noticing your stare when he turned his head around, smirking proudly before clapping his hands together and snapping you out of it, motioning to your discarded clothes on the floor.

"C'mon, you want a ride or not?"

You stopped as you leaned down to grab your bra, turning to look at him in confusion as you slowly moved to pick your underwear up.

"A ride?"

"Yeah, a ride, y'know, vroom vroom?"

He moved his hands as if he were holding a steering wheel, staring back at you with the same confusion written across his face.

"I- I know what a ride is, Eddie! I'm not stupid!"

"Then why are you acting like I just spoke russian?"

You blinked owlishly at him, forcing yourself to rip your stare away from him and back down to your clothes, fiddling with a loose string from your underwear that stuck out.

Truth be told, Eddie had never offered you a ride.

Well, that was a lie. You had been in his car million of times, whether it be to make out or to drive you to his house, but he had never once offered to take you to school.

He picked you up sometimes after your club had ended, when there were barely any people hanging around the school grounds, saying a brisk hello before latching onto your lips once the car doors were closed.

Even when you mentioned on the phone that you'd be walking to school from your house or that Robin and Steve were going to pick you up, he simply hummed and wished you a safe ride.

He never once volunteered himself to take you to school.

"Hey, love? You're not blacking out on me are you?"

His voice and his sudden touch on your shoulder made you turn around to look at him, his lips turned up into that goofy smile of his, fingers softly squeezing your shoulder to make sure you were okay.

"Yeah, yeah- It's just, you've never really driven me to school..."

Now it was Eddie's turn to look away, inhaling sharply and kissing his teeth, fiddling with one of the rings that he had accidentally left on while sleeping, the cool metal feeling nice against his warm fingers.

"I uh- I'm not going to make you walk all the way from here, am I?"

Eddie could be a dick sometimes, but he wouldn't go to the lengths of making you walk from the caravan park to Hawkins High while he drove there, he wasn't that type of guy.

Still, you couldn't help but feel guilty at the thought that maybe- just maybe, he felt obliged to giving you a ride simply because he would feel bad for making you go to school alone.

"I thought you were embarrassed of being with me..."

You suddenly muttered underneath your breath, Eddie almost getting whiplash from how quick he turned to look at you, his eyes blown out wide as his mouth opened and closed, much like a fish out of water would.

"Wh- Embarrassed? Of you? Never! Why would you-"

He tripped over his own words, hands moving around as he tried to articulate the words he couldn't find, and if you weren't in the middle of being upset, you would have found it quite endearing.

"You're embarrassed of being with me! That's why you want to keep this a secret, right?"

You said, trying your best to not let your voice crack, but it ended up being in vain, since you ended up sounding like a teen going through puberty.

His warm hands instantly found yours as he realised how upset you actually were, bringing them up to his lips and peppering kisses over your knuckles, muttering "no", over and over as he shook his head.

He couldn't believe what he was actually hearing.

Embarrassed? Of you?

You were one of the most, hell, scratch that; the most beautiful girl in Hawkins! Why would he be embarrassed of being around you?!

His kisses halted as he let go of your hands, looking down at you with a concerned look, his fingers coming up to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, wiping away a few stray tears that had started to form with his knuckles.

"Why'd you think that? Why would I ever be embarrassed of you, darling? You're perfect..."

You looked away from his dark gaze, shrugging your shoulders, knowing that if you opened your mouth right then it would all come out messy, probably making the poor guy even more confused.

Yet, he deserved to know what you were thinking, right? That was how relationships worked.

You took a deep breath, turning your head to look back at him and finally spoke. "You always go on these rants about the popular kids being dicks, yet you spent like... Half a year making out with me... Even if I'm one of those so-called dicks."

Eddie's face softened, bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks and nodded, egging you on to continue, letting you know that he would listen.

"You want to keep us a secret because you're worried that people will see you as a liar when they see you dating one of the people that you claim you hate."

You felt bad for saying all these things, but you couldn't help but finally get it off your chest, all those feelings that you had pushed down for his sake, scared that maybe he'd get angry at you for not respecting his wishes and dump you, even with the knowledge that Eddie wasn't like that.

He wasn't one of those dicks that went from girl to girl, not caring about their feeling nor the consequences of their actions. Eddie was nothing like them.

He was the sweetest person you had ever met, making sure you were always comfortable around him, that his antics never scared you, that you were okay whenever he saw you mildly tense... He even introduced you to his uncle, brought you to his caravan, let you into the deepest parts of his heart that he had always kept to himself.

You felt bad for unloading this onto him, but you couldn't just ignore it anymore, even if he broke up with you, he had to know how he was making you feel.

You take his calloused hands into yours, pulling them away from your now-red face and taking a step back, your arms crossing over your chest as you looked away as soon as you realised the tears you had tried your best to keep at bay were now freely running down your cheeks.

"Hey, hey, no!"

You felt his warm hands instantly land on your waist, pulling you towards him and letting you rest your head against his chest, a shaky breath leaving his mouth as he snuggled his face into your hair, sighing softly.

"I'm sorry, pretty girl... Of course I'm not embarrassed of you. Far fucking from it. I want nothing more than to drive into school with you every morning, hold your pretty lil' hand as we walk through the halls, eat lunch underneath the bleachers with you like in those silly rom-coms my uncle watches, I want nothing more than to be your boyfriend... A proper one."

He leaned back, allowing you to continue your hug as he brought his hands up to your face, smiling softly at the sight of your confused expression, finding the way you cocked your head to a side adorable.

His thumbs ran over the apple of your cheeks, the cool metal of his rings rubbing comfortably against your warm skin, a small part of you getting worried that maybe your tears would rust the cheap material.

"You, my beautiful girl, are the most amazing girl in Hawkins. I could never be embarrassed of you. I... Never meant for it to come off that way, I was stupid for even suggesting to keep this a secret."

"Then why did you?" You asked slowly, recognising the guilt written on his face as he tried to come up with an answer, your nails digging into the denim of his jacket.

"Cause I thought you would be the one who'd be embarrassed. Not me."

Huh?

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, making him groan and raise a hand to his face to cover his eyes, already having felt exposed enough, not ready for another wave of nerves to wash over him.

"What do you-"

"Fuck, look! You're - You're the most popular girl in Hawkins! Everyone wants you, fuck, I'm surprised Steve hasn't made a move on you yet, considering how much you hang out with each other!"

He cried out in exasperation, moving back as soon as you let go of his jacket and leaning on the wall of posters behind him, running his ringed fingers through his curly hair.

"I... Didn't want to ruin your reputation. If people realised you were dating someone like me, the fucking king of freaks, they'd label you as one too! I'm sure you've worked hard for your reputation... I can't just ruin that out of my own selfishness."

Your gaze softened as you noticed the way his fingers were nervously tapping against the wall, his other hand pulling and tugging at his locks as he looked everywhere but your face, clearly doing his best to not feel even more uncomfortable than he already was.

"You were doing it to protect me?"

"I mean- Protect your reputation more than anything. I didn't want you to get bullied like me or the Hellfire club, y'know? I didn't want to see my favourite person be put down simply because of going out with me. I didn't want to be the cause behind your friends leaving you-"

You interrupted him as you smiled, his eyes instantly darting towards you and cocking an eyebrow up in confusion.

"Is my meltdown amusing to you, Miss L/N?"

You gasped, shaking your head and trying to wipe the smile off, yet you couldn't help it at the realisation behind his words.

Eddie only wanted to protect you from being hurt by your friends.

He didn't hate you, he didn't feel embarrassed by you, fuck, he loved you!

"No, of course it's not, Mister Munson... I'm just... Shocked that- that's the actual reason."

Eddie chuckled, pushing himself forwards with his foot and walking up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and starting to sway you around.

"You actually thought it was because I was embarrassed? Oh, honey. You're the best fucking thing that's happened to me. Why in the world wouldn't I want you next to me?"

Your arms found their way around his neck, his thumbs softly rubbing circles on your waist as he slowly pulled you two around the room, what had began as an attempted hug, now having turned into some sort of weird waltz.

"Does that mean that I get to be your girlfriend? Officially?"

You'd never seen Eddie smile brighter than he did right then.

"Officially."

Your heart did flips as he spun you around, finally dipping you and dramatically pressing his lips to yours, lifting you back up before you could slip out of his grasp and smiling down at you.

"So about that ride..."

Dustin and Mike had seen weird, terrifying, hell even traumatic things... But nothing could have prepared them for the sight of you, one of the most popular girls in school, climbing out of Eddie's car in one of his jackets, his hand holding yours as he helped you out.

"Oh, dude, no, no, no."

"I think I'm going to puke-"

Dustin hurled as soon as he saw you press your lips to Eddie's, Mike's expression of horror being shared amongst most of the students of Hawkins High.

Everyone got the memo as soon as Eddie lifted his middle finger up, his other arm hooked around your waist as he buried his face into your neck, everyone turning around and trying to get back to their own conversations.

"You're so extra, Eds... You literally parked in middle of the field..."

"What can I say, honey? I love a dramatic entrance."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #stranger things s4 #[ 𓂅 Lily's Fics ♡ ]

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sbdskate · 3 months

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Laws Of Attraction (Epilogue 1) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: Daniel signed with RB at the end of the 2022 season, ending your attorney-client relationship. You decide to give romance a try in the off season.

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings (18+): fluff, language, *SMUT*: p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap)

Word Count: 2,291

February 2023

You woke up to his breath tickling the back of your neck, which you had now grown pleasantly accustomed to over the last few months. His arm snaked over your waist with his hand lightly resting just below your breasts. Sometimes his face nuzzled into the back of your shoulder so that you could feel his stubble lightly tickle you. You treasured these soft, quiet moments that were hidden from the rest of the world.

By a miracle, your budding relationship had not yet been sniffed out by paparazzi or investigative fans, but you knew it wouldn’t last forever. The distance was hard, as expected, but ended up being more manageable than you originally thought. Of course it helped that one of you had almost unlimited resources. He ended up spending a good chunk of time at his property in Beverly Hills which at least got you in the same continent and country. You would make up excuses to work out of the LA office for a week or so and The Firm suspected nothing of it or didn’t care enough to ask why. During the day you worked on other client matters while he hung out with Scotty and other friends, allegedly figuring out plans for the next Enchante drop. At night you stayed with him, cooking dinners together, throwing small parties, watching the sun set over the hills.

When you weren’t on the West Coast, he occasionally stayed with you in your small NYC apartment in the West Villiage. At first you protested that he should stay somewhere else, that there wasn’t enough room for the both of you, and that your accommodations were far too modest for the extravagant lifestyle he had become so accustomed to. Fine, you book the hotel, he would say with a smirk knowing full well you wouldn’t be able to afford the reservation to override him. But he so desperately wanted to a glimpse into your home that you could hardly say no.

