#❱❱❱ t: all roads lead to home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dabisbratz · 1 year ago

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𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing�� ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

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evnseokz · 21 days ago

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how bout overstim with jongseong. like u and him had an argument (it was ur fault) so to make it up to him, for the first in ur relationship, u make the first move. teasing him the moment u two got in the car then seducing him even more when u got home, making him cum more than once and not stopping until he gives u his forgiveness

pairing: jay x reader

contents: reader takes lead, overstimulation, reader is a lil mean at the end, handjob, kissing, making out, pet name: baby, hopefully that’s all!

a.n: ty for the request! i had fun writing this and it ended up longer than i wanted it to be 😭 w.c 1.1k

deep down, you knew you were being irrational, overreacting over something that wasn’t even a real issue. but instead of apologizing, you just grew more frustrated, crossing your arms tighter across your chest.

the drive home was quiet. jay’s usually easygoing demeanor had shifted into a defensive silence, and you could feel the distance between you growing with every minute that passed. jays knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, and his brows furrowed as he drove. you took notice of this, guilt immediately creeping in.

“jay,” you trailed off, but he didn’t respond, eyes staying focused on the road in front of him. you reached out, hand landing on his thigh. his eyes darted to your hand for only a moment before they were back on the road. “jay, i’m sorry. please look at me,” you pouted, but jay wasn’t letting up. you internally rolled your eyes. fine— if he didn’t want to forgive you, you would make him forgive you. your hand remained on his thigh for the rest of the ride home, ideas plotting in your mind.

when you finally got home, you immediately ran upstairs to slip into something a little more comfortable. you grab one of jays t-shirts, stripping yourself of your own clothes and replacing them with it. you hear his footsteps approaching, and your plan immediately sets into action. you quickly scurry over to the bookshelf, leaning up on your tippy toes as if you were trying to reach something, allowing his t-shirt to ride up, exposing your plump ass. the door opens, jay’s presence filling the room immediately. his breath catches in his throat when he first notices you, eyes scanning up and down your figure. he begins to approach you, and just when you think he’s going to stop, he continues his strides straight past you and into the bathroom. well that didn’t work.

you huff to yourself, arms crossing as you sit yourself on the edge of the bed. you hear water running and use this time to devise another plan.

some time passes before jay is out of the bathroom, and here goes plan b. jay comes out in nothing but his boxers and a t-shirt, coming over to settle on his side of the bed. your eyes follow his every move, yet his don’t meet yours once. “jay,” you pouted, “please look at me.” you were practically begging at this point. when he doesn’t respond yet again, you crawl over to him, perching yourself atop his lap, legs straddling either side of him. he has to look at you now.

his eyes only meet yours for a split second before he’s looking down, as if you weren’t even there. you lean in, placing a kiss on his cheek and down his neck. "please, baby.." your tone is desperate, but there's a dominant fire in your gaze. sinister thoughts clouding your mind. he still doesn’t reply, but he moves his head slightly to one side, letting you have more access to the skin of his neck. you smirk to yourself; you knew he couldn’t resist you. your hands trail up his stomach to his chest, ultimately perching on his shoulders as you feel him up. your lips work expertly on his neck, moving to kiss and suck at his adam’s apple. this causes a small groan to leave jays lips, a tent beginning to form underneath his boxers.

your plan is working. you lips trail back up to his face, stopping right at the corner of his mouth before pulling away to devote your attention elsewhere. your hands leave his shoulders, fingers dancing down his torso and stopping at the waistband of his boxers. you toy with the hem, teasing him, hoping to get another reaction out of him. you feel him tense up underneath you as your fingers dip underneath to pull down the garment. his breath hitches in his throat when his rock-hard cock springs free, a light blush coating his cheeks, obviously embarrassed with how easily turned on he was.

you chuckle to yourself, bringing your hand down to his cock. his hands fly to your thighs once you begin stroking him slowly, fingertips digging into your bare skin. you sigh as you continue stroking his cock, which is pulsing underneath your touch. “you’re mine. only mine,” you coo as you bring your thumb up to swipe over his sensitive tip, applying light pressure. his hips buck into your hand. “do you honestly think i could possibly want anyone else when this is what you do to me?” jay finally speaks up, sighing as pleasure takes over his senses. your head snaps up, surprise and accomplishment filling you as you realize you finally got him to properly acknowledge you.

your strokes on his cock have quickened, bringing him over the edge faster than he’d like to admit, and as his hips buck into your hands and his cum shoots out onto your hand, you don’t slow down one bit. his hips stutter, his fingertips digging even harder into your skin as whines start to escape his lips. “y/n,” he breathes, “t-too much.”

you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, ignoring him completely while you continue your ministrations on his length. his head is thrown back; overstimulation is oh so apparent. he can’t control how quickly he cums all over again, thick white ropes coating your hand, but you don’t mind the mess, once again not giving him a break as you continue to stroke him. tears begin to form in his eyes as a choked sob leaves his lips. “y/n, p-please, i forgive y-you,” he pleads. satisfaction coats your lips, but you aren’t ready to let up yet, recalling his stubbornness with you earlier.

“cmon baby, you have one more in you, don’t you?” you coo, a smirk splaying on your lips as you reach up with your free hand to wipe a stray tear from his cheek. you slow your movements just slightly, feeling a little bit bad for him as he shakes beneath you, pathetic whimpers leaving his lips. you lean in, capturing his lips in yours, giving him a distraction from the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling. it’s not long before he’s cuming all over again, hips stuttering as his legs shake and incoherent babbles fall against your lips. you finally remove your hand from his cock, pulling away from his lips at the same time. his eyelids are heavy, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips are swollen. he looks so fucked out, and you love it. you cradle his head in your clean hand, caressing his cheek with your thumb.

“not nice to be ignored, is it?”

…

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qlossytbh · 4 months ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 - 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐮!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 you were in an accident and both you and spencer are figuring out how to deal with it.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 angst, typical criminal minds content, reader gets beat up, physical violence, descriptions of physical injury’s, lots of freaking out, mild panic attack, angst + comfort, established relationship

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 2.5k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 this fic is inspired entirely on billie’s eilish’s the 30th. haven’t been posting but i’ve got a lot of almost finished drafts and requests im getting through atm

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Sometimes, Spencer hated his limitless memory.

Because of course, it worked wonders when he had to remember important dates, or endless facts that came remarkably handy in cases. Things no one else even considers remembering. Amazing for remembering favorite things of his favorite people, or remembering things they’d previously mentioned liking.

It was amazing until it found ways to haunt him.

He remembered when Morgan pulled to a stop, glancing up at the red light in front of him. He remembered when Penelope typed away aimlessly in the back of the car, reading out a few connections she found between this particular Unsub and the third and hopefully last victim. Everything was fine.

They almost had the case figured out. Hotch had called in, (exactly twenty-three minutes ago) informing them that that you and Emily had a lead on the whereabouts of the Unsub.

He remembered the tone in Morgan’s voice when he picked up the phone. “What?”

Both him and Penelope had glanced his way absentmindedly, not really thinking much of it.

“Do they know who yet?” He had asked, taking a sudden sharp turn towards the left. The pair watched as Morgan’s face fell, and his grip on the steering wheel had tightened. He remembered the look on Penelope’s face as she quickly glanced over at him, who probably looked equally as worried, if not more. Something hadn’t been sitting right, at all— he remembered from the second the day had started something inside him was telling him that.

“What’s going on?” Penelope's voice was shaky when she set her computer down to the side. Spencer just kept his eyes on Derek, narrowing them slightly at the subtle gulp in his throat and the way he nervously looked over at him. Not Penelope, him.

“Derek—“

He remembered when he told him that you had been hurt and how he was unable to think of anything else.

He looked forward towards the road, avoiding the way his co-worker and friend sat up in his seat, straining against his seatbelt as his chest turned to face him. “I don’t know exactly what happened, Hotch just told me she was ambushed and they’re now waiting on the ambulance.”

“Ambulance?” He could’ve sworn his heart dropped into the very pits of his stomach.

Penelope covered her mouth, tears already boring into them with a soft gasp that came from her mouth. “Is she okay?”

Derek’s mouth twisted into a straight line as he opened his mouth to speak and Spencer swore he had never felt as much panic course through him.

He didn’t usually freak out, but he swore his head just stopped working right there and then. All he was able to think about was getting to you. “They don’t know—“

“Drive.” Spencer told Derek. With a firm nod and no room for complaint, he stepped on the gas pedal, signaling on the sirens as he swerved through the streets.

Six minutes and thirty five point two seconds.

That's how long it took for them to get to the scene, where two ambulances and cop cars seemed displayed around the small suburban home. He felt time move as if it were in slow motion.

The car hadn’t even come to a stop and Spencer was already stumbling throughout the door, pushing his shaky legs towards the already chaotic scene.

Unbearable noises surrounded him— people clattering and shouting about, orders being thrown around aimlessly, sirens and bypassers stopping to gasp and gaunt at the scene.

Two officers were down on the floor, covered by a simple thin white cloth and he felt the nausea settle in. Just the thought of one of them being you made his knees grow weak and the bile quickly hike its way up his throat.

Before he could rush around in attempts to find you, his eyes landed on Hotch, hunched over a moving stretcher surrounded by about three, maybe even more, medics.

It all seemed visceral. An automatic response. Soon enough his legs were pushing him towards the stretcher that made its way towards the ambulance. “Hotch—“

He turned around, and allowed just enough space to reveal your absolutely destroyed form. Your eyes kept fluttering open and close, seemingly bothered by all the noise and light. Your breathing sounded strangled, covered by the oxygen mask you had on but the sound alone was something Spencer was sure would haunt him until the day he died.