It was easier for him to explore the city in the dead of winter where he blended in with everyone else on the street, bundled in at least four layers to keep warm. With a hat and scarf covering most of his face, he went about his day with the rare freedom of being unidentified and anonymous. When you were done with work you would sneak into the diviest dive bar you could find, consisting of dark basements with dark liquor. Or you would order takeout for dinner and eat it out of the container on your couch with a beer or glass of wine.

The two of you relished these moments of normalcy. Including moments like now, in that tiny apartment, on a chilly Friday in February where you bathed in the rays of sun that began to poke through your curtains in the light of morning. He had been on Stephen Colbert the night before and you watched in awe from the comfort of your couch that the man on the screen, in a suit you picked out, would be coming home to you at the end of the program.

Your eyes fluttered open before your alarm went off, Daniel’s breath making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You smiled to yourself, still unable to believe this was your new reality. Just to be sure, you gently grabbed the hand positioned on your upper abdomen to move it to cup your breast. Perhaps you should have let him sleep, but you couldn’t pass up the chance to have extra time with him. You felt his breath pattern change as he slowly woke from the delicate touch. The silver lining of long distance was that neither of you were lacking in libido. Granted your relationship was still in its infancy, of course you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

He pulled you in close flush against his chest and gave your shoulder a kiss.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, voice muffled by skin. You held your hand over his, squeezing it.

“Mmm good morning.” The crook of his nose caressed the path that followed the trails of kisses along your shoulder blade. He began to move his thumb over your sensitive nipple, feeling as it puckered under his touch. Your breath hitched as you squirmed, molding yourself into him. You partially turned your head to face him without disrupting your position. He propped himself on his elbow to meet you halfway and planted a messy kiss on your lips.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look in the morning?” You used to think he was joking, not that you could blame him if he were. There were people who were elegant sleepers, but you knew you were not one of them. Your hair almost always ended up looking like it could home a few birds or small rodent. Your eyes were puffy, slightly crusty, and every now and then there was some dried drool for good measure. Now that you had been at this for nearly two months, it was evident he was very serious each time.

“You have, but you can tell me again,” you mumbled as a smile grew on your face and stretched your limbs.

“You’re beautiful.” It came out muffled as your lips pressed together again, as his thumb continued to lazily graze your nipple.

You gently dragged his hand from your chest to the growing heat between your legs. You pressed against him again, feeling his hardened member against your ass. You smirked, satisfied with the results of your minimal efforts.

He kissed the crook of your neck as he drew tiny circles around your clit with his middle finger. You reached your arm behind you to gently scratch his head as little moans escaped your lips, breath becoming uneven with desire.

“Are you going to be late for work?” Ever the gentleman, you could tell he asked to be polite but it wasn’t actually a point of concern. You grinded into his groin in frustration.

“Not that I care at the moment, but no.” You moved his fingers even further south so he could feel your neediness. “I have twelve minutes and I don’t want to think about responsibilities until then. Do what you will with that information.”

A husky groan escaped his lips feeling how wet you were for him. His hand left you momentarily to stroke himself a few times before aligning with your entrance and you reached down to help guide him.

Two months, and it still took your breath away how full he made you feel. Your back arched into him and he caught your hips in his hand. Laced with sleep, he held on as he dragged in and out of you in deliberate, languid motions as though time didn’t exist. His hand moved slowly up your body, to your waist, over your soft stomach, the swell of your breast, where it snaked over your chest and enclosed around your throat with a gentle firmness that made your core clench. It was equally delicate and possessive. It delighted every surface of your body but his leisure pace now maddened you.

“Faster,” you choked out. He smirked as he slowed down the roll of his hips, tightening his grip around your neck. If he wasn’t awake before, he was now. Daniel was fascinated – you ordinarily enjoyed lazy morning sex but today you were extraordinarily needy for some reason. Not that he was mad at it. Your eyes twisted shut and you moaned through gritted teeth, simultaneously aroused and frustrated. “Fuck you.”

“Happily,” he taunted. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please.” He felt your body quiver around him as you begged for more of him. He closed his eyes and prayed that he would last for the remaining six minutes.

He obliged your pleas, only letting go of your neck to lift your leg up.

Right there

His thrusts deepened with the new angle and watched excitedly as your arm moved down. He couldn’t see you playing with yourself but knew you were as your moans became louder and more frequent and he felt your walls squeeze and twitch. The image seared into his brain and he knew he was done. He inhaled the scent from your hair in his face and he wished he could see you. But you were warm and tight and wet and perfect and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Fuck, I’m-”

“Yes”

Your hips stuttered and muscles spasmed around him. He spilled into you as his fingers sank into your skin, his vice grip unable to let go. You both laid limp for a moment, panting to catch your breath. Eventually you pulled yourself away from him to roll over.

Your hair was knotted and your flushed face was adorned with a shit-eating grin. You were stunning. Glowing.

“Good morning,” you said cheekily.

“Good morning,” he responded. He lifted his arm, inviting you to use his chest as a pillow. You did so gladly, intertwining yourselves in each other once more like vines. It was nice for all of forty-seven seconds before your alarm went off. He pulled you tighter before you could try to get up.

“Now I have to get going.” He placed a kiss at the top of your head.

“What if we just stayed in bed all day instead.” You groaned in silent agreement, but nonetheless peeled his arms off you.

“I would love to but I have to work. And so do you.” You kissed him before hopping into the shower.

Right. Daniel had almost forgotten that today was his first official day back as a Red Bull employee. His presence was requested for the livery launch set to happen in Midtown in a few hours. He laid in bed and smiled to himself as he listened to you sing I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island.

“I still can’t believe it’s in New York,” you said casually as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. He hummed in agreement. “Suspiciously convenient, really.” You glanced at him through your peripheral to gauge his reaction. Nothing. Though he did look oddly pensive. You turned suddenly to confront him. “You’re sure you didn’t say anything to Christian?” He laughed at your skeptic accusation.

“Not a peep.”

“You swear it?” You held out your pinky.

“I swear it.” He linked his with yours.

“Kiss it,” you demanded. He rolled his eyes but obliged lowering his lips to his knuckles as you did yours, his focus on you never wavering.

You continued getting ready, though you couldn’t shake the sense that there was an uneasy intensity to him this morning. At first you thought it might just be nerves about the livery event, but then you caught him staring at you in the mirror while you were brushing your teeth. You spit and turned around.

“Ok you’re being weird. What is it?”

“I’m not being weird!” he said defensively. You brandished your toothbrush at him threateningly.

“Yes, you are. You’ve barely said two words since we had sex.” He scoffed.

“I’ve said lots of words. That was five just now –“

“There’s nothing wrong with being nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous –“

“Then what is it?”

He both loved and hated that you could read him like a book. You seemed to be intuitively aware of all of his deepest thoughts - though maybe not this one. He watched as you walked into the kitchen to pack your work bag. You filled your travel mug as you patiently waited for his response. He took a deep breath before jumping into the metaphorical deep end.

“Since things are official with Red Bull as of today, I figured we should be too.”

You snorted coffee through your nose. A not-so-subtle tomato hue dusted your cheeks immediately. Yet again, you weren’t sure why you were so surprised. The man was traveling half way around the world for you. With the amount of time, effort, care, and money spent, how could you ever believe he would lull you into something as malignant as a situationship? As it was in the beginning, you were the stop-gap preventing things from progressing. He had been respectful with taking things at a glacial pace, as you kindly requested. He had given you the proof you needed that there was a way to make the relationship work when you weren’t traveling constantly together. When you considered that you had now existed in each other’s orbits for nearly five months, he really had been as patient as a saint with you.

But he misconstrued your stunned silence as confusion, so he rephrased his proposition.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your timing was impeccable as always, as you choked on your own saliva before breaking into a coughing fit. He sighed and poured you a glass of water, slightly disgruntled by your antics.

He had been putting this off. He had wanted to wait for the right time, for it to be romantic and dreamy, everything you deserved. But each time the opportunity arose he lost his nerve, and now here you both were: in your kitchen, before you had to go to work, choking on thin air, decidedly unromantic.

“I’ll take that as a no.” You shook your head ferociously before attempting to sip the liquid. He frowned “Well shit, you don’t have to be so enthusiastic about it.” You shook your head again, then nodded. “Yes, that’s right, you’re not interested?” You decided that this was the worst game of charades, ever. You shook your head again.

“Yes,” *cough* “I want,” *cough* “to be your,” *cough* “girlfriend.” Despite the fact that you were barely breathing, Daniel’s thousand-watt smile appeared before you.

“Drink your fucking water and stop coughing so I can kiss you.”

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

A/N: Please don't be a ghost reader and thank you for reading! I'm happy I've been on a roll with my posting schedule but I know the next Epilogue part will not be ready by next week, so expect a little bit of a break after this (hopefully not four months again).

And thank you @thef1diary for your help

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kiwisbell · 2 months

Text

helen ; chapter two

lure the wolf

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the lie.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship (and blasphemy), joel miller has a Reputation, flashbacks, blood + injuries, medical attention, mentions of rape/SA, cars, tommy is the rational brother, joel is an idiot, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, Big Fight, unresolved angst, joel gets shoved a couple times, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, i'm deeply sorry overall for what i'm putting you through, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 7.1k a/n: i am... sorry. just know that i love you, okay? again, i extend a huge thank-you to @cavillscurls for being my incredible beta and listening to my constant moaning. ilysm honey. also, thank you hugely to moms @tieronecrush & @northernbluess for helping me with *that scene* prev | next

Is this seat taken?

Of all the people crowding the restaurant, Joel noticed you first.

Candlelight drowned the world in burnt orange, and he could very well have been walking into the cathedral he grew up in. A piano player expertly brushed his fingertips across the keys, coaxing Moonlight Sonata’s soft lullaby from the strings. It was fucking warm, his vest tight around his torso, weighed down by the Beretta hidden in the lining. Sweat began to bead at his hairline as he slid easily between tables where guests took their seats, relishing the idle hum of chatter while they lay napkins over their laps and paid attention to proper cutlery etiquette. Some people, he’d noticed, enjoyed having riches to spend.

Joel found a corner, next to one of only two empty tables in the entire restaurant. His eyes did not leave you the entire journey into the quiet darkness.

You, who stood straight-backed and elegant on the small stage, conversing pleasantly with three men in servers’ uniforms. You, whose eyes gleamed when you smiled, in standing defiance of the dim light.