He still remembered.

Spencer felt like he had been punched in the stomach. All he could do was push one of the medics aside and hunch over you as you fought against the universe itself to regain consciousness.

“Hey,” He cooed, voice tightening and nearly breaking in a cry. He cleared his throat and blinked through his tears, smiling down at you.

You couldn’t say a single word, but you mustered enough strength to lift your pinky, grazing it against his knuckles. Your face showed a much different reaction though, furrowing your brows in what seemed to be excruciating pain.

“She’s mostly unresponsive,” The medics informed. Spencer followed them alongside Hotch, until they got to the ambulance, clicking the stretcher upwards.

“Hey, listen to me,” He whispered, ducking down so he was closer to you. “I love you, okay?”

Your small fist grabbed the fabric of his shirt, not wanting him to leave your side, but it was hurting you too much to hold on. Your fist feebly fell and the medics somehow pushed him off and you were taken into the ambulance and he really didn’t know if that was the last time he’d see you.

He watched the doors slam shut, frozen completely in his place. He remembered watching the ambulance drive away and having to stop his legs from running after it. He remembered Hotch trying to grab his attention from the disappearing ambulance.

He remembered thinking non-stop but for the first time ever, wanting to stop it and not being able to.

Something so alarming started to awaken within him and he wasn’t really sure what to do with himself.

He spent thirteen hours and sixteen minutes in the hospital that night and next morning. Hotch and the others came by in turns to keep him company in the cold empty waiting room, but he didn’t budge.

The second to stay the most was Emily, given how she was also attacked at the scene but much less severely. She ended up with a few bruises and scratches— she silently wished it had been more.

Maybe then the damage on you would’ve been less.

He remembered sitting with Morgan and the others when the doctors came in, informing him that you had gone into hypovolemic shock and they needed to perform an emergency surgery to stop the internal bleeding that was causing your vitals to plummet.

Spencer even remembered, word by word and syllable by syllable that there was a high chance that you may not even wake up from the surgery due to how much trauma your body had received.

Three broken ribs, dozens, maybe hundreds, lacerations scattered across your arms and stomach, a ruptured spleen and a concussion. That wasn’t even including all the bits of physiological trauma you now had to attack once— and if— you woke up.

Spencer seriously felt his resolve to remain calm crumple the second the medics mentioned that the Unsub used a metal pole to beat you nearly to death.

He had asked for every detail and he remembered each one and how utterly hopeless they all made him feel. He cried, because he simply didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t know how to fix it, or how to help— he wasn’t even sure he could.

Because what if he had been there instead of Emily? What if he was able to stop it? What if more backup was sent in, what if when you had told him you felt off this morning when going into work he’d tell you to stay put and rest it off? What would’ve happened then?

What if he would’ve gone with Emily instead of you, what if you were actually lifeless when they had found you? What if you didn’t wake up? What if this meant he’d never get to hold you for a last time, and had to stick with the memory of seeing you bloody and bruised. What if you never actually—

“Reid,” Spencer looked up from his palms, which holstered themselves on his knees by his elbows. Emily smiled at him meekly. “She’s awake,”

Spencer looked around, blinking heavily and realizing he was in the same cold hospital waiting room he’s been in for the past day and a half.

He opened his mouth to speak, but realized it was incredibly dry. Too dry. He cleared out his throat with a firm cough and nodded, standing up feebly.

They walked down the quiet hallway, something so heavy hanging in the air. Just the patterning of his shoes and Emily’s heels bouncing off the walls along with the shuffling of their clothes. Spencer swore he wouldn’t be okay until he saw you but even then he didn’t think he’d be okay. How was any of this going to be okay?

Emily led him to a door and when they pushed it open, you were staring at the wall, seemingly in some kind of deep whirlwind of thoughts. A small knock offered by Emily caught your attention. You turned your head to the side, probably expecting another endless round of nurses. But to your surprise, there stood the one person you’d been wanting to see after this whole ordeal.

A broad yet tired smile made its way onto your face while laying back into the pillows. Spencer took you in, letting out a shaky breath. Your hair was disheveled, and your eyes looked tired. Soft and welcoming but hiding something so much deeper underneath that he’d have to be an idiot to not notice it.

There was a stitch on your forehead and the lash line of one of your eyes protruded a growing dark purple bruise. There were machines and cables and needles stuck beside and into you. And the more Spencer noticed, the more he wished he hadn’t.

“Hey,” Your voice was raspier than usual, small and steady, Spencer noticed this.

But then you smiled just like you used to before the accident and he couldn’t have found you any more beautiful.

“Hey,” He finally answered, walking up to the side of your bed. “How— How are you feeling?”

“I’ll give you guys some privacy.” Emily said, slipping past the door and leaving the two of you to your own accord.

“I’m okay,” You whispered, sounding so small and frail it nearly broke any ounce of self control he was mustering to avoid breaking into tears. “The pain meds are helping a bit,”

He gave you a silent understanding nod. His hand held onto the railing of your bed, not entirely knowing what to say or how to act. You watched him intently, noticing how he couldn’t really bring himself to look at you.

“Do you remember anything?” You turned to stare at the wall, trying to recall anything about the attack, but you unfortunately— some would argue fortunately— didn’t.

You shifted in your bed, scrunching your face in pain in the process, which Spencer noticed. Again. Of course he did.

Spencer looked down at you, dangerously entering territory where the back of his eyes burned, and his own mind bit at him, and he just didn’t know what to do with all the huge feelings that swarmed around inside him.

“Not really,” You muttered, scrunching your nose with a small huff. Spencer reached over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and letting his hand cup the side of your cheek.

“You really scared me,” You leaned into the touch of his palm.

“I’m sorry,” He shook his head before he even spoke, blinking rapidly to prevent any tears from falling.

“I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“I almost died,”

Okay, they were starting there. Great.

You had said it in barely above a whisper, staring at your lap and preventing Spencer from getting a look in your eyes. Your lips tugged into a frown. And Spencer said your name, trying to catch your attention.

Suddenly it all hit you. The gravity of it all. It came in stronger than a tidal wave, than a slap you didn’t even see coming. You felt the burning in your ribs, the rips and tears in your skin, the slight swell of your eye, the rattling of your own skull.

Spencer pulled out a chair and sat on it to level himself to your height. He reached out a hand and laced his fingers with yours.

It felt hard to breathe.

More silence.

“You okay?” You sucked in a sharp breath that came out as a little squeak, and suddenly you wanted to cry. Because you were tired of feeling so broken and feeling how every inch of your body hurt.

You shook your head and as soon as you did, a broken sob left your mouth. Your hands flew up quickly, attempting to hide the broken fragments of your gaze. Spencer heard every shard of the glass his heart had been made of around you shatter. He sat up, attempting to hold you from the side in any way he could, letting you cry out all the trauma you received in the past two days.

And you did cry it out, and your ribs burned, your head was pounding and you felt every ache and bruise in your body worsen. Seeing you like this hurt him more than any pain that had ever been inflicted on him.

Spencer pulled away from you once you had calmed down enough and brought one hand to the side of your face, leisurely dragging his thumb against your cheek bone and anywhere any stray tears fell.

“Dang it,” You sniffled, bringing the back of your palm up and rubbing your nose. “This is not how I wanted you to see me after my mini coma,”

Spencer knew you couldn’t keep serious for more than fifteen minutes at a time even if your life depended on it. He’d let you stall the situation this time however. He knows the two of you needed it.

“You look so pretty,” You smiled at his words, looking at him with so much gratitude and leaning into his palm, trying to find refuge in it.

“I bet I do,” You narrowed your eyes at him and he leaned forward pressing a kiss to your lips. You grabbed the wrist of the hand that held your face while he kissed you and gave it a small squeeze, hopefully letting him know how much you cared and appreciated him.

He pulled away, sitting back into the chair but intertwining his fingers with yours, reminding himself to always drag his fingers comfortingly across your knuckles and allow you to know he wasn’t ever leaving your side again.

“They had to change my IV needle,” You decided to stall for a bit. “The vein on my right arm wasn’t doing the job.”

“Really?” He knew that wasn’t entirely possible and that the doctors probably did an ass job at inserting it there in the first place, but he let you wonder on. “How’d that feel?”

“Im afraid of needles, but!-“ You shuffled a little bit around on your pillow for more comfort, huffing proudly. “I squeezed my eyes and tried thinking back on that book that talks about marxist criticism you read to me last week,”

He smiled warmly, bringing your hand over to him and kissing your wrist. “My brave girl,”

You let out a laugh, and he knew then he’d sleep a little better that night. He always did when you were by him.

“Hey Spence,”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stay?” You asked earnestly.

Spencer squeezed your hand. “Your pain meds are hitting you stronger than you thought if you think for a second that i’m leaving your side,”

You smiled. “I’m not going anywhere angel, I promise.”

The two of you basked in each other's silence. You closed your eyes and tried to alleviate the burning in your lungs as your breath shaked from the crying. Spencer just watched you, appreciating a while longer the small freckles and marks across your face.

“Spence,” He hummed, “I’m scared.”

He sighed heavily. Suddenly realizing that this wasn’t something easy to come. And he was too, because he almost lost the love of his life and he didn’t know what that information would do to him, much less to you.

For the first time, Spencer was out of smart answers and reasons why this would all be okay. It was hard for him to think he’d never feel this scared of loosing you again, and that idea haunted him.

“So am I,”

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 11 days ago

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can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 12

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11

He’s got to be heading to the quarry, right? That’s where he goes on Wednesday’s after school to sell his stash, he’d told Steve so umpteen notes back. Steve’s poured over each one enough times to damn-near have the things memorized.

He’s in his car, speeding fast enough that if Hopper catches his ass, he’ll be hauled into a jail cell before he can even make it. Steve pushes his foot down on the pedal harder, trying to eke out any last bit of speed.

When he reaches his destination, Carver’s car is parked sideways across the dirt road that leads off to the quarry, blocking anyone else from entering. Steve slams on his breaks, kicking up dirt all around him, obscuring his view of the windshield.

He steps out into it, dust gritting up his eyes. The only way out is through, so he heads toward the sound of raised voices, stumbling over a raised root as he goes.

He can just barely make out the words now.

“—leave her alone, or you’re dead, do you hear me?” Carver’s not yelling, but when he comes into view, his eyes are hard, and he’s clutching at Eddie’s t-shirt with enough force that he’s holding his knees off the ground.

There’s blood on Eddie’s face, dripping down off it and staining the dirt beneath him.

Steve doesn’t think. “Hey!” he calls, rushing forward to insert himself between them, but before he can, Carver drops Eddie into an ungainly heap on the ground and spins around to face Steve.

Steve lets him; if his eyes are on him, then he’s not looking at Eddie.

“Harrington?” Carver asks, shoulders slumping like Steve’s a friendly, not one wrong move from popping him one in the nose. “What are you—”

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here before the cops show?” Steve asks, using his Team Captain voice.

Steve watches it land. Carver’s shoulder slump, and he looks over Steve’s shoulder at where he’d abandoned his car. But then Eddie spits a glob of blood onto the ground, and Carver’s face shores up into something vicious.

“He was going to ask your girlfriend out, I heard all about it from his little friend!” Carver spits, like the words hurt as they come out of his mouth. “You should thank me on hands and knees!”

“I bet you’d love him on his knees,” Eddie cuts in, words slurring worryingly together.

Carver turns back toward Eddie, face gone almost translucent in the light of the afternoon sun. “Why, you—“

“Shut up, man,” Steve says, finally looking away from Carver to where Eddie’s on his knees, partially obscured by Carver’s body.

Eddie looks up at Steve, defiant as he spits a glob of saliva and blood into the dirt again then wipes his mouth with a shaking hand.

Steve stares down at him, stomach twisting in on itself as Eddie’s glare only intensifies. There hadn’t been much in his eyes when he’d been looking at Carver, but when he’s looking at Steve? That’s rage, barely banked by what must be a killer concussion. Steve turns away from it, unable to bear it a moment longer.

“What’s the point of this?” Steve asks Carver, the exhaustion he’s starting to feel leaking into his voice.

“Chrissy doesn’t need—”

“Chrissy is an adult who doesn’t need either of us fighting her battles for her,” Steve cuts in. “Besides, they’re friends.”

Carver’s mouth curls in on itself. “She would never be friends with this f—”

“She’d kick your ass herself if she heard you talking about Munson like that.”

Carver turns his back on Eddie entirely, glaring at Steve like they’re in some sort of quick-draw stand-off in a stupid Western. Steve’s tired of this guy and all his hate, he’s tired of people he loves being hurt, tired of having to be Chrissy’s shield against the asshole in front of him, and Robin’s shoulder to cry on, and going home to an empty fucking house.

He’s just tired.

It’s a relief when Eddie stands on his own two feet, legs visibly shaking but holding his weight. Because nothing will ever stop Eddie from being Eddie, he claps like Steve and Jason are kindergartners and he’s their beleaguered teacher sent to corral them.

“Well, this has been fun,” Eddie says, grinning around the blood in his teeth. “But there’s only so much jock on jock violence I can take before I break out in hives. So, can I go?”

He throws a taunting thumb over his shoulder where his van’s parked closer to the cliff’s edge, turning to stumble toward it without another word. Carver and Steve both rush to stop him for opposing reasons.

“I’m not done with you,” Carver hisses.

Steve grabs his shoulder, yanking him hard enough to send him stumbling back a few steps. “Leave it, Carver, or I’ll ruin you.”

“What the hell could you even do?” Carver demands.

Steve stares him down, dead-eyed and entirely fed up. “I can tell Chrissy what you did, and she’ll lose what little respect she had for you. Then? I’ll have a meeting with Coach and get you kicked off the team. Then, who knows, maybe I’ll plant drugs in your locker, shave your head while you’re sleeping, vandalize school property in your name. Do you really want to stick around and find out what else I can think of?”

Carver holds his gaze for another, endless second before turning away and slinking back the way he came. Steve watches until Carver starts his own car, swerved recklessly close to Steve’s own parked car, and sped away.

When he turns back, Eddie’s nowhere to be seen. He slinks toward his van, unwilling to spook the guy further if he doesn’t need to.

He’s in the driver’s seat of his van, cursing as his shaking hands fumble with the keys, missing again and again as he tries to jam it into the keyhole.

“You can’t drive,” Steve says quietly.

Eddie still jumps, dropping the keys into the well beneath his feet as he snaps his head up, eyes wide and pupils eating up his face. There’s a bruise already swelling up his eyes, and blood caked beneath his nose. He looks a downright mess.

“Here to finish what your buddy started?” Eddie asks, showing off his bloody teeth again in a grin, as if Steve can’t see him shaking.

Steve shakes his head, throat clogged with too many words to name. What comes out is, “you’re not supposed to drive with a concussion.”

Eddie, tellingly, does not argue the concussion, but his bared teeth are starting to look more like a snarl as he replies, “I’m not leaving my van here.”

Steve stares at him. He’s sweating, with injury or panic, Steve’s not sure. There’s dirt in his hair, like before Steve had arrived, Jason had him on the ground, glossy curls pressed into the dirt. Steve clenches his hands into fists the more he sees. His t-shirt is black, but there’s a rip at its hem that Steve doesn’t think was there before.

He aches to reach through the open window and touch that busted face, find the split in his lip, clear the blood from beneath his nose.

Instead, he opens the driver’s side door, feeling like absolute scum as Eddie shuffles away, eyes wide as he presses himself as far away as possible as Steve climbs in.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, voice all wobbly.

Steve bends down to pick up the keys where Eddie had dropped them. He slides the key home and Eddie’s van tick tick ticks itself to life. When Eddie’s music blares, Steve reaches across to turn the dial down, ignoring Eddie’s flinch at his movement.

“Taking you home.”

Eddie’s van is bigger then he’s used to driving, the ride bumpier as he turns around and slides carefully past his own car, his keys probably still abandoned in the driver’s seat somewhere.

Hopefully it’ll still be there when he comes back for it.

***

“Did Chrissy put you up to this?” Eddie asks, voice small, small, small.

Harrington’s shoulders slump, clenched fingers loosening on the steering wheel. He sighs, long and loud, perfect hair rustling with the movement.

“Robin, actually,” he replies, lips tucked up into a facsimile of a smile.

Robin, Robin, Robin, does he know a Robin? His brain’s not working, too scrambled up inside. Eddie’s entire face aches as he scrunches it up in thought before cutting that shit out. No thinking for him until some of this heals. Still, he worries against the name, until, “Buckley?” comes out of his mouth.

Harrington smiles, warmer this time. “Yeah, she saw Carver following you.”

“And went to you?” Eddie asks, voice squeaking embarrassingly on the last word.

Harrington doesn’t answer, but his hands clench tight enough against the steering wheel that his knuckles turn white.

Eddie resolves himself to shutting the fuck up for the rest of the drive.

“How do you know where I live?”

“You’re…loud, dude,” Harrington says, pulling into Eddie’s empty driveway. Harrington’s right, he is loud. It still sounds like a lie. “Is your uncle home?”

Eddie squints, busted eye bursting with pain as he asks, “how do you know I live with my uncle?”

Harrington raises his eyebrow, clearly saying “you’re loud, dude,” again without even needing to open his mouth. Eddie kind of hates him for it.

“He’s on a fishing trip,” Eddie sighs.

Without another word, Harrington turns off the engine and slides out of the van, shutting the door gently behind himself. He rounds the front of the van and Eddie sits, stupefied in his seat as Harrington pulls open the passenger side door and holds his hand out like Eddie’s some swooning maiden. Feeling flustered and frustrated in turns, Eddie slaps his hand away and steps out of his van on his own two feet, slamming the door closed behind him.

Harrington doesn’t move out of the way as Eddie storms past, their shoulders banging into each other makes Eddie’s teeth rattle painfully in his bruised skull. He only remembers he doesn’t have his keys when he’s standing in front of his front door, hand empty.

He stares down at it, betrayed.

His house keys jingle in Harrington’s hand as he steps up beside him. Without even a by your leave, he inserts the key into the hole and twists, inexplicably choosing the right key on the first try. Is Steve Harrington a mind reader?

Harrington pushes the door open and holds it open for Eddie, as if it’s not his house they’re walking into.

“What the hell are you doing?” Eddie demands, standing on his own front porch like a loser as Harrington bends down and takes his sneakers off.

He lines them up neatly by the wall like he’s staying in The Ritz or something and doesn’t want to stain the dingy carpet.

“Taking my shoes off?”

“No!” Eddie wails, clutching handfuls of his hair, beyond frustration and into something that feels a lot like hysteria. “What are you doing here?”

Straightening up, Harrington stares down at Eddie where he’s still standing on his own porch. He looks incredulous, as if Eddie’s the one who’d saved him from getting killed by some jock, and Eddie’s the one who followed him home after like a lost puppy.

Like Eddie’s the one that doesn’t quite fit in the trailer park, and not Steve Harrington with his squeaky white shoes and ironed polo, and luscious hair, and skin that’s all sun-kissed even as summer’s barely a memory in a little girl’s eye.

“Your uncle’s not home.”