Paintings, Joel realised, were hanging from the wall behind the stage. Dynamic brushstrokes of muted colours depicted naked bodies and desperate embraces. Blushingly erotic for a public event, Joel thought. Still, he stared, his head tilting to the side as he examined the angles of the bodies, the taut muscles, soft skin, hungry hands.

Joel spent too much time watching the dip of your throat and the curve of your collarbones as your turn to speak came and you gesticulated idly, humbly. He was here for a job. He was not here to look at paintings and a pretty girl.

And yet he watched, utterly still. The men you spoke to would compliment you, and you would place a hand to your heart or shoo their words away. A simple, fine golden chain hung around your neck. Joel should have been spending these minutes reaffirming his plan, ensuring his target was still in position. He should have confirmed his suspected exit routes. He should have done his fucking job.

But the smile had struck him, stronger than any punch he’d taken. Your smile crinkled the corners of your eyes.

You simply shone.

You gracefully slid away from the men’s attention and took a seat on the chair that had been placed on the right side of the stage. You were here to complete a live commission for the grand opening, he realised. And Joel, the utter idiot he was, sunk slowly, trancelike, into a seat at the empty table in the corner.

Joel listened to music. Occasionally. When he was in a bright enough mood to let the radio stay on in his car, he kept it tuned to an old country channel. Now, he thought he could see music in the way you painted, your collarbones the careful glide of a bow across the strings of a violin, an achingly sweet song that smothered the noise in his head.

You treated your palette and your brush with astonishing tenderness. Your strokes were deft and drifted expertly across your workspace. Your eyes flickered between the crowd and the canvas, and Joel became your reverent audience.

He had no idea how long he sat there, watching. Every rise and fall of your arm held him to his seat like there were ropes around his ankles. When the emcee stepped onto the stage and brought a microphone to his mouth, Joel watched you lift slowly from your trance. You blinked twice, took a deep breath that shifted the necklace on your throat, and loosed it like a sigh. Then a speech began, and Joel remembered that you were not the only person in the world.

Joel had made a point of studying his targets: not only the man, but the place. The guests. The owner. The blueprints and the staff. He knew them explicitly. He was thorough, and he had contingency plans that surpassed the number of fingers he possessed.

So, of course, he knew your name. He knew that you had been painting since you were a child. He knew that you donated all of the proceeds from your gallery sales to various charities. He knew that your income came from commissions.

But he had never seen your face in person until now. Joel had enough of a brain to acknowledge beauty, though attraction was something different altogether, a beast he had never quite wrangled. He could not have possibly predicted the twisting in his chest or the aggressive twitch in his fingers when you shifted off the stage. He wanted to follow. He wanted you to stay where he could see you, where he knew you would be safe, while he conducted business.

Safe, though, was relative. It meant little. Joel took a moment to gather himself, straightened the dinner fork at his place setting as though he was expecting to dine at all, and waited for his target to show his face.

The last thing he needed was unexpected company. Then, a gentle shadow that smelled of summer rain and daisies eclipsed him, and Joel looked up.

Is this seat taken?

Joel promised himself a number of things.

The problem was that he couldn’t keep a single one.

He had very few contacts in his real phone. Tommy, Cabrera, Maria, Bill. He contacted these people infrequently, some more so than others. He was not fond of texting, and he kept his phone calls short. Now that your name added a noticeable weight to the phone in his pocket, Joel had never been more tempted to stare at his screen all day and night, waiting for a message.

So, the first promise: keep his phone at home while on a job. It wasn’t particularly necessary either way, bringing it along, since he had burners at his safe houses. He left it on his nightstand once before a mission. When he came home, covered in other people’s blood and sometimes his own, he picked up the phone only to find that your latest message had come through an hour previous.

‘I’ve decided. You ever make escargots?’

The night before, you were waiting on a client and Joel was cooking dinner. He put you on speakerphone so he could stir.

“Where’d you learn to cook?”

“Taught myself, really.” He’d frowned, then. “Grew up in an orphanage. They decided what we ate.”

You could have pitied him: That must have been awful. What happened to your parents? I’m so sorry, Joel. No wonder you’re terribly adjusted.

“Where did you go after?” you’d asked him instead.

“Here,” he had told you. “New York. Good place to learn how to cook if you’ve got no money to spend.”

“Smart man. Is that steak I smell?”

He’d laughed. “Close, but no. Risotto.”

“Shit, I’m hungry,” you’d groaned. “I could eat seven steaks. I haven’t eaten all fucking day; my client is late for this meeting and I came straight from the gallery. C’mon, describe it to me more.”

“I’ll make you dinner.”

It had slipped out, a little wobbly, a deer taking its first steps. But Joel had persisted, white-knuckling a wooden spoon and glaring hard at his cell phone. “Anything you’d like. Name it.”

Staring at the text message, smearing the screen with blood, Joel laughed. Alone. To himself. In his quiet, dark home.

‘You want me to make you snails for dinner?’

He had expected to send the message and put his phone face-down with enough time to shower, to cleanse himself of blood. He’d left you waiting so long, after all. But your name appeared, blown-up, on his screen. You were calling.

“Not the whole meal,” you said. You always spoke first, knowing Joel didn’t care for the hellos and goodbyes of phone-call etiquette. “Escargots is an appetiser, Joel.”

Joel smiled, which revealed some sort of painful contusion on his face he hadn’t known about. As he palmed the tender skin around his jaw, he said, “I can do that. And what about dinner?”

“Well, that, you’ll just have to get back to me on,” you said. “Gives me another excuse to talk to you.”

With that, Joel had officially forgone the promise. He wanted to carry your name with him.

He made a second promise, to set boundaries: he would only allow himself to call you once a week.

But you, who knew people better than most, who sat with them for hours as you painted their very souls into colour and light, caught on.

“You call me at exactly eight o’clock every Monday night. You could at least vary it by an hour so I wouldn’t notice.”

Joel hung his head. “Shit,” he grumbled. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Joel, I’m going to say something. I want you to listen to me.”

And he, who obeyed your every command, whose marrow sang the song he’d heard that first night at the restaurant, straightened. “Yeah. I’m listenin’.”

“I just got home from a four-hour showing, and I’m achey, and a little drunk, but if I call you, it’s because I want to call you. If I talk to you, it’s because I want to. Because you’re the best part of my day. So if you want to call me, too, just fucking call me. End my misery, okay?”

He wondered how it would taste to slip his tongue past your parted lips, to feel the burn of your celebratory champagne, the crack of your whip-smart resolve as you moaned softly against him. He thought he might like to make you moan.

You wanted to speak with him. You awaited his calls. You liked him.

As a child, Joel had known God’s wrath as intimately as he had known His love. They were the two sure things in the world, according to the Sisters. They made him memorise Genesis. Joel knew love and evil existed in this world. They had never taught him the in-between, the mundane, the nuances of like.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I can do that.”

So, one call a week lasted less than a week, and it wasn’t a fortnight after you first met that you and Joel were speaking every single day. Your voice was in his head, your laugh in his blood. Like dissolved. He began to need.

He knew your routines, your habits. He knew how you took your coffee (milk and two sugars, sweet to his bitter black). He knew you hated pork. He knew which paints you used most, and which palette knives were best for different details. He knew you hated painting trees, but you loved rivers.

In his free time, he would visit bookshops. You loved Wilde and Machen. It only made sense—your paintings were decadent, larger-than-life, sinful. Joel enjoyed philosophy. He liked Coleridge, Keats.

“They would’ve hated one another,” you said one day over breakfast.

“You think? They were pretty fond of all those flowery words.”

“Poetry and philosophy are opposites,” you offered.

“Maybe,” he said, “but maybe not. I think they needed each other.”

You smiled over the rim of your coffee cup. “Maybe you’re right.”

A month after he’d met you, he’d rebound a copy of The Importance of Being Earnest. A month after that, he’d worked up the courage to give it to you.

“Oh my God, Joel…”

“It’s yours,” he said. “I know it’s one of your favourites. It’s stupid, I know, just…”

You beamed at him. “Just… what?”

“Just saw it, and thought of you.”

A dozen other projects were sitting at his makeshift station. Pieces of you already lived in his space.

In these moments, Joel thought, This is what I missed. There was light in you, a light that had been beaten out of him. Some nights, the dark called, and there you were, the fluttering of strings on the Eolian Harp, and he knew he was obsessed before he drove you home that long first night.

Often, the moment lasted only for the little time you could spare: a brief text, a two-minute phone call. When he limped up the stairs to his home and collapsed in the closest chair, usually bloodied or bruised or both, your name was always waiting for him.

One night, two words: ‘Call me?’

He did.

Joel had just come home from a job in Queens. The gangsters hadn’t put up much of a fight themselves, but one of them did know how to drive a car, and he’d taken a hard sideswipe to his whole body, knocking out the headlights with his ribs. He felt, appropriately, like he’d been pulled apart, his bones stretched, muscles hot and sore.

He had made his promise about weekly calls three months ago. Joel figured he must have been out of his mind then, thinking he could go that long without you. He simply could not.

“Missed you.”

Your laugh, delighted and quiet, melted some of his bones until they gently began to slide back in place. “I missed you,” you said. He quickly assessed that you were home, judging from the buzz of silence on the other end of the line. “Tough day?”

His brother Tommy was a mechanic. So, Joel had told you he worked the books. Gave him a decent excuse to be there as often as he was. Didn’t give him an excuse for anything else.

“Tired,” he said easily, “but glad to hear your voice.”

“You sound like you’ve been hit in the ribs,” you said. “Are you sure you’re okay? Did Tommy rough you up?”

Joel wasn’t familiar with lying. He’d never had many reasons to. Violence convinced people a lot easier. The biggest lies he’d ever told had been the nightly sermons, the recitations of Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Amazing fucking Grace. He didn’t like the way lying to you sat low and heavy in his chest.

“I’m all right. Just gettin’ old. Took the stairs too fast.”

“Joel.”

He didn’t like the edge to your voice. He was causing you this anguish. Fuck, he hated that thought. He hated that he had no choice but to lie. “Sweetheart, I’m okay.”

Your sigh was soft, resigned. “You promise me?”

“On my life.”

“That’s what I’d like to avoid,” you said with a laugh. “Are you back in New York?”

Joel looked down at the hand on his thigh, flexed his split knuckles. “I’m back.”

“Well, I just got back from a gallery showing,” you said. “And I want to see you.”

Joel listened to his stilted breathing punch out of his lungs in the quiet darkness, clenching his bloodied fists. In his dreams, his head was bowed as if in prayer, but his arms were wound tight around your body. The warm press of your fingers into his skin felt like the lick of a flame. In his dreams, you sighed his name and you called him yours. In his dreams—maybe his one and only dream—he kept you safe more than he put you in danger.