Eddie stares, gobsmacked. What the fuck are they putting in the water in Loch Nora, Jesus Christ! “So?!”

Harrington squints at him again, his aloof cool-guy shtick finally breaking to show the judgmental mean girl barely hidden beneath. “You’re totally concussed, dude,” Steve replies, a King handing down a decree to his loyal subjects. “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t like, die.”

Eddie, never one to follow anyone’s decrees but his own, immediately starts bitching. “So, what? You’re playing home invader until someone comes to relieve you?”

He nods, smiling down at Eddie like he’s a puppy who finally learned not to piss on the carpet. Fed up with being a rung lower, Eddie takes that last step up onto the stoop and brushes past Harrington into his own goddamn house.

Harrington shuts and locks the door behind him.

Deciding that discretion is the better part of valor for the first time in his life, Eddie continues further into the trailer without turning around, not stopping until he’s got the bathroom door as a barrier between his vulnerable back and the latest interloper.

The light hurts his eyes as he flicks it on. His face hurts worse, and he can see why, now. One of his eyes is well on its way to swelling shut, a deep red bleeding into purples the farther out it goes. There’s blood beneath his nose, and it’s ballooning out making him look like some old lady’s prized pug. There’s a split going straight through his lip from Carver’s class ring.

He looks like an extra in a horror movie; the guy who’s about to make the sacrifice play because he’s not going to make it. And yeah, maybe there’s a little melodrama in the thought, but Eddie’s pretty sure he deserves it at this point.

God, what a day.

As punctuation to his own thoughts, someone knocks quietly on the door. Eddie’s ribs ache as his shoulders slump, head hanging damn-near into the dirty sink.

“Eddie?” There’s a moment of silence where Eddie’s response is supposed to be. He doesn’t heed it. “Can I come in?”

Eddie groans, loud enough that it’s gotta be audible through the tissue-paper door between them. “Why?” he says–whines pitifully, really.

“I want to check your injuries.”

Eddie, against his better judgment, cracks the door open wide enough to peer through. “What’s it to you, Dr. Harrington?” he asks, that same question wrapped up in a new package. Why are you here, why do you care, what do you want from me?

Harrington just smiles, and pushes at the door with just enough force that Eddie has no choice but to back up and let his unwanted guest in.

He takes Eddie’s face in his hands, rubbing gentle fingers against each wound, murmuring soothing placations. It works enough that Eddie stands still as Harrington sanitizes and bandages each of his wounds.

“You should ice them after this, okay?”

Eddie nods dumbly because Harrington’s moved on from painfully prodding his face to running his fingers through his hair, checking every inch of his skull for bumps and bruises.

“Does it hurt anywhere else?” he asks.

Eddie hums, relaxing against his will, body slumping into the cupboard behind him as those nimble fingers have their way with him.

“My ribs, maybe,” Eddie murmurs, eyes closing as Harrington’s fingernails scrape against his scalp before he withdraws his fingers.

His eyes snap back open a second later when those same fingers yank his shirt up without asking, warm palms chasing away the chill on his skin as they skirt over his ribcage, applying gentle pressure to whatever Harrington finds. Eddie shivers involuntarily as Harrington bends down, breath puffing against his stomach.

“Wh—what are you doing?” Eddie asks, stuttering over every other word.

He’s clenched up tight enough that his whole body aches with it—spine, jaw, wrists. But then Harrington looks up at him, usually impeccable hair softened by the day and flopping gently into his face. Eddie always assumed his eyes were brown, but they look sort of gold in the shitty fluorescent light of the bathroom.

He’s never been this close to Harrington before.

“Checking your ribs,” he replies, breath puffing against Eddie’s uncovered skin with every word. “Does that hurt?”

And then he just dismisses Eddie in favor of palpitating what must be a nasty bruise. Eddie whines, inexplicably, embarrassingly, before squeaking out a tiny, “no,” when Harrington looks back up at him with his big, worried, puppy-dog eyes.

Eddie’s own words to Carver make a reappearance, flashing red in neon lights inside his empty skull—I bet you’d love him on his knees. He’s on them now, between Eddie’s spread thighs, looking at Eddie’s body with an intensity that’s skinning him alive.

His skull’s not empty now; it’s bursting with half-formed thoughts, and panicked wheezing he hopes is just internal, and through it all, the words run rampant—on his knees, on his knees, on his knees.

Steve Harrington stands up, takes a step back, and smiles at Eddie. “I think they’re just bruised,” he says, seeming not to notice Eddie’s ragged breathing. “We should ice them, too.”

And then he just…walks out of the bathroom like Eddie’s not full to bursting with thoughts and feelings he doesn’t understand. Like it wasn’t Harrington that had dropped them at his feet—on his knees.

***

Steve sticks his head into Eddie’s freezer and resists the urge to scream. It’s just—Eddie had been blushing when Steve had looked up from checking his ribs for cracks. Steve’s never seen him blush before, and it’s seared into his brain (the way it’d started from his ears and meandered across his cheeks before slowly spreading its splotchy hue down his neck).

For a second, it was almost like Eddie didn’t hate him.

Steve suppresses the thought. Boys shouldn’t have crushes on straight boys who hate their guts, and letting even the tiniest flutter of hope touch his heart would be stupider still. There’s his silly little notes, and there’s his pining little glances.

He doesn’t need anything else.

“Are…you okay?” Eddie’s hesitant voice comes from behind him.

Abruptly remembering his position, Steve pulls his head out of the freezer and grabs the first bag he sees: a half-full package of frozen peas. He turns to Eddie with the best smile he can manage, holding them up as explanation for the unasked What the hell are you doing? hidden beneath the bemused smile on Eddie’s lips.

“Just finding you some ice, dude,” Steve replies breezily, walking over to drop the bag into Eddie’s hand.

“Uh, thanks?” he replies, walking past Steve to close the freezer he’d left open. Steve winces. “You can like, go now.”

It’s a demand hidden beneath a polite question. Steve’s feet start moving toward the door before he remembers the lump he’d felt on the back of Eddie’s head, and the way his eyes had gone all glassy and dazed in the bathroom as Steve had patched him up.

“Unless you want to call someone else, you’re stuck with me until your uncle gets here.” Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Steve holds up his hands palm out, forestalling his complaints. “Possible concussion, dude.”

Eddie whines, actually stamping his foot squeakily against the linoleum of the kitchen floor. Steve smiles, helplessly endeared, and hates himself for it.

“Why is it your problem if I nod off in my sleep, you don’t even like me.”

The warm feelings flee like they’d never been there at all.

Steve turns his back on Eddie’s petulant frown and stomping feet, unwilling to look him in the eye as the emotions crash through him. Just for a second, he lets his face drop.

“I like you, just fine,” Steve replies, ignoring the little scoff from Eddie in reply.

The trailer’s small and crowded with things on damn-near every surface, but it’s cozy. Steve’s imagined this moment—getting through the Munson’s front door and finally seeing what’s inside. It’s warm, a hot cup of tea, a blanket on a cold night, somewhere to feel safe in.

All Steve feels is cold.

Instead of answering Eddie’s scoff, Steve lets his own little tantrum stomps lead him over to the ratty couch. He sinks down, crossing his legs as he leans back into the cushions, and finally, finally looks at Eddie. He’s still pouting, bottom lip having split open against the pressure of his frown. Steve raises a pointed eyebrow before turning back around to stare at the black of the TV screen.

Eddie groans again, and it takes all his willpower not to turn around, not to let his shoulders curl in as he hears footsteps coming closer. But, all Eddie does is settle onto the other side of the couch and grab the remote.

It’s going to be a long night.

PART 13

#koko's steddie secret admirer au #steddie #my fic #eddie's almost having a thought here. he can feel it coming on #can't believe we're already halfway there!

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roanniom · 1 year ago

Note

I always like to hope your little drabbles might be inspired by your sweetie podcast guy 👀

Oh they kinda are inspired by him these days 👀

One for the Road

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, a whole lot of oral (f receiving)

“I like this shirt,” Eddie mumbles against your jaw, his fingers playing at the hem of your massive thrifted t shirt. You’re standing in the dappled morning sunlight warming his shitty little apartment kitchen. His hands roam your body with an urgency that belies the way he’d fucked you onto his messy sheets just thirty minutes prior.

“The day I got it I also got a Hellraiser t shirt. Huge. With a big picture of Pinhead on the chest,” you say proudly, smoothing a hand over said chest to indicate where the horror icon’s face would be. Eddie hones in on that one detail, of course, and cups your breasts through your shirt with a groan.

“Oh yeah? If it was that big did you cut the shirt up?”

You shake your head.

“No. I left it big and oversized. You know. Sexy,” you joke. Eddie nods slowly, still focusing all his attention on your tits through this particular shirt.

“Sexy. Oh yeah,” he mutters, completely distracted. He lifts the shirt slightly to reveal the feminine pair of boxers you’ve put on for your drive home. “These are fucking cute.”

“You think?” you ask, wiggling your hips cheekily.

“Yeah, I think,” mumbles against your neck before sucking on your earlobe. You go to say something else but his hand is now sliding under the waistband of your boxers. Within seconds he’s inside your panties and playing with the slick that’s gathered there.

“Eddieeee, I have to go,” you try to argue, but it turns into a gasping whine. Eddie ignores you. Or at least, he ignores your argument. He latches onto one of your nipples through your shirt and looks up at you pointedly to watch your face while he slides two fingers deep inside you. “Oh fuck…”

You don’t know how it happens. You really don’t. One minute you’d had your bag on your shoulder and you were half out the door, and in the next minute Eddie was sliding down to his knees, pushing you up against the wall at the entrance to his apartment. He pulls down your boxers and underwear before you can protest about your lateness any further, and he hooks your leg up over his shoulder before you can do more than grasp at his hair.

“Are you serious? I - oh god.”

Eddie’s mouth is on you and you should be aware of the fact that you’re moaning wantonly right by the door that leads to an inner hallway where all of his neighbors can probably hear you as they set out on their day.

Your bag starts slipping off your shoulder and the lights start flickering - he’d pushed you against the wall where the light switch is, so each time you move you find yourself clicking it on and off with your back.

“Eddie - oh. Eddie!” you try to call his attention to the awkward placement through your laughs and gasps, but he only seems vaguely annoyed by the distraction. He manhandles you over the the kitchen island and you grip at the counter, unsure what he has planned until he gets on his knees from behind you, gripping your hips and pulling your legs back apart so he can get to you with his mouth again.

“Holy fuck…” you yelp, completely overwhelmed by the stimulation. Eddie shoves two fingers deep inside of you again, thrusting and building up momentum until you find yourself forced up onto tiptoes.

You clutch at the counter and do your best to take the force of his thrusting - it feels so fucking good when he curves his fingers just like that - but you’re so overwhelmed you finally have to say something.

“Eddie. You’re making my legs shake! I can’t…” you pant.

You’re not sure what you expected him to do, but either way you’re surprised when he clambers to his feet and grabs you into his arms. Insecure and completely unused to being lifted, you let out a scream, but you’re only in the air long enough for him to deposit you onto one of the stools by the kitchen counter.

“This better for your legs?” Eddie asks, kissing your thighs while he spreads them and settles back on his knees between them.

“Yeah, I guess - Eddie!” you cry out at the feeling of his mouth on you yet again. His lips suction around your clit and he sucks. Hard. Your leg hooks over his shoulder again and your fingers thread through his hair pulling tightly as you hold on for dear life.

You don’t even have time to warn him. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You spasm around the fingers he’d some how managed to get back deep inside you at one point, and he laps you up as you rock your hips into his face. Thighs press into his ears while you ride out the feeling.

By the time your breathing has finally returned to normal, Eddie has already gotten up from the floor and started assembling your clothes and bag from where they’d been strewn about.

“You’re gonna be late for work, huh baby?” he asks, with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. A massive erection stands proud in his boxers and you laugh in spite of yourself, fully breathless.

“What the fuck was that, Munson?”

He leans forward to give you a kiss

“That was one for the road.”

~*~

—

—-

——

Thanks for reading, please comment and reblog to let me know what you think!

#I’m being silly - this one is 100% inspired by my Wednesday morning #he shocked the fuck out of me #it was fan fic behavior I was like sir what is this holy shit #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson thots #eddie munson x fem!reader

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probably-writing-x · 1 year ago

Text

Fault.

Summary: you’re an incredible writer!!! could you write conrad x reader where she is belly’s best friend and goes with them to cousins for the summers, and she tries really hard to not like conrad because belly does but he likes her back and they start secretly hooking up/dating? hell maybe even throw in that jeremiah likes her too 😂 and everyone finds out somehow, i live for the messy drama 😝

Warnings: Sexual references and innuendos, 18+ DNI

Cousins had been a part of your childhood like it had been for Belly. You’d met her in kindergarten and been inseparable ever since, so you were practically the third sibling to her and Steven. You spent countless summer days with them, then came home with Belly and spent the rest of the year counting down until next summer would come around.

When you were young, it was just fun and sun and summer and Belly’s undying crush on the older brother. Not too much of that had changed as you’d grown up now - but perhaps you’d changed.

You weren’t sure when it had changed. But, one summer, it was like you looked at that older brother and saw what Belly was on about this whole time. You didn’t see him in the same infatuating way that she did, but you couldn’t deny any longer that he was attractive. There was just something in those eyes, the sort of half smile he gave you, the way his words just rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You couldn’t help it.

Once you’d came to that realisation, perhaps two summers ago, you’d done your best to completely suppress it. You ignored it. You ignored him. You avoided being alone with him, brought up Belly whenever you felt like the conversation might be shifting. You did everything in your power to stop yourself from ever feeling that way about Conrad. It wasn’t that you didn’t want something to happen - but breaking your own heart would be better than breaking your best friend’s.

But those damn eyes…

———

“It feels weird doing this drive myself,” You point out, indicating into the last street that would lead you into Cousins, “I’m used to your Mom complaining that we’re too loud.”

Belly laughs in the passenger seat, “Now you’ve just got Steven complaining.”

You glance in your rear view mirror to where Steven was resting against the window with his eyes closed, “Shut up.”

“Come on Stevie, we’re almost there,” You taunt, turning once again into the final road to the Fisher-Beck household.

Laurel hadn’t driven you this year, she had some fancy author thing to attend so she’d be meeting you next week. Belly couldn’t wait to come to Cousins, however, so you’d offered to drive the three of you.

When you pull up into the driveway, it’s like every bit of summer ignites - the start of a million memories.

Almost instantly, the door opens and Jeremiah comes hurrying out.

“Thank god you’re here!”

He opens the driver’s side door of your car and sticks his head in, grinning widely at the three of you.

“Good to see you too, Jere,” You laugh, stepping out of your seat to hug him.

He smells like mint and limes.

“We’ve got so much to catch up on,” Jeremiah comments, hurrying around to hug Belly too as Steven drags himself out of the car.

You laugh and ruffle his hair, much to his disgust, at the same moment that the front door swings open again and the other brother steps out, squinting a little at the sun. He’s wearing a navy t-shirt and grey shorts, dragging a hand through his messy hair. He jogs down the few steps from the front door and makes his way over.

“Hey!” You clear your throat, swinging your keys in your hand.

Conrad looks at you and smiles lightly, the sort that meets his eyes in a brief moment, “How was the drive?”

You shrug, “Mostly okay, I still hate all these country roads though.”

He laughs, looking down at his feet, “Yeah, I know you do. You’ll get used to it.”

You nod and both of you fall silent for a moment.

“So do you-“

“Did you-“

You both look at each other and laugh.

“You first,” He gestures towards you, stuffing his hands into his pockets soon after.

“No, um,” You shake your head, “I was just going to ask if you have plans tonight. Someone at the gas station told us there’s a drive in movie. We were thinking we could all go.”

Conrad nods, “If it’s a musical I’m not going.”

“Deal.”

You turn back to the rest of the group as Steven and Belly are grabbing bags from the trunk.

“Oh it’s so good to see you all!” Beams Susannah as you all trail inside.

She wraps Steven in a hug, does the same to Belly and then comes over to you, squeezing you tightly.

The house is no different but it always feels brighter at the start of summer, like it’s welcoming you back. You breathe it in for a second, a sigh of relief at your return.

“Alright, get settled into your rooms and everything and I’ll make us up some lunch,” Susannah encourages.

You follow behind Belly towards the room that the two of you shared, walking past the ajar door to Conrad’s room. You ignore the fluttering in your chest.

“God it’s good to be back,” Belly grins, dropping down onto the mattress and spreading out her arms.

“Yeah, it feels like forever since we’ve been here,” You nod, setting your suitcase down onto the floor and sitting yourself on the edge of the bed beside her.

She reaches over and grabs Junior Mint, setting him down on the mattress.

“I still remember when Conrad got me this,” She mumbles, brushing her thumb over the white fur.

“At the boardwalk right?” You comment, “It was that day I was sick.”

She hums in response.

You remembered that day too. Conrad had come home with a toy giraffe stuffed in his bag and told you it was meant to make you feel better. He hadn’t won it, but he paid someone else for it. You’d kept it in your suitcase until you got home - knowing it wasn’t worth upsetting Belly over. And, to this day, on the same mattress sat the same toy you’d had for all those years.

“I don’t get him these days,” Belly shakes her head, “Sometimes I’m so sure he feels the same way about me and then other times… it’s like his heart is somewhere else.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod, “That’s all guys for you.”

“Not Jeremiah,” Belly laughs, “He’s been in love with you since I first brought you here.”

You laugh too, “I don’t know where you get that impression from.”

She scoffs, “You’re just blind, (Y/n).”

Belly looks up at you from where she lay and smiles, hugging the polar bear close to her chest. You smile back and ignore the slight tightness in your chest at being back here this summer - being back with the boy that your heart just seemed to pull to.

———

That night, you all start heading out to the drive in.

“Okay I’m just saying we’re not all sitting in one car to watch this movie,” Steven points out, “We won’t be able to see anything in the back.”

“You’re so dramatic, you’ll fall asleep halfway through anyway,” You roll your eyes, tugging your shoes on at the door, “I can just take my car too if it’s that big of a deal.”

Jeremiah, Belly and Steven all make their way outside, fighting over who will get shotgun in Jere’s car.

You glance back and see Conrad eventually coming down the stairs.

“Where are the others?” He frowns, grabbing his shoes and pulling them on.

“Um,” You clear your throat, “They’ve gone already, they’re going in Jere’s car, we’re taking mine.”

He nods, “I’ll drive.”

With that, he stretches out a hand to take your keys and you oblige, following behind him to where your car sat in the driveway.

Every so often, you could convince yourself that Conrad might ever feel the same way about you. It was in the little things. The glances, the comments, the smile. You could convince that small part of yourself that he was waiting for you as much as you were waiting for him. But it disappeared quickly.

But, now, seeing him behind the wheel of your car, humming along to the song playing through the radio, it felt like this could be something. You weren’t sure why. It was just a feeling.

———

By the time you get to the drive-in, it’s packed out. Conrad drives around the back and pulls into a space, nowhere near to Jere and the others.

“We can go and find them if you want,” You offer, glancing out of the window.

Conrad shrugs, “I like the peace and quiet without them.”

You laugh, “Just us then.”