That was where the hopeless dream slipped like smoke through the slits in his eyes. You would always be in danger as long as he was involved in this life.

“I want to see you, too,” said Joel.

Tommy’s day gets infinitely worse the second his brother walks through the door.

“Everyone out,” he snaps, and his guys flee from the garage, letting the door fall with a clang of metal to the concrete. You jump, falling out of step with your husband and hugging your arms to your chest. Tommy narrows his eyes. “What can I do for you both? I was just about to close.”

You open your mouth, but Joel’s already working. “I need a ride.”

“That so?” Tommy cleans the oil from his hands using a once-white rag, now a slick brown, smearing it across his forehead when he wipes the sweat away. “Don’t suppose it has anything to do with the kid who drove in here with your car two hours ago?”

You lower yourself onto the hood of a nearby Porsche 911, dropping the overnight bag from your shoulder and letting it slump on the ground. Tommy watches as you study the ring on your left hand, twirling the bands around your finger.

“Shit,” says Joel, scratching his beard. “And what’d you say to him?”

“I didn’t say nothin’, Joel. I took one look at your car and decked the asshole. He wanted a tune job. Clearly didn’t know whose car he stole.” Tommy tosses the rag onto a table, next to a decanter of bourbon. “What the fuck are you thinking, pissin’ off Cabrera’s kid?”

Joel meets his brother’s eyes, a lethal glint in their brown that Tommy’s never known to mean anything good. “That,” he says darkly, “was Emiliano Cabrera?”

“Yeah, I’m sure his old man ain’t proud to share their name, either,” huffs Tommy. “I’m gonna ask again, Joel: what the fuck did you do?”

“I didn’t do a goddamn thing he didn’t deserve,” says Joel, “and I need a ride.”

Tommy’s fingers curl in at his sides. Sometimes, it’s hard not to punch his brother in the jaw. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Just know it’s a loan. So don’t fuckin’ scratch my property, Joel, or so help me—”

You stand from the hood of the car and pin Tommy with your gaze, a bit distant, a bit icy. “I need to use your bathroom, Tommy. If that’s okay.”

He feels himself soften a bit at the sight of your trembling hands. “Yeah, sweetheart. ‘Course.”

“I’ll show you,” says Joel, reaching for your arm.

You watch the floor and brush past him. “I can find it.”

Joel’s fingers twitch as you go without another word, his eyes shuttering, and Tommy notices that his knuckles are bloodied.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” he asks once they’re alone.

Joel sits where you did moments ago, reaching for the decanter next to him. He doesn’t pour or drink; he merely angles the glass and watches the fluorescent lights filter through it. “He broke in. I killed his buddies, but he got away.”

Tommy lowers himself onto the edge of the table. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Joel.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s cut.” Tommy turns his head to the doorway where you disappeared. “They do anything else?”

“They would’ve.” Joel slams the decanter back down on the table, and the echo reverberates in the walls. “He tried—”

He does not finish the sentence, but he does not need to.

Tommy rubs his jaw. “You gotta tell her, man.”

“She’s in shock. She went through a lot.” Joel’s eyes drop to the floor, to the bag brimming with your clothes, and his jaw works. “I… can’t tell her. Not right now.”

Tommy is struck, sometimes, by how transparent his brother can be. He’s killed countless men and bled gold like some invulnerable god, and still, he knows nothing about himself. “Fuck, Joel.”

“I have to finish this.” Joel’s voice is the bottom of an empty well. “I need to find him.”

“Don’t,” says Tommy. “Don’t fucking finish it. Take your losses and go back home. You know better than anybody where this goes, and all you’re doing is putting her in more danger.”

Joel shakes his head. “Tommy, if you think I don’t know—”

“No, I don’t think you know. You want to lose the one thing you worked for all those years ago, fine. But don’t expect her to understand.”

His brother’s head snaps up. “And if you told Maria?” he counters. “Would she have given you a kid if she knew everything you’ve done?”

Tommy’s chest stirs up acid. “You’re treadin’ on thin ice, brother.”

“You’re the one who should be careful.” Joel stands abruptly and winces; he’s wounded under that jacket, Tommy realises. Hiding wounds once again. “You punched Manuel Cabrera’s son in the face.”

Tommy sniffs. “Kid’s got a punchable face.”

Joel is silent for a moment. “Yeah, he does.”

You appear around the corner, giving Joel and his crimson-stained shirt a once-over. “Where are we going?” you ask him.

The way Joel jolts up out of his seat on the Porsche’s hood tells Tommy that it’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the incident. “A hotel,” he says, approaching as slowly as one might a spooked deer. You do not move, but you do not take his outstretched hand, your fingers curled taut around your arms. Joel frowns at his split knuckles. “It’ll be safe there.”

“Okay.” You’re staring hard at a spot on his chest, your voice hollow as if heard from the dark end of a tunnel. “Tommy, I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,” you add.

“Ain’t no trouble, sweetheart. You just… hang in there, hear me?”

“Yeah.” A wobble courses through your bottom lip and Tommy wants to hunt those fuckers down himself. “I’d be happy to paint your nursery sometime, if you’ll still have me.”

“Christ knows I’d be useless at it compared to you.” Tommy roots around in a drawer for a fob and unlocks the doors to the black Porsche. “Let’s get you both out of here.”

Joel claps him on the back. “Thank you, brother.”

Tommy tosses the fob to Joel. You’re already slipping inside the car with your bag tight to your chest. “Don’t get used to it,” he says. “And Joel? For Christ’s sake, think hard before you dive headfirst back into this shitshow.”

Joel squeezes his arm and slides into the driver’s seat, and Tommy watches his brother go.

He doesn’t remember much of the church, the way Joel remembers. He doesn’t remember the prayers or the beatings the way he knows Joel does. Tommy got off with a slap on the wrist, as far as things go; sometimes, he looks into his brother’s eyes and he still sees the fourteen-year-old kid, sharing a dark room lit only by candles and the picture of the praying hands, devising a plan to escape. We’ll get out together, brother. You and me.

He saw that look again tonight. He saw the flare surging up in Joel’s eyes, an incendiary promise.

Tommy doesn’t call his guys back in. Instead, he stalks into his office and makes a call.

The line stops ringing after three trills, and Tommy doesn’t wait for a hello.

“Your son is fucking dead, Cabrera.”

“First, you strike my boy.” A lion’s growl, stirring deep in the chest; he’s probably smoking. “Now, you threaten me, pendejo?”

“You heard me. You fucking heard me.” Tommy licks his teeth. “Do you know what you’ve just started, letting him run around this city like he owns it?”

“I’m the one who owns this city, Mr. Miller,” says Cabrera. “Now, I’d like to know why you punched Emil in the face.”

“Because, sir, he broke into Joel Miller’s house, stole his car, and tried to rape his wife.”

The silence stretches thin, and Tommy can hear thoughtful puffs of smoke burst from Cabrera’s parted lips.

“Oh,” he says at last.

Everyone is staring at him.

The lobby of the Continental Hotel, a flatiron at 1 Wall Street, is understated in its extravagance. The floors are a marble that crackles with the weight of every footfall. There are crystal chandeliers and a too-high ceiling and stained-glass windows depicting the fall of Icarus, Narcissus at the water’s edge, Arachne and Athena. Hubris surrounds you in all colours and shades. And those few milling about the lobby turn their heads to watch your husband approach the front desk.

Despite yourself, you tuck in a little closer. Joel is carrying your duffle; he didn’t bring a change of clothes.

The concierge, whose nameplate reads Charon, lifts his brows. “Mr. Miller,” he says politely. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Joel nods. “We’d like a room.”

The concierge only eyes you briefly, but it’s enough that you feel adequately scrutinised. “Of course, sir. Single suite?”

“Double,” you cut in. You feel Joel’s eyes on the side of your head, but you persist with as sweet a smile as you can muster. The concierge nods.

“Of course,” he says. “I presume, Mr. Miller, that you are utilising your… guest privileges?”

Joel stiffens next to you. “I’ll tell the Manager myself. Nobody else needs to know.”

“Of course, sir.” Charon hands him the key. Joel reaches into his pocket and places a golden coin on the desk. You feel your brows pull together. It isn’t a currency you’ve ever seen. EX UNITATE VIRES, reads the ridged inscription, surrounded by leaves.

“Is the Doctor in?”

“Twenty-four hours a day, sir.”

“Send him up,” says Joel, stuffing the key in his pocket and fitting his hand on the small of your back.

The concierge’s voice grates down your spine, like feeling the rough underbelly of a shark. “It is a pleasure having you with us again, Mr. Miller.”

You walk just fast enough to escape the weight of his hand on your back. He’s still covered in blood.

“Again, huh?” you say quietly, your chest sluicing down the middle. “How often do you come here?”

“I don’t,” he says. “Not anymore.”

“You know, hotels are where husbands take their other women.”

Joel looks at you sharply. “That’s not funny.”

And you know it isn’t true—you know he isn’t like that—but you’ve been lied to nonetheless. The knife twists anyway.

“Right,” you say, and leave it at that.

There is a man waiting outside your hotel room. He’s squat, old, and seems to have taken on a slight hunch, but he smiles warmly at you. “Pleasure,” he says plainly. “Let’s get started.”

“Her first,” says Joel, turning the key in the lock.

“You sure?” The Doctor eyes him warily. “You’re the one who’s bleeding.”

Joel glowers. “Her first.”

The Doctor just shrugs, taking a laborious seat at the little round table by the window. It’s nearly midnight now, the moonlight filtering in through the closed curtains. Joel flicks on the light, and you blink, taking in the spacious room.

“Jesus,” you utter, mouth agape. There are two queen beds covered in crisp white linens, a bar cart, a kitchenette, an enormous claw-footed tub out in the open, and a bathroom housing a floor-to-ceiling glass shower and a vanity with two sinks. It’s big enough to host a decent gathering, let alone two people. “How much did this cost us, Joel?”

“I’ll explain later,” he says. “Let Doc check you out.”

Numbly, you sit opposite the Doctor, who dons a pair of glasses and gloves and unlatches a small medical kit. “The cut’s superficial,” he says automatically, brushing his thumb over the tender skin just beneath the knife slash. “It’s already scabbed over.”

“She hit her head,” says Joel tersely. You can tell he’s pacing behind you, his fingers on his mouth.

You sigh. “I feel okay,” you tell the Doctor. “Really, I do.”

But he inspects you anyway, shining a light in your eyes and forcing you to follow his finger and asking you mundane questions like What’s four times seven? and Who’s the president? He hands you a clean bill of health, no concussion, and you switch places with a surly-looking Joel.