The film starts and both of you sit in relative silence. You shift in your seat and cross your legs beneath you, leaning back against the chair. There’s a couple in the car beside you and your eyes drift over to them - how he sits with her head against his shoulder, his arm around her, looking down like she’s the only person in the world. You’d never had that with someone. Not that you hadn’t wanted to, or options hadn’t been there, but it just was never right for you.

And then your eyes turn back to Conrad. The light of the film catches against his skin, glowing his eyes just a little. It shadows down his jaw, darkening his jawline and brushing over the muscles. You take a deep breath. Ignore it. It wasn’t worth it.

He turns his head to look at you and you quickly look away.

“(Y/n)…”

“I’m going to grab a drink,” You say quickly, rushing to open the passenger door and scrambling out.

As soon as you’re outside, you gasp at the air like you hadn’t taken a single breath beside him. Like he’d taken them all away.

Ignore it. It wasn’t worth it.

———

“Oh my god this storm is awful,” You hiss into the air between you and Belly, snuggling under the covers of the double bed that you shared.

It was the following day and a storm had started to sweep over Cousins. There was a chill in the air all day and it had now turned into a full blown storm in the middle of the night. The rain was hammering down, wind sweeping over the houses, and thunder claps every few minutes.

“Belly,” You hiss again, “You awake?”

You’re met with the balanced, shallow breaths beside you that tell you she’s not hearing you. You sigh and shift in the bed until you’re sat on the mattress, debating your options. Sleep wouldn’t welcome you when the weather was like this. It wasn’t that you were scared of storms, they just unnerved you. Okay, you hated them.

With another clap of thunder, you step out of the bed and pull a hoodie over the crop top and shorts you’d been wearing, padding through the silent house and down the creaking steps. You wince with the creak on each one until you’re finally downstairs, stepping through into the kitchen.

“(Y/n)?” A voice speaks softly into the dark voice and you flinch instantly, spinning on your heel.

It’s Conrad.

“Con?” You frown, “Why are you awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” He returns.

He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a forest green t-shirt. He looks cosy and innocent.

“Yeah, I just… uh-“

“You hate storms.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, looking down at your feet as if he’s just embarrassed you in front of no company at all.

“Come on,” He gestures with his head, his hands stuffed into his pockets, “I’m going to start the fire.”

You follow him through into the lounge and sit down on the floor beside him as he starts fixing up the fire. You hand over logs and he sets them in place, you hand over the matches and he scratches them against the box to set it alight, holding it against the paper until it ignites. The heat hits you almost instantly in the too-cold house, wrapping you in an embrace of crackling warmth.

At the same moment, another rumble of thunder sounds from outside and you visibly flinch, glancing quickly out of the window at the hammering rain. Conrad chuckles from beside you, only quietly.

“Don’t worry, we’ve had worse storms here,” He assures you.

“That doesn’t help,” You roll your eyes, drawing your knees up to your chest.

“Oh, come on, I promise it’s okay,” He nudges your shoulder, “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Conrad Fisher are you going soft on me?” You narrow your eyes at him, “You’re normally so blunt.”

He looks away with a smile on his lips, “For everyone else, maybe.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat, the words escaping you. There was just something about the way he looked at you, the way his eyes just melt into you.

“You know I-“ He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I kind of felt like things were different with us this summer.”

“D- different?”

“Don’t you?” He says, “I just feel like you’ve been… distant?”

You stop yourself from speaking again.

“And, tell me to stop, but I’m-“ He half-laughs as if it’s a way of escaping the nerves, “I’m… I just thought I was so sure that there was something between us.”

“Con-“

“And you can tell me that I’m wrong but I don’t think I am.”

“Conrad I-“ You pause, biting your lip, “I can’t.”

“Just…” He shuffles in closer to you, his hand slowly rising to your cheek, thumb brushing the skin, “Tell me to stop.”

With that, he leans in and you find yourself pulled to him too, every bone in your body finally giving in to what you wanted. Your hands move to grip his shoulder, his breath fanning over your lips as he presses his against yours, slow at first and cautious.

You practically gasp at the contact, pulling him into you as if you don’t want him to slip away. His hand moves lower from your jaw and down to your neck, fingers wrapping around the back to keep you drawn to him, his other hand moving down to your waist. His fingers slip further back to the base of your spine, guiding you back against the floor as his other hand lowers your head down softly. You pull him back to your lips, fingers tangling into his hair. Both of you tangled between each other as his legs settle next to and between yours.

Once both of you are breathless, he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” He mumbles, laughing gently against you.

“I think I have some idea,” You respond, gripping his shoulders once again to pull him back into you.

———

It’s much later than normal the next morning when you eventually wake up. You and Conrad had split off into your separate rooms just as the fire was dying out and, with the sun blaring through the windows now, it just felt like it hadn’t happened. Like last night was a dream.

“Hey! You’re finally awake!” Belly announces as she walks back into the bedroom, “What happened to you last night?”

“Oh, um,” You lean up onto your elbows, “You know what I’m like, I hate storms.”

She nods, sitting on the edge of the bed, “We were thinking of what to do today.”

“Yeah? What’s the plan?” You drag a hand through your hair, feeling the flashbacks of Conrad’s fingers tangled amongst the strands.

“I don’t know yet, maybe we could go out tonight? There’s a party I think, one of Jere’s friends,” Belly suggests, picking Junior Mint up from the floor and setting him back onto the bed.

You feel your heart drop. The realisation seemingly hitting you like a ton of bricks. This was awful. What had you done?

It would break her heart if she knew what had happened last night.

But, god, you wanted to see Conrad again.

She disappears again to let you somewhat wake up fully and you push yourself enough out of the bed that your legs dangle over the side, dragging your hair away from your face and rubbing your hands over your eyes.

You don’t hear anyone coming into the room until he’s already dropping down onto the mattress behind you. The weight shifts and an all too familiar figure sits behind you, leaning forward to press a kiss to the exposed slither of skin on your shoulders.

“Good morning,” Conrad mumbles softly, his voice thick with sleep like your own.

You let yourself lean into his touch for a moment, every sensation from the night before seemingly reignited. It was real. He leans forward and perches his chin on your shoulder, tilting his head to look at you from the awkward angle.

“You know when we said last night that we’d be careful this isn’t what I meant,” You point out as he turns to kiss your neck, “This definitely isn’t careful.”

Conrad pulls back and you turn around on the bed so that you’re facing him, he reaches up a hand to brush the hair away from your face, “We’ll be careful. If that’s what it takes, we’ll do it.”

“I just…” You shake your head, “I can’t hurt Belly like that, not like this.”

Conrad nods and reaches a hand down to squeeze yours, “You won’t, I promise.”

You smile, taking a deep breath.

“But,” Conrad stands up, still holding your hand like he can’t bring himself to lose contact yet, “I would like to at least see you today. So if you could figure out a way for me to get you alone, that would be great.”

“God, you’re so needy Fisher.”

He rolls his eyes at you and disappears back out of the room, leaving you with a smile on your lips that it was impossible to get rid of.

———

Later that day, you’re outside with Belly, Jere and Steven by the pool, deciding on your plans for the evening.

“I’m just saying we should go, if it’s shit we can leave,” Jeremiah shrugs, “But like everyone’s going to be there.”

“Looking for someone to hook up with Jere?” Steven raises his eyebrows, splashing him with water from the pool.

Jeremiah scoffs, “Obviously not,” His eyes glance over to you, a small smile on his lips, “I just think it could be fun.”

“Alright but if we’re going we need drinks,” You point out, the idea crossing your mind as soon as you say the words, “I can go to the store.”

“There’s no way you’re getting anything,” Belly laughs, “You don’t have a fake.”

“No, but they know me less than they know you guys - so I’ll be more likely to get away with it, no?” You mention, pushing yourself up to stand, “Need anything else if I’m going?”

They all look at you slightly suspiciously but you ignore it, hurrying inside.

“Hey! I was just looking for yo-“ Conrad starts, just stepping down from the stairs as you rush through the house.

“Come on Fisher!” You grin, grabbing his hand on your way past, “We’re going out.”

He laughs breathlessly to catch up with you, following close behind as you grab your keys and run with him to your car.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” He raises his brows, pausing at the passenger side of the car.

You smile, “Didn’t you say you wanted to see me today?”

Conrad grins, “I won’t ask any more questions.”

Both of you pile into the car and you drive off, feeling like a new level of weightlessness when it was just the two of you together. You feel his eyes on you as you drive, like he’s infatuated by every part of you, and when you look back to him he doesn’t look away - the smile on his face only brightening at the connection. Part of you still couldn’t believe it.

You drive the two of you through the country lanes, through the rolling hills until you reach any level of seclusion, pulling up on a bank just over by the beach, overlooking an area that seemed completely untouched.

“Have you brought me here to kill me?” He looks at you slightly dumbfounded, “Should I be worried?”

“Well, there’s nobody here, I figured it was perfect,” You shrug, reaching into the back of your car to grab a couple of blankets.

“It is,” Conrad says, following your moves as you both get out of the car and walk down the short bank towards the sand.

The clearing of the beach is completely empty, and you stretch one of the blankets down onto the white sand, dropping down onto the soft surface and tossing the other blanket to your side. Conrad stands above you, his head blocking the sun as he grins down at you, his hair falling around his forehead.

“Hi,” You squint up at him, reaching out your arms until you can pull him into you.

He falls down beside you, leaning up onto his elbow.

“I still can’t believe this,” You comment, reaching up a hand to brush through the locks of hair around his eyes.

“Can’t believe what?”

“This. Us.” You say, feeling your stomach flip at the words, “I never thought it would happen.”

He frowns a little when you speak, “Why did you think that?”

You take a deep breath, “I’ve always been Bells’ friend, I thought that’s all you saw me as. God, they’re probably wondering where we are an-“

He leans down and silences your worries with a soft kiss, his lips lingering over yours without any pressure.

“They’re not thinking about us,” He assures you, “I’m thinking about us.”

You feel the smile tugging at your lips and he captures it into another kiss, as if sealing it between you.

You grip at his t-shirt and the back of his neck, pulling him into you as he shifts so that he’s over the top of your frame, deepening his connection against you. You’re breathless against his lips, desperate for more of him. His hand moves down to your waist, slipping below the hem of your top to hold your skin. You hiss at the contact, the cold touch of his fingertips.

He pulls back and smiles at you, glancing back around at the empty scene around you, “You know, there’s nobody around.”

You grin, looking to the side and pulling over the other blanket, shaking it out. He grabs it from you and stretches it over his back, burying both of you under your own seclusion.

His hands and lips find you again, his hips increasing their friction against you. And, in those moments, you’re sure that you two are the only two people in the world. Nobody else.

———

You get back a couple of hours later, carrying in a brown paper bag of liquor as Conrad walks behind you with two crates of beer.

“Listen I’m just saying that-“

You stop in your tracks as the door closes behind you and Jeremiah is stood in the hallway by the front door, at the base of the stairs.

“Where did you guys go?” He asks, glancing between the two of you.

“To the store,” Conrad says, nodding down to the items in your arms, “Getting the goods for you kids tonight.”

Jeremiah nods, “I could’ve gone with you (Y/n), if you needed help.”

“Oh, that’s okay, Con was just in the house when I came through so I asked if he wanted to come.”

Conrad smiles down at his feet and you fight the urge to nudge him in his side.

“Here, let me take that,” Jeremiah offers, taking the bag from your arms.

You thank him and he walks into the kitchen, Conrad following behind him, wiggling his brows at you before he disappears. You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile he always seemed to evoke.

“Hey!” Belly comes jogging down the stairs, “I thought I heard you, did you get everything at the store?”

“Yeah, yeah, got everything,” You nod, “Conrad got beer, and we got a bottle of tequila and vodka.”

“That’s where he was,” Belly returns, “I wasn’t sure where he’d disappeared to.”

You drag a hand through your hair, “Yeah sorry it was just a last minute thing, I figured I could do with the extra hands.”

She agrees, “I don’t think he’ll come tonight, he’s been distant recently.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’m sure we can convince him,” You glance over to where him and Jere are stood in the kitchen and he laughs at something his brother has said, his eyes creasing as he does so.

You’re sure this is the brightest he’s seemed in a long time and you feel your heart swell a little at the sight.

And then Belly moves beside you and you’re flicked back to reality momentarily, a reality where your stomach sank at the thought of lying to your best friend.

———

All of you arrive at the party an hour after it had started, having made your way through at least half of the drinks you’d brought with you. You were wearing a pink floral fitted mini skirt and a white corset top that hugged your figure. You’d felt Conrad’s eyes on you almost as soon as you’d come downstairs.

The boys follow behind you as you all disperse amongst the party, you holding onto Belly’s hand as the two of you make your way to the kitchen.

“I’m already a bit buzzed,” Belly says into your ear, wearing a romper that she’d stolen from you, “I don’t think I should drink any more.”

You smile at her, “Here,” You pour lemonade into a red solo cup and push it into her hand, “They don’t need to know.”

You take your own bottle of beer and crack it open, holding your thumb over the top as you move back through the mass of bodies in search for the three boys’ heads that would pop up over the crowd.

“Wait,” Belly stops you, grabbing your arm, “I need to ask you something.”

You frown at her, shifting to face her against the moving bodies around you, “What is it?”

She leans in closer to you as she speaks, “I think I’m going to tell Conrad how I feel.”

You feel your heart drop, a lump forming in your throat.

“I just… I’ve been waiting for too long. And if I don’t say it now I never will,” She explains, “I can’t do that any more.”

You still can’t find the words, certain that you’ll stop breathing if the lump in your throat gets any larger. Your hands start to feel a little numb and you grip tighter onto the neck of the beer bottle to feel like you could be grounded at least a little.

“I have to say something,” She persists, “And hopefully he’ll tell me he feels the same way.”

Without realising, you stumble a little in the crowd and she reaches out to catch you.

“Are you okay?” Your best friend frowns at you.

“I just- I need some air,” You return, trying to force your words to be loud enough over the pounding music.

You push your way through the remaining people until you get to enough of a clearing, where you can get outside into the garden. Instantly, it’s like you’re gasping for a breath it was impossible to find.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Belly asks you, holding your arm as if holding you up.

“Um,” You drag a hand through your curled hair and look back at her, “Yeah, yeah, sorry, I just felt a bit dizzy in there.”

“God you terrified me,” She half-laughs, “Come on, the boys are over there.”

Belly guides you over to the beer pong table set up at one side of the terrace in the garden, Steven and Jeremiah are stood on one side and Conrad on the other.

“Hey! Bells, (Y/n)!” Jeremiah waves, “Come join us, we’re just starting.”

“Okay but I’m not drinking,” Belly grimaces at the sight of the half-filled cups.

“You can join our team then, (Y/n) can go with Conrad,” Steven shrugs, “Let’s go rookies.”

You walk over to Conrad’s side of the table and watch his eyes drag up and down the sight of your body, cocking your brow at him when his eyes finally meet yours. He blushes, fighting back a smile.

Jeremiah throws the first ball and it bounces from one of your cups, Conrad catching it as he throws it back, sinking it into one of the cups at the edge of their triangle.

“Nice shot,” You comment quietly, sipping from the beer in your hand.

He reaches an arm around your shoulders and takes the bottle from your hand, bringing it to his own lips to take a sip.

“Come on, drink up,” Steven breaks the moment, gesturing towards the ball now landed in one of the cups on your side.

You roll your eyes and pick up the cup, tipping back the drink and grimacing at the overwhelming taste.

“Alright, my turn,” You say, picking up the ball and lining up to throw it towards them.

Conrad’s hand falls to the small of your back, the bare skin between your top and skirt. You glance back with slightly widened eyes but quickly try to ignore it. He was buzzed, that’s what it was. All of his inhibitions were lowered, and his widened pupils couldn’t help but focus on you. You throw the ball from your hand and it bounces to land in their front cup. In one movement, you shift to stand directly in front of Conrad, trying your best to shield his desperation for you. The other three seem too distracted anyway, bickering over which one of them has to drink as Conrad holds your waist, pulling you back against him.

“Con,” You say under your breath, tightening your grip on the edge of the table, “Not here.”

He listens almost instantly, his hands loosening on you as he steps to the side, eyes not leaving you.

“We’ll leave early,” You mention quietly and he smirks, pursing his lips together.

“Come on losers, one of you has got to drink,” Conrad encourages, clasping his hands together, a new lease of life seemingly coursing through him.

You go about the rest of the game and you and Conrad both grimace through another two cups each before you eventually win the game, pushing your remaining cups to the other side for the rest to drink.

“Alright, I need to find the bathroom,” You mention, checking your reflection in the black mirror of your phone screen, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You squeeze Conrad’s forearm before stepping past him to walk towards the house, trailing through the bodies and eventually making your way upstairs to the nearest available bathroom, shooting him a text of ‘second door on the left’.

You sit yourself on the closed lid of the toilet until, only a minute later, there’s a tap at the door. Without so much as a second thought, you stand up and unlock the door quickly, grinning at the sight of Conrad on the other side. He glances once over his shoulder to check for any prying eyes in the empty corridor before stepping in, hands gripping your waist instantly and turning you around, pressing you against the door as it closes behind you. You gasp at the contact and your mouth falls open, Conrad dipping his head to kiss at your neck.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you in this,” He grumbles, pressing against you, “You’re killing me (Y/l/n).”

“Yeah? I couldn’t tell,” You smirk, your hands moving down to unbutton his trousers, pushing him back until his back hits the opposite wall.

———

You adjust your skirt once, twice more, before stepping outside, running a hand through your hair once again, dragging a finger under either of your eyes. Conrad had left a couple of minutes ago so it was likely safe for you to do so too.

“There you are!” Belly exclaims, hurrying over to you as soon as you step onto the staircase, “Conrad said you were being sick.”

“Um,” You swallow to compose yourself, “Yeah, yeah, just too much beer I think.”

“Okay, yeah, Steven’s been sick in the garden too, I think we’re going to head home,” She nods, “Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?”

There’s that feeling again, the sinking in your chest. The sick in your stomach, not the kind of sick from Conrad’s lie. This was real. It was real because your best friend was stood in front of you and she cared about you, so openly and blatantly she cared about you, and you were lying to her. Over something that would break her heart. You were lying to her.

“Come on, let’s go,” She puts an arm out for you to take her hand and leads you down the staircase to where the three boys are waiting at the bottom.

Conrad looks up at you as you come down, a smile on his lips before he looks back down at his feet. His hair was messier than normal and you wondered whether anyone had questioned it.

“You feeling okay (Y/n)?” Jeremiah frowns, “Here, take this.”

He tugs the flannel from around his shoulders and hands it to you, waiting for your arms to slip into the sleeves.

“Oh, yeah, thanks Jere,” You nod, adjusting the material around you.

Conrad clenches his jaw, opening the door and stepping out without another word. You all follow behind, taking the shortcut that lead you back towards Susannah’s house, eventually reaching the familiar setting. Steven stumbles and clings onto Jeremiah, telling him that they should carry on drinking, and Belly looks at you every two seconds as if you’re about to break beside her, Conrad doesn’t look back at you.