He’s shed his jacket and laid it on the bed closest to you, so you dig around his pocket and produce another gold coin. Joel lifts his shirt to reveal the gash in his belly from the broken glass. And the Doctor clicks his tongue in reproach but says nothing, dabbing a disinfectant onto the wound and chuckling a little at the way Joel hisses through his teeth.

“Out of practice,” mutters the Doctor. It only makes the knot in your throat pull tighter.

“Is he going to be okay?” you ask. Joel studies you carefully, as if he isn’t quite sure how to understand your question.

“He’ll be fine,” says the Doctor, “if he keeps all movement to a minimum.”

Flipping the coin between your fingers, you can admire the intricate beauty of it. The gold is not tarnished by touch or time; it seems new. Or just unused, if Joel’s been keeping it stored out of sight. The ridges are meticulous, impervious to debasing, and you suspect that’s deliberate. Everything these people do seems deliberate.

Who are these people?

Joel seems to know. He seems to know everything. And he’s kept it all from you.

The Doctor leaves with an extra two coins in his pocket, and you’re sure to thank him as you see him out. The door closed and locked behind you, the air suddenly stifles, and the current grows warm.

You pull at the collar of your shirt and abruptly stop yourself from pulling it over your head. You’re sticky and sweaty and probably covered in someone else’s blood beneath all the fabric clinging to your body. You need a shower. And yet, undressing in front of him—the oldest, most familiar act between the two of you—is the most daunting thing you have ever done.

Joel’s cell phone begins to ring, and you’re spared for the moment.

“I’m going to shower,” you tell him, though he’s already speaking quietly into the phone. You step into the scalding shower, a lump in your throat, and scrub at your skin so hard that it’s raw and abused.

The first time you went on a date with Joel Miller, you had to ask him. He would clam up and go quiet when you teased him a little too far, his cheeks taking on a pink hue. He showed up in a stunning black suit and brought you a single daisy.

By the time you’d known him a year, you had four bouquets.

The hot water borders on agonising. You stand, back straight, facing the flow, letting it fill your tear ducts and your mouth and your nose. You let it drown you, slipping into the deafening quiet that you so easily find as you paint.

Sometimes, he’d sit behind you while you worked, those rare moments you weren’t using him as a model, and he’d watch. There was something voyeuristic in the way he could spy on your work for hours as you painted bodies in their many stages of pleasure.

You watched him kill two men tonight. He’d brought your attacker’s knife to his own throat and spilled his blood like a pig for slaughter. You always thought you knew bodies—but your Joel, your husband, knows them better than you ever thought possible.

You stand in the shower, watching the tiled wall, for longer than you should. But when you dry yourself off and dress, Joel is sitting silently on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees. It strikes you suddenly that this is the man you’ve painted a thousand times—often in this very position, when he gets lost in thought—and for a moment, you don’t recognise him.

He’s more severe than before. The lines of his face are jagged, tensed as though in preparation for a blow. You would paint him in shades of red and orange. You would be ruthless in your brushstrokes, and everyone would know the artist had put a sliver of her own fury into him.

He looks up and meets your eyes, and you fold your arms over your chest.

“So,” you begin, “you’re like Bond? Like, a spy?”

Joel stands, crossing the room to meet you. “I don't try to hide,” he says. “Though he didn't really try, either.”

“So, there's people who know your name.”

The pull at the corner of his mouth does not win out. “Yeah. A few.”

You make a sound even you cannot decipher, and Joel’s hands fidget at his sides. The silence descends again.

You look up at him and swallow knives. “Who are you?”

He grits his teeth. “You know the answer to that,” he says imploringly, desperately, reaching to take your hand. You step backward and watch his face crumble. “I’m your husband, baby. You know that.”

White-hot pressure prickles behind your nose. “This is the least you owe me, Joel. Who are you?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “I…”

A hand, ghosting across his jaw, as if to conjure the words from his throat. His eyes flicker frantically between each of yours.

“You might call it a gun-for-hire,” he tells you. “I was contracted under a man named Manuel Cabrera. This hotel is for others like… like me. People who operate in the Underworld.”

The revelation should not surprise you, but the earth beneath your bare feet fractures in one seismic shift. You think of the daisies. The suits. The gifts and the walks along beaches in Spain and the soft whisper of the breeze against your cheek. You think of sleeping next to him every night, his arm wrapped around your waist because it was the only way he would sleep.

You think of the little he told you about his time in the Marines. The tattoo on his back that reads, FORTIS FORTUNA ADIUVAT. Fortune favours the bold.

You think of a gun hidden in his bedside drawer. You think of a tough childhood he’s only alluded to: an orphanage, a church, the sisters. A cigarette burn behind his ear.

“When did this all start?” Your voice is a feeble thing, afraid of its own shadow. Afraid of what that darkness will breed. “How long have you been… doing this?”

“As long as I can remember.” It’s the reply you want and not at all. Joel is looking down, and you realise he’s staring at your wedding ring. “I got out.”

“When?”

“After I met you.”

When he first kissed you, it was barely a brush of your lips, and then he was taken away. He’d frowned like it was a mistake, and when you stood on your toes to kiss him back, the gash between his brows smoothed over, and his hands cradled your face.

Don’t regret it, you pleaded.

He pressed his mouth to your temple. You are the only choice I don’t regret.

You hate how the memories crowd you now, stifling what’s logical, what’s real. You hate the phantom sensation of his lips on your skin, the bristling of his moustache. You hate the way he holds back from touching you as if it’s something poisonous. You hate his wide-open eyes. As he stands before you now, you would paint him in shades of black.

The pain in your chest yawns open into a cavity. You want to tear out the viscera and stuff it inside.

You gave your heart to him, and he poured oil-slick lies into the clean organ like it was nothing. Like it was all so easy for him.

“You lied to me.”

He swallows. Nods his head. “I know.”

You can’t help but scoff at that. “Fuck you. You have no idea. Two hours ago, I didn’t think you knew how to throw a punch. You killed those men back there, Joel. And everyone in this building knows your name. You don't know.”

And the venom tastes sweet. It tastes powerful and strong and enough to rot what remains inside.

“Was I even real?” you ask. “Was I just a cover story?”

“Don’t,” Joel snaps. “I did everything for you. You don't understand… you couldn’t understand the things I had to do to get out. To be with you. To settle down, give you the life you deserved.”

“Maybe I would understand if you'd told me!” You’re raising your voice, prickling pain behind your eyes, chest sour with an ache you don’t know. “You never even tried. You never even thought to tell me the truth? Your own wife?”

“Civilians can't know about the Underworld,” says Joel, and he looks as though he wants to say more, but you’re shoving him square in the chest—he doesn’t budge; of course he doesn’t fucking budge—and getting louder still.

“Don't patronise me,” you say, burning with vitriol, giving him another hard push. “I gave my life to you, and I’m just a civilian?”

Now he’s getting louder, grasping your arms and pleading with his eyes to make you listen. “I wanted to protect you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I wanted to give you a good life away from all that shit I’ve bled for, killed for. I needed to keep you safe, baby.”

Baby. You’ve always been his—his baby, honey, sweetheart, endlessly closing her eyes to a truth she was too blind, or maybe too unwilling, to see. And although you may resent him for keeping it all from you, you resent yourself, too, for never even guessing that something was wrong.

You feel so goddamn stupid.

“Nine fucking years.” You shove him again only to see him falter slightly on his feet, to see the helpless glimmer of tears that shine, unshed, in his eyes. You hate him for crying, you hate him for being so strong, you hate him for all the touches he’s made you question. “You have lied to me for nine fucking years, you bastard.”

“That ain’t fair—”

“No, shut up! Shut the fuck up and let me talk. You kissed me and fucked me and gave me flowers and gifts and you’ve built it all on one big lie. And you expect me to forgive you because you were trying to protect me? I married you, Joel Miller. I loved you. We made vows to trust one another, to be truthful. Did that mean anything?”

Joel’s lips crack apart like water seeping through stone. “‘Loved’?”

“You’re selfish, Joel,” you spit, your throat raw, the pressure building hot behind your eyes. “You didn't tell me the truth because you didn't want me to run.”

“Would you?” he asks. A sluice has driven hard through the resolve in his face. “Would you have run?”

The fight bleeds out of you, the excess drawn from the skin. “You never gave me that choice, so don't you dare give it to me now.”

Maybe you would run, if given the chance. Maybe you would flee far away from the dangerous man you now know he is. But you wear his rings. You’ve taken him inside you countless times. You’ve given him your soul. There is no maybe.

“You don't get it,” he croaks. “Don't you understand the things I’d do to keep you safe? Don't you understand that I’d kill for you?”

The sob bleeds from your lips. “What if I don't want that?”

Joel shakes his head. “I said no tears,” he says. “No tears, baby, please.”

No tears, he would always say. No tears for me until I’ve earned ‘em.

But it's like weights have been tied to your wrists, and you cannot lift your hands to wipe them away. Why should you have to? Why should you care to listen to him at all?

“No tears?” you shout. “You’ve lied to me all this time and you don’t want me to cry? You want me to just let it go? Fuck you, Joel Miller, and fuck you for giving me your last name, for letting me love you all this time when you knew you were lying to my face.”

Joel steps back like you’ve struck him in the face. The words are dry, blowing slightly on the air, and you must moisten them on your tongue to dissolve the numbness, water saturating a teaspoon of sugar. He does not say a word.

“What are you going to do?” you ask him. The sound of your own voice is foreign to you.

He stands silent before you, as if mulling over a million words he wants to say. Instead, he flexes his fingers, and the scabbed skin of his knuckles cracks open. “Finish it.”

“Why?” you ask. “They could have chosen any house. They chose ours. It was never personal, Joel, until you made it personal.”

You embrace your trembling arms as your adrenaline seeps, bone-deep exhaustion settling in. “I would have gone back to sleep last night,” you tell him. “I would have crawled into bed with you and let it all go away.”

A flicker travels through his eyes: like he’s been lashed in the back. “I can't,” he says. “I can't just… let it all go.”

You laugh, and it’s so hollow, so nothing, that you know a part of you is forever gone.

“I never really knew you, did I?”

He shakes his head, reaching for you only for you to pull back. A dance. “You know me. You do,” he pleads. “Baby, c’mon… you know me.”

Maybe you do. Or, maybe you used to. You knew that his favourite colour was blue. You knew that he liked to bind old books as a hobby, and that you went to used bookshops in your free time to surprise him with new projects. You knew that he was a good cook. You knew that he liked John Keats and old, terrible action movies and Hank Williams. You knew a Joel you may never have known at all.

You cast your eyes down at his knuckles, at the stitched wound in his belly. Red stains the grooves of his palms. Doesn’t he know that you just wanted to go home? “You may be doing the killing, but all of that blood is on my hands. Did you ever think about that? Do you even care?”

“He gave me no choice,” says Joel.

“There is always a choice.”

Joel traces his thumb over your wound, his eyes glimmering. He's beautiful in this light, in the way he looks a little broken from the inside. “He would've hurt you. He would have violated you.”

“What will you do when you get your revenge?” you demand. “What happens then?”

“It’ll be done,” he says desperately. “And we can go home.”

“Home.” You chew up the word and it tastes like glass. “Home is with my husband. I’m looking at you now, and I don't recognise an inch of the man I married.”

Joel chokes, giving up, giving in, his hands on your face, touching his forehead to yours. “Baby, please. You have to understand…”

You cradle his wrists like they’re porcelain, allowing yourself this final silence. “We don't have a home anymore, Joel. We have this hotel room. And right now, I just need to go to bed.”

You pry away his hands and cross the room. It’s colder here, the autumn air a balm to your skin. You begin to untuck the sheets from your bed and catch a glimmer of gold out of the corner of your eye.

Joel doesn’t turn to face you, but you hear his voice like it’s coming from your own chest.

“I love you,” he says. “I've only ever loved you.”

You look down at the golden coin you left on the table. Unity is Strength.

“That's the one lie I still want to believe.”

#fic: helen #kiwisbell's fics #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #john wick au #pedro pascal

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mountainficss · 3 months

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i like the idea of a sweet neighbor!joshua. like just the sweetest guy ever that you wanna absolutely tear apart (in a good way).

he’d show up at your door three or four days after you moved in next door to him, introducing himself and presenting a sweet housewarming gift: a fluffy vanilla cake! he’d taken the time to spread frosting all over the top and around the layers, and neatly piped cute little frosting dollops all around the top edge. he would hand it over to you carefully, the dessert all sealed up in a cute glass cake tray. you’d smile at him gently, thanking him for stopping by and promising to return the favor. you’d study his pretty features, realizing how cute your next door neighbor was. his pure smile would make your stomach flutter, and you’d make a mental note to stop by his place later on during the week.

he’d think of you multiple times throughout the week, unable to forget the image of your kind smile when he handed you the cake. shua wouldn’t have expected a pretty girl to be moving in next door, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. his brain was full of questions about you. did he make a good first impression on you? are you having trouble adjusting to the neighborhood? did you like the cake he made for you? he’d find himself missing the sight of you, wanting to stop by your house again to get to know you better. you’d beat him to it though, ringing his doorbell and waiting patiently on his doorstep with a cute potted houseplant in your hands. he’d be shocked to see you on the other side of his door, but he’d be pleasantly surprised to see you again (totally not because he missed you or anything). he’d invite you inside shyly, practically grinning when you agree. he’d guide you inside, putting the little plant in the center of his dining room table and offering you a seat. he’d pull your chair out for you (like a true gentleman of course) and sit across from you after you’re settled. you’d both talk about everything under the sun, ranging from your careers to your hobbies and interests. you’d find yourselves getting lost in conversation, talking for hours and completely losing track of time. you’d apologize for staying so late and he’d walk you to the door, thanking you for talking to him for such a long time. you’d exchange numbers before you left, and he’d feel giddy knowing your number would be in his phone. his number. in his pretty neighbor’s phone. oh he’d be ecstatic! he’d find himself texting you in his spare time, thinking of you constantly and waiting for your texts :( meanwhile you would be thinking of him too, wondering when you’d be able to see him again.

you’d text him frequently, shooting him a text one day after you returned home from work to invite him over. he’d be brimming with excitement upon receiving your text, changing into a cute sweater and adjusting his hair in the bathroom mirror. he’d feel nervous knowing that this is the first time he’d be stepping into your home. he’d wonder if he should make some food to bring you, or put on a different sweater that you might like more. during his moment of overthinking he’d hear his phone ping, a text from you telling him he can come over lighting up his screen. he buried his worries for now, opting to just keep his sweater and show up at your door empty-handed.

he’d knock on your door lightly and you’d open it looking prettier than ever, despite just coming home from a long shift. his stomach would do nervous flips as he steps inside your home, the atmosphere cozy and comforting even though you moved in barely a week and a half ago. the warm lighting would make your face look soft and glowy, and joshua could hardly contain his excitement as you show him around your place. you’d grab his hand and lead him into the kitchen, asking if he wanted to eat a slice of cake with you. he’d blush at the sensation of your hand in his, noticing the tray of the vanilla cake he brought you when you first moved in. it would sit prettily on the counter, half of the slices missing from the dessert. he’d nod shyly, watching you cut him and yourself a slice. you’d lean against the counter, plate in hand and beginning to talk about your shift. shua would barely register what you were talking about though, his eyes practically glued to your lips. you’d just look so pretty to him, snapping out of his trance when you call his name softly. “joshua?” he’d flinch slightly at the sound of his name. “you okay?” he’d nod slightly, shifting a bit under the heat of your gaze. you’d find his flushed cheeks so cute, the thought of him squirming underneath you briefly crossing your mind. you couldn’t help but toy with him a bit, reaching a hand down to his lower stomach to play with the end of his sweater. “your cake was really good, you know,” you’d beam, lightly running the fabric of his sweater against your fingers. “you decorated it so cutely too! you’re a really talented baker, shua.” his face would be so red from your compliments, your hand hovering so close to him making him feel lightheaded. “oh, thank you! i um, wanted to bring you something nice to look forward to while you moved all your things in.” you’d smile innocently and set your plate down on the counter, dragging your thumb through the frosting of your slice and licking the frosting clean off. “well it’s definitely nice, that’s for sure. i’ve been eating slices of it all week!” you’d smirk mischievously at him, collecting more frosting on your index finger and leaning in close to smear it on the side joshua’s neck playfully. he’d let out a small gasp of surprise. “the frosting’s really sweet.” you’d purr, throwing your arms around his neck unexpectedly. you’d lean into him, pressing your hot tongue onto his neck and dragging the muscle up slowly, licking the frosting off his flushed skin. a whimper would escape his lips, caught off guard by the sudden intimate gesture. after licking all the frosting away you’d press gentle kisses to the expanse of his neck, his heavy breathing and small whines giving you the urge to ruin him. you’d catch his lips in a hungry kiss, feeling his breath hitch before your lips press against his. you’d taste like the sugary vanilla frosting, and he’d kiss you harder trying to chase the sweet flavor. you’d briefly pull away to tug his sweater over his head, hearing him whine at the loss of contact. you’d trace your fingers down his chest and torso with one hand as he kisses you again, your other hand fumbling to your plate and gathering frosting with two fingers. you’d spin him around so he’s leaning his back against the counter, smearing the frosting all over the bare skin of his chest and stomach. he’d moan at the sudden sensation, watching you lean down and drag your tongue all over his abs and chest. his cock would strain against his pants, the sight of your pretty eyes gazing up at him while you lick up his stomach making him even harder. he knew this would be a long night for the both of you.

you’d spend the rest of your evening eating sugary cake off your pretty shy neighbor’s gorgeous body and listening to his sweet sounds of pleasure :(((

#seventeen smut #thoughts #seventeen #smut #sub!idol #seventeen joshua #joshua hong #joshua #hong jisoo #svt imagines #svt smut #svt #mountainficss

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steddiehyperfixation · 5 months

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don't you forget about me (part five)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)

No nightmares make their way into Eddie’s mind that night, no bad memories stir in his subconscious. That night, instead, he dreams of Steve:

Steve sat in the back of Eddie’s van, lounging against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, perpendicular to Eddie who sat against the back of the seats, legs also kicked out and propped up on top of Steve’s as they passed a joint back and forth, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. The windows and doors were closed to keep the night’s cool summer breeze out and the smoke in, the air in the van pleasantly warm and thick and hazy; their minds so too.

Steve took a hit of the joint and attempted to blow smoke rings when he exhaled, making funny shapes with his lips and failing so spectacularly it made Eddie burst into a fit of raucous laughter. He threw his head back with it, hysterical and giggly in his high. Steve shoved at Eddie’s legs in mock offense at being laughed at, but it lacked heat, and he’d already caught the giggles from him too.

“You’re really beautiful, you know,” Steve said, dopey smile on his face as he watched Eddie laugh.

Eddie snorted. “And you’re really high.” He plucked the joint out of Steve’s hands, not giving the compliment much weight at all. People just say things sometimes when they’re too high, and he knew Steve’s tolerance for any sort of substance had gone way down since he’d gotten caught in that mall fire a couple weeks ago. Something to do with trauma or whatever.

“Yeah, I’m gone,” Steve agreed, blowing a raspberry at him. “But I meant it, though,” he said. His dazed eyes drifted lazily over Eddie’s face. “I think it all the time sober too, every time you laugh or smile or the light hits you just right. You have pretty lips and pretty eyes and pretty hair.”

“Yeah, it’s the long hair, man.” Eddie laughed, genuine but dismissive, taking a hit of the joint and saying on the exhale, “Got the wires all crossed in that lovely little head of yours. Your high brain’s just got me confused for a girl or something.”

“No.” Steve frowned at him, bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pout as he shook his head. “I’m not confused. I don’t think you’re a girl. I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy.”

“Hm.” Eddie took another hit, felt the weed float through his veins, cloud his mind even further. “In that case…” The smoke escaped past lips stretched into an unsuppressable grin. “You wanna know a secret?”

Steve angled his body towards him and leaned forward in interest. “Uh huh.”

Eddie snuffed out the joint, pushed away from the back of the seats, and pulled his legs off of Steve, sitting back on his heels instead as he shifted to face Steve better and move closer. Inches apart now, Eddie brought a hand up to Steve’s cheek and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy too.”

Steve giggled, smile wide and cheeks pink. He hooked an arm around Eddie’s waist and swept him onto his lap, making Eddie giggle too as he was pulled in close. Their foreheads rested against each other. Steve’s heavy-lidded eyes settled on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie thought he got the hint. He leaned in, and for a second Steve leaned in too, only for him to duck away at the very last second, the would-be kiss amounting only to the barest brush of their lips. A small whine, confused and wanting, escaped involuntarily from the back of Eddie’s throat.

“Waitwaitwait-” Steve said, one hand pressed lightly against Eddie’s chest to hold him back. “We should be sober first.”

Eddie huffed, but agreed, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” His hand still cupped Steve’s face though, thumb running over his cheekbone as he asked, “Will you even still want to kiss me when you’re not high?”

“Of course I will.” Steve leaned into his touch. “Will you?”

“Of course I will. Have you seen you?” Eddie said with a light laugh. “How could I not?”

Steve grinned, bumped his forehead against Eddie’s again. “I’m gonna kiss you breathless when we’re sober, I promise.”

“You better.” Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek instead, for now. “I’m holding you to that, pretty boy.”

He was rewarded with another giggle and both of Steve’s arms wrapping around him now to pull him closer to his chest. Eddie slipped an arm around Steve’s waist too and settled against him, curled up so that he could rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. His other hand dropped from Steve’s face and drifted instead to land on the bicep of the strong arms that cradled him.

The giggly elation of their high was beginning to give way to a stoned sleepiness, the weed-soaked air draped around them like a blanket. They probably could’ve fallen asleep like that - it wouldn’t have been the first time they’d passed out back there after a smoke sesh - but the air would soon grow stale, not to mention every breath inside the hotboxed van only maintained their intoxication and Eddie kind of really wanted to be sober as soon as possible.

“It’s getting late,” he mumbled, reluctantly pushing himself away from Steve. “We should head inside.”

“Yeah, alright.” Steve, equally reluctantly, let go of Eddie and let him leave his lap.

They separated to climb out of the van and make their way to the trailer and back to Eddie’s room to get ready for bed, but they gravitated towards each other again, drawn together like magnets once they laid side by side under Eddie’s sheets. It was almost unconscious, really, the way they both reached out and pulled each other close.

By the time morning came, they were completely intertwined: both of them had both arms wrapped tight around the other, their legs entangled, Steve’s head tucked beneath Eddie’s chin and face buried in his chest. Eddie idly ran his fingers through Steve’s hair; Steve stirred at the touch and muttered a muffled, “‘Morning,” which Eddie softly echoed.

Steve pulled his head back from Eddie’s chest then and shifted himself up so that they were face to face - or, more accurately, nose to nose. “Oh.” He smiled a little. “Hi.” And Eddie echoed that too, with a matching small smile.

“About last-” Steve started to say, at the same time Eddie began to ask, “Did you-?” They both broke off into a light chuckle. Steve shook his head and said, “Sorry, you go.”

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Eddie asked, voice quiet and careful and hopeful.

“Every word,” Steve replied, his gaze soft as his eyes met Eddie’s. “Did you?”

“Every word,” Eddie confirmed. A slow grin spread across his face, and he slid his hand from Steve’s hair to trace his fingers along Steve’s jaw. “You have a promise to keep now, big boy.”

“That I do,” Steve agreed with a smirk of his own, pulling Eddie closer.

Their lips met, properly this time. Steve kissed him gentle and sweet and slow, and Eddie all but melted into it, a syrupy warmth flooding his veins. He kissed back, matched the pace. Steve flipped them over, pressing Eddie’s back into the mattress as he deepened the kiss and settled his weight on top of him with a languid, full body roll. Eddie moaned softly beneath him, his lips parting to accept the caress of Steve’s tongue which licked into his mouth in easy, tender strokes. His hands curled in Steve’s hair again and in the fabric of his shirt, back arched in an attempt to press himself even closer as Steve continued to kiss him like he was drinking Eddie in, like Eddie was something precious and Steve was determined to savor every taste. It was dizzying, hypnotizing, thoroughly fucking intoxicating.

When Steve finally pulled away, Eddie was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to breathe, how to speak. He stared up at him, dazed, eyes wide and mouth still open soundlessly.

“Told you,” Steve said, a smugness in his smile, “breathless.”

“Man of your word.” Eddie found his voice again, remembered how to pull air back into his lungs. “An attractive quality,” he murmured before tugging Steve down into another kiss.

This one got a little more heated. It was Eddie who took control this time, and he kissed Steve with fervor. He switched their positions, rolling over so that Steve was the one lying beneath him now, Eddie’s body grinding down as he landed on top of Steve. It was not soft and neither was the sound Steve let out in response: a guttural groan that rumbled against Eddie’s lips. Eddie swallowed that sound, bit down on it, devoured it; craved more of it. He left Steve’s mouth to kiss down his neck, scraping his teeth against those stupidly biteable moles and sucking a bruise onto the skin. Steve’s breath stuttered; as Eddie paired the lovebite with another harsh grind, Steve’s hips bucked up to meet him, pulling another deep groan from them both.

“Eddie,” Steve gasped out then. “Eddie, we should slow down.”

Eddie immediately clambered off of him. “Right, yeah. Too much. Sorry.” He put some distance between them, sitting more towards the edge of the bed and looking away awkwardly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Steve said as he sat up and shifted closer, placing a hand over Eddie’s. “I just- I don’t want this to be just that.” His other hand reached up to turn Eddie’s face back towards him. “I want something real with you. I want to do things right.”

“Oh. Yeah, I wouldn’t just-” Eddie shook his head and smiled softly instead, taking Steve’s hand from his face and holding it. “I want something real with you too.”

Steve sighed, smiled with visible relief. He squeezed Eddie’s hands. “Okay, good.”

Eddie’s stomach grumbled audibly then, and he said with a grin, “So, how about you take me out to breakfast, sweetheart, and we can go from there?”

Steve laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said, leaning in to give Eddie one more lingering kiss first.

Eddie wakes up wanting, a deep ache in his heart like there’s something missing now that he’s awake. Steve is still holding his hand, and Eddie looks over to see the guy passed out in the bedside chair, head lolled to one side, mouth open, a line of drool crusted down his chin. It’s disgusting. It’s fucking adorable. The ache in his heart twinges.

“Goddamnit,” Eddie groans to himself. He knows what this is. He’s got a fucking crush. On Steve fucking Harrington. Of all people. Of course he does.

For all his anti-jock rhetoric, even for all his protests yesterday about not being obsessed, Eddie always did have a sort of fascination with Steve Harrington in high school. More of a passing fancy, really. He thought Steve was attractive, sure, but in the way a celebrity is attractive - unobtainable and unreal - so it was always more like Steve was just his favorite reality TV show rather than an actual crush. But now Steve is real, and worst of all, he’s kind. King Steve Intangible Hot Asshole Jock Harrington is now Sweet Lovely Gorgeous Goofy Perfect Steve who holds Eddie’s hand when he’s scared and tells stupid jokes to make him laugh and always seems to know exactly what he needs, so of course Eddie never stood a single goddamn chance. Of course Eddie only had to spend one fucking day with this man for his old teenage fascination to trip and start falling for him, for Eddie to start having stupid, sappy dreams about him.

Because Eddie’s sure that’s all it was. No way was that dream a memory; his brain was just taking bits and pieces of what Steve had said yesterday and filling in the blanks with fantasy. Dumb, sweet, soft, romantic fantasy. Complete with fucking yearning and shit.

Eddie groans again. Why couldn’t it have just been a sex dream? He knows how to handle sex dreams. Sex dreams don’t come with actual feelings.

Steve begins to rouse then, probably stirred awake by all Eddie’s grumbling.

“Morning, sunshine,” Eddie says as Steve lifts his head and wipes the crusted drool from his mouth.

“Eddie?” Steve rubs his eyes with one hand, then blinks and squeezes Eddie’s hand with his other as his face breaks into a smile. “Hey, you slept through the night!”

Eddie snorts. “You don’t have to make it sound like I’m your infant child reaching a milestone.” He puts on a slight character voice, pitching up his inflection, “‘Baby Eddie slept through the night for the very first time! Mommy Steve was finally able to get some rest!’”

“Ew.” Steve wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, even as he scoffs out a laugh. “Do not call me mommy.”

“Oh, sorry, would you prefer daddy?” Eddie asks with a smirk and raised eyebrows. Because he’s stupid and has no fucking filter.

“Uh-” That startles a nervous chuckle out of Steve, pretty pink blush blooming in his cheeks. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, shakes his head again, and takes a breath to regain his composure. “Yeah, no, that’s not my thing either.”

“Noted,” Eddie says, and then physically bites his own tongue to stop himself from asking something even more stupid like so what is your thing then?

“Anyways-” Steve seems a little desperate to change the subject. “No nightmares last night?”

“Nah.” Eddie taps his fingers against Steve’s hand. “You’ve got some sort of magic touch, man. I never have nightmares when I fall asleep with your hands on me.”

Steve smiles at that, a small thing. “Told you I’d fight them off.”

“Man of your word,” Eddie mutters. His heart gives a little lurch as he echoes his dream, a reaction which is consequently made clear and apparent for anyone to see by the immediate uptick of beeping from his heart monitor. So that’s going to be a problem.

“Yeah-” Steve glances at the monitor, then back at Eddie, a concerned pinch between his brows (Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it away; his heart only beats faster). “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Eddie glares accusingly at the heart monitor, like it’s betrayed him on purpose. “I don’t know why it’s doing that.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I can go get someone to check on you-” He starts to stand like he means to leave, but Eddie tightens his grip on his hand so he can’t get too far.

“I said I’m fine, Steve,” Eddie insists, a little sharper than he meant to. He takes a breath, smooths the edge off his voice. “A slightly increased heart rate is not gonna kill me, alright? You don’t have to worry about me so much.”

“I always worry about you,” Steve mutters. Though he does settle back into his chair, he keeps eyeing the heart monitor and worriedly chewing on his lip - as if that’s going to help Eddie’s racing heart situation.

“Okay, you gotta stop doing that, man.”

“What?”

“Acting all nervous like I’m about to drop dead,” Eddie says. “You’re stressing me out. No wonder my heart’s beating faster.”

“Right, sorry.” Steve looks away from the monitor and releases his lip from between his teeth, bitten red and plump now. Jesus.

Eddie breathes in slowly. He can be calm, he can be cool. He takes another few breaths until his heart rate finally starts to chill the fuck out and the monitor stops beeping so incessantly. “See, I’m totally fine.”

“Yeah.” Steve relaxes visibly. He squeezes Eddie’s hand, gives an apologetic smile. “Of course you are. Sorry I stressed you out.”

“That’s alright.” Eddie smiles back with a shrug, brushing it off. “Means you care, Stevie. I appreciate it.”

Steve’s expression turns warm then, and about 95% of Eddie’s higher brain functioning is now completely focused on trying to keep his heartbeat steady under the glow of Steve’s smile and the warmth of his hand. He doesn’t even hear whatever it is Steve says in response, just lets the timbre of his voice wash over him. It sounds like something soft, something kind, but not something that requires a reply, so Eddie stays quiet and continues to count each beat of his heart in the easy silence that settles over them.

Steve can’t decide if he wants to stay right here forever, holding Eddie’s hand and making sure he’s alright, or if he still wants to run so far from the ache it leaves in his chest.

Hanging out with Eddie yesterday had been overwhelmingly bittersweet. It felt so good to laugh with him again, to talk with him the way they used to, to see his face all lit up and happy. It felt so good to know that Eddie wanted him there, that he enjoyed spending time with him. There were moments that set Steve’s heart aglow, moments so effortless, so simple, so them, that he could forget, just for a second, all that was still missing between them. But each good feeling came with a stinging aftertaste of grief as Steve would remember and he felt the difference in the depth of their affection like a great gaping chasm, vast and black and bleak.

His emotions are frayed, all stretched and pulled in so many different directions at the same time. He wants and he worries and he aches and he loves; desire and despair.

Time makes his decision for him, though, as he catches sight of the clock on the wall and suddenly remembers, “Shit- I have to go, sorry. I promised Robin I’d finally come back to work today so she’d stop having to be stuck on shifts with Keith,” Steve says, starting to stand.

“Oh.” Eddie blinks like he’s been startled out of a trance. A brief disappointment flashes across his face. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back tonight, though,” Steve promises with a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “Soon as I can.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tug up into a small smile then. “Yeah, I know you will.” He lifts Steve’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it before letting go. “You’re my good luck charm.”

It’s such a small, innocent thing, but it wrenches Steve’s heart. The feeling of Eddie’s lips lingers on his skin like it’s haunting him, taunting him; the barest trace of something that once was, a ghost of what he’s lost. It’s almost cruel. Steve hates it, and he aches for it.

He’s quick to leave the room before Eddie can see the tears in his eyes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t like to see him sad.

(part six) taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies; please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. if you didn't make the taglist but still wanna follow along, you can follow the tag #dyfamsteddiefic to keep up with new updates!)

#fun and interesting new developments #i am dragging this shit out sorry lmao. not too much longer tho #i'm thinking this'll probably have maybe 3 more parts to it? we'll see.#steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic

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zoeykallus · 5 months

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Hello Zoey

First , I wanted to tell you again that I love the stories you gave us , thank you , really , you're one of the few who can make me forget time when I'm reading 👌❤️

It's my first request so I'm sorry if it's a bit clumsy 😅

I had an idea , imagine that after a mission the reader is so tired that they took the first bunk they saw but it's not their's , how would the batchers react ? x)

Aloha!

Very happy to read this! 😊 Thank you so much!

There is a first time for everything. Don't worry, there is nothing clumsy about it. I think I got it. So pre Relationship, but with already growing yet unspoken feelings? At least that would be my guess. Let me see, this could be fun 😁🤭

The Bad Batch x Reader HCs - Sleepy Mix-Ups

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Warnings: None I guess/SFW/Fluff

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Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

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Hunter

He almost threw his equipment at you. At the last moment, he sees you lying in his bunk and just manages to stop himself. Hunter is puzzled, raises his eyebrows questioningly and looks at you for a moment. A small smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. You look kind of cute lying there in his bunk. He sighs softly and looks around, his gaze falling on your actual bunk. He walks towards it, takes off his equipment, and even before he lies down in it, he smells it. The bedding and the pillow smell of your shampoo, your perfume, of you. A strange, warm shiver runs through his entire body. Hunter looks back over his shoulder to his own bunk, where you are slumbering blissfully. He knows the scent of you will keep him awake for a while, make him woozy. He feels a tingling restlessness under his skin, a silent longing for more of what reaches his nose, more of you. Hunter lies down anyway, the other bunks are occupied, and he doesn't want to wake you. He lies awake half the night and dreams of you await him in his sleep, some gentle, some wild. When he wakes up, his heart is beating fast, his pulse racing as if he has just experienced a pleasantly exciting adventure.

He grins a little stupidly to himself and flinches when he hears your voice. "Sorry, I must have gotten the wrong bunk last night because I was so tired." Hunter clears his throat, straightens up and says with a wink, "It's no problem" He looks nervous and a little shaky, you have no idea why, but as he leaves the room to use the refresher, you don't give it a second thought.

Echo

He stands in front of his bunk and looks down at you. He scratches his chin uncertainly with the scomp link. Echo doesn't really know what to do, he doesn't really want to wake you up, you look so peaceful and relaxed. The day has been hard and exhausting for all of you. He holds his hand over his mouth as he yawns. Tired, he rubs his eyes a moment later. His gaze wanders to your bunk and back again. Echo doesn't quite know whether he should just lie down. You've probably made a mistake out of tiredness, if he were to just lie down in your bed now, he would feel like an intruder. Even if the thought of lying on your pillow, which certainly smells like you, is incredibly tempting. Echo sighs softly, sits down on the floor next to his bunk where you are lying and leans against it. It's anything but cozy, but he's tired enough to fall asleep after a short time sitting up, his head resting halfway on the edge of the bunk. He wakes up when something brushes against his head. The blanket you covered yourself with. You move, it's early morning, you're still half asleep when you see Echo looking at you over the edge of the bunk.

You blink several times, a little startled. "Echo? What are you doing down there?" He straightens up a little awkwardly, his back aching a little from the position he's been sleeping in. He smirks wryly and says, "Well, you occupied my bed, so I had to improvise" You rub the sleep from your eyes and look around the bunk. Echo is right, this is not your bedding, not your bunk. Heat rises in your cheeks, and you stare at him. Others might be angry, but Echo just smiles at you. "Why didn't you just use my bunk?" you ask, confused. Echo shrugs, scratches the back of his head uncertainly and says, "Well, I don't know, I didn't want to just do it without being asked" You laugh softly. "But Echo, I climbed into your bed without being asked" Wrecker in the background, still half asleep himself, grins at you from his bunk, "Echo just wished you'd done it while he was in there"

Echo's eyes widen and his heart races. He feels he has been caught, but grumbles at his brother, "Would you please keep your comments to yourself?" When he looks at you again, you both smile shyly, barely able to meet each other's gaze.

Wrecker

He looks into his bunk, puzzled. Wrecker wasn't expecting this. A little unsettled, he scratches the back of his head and looks around. Everyone else is already asleep, or about to fall asleep. His huge figure stands bent over you next to the bunk you're lying in, his bunk. Normally you would probably have woken up just from the feeling of being watched, by his presence, but you're so wiped out today, probably not even a bomb would wake you up. Wrecker's bunk is bigger than the standardized bunks, because he himself is also bigger than the norm among soldiers, so you should have noticed that alone, but you didn't. He looks over to your bunk, the only one that is still empty and much smaller than he is used to. You mumble something in your sleep. A smile spreads across his face. He was actually toying with the idea of waking you up, but you look so cute, he can't bring himself to do it. Wrecker heads for your bunk, gets ready for bed, and squeezes himself in. When you wake up the next morning, it takes a moment, but you realize you're in the wrong bunk. "Oops," you mumble quietly, straighten up and look around. Everyone is still asleep.

Wrecker is lying in your bunk. He can't stretch out his legs, he's curled up like a fetus, his knees sticking out over the edge of the bunk. It looks uncomfortable, but also adorable. You slip out of bed and quietly walk over to him. You gently nudge him a few times until he opens his eyes. "Hey, big guy," you whisper to him. He blinks, finally grins at you and mumbles back, "Mornin' sweetheart" "Sorry about the bunk, I was so tired I didn't realize which bunk I was in," you say apologetically. Wrecker peels himself out of the too-small bunk and says with a shrug, "It's okay, it can happen" You are relieved that he takes it so lightly. He adds, "Your bunk is pretty tiny, but it smells damn good" You smile shyly and feel your cheeks heat up.

Tech

He almost sits down on you because he is so engrossed in his holopad. At the last moment, he realizes that his bunk is already occupied. Tech lowers the holopad and stares at you silently, as if he could wake you up with his gaze alone. His brow furrowed, he looks at his bunk and wonders how you could have mistaken it. The walls are scrawled with drawings and calculations he made at some point, it's hard to miss. Were you really that tired? He reaches out for you, but just above your arm, his hand stops, he holds it there uncertainly in the air for a while, undecided whether to wake you or not. Actually, this is his bunk, Tech thinks, you shouldn't sleep in it. But there's another thought, a feeling. Because you are sleeping in his bed, you are very close to him in a way. In the morning, his pillow will certainly smell of you. A part of him that he doesn't really understand at the moment, likes that, a lot. He stands there for a long time, the datapad in his hand, watching you. Echo whispers softly over the snoring of the others, "Why don't you go to their bunk, the staring is getting creepy" Tech blinks, startled, and turns to his brother.

He whispers back, "But this is my bunk" Echo sighs and says a little impatiently, "They were extremely tired, I'm sure it was an accident. Now just let them sleep and lie down in their bunk" Tech walks to your bunk, stares at it for a while, then finally lies down. It feels very different, strange, but somehow also pleasant. It smells good, although foreign, but at the same time familiar, because it smells like you. Lost in thought, he begins to paint the walls of the bunk with drawings and calculations. When he falls asleep, Tech still has the pen in his hand and your smell in his nose. It feels like he's falling asleep in your arms and all night long, Tech has a little smile on his lips. When he wakes up, it's still night, and you're already standing next to his bunk. "Sorry," you say quietly. Tech needs a moment to collect himself, the fog of sleep hasn't quite left him yet. "It's okay," he says just as softly, and peels himself out of bed to swap bunks back with you.

You lie down and look around in the semi-darkness. Tech has painted practically every free space. As you lie on your back, you look directly at the sketch of a podracer and a wild sequence of numbers that probably only he understands. You smile. Tech has slept in your bed and left something like his signature, somehow you are so happy about it that you want to kick your feet and squeak.

Crosshair

He is taking off his equipment, turns around and pauses in mid-motion. His brows draw together critically. There's someone lying in his bunk, you. He mutters quietly, "You're kidding me" He lets out an annoyed sigh and stares at you. The intensity of his gaze alone might even have woken you up under normal circumstances, but not today. His gaze finally moves to your bunk, which is empty at the moment, but then his eyes narrow to critical slits. Crosshair has no intention of being evicted from his bunk, accident or not. He grabs you and pushes you to the back of the bunk. Just as you open your eyes in shock and blink, trying to get your bearings, he joins you and takes part of the blanket, decently enough to keep you covered. Startled, you stare at him.

"But... what...?" He cocks a brow at you. "This is my bunk, if you want to sleep in it, fine, but I'm not swapping, so you better get used to me being close or crawl back into your own, kitten" he grumbles. Your heart is racing, you're confused and speechless, trying to untangle the situation in your mind. Just having him so close to you makes you nervous enough. But to be honest, you have no desire to go back to your own bunk. All you say is a quiet, "Okay" A smirk twitches briefly at the corner of his mouth, barely noticeable. Quietly and much more softly, in his smoky voice, he says as he closes his eyes, "Good night, Kitten"

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