Everything just feels… off. Jeremiah’s shirt seemed to itch around your arms and it didn’t sit right around your shoulders, and Belly’s arm was linked in yours but it just didn’t seem to rest there properly and it made your arm ache when you focused on it for too long, and why wouldn’t Conrad look at you?!

You eventually get back into the house and Jeremiah carries Steven’s weight through the corridor as quietly as he can, making sure he takes one stumbling step at a time. Belly tells you she’s going to get in the bathroom before anyone else does and you and Conrad are left stood in the doorway.

He glances back at you.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” You offer, pulling Jeremiah’s shirt from around you.

“You could’ve used mine,” He mumbles softly.

“Your what?” You frown, blinking at him in the low light.

“My jacket, you could’ve borrowed it,” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Conrad Fisher are you jealous?” You scoff, and for a moment in your laughter you forget about everything that had been worrying you on the way home. It’s just you and him again.

He rolls his eyes, “No, I just mean-“

You step forward until you’re directly below him, waiting until his eyes will meet yours.

“Admit it,” You state simply, “Admit you were jealous.”

“Im not jealous it’s just-“ He stops, “I don’t- I didn’t-“

You raise your brows, fighting to stop yourself from laughing at him.

“Good night,” He grumbles turning away from you.

You grab his hand and stop him, turning him around so that you can press the quickest peck to his lips. Conrad looks at you with a smile on his lips, drawing you back in to kiss him again, a second longer.

It’s only when you pull away that you both think to glance to the top of the stairs - to the figure stood at the top of them.

“What the fuck?” Steven mumbles, stumbling a little and catching himself on the wall.

Conrad looks at you almost instantly and you watch the worry cast over his face, him watching the exact same expression pass over yours.

“Come on, man, let’s get you to bed,” Jeremiah encourages, hurrying back over to Steven and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

He pauses when he sees the two of you at the bottom of the stairs, both looking up like you’ve seen a ghost.

“Good night guys,” He frowns, hooking his arm below Steven’s armpits and dragging him towards his bedroom.

Conrad looks at you again and his mouth opens as if to say something, stopping before he speaks, closing his mouth again, waiting, and then saying, “I’m so sorry (Y/n).”

You look at him and frown, hearing the way the words catch in his throat as if assuring you they’re honest. You can practically feel the way his chest would have been tightening against the words, the way he’d struggle against them.

“Hey,” You reach out a hand and take his, squeezing it, “Not your fault.”

He looks down at you and swallows the lump in his throat.

“Come on, not here,” You encourage, pulling his hand with you as the two of you walk through the empty bottom floor.

You lead him into the lounge where the two of you sit down in front of the fireplace. You cross your legs and face him and he stretches his out towards the fireplace, leaning back against the couch behind you.

“Okay, chances are Steven’s not going to keep his mouth shut,” You begin, “Even drunk, he’ll probably remember what he saw.”

Conrad just nods.

“Look, I get it. It’s only been a couple of days, and this ruins things and I totally understand if you don’t want this to carry-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” Conrad bolts upright, “What gave you that impression?”

“Well,” You look down at your hands in your lap, “I know we’ve been hooking up but everyone knowing is going to make this into something and I don’t know if you’re ready for that or if you want that or… I don’t know.”

“(Y/n),” He takes one of your hands and interlocks his fingers with yours, his large grip folding over your knuckles, “I want this. Not just sneaking off and hooking up, I want this. I want you.”

You feel your heart skip a beat, your whole body feeling like it could ignite under his touch.

“If they find out now, then we deal with it, okay?” He waits until your eyes find his, “We’re in this for the long haul, right?”

You nod and watch the corners of his lips curl up into a smile. You turn so that your back is against the couch beside him and he wraps an arm around your back, your head resting on his shoulder and his resting atop yours. You’re sure you could stay like that forever. And, somewhere along the line, both of you drift off to sleep.

———

When you blink your eyes open, for a second you hope you’re dreaming… or perhaps this is more like being in a nightmare. Stood directly in front of the pair of you, are the looming figures of Jeremiah, Steven and… Belly. You nudge Conrad and he blinks awake too, groaning at the stiff pain in his neck.

“God I thought I was dreaming last night but I wasn’t, was I?” Steven gestures between the two of you, “I mean, you guys are…”

You glance at Conrad and back to the others, scrambling to your feet, “I can explain-“

You reach out for Belly but she pulls away, storming out of the room as quickly as she can. You feel the tears bubble in your eyes, the lump in your throat.

“I mean, seriously (Y/n)?” Steven scoffs, “You knew how she felt about him. She’s meant to be your best friend.”

“I didn’t mean for-“

“Conrad?!” Jeremiah exclaims, “Seriously, of all the people you could’ve been with you went for Conrad? The one person you knew would break Belly’s heart.”

“It wasn’t like that,” You shake your head quickly, “It just happened and-“

“Well maybe if you weren’t so busy thinking about fucking-“

“Hey!” Conrad stands up beside you, stepping ahead so that he shields you from them, directing his anger onto his brother, “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable, do you know that?” Jeremiah laughs, “I tell you I like a girl and you take that as a sign to get her for yourself?”

“Jere, stop,” Conrad warns, “You’re going to say something you regret.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Jeremiah raises his voice, “You knew that I liked her, you knew I fucking liked her and you just cared about yourself.”

“It wasn’t like that, (Y/n) decided who she wanted to be with, I did too. It’s not always about you Jere,” Conrad shakes his head, “When are you going to grow up and realise that?”

“When am I going to grow up? How about you growing up and realising you’re going to break her fucking heart?” Jere shrugs, “I mean, seriously, emotionally unavailable Conrad? In a relationship that’ll last? You’ll break her heart and she’ll come crying to-“

“Stop!” You raise your voice, pushing to step aside from behind Conrad, “Both of you stop fucking talking about me like I’m not even here. I can’t deal with this right now, I need to find Belly.”

“(Y/n)…”

You hear the faint tone of Conrad’s voice behind you but it’s overshadowed by the blood pounding in your ears as you hurry through the house to find her, catching sight of her just by the pool.

“Belly!” You call, pushing open the door, “Belly please just talk to me!”

“You knew, (Y/n),” She spins on her heel to face you, her eyes puffy with tears, “You knew I liked him. From the minute we were in middle school I told you I liked him. I told you every summer since, and you listened to me every single fucking time. And then, what? You just wanted him for yourself this whole time.”

“It wasn’t like that…” You shake your head, “I never meant for it to happen, especially not like this.”

“Then what was it like, (Y/n)?”

You pause, seemingly incapable of finding any words in the moment, “I- I just…”

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at you as if you’re a person she doesn’t recognise.

“It was a couple of summers ago, I don’t know what changed. He just seemed… different. And then I noticed it more last summer, just the little things in how he was acting with me, I couldn’t explain it. I never told you because I knew how much it would hurt you to think that I liked him too. But the other night things just happened and he told me how he felt about me and… I never meant for you to find out like this, and I never meant to lie to you.”

“Well, which one is it? Did you not want me to find out or did you not want to lie to me? You can’t have both.”

“I-“ You fight back the tears stinging at your eyes, “I didn’t want to break your heart, Bells. But I could feel myself falling in love with him and him falling in love wi-“

“In love?” She steps forward, eyebrows raised against the redness of her cheeks, “It’s not love, (Y/n). Conrad doesn’t love you. You’re just there and he knows he can have you. You’ll realise that eventually.”

Her words are void of any emotion other than hatred, spitting from her mouth like she’s desperate for them to escape her. She storms past you and down the side of the house, each one of her steps carrying more anger than the last.

You feel your chest tighten, the way it seems to contort and twist when you’re on the verge of tears.

The garden door opens again and it’s Conrad this time. At the second your eyes meet his, you release every emotion in side of you, letting out a sob. He reacts almost instantly, hurrying down to scoop you into his arms, letting you bury your head on his chest, soaking through his t-shirt. One of his hands grips around your back and the other holds your head against him, running through your hair.

“It’s okay, (Y/n),” His voice is soft, like he is terrified of breaking you further.

You pull away from him and look up to his face, shaking your head through the tears still spilling from your eyes, “How is it going to be okay, Con? They hate us. All of them hate us.”

“Hey,” His hands move up to either of your cheeks, thumbs brushing under your eyes to swipe away the tears before they can even fall, “It’s you and me, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

You let yourself sink into the feeling of his arms around you, his heartbeat sounding less certain than his words did.

“You’ve got me.”

And in that moment, you know it’s true.

#tsitp #tsitp conrad #conrad x reader #conrad x you #conrad x y/n #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x y/n #tsitp one shot #tsitp drabble #tsitp blurb #tsitp imagine #tsitp request #the summer i turned pretty

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uncookedfeeler · 3 months ago

Text

Cok's adventure II 🐙

Giselle x You

Tags : 7k5, Idol Giselle, story, smut, creature kink, anal, creampie, oral, breed, domination, ...

Part 1 Part 3

As the night goes on, the sirens of police and emergency services are still ringing in the city, where journalists are now swarming around the building, trying to get as much information as possible. Giselle is waiting for her manager to arrive in a café a couple of blocks away. She's put her bags and package at her feet and is enjoying a vanilla cappuccino. She can hear the TV not far away, with a live report from a journalist covering the accident:

"This is Jin, a reporter for K-News." The mall just had its last customers leave. There was a loud noise nearby, and a huge cloud of smoke was still coming from the building. We don't have all the details yet, but we'll do our best to get them to you as soon as we can. We've been told that the emergency services are still refusing our interviews. Are they trying to cover something up? The journalist kept going with his report, even though she was there at the scene, the situation had happened so fast, and she didn't know any more than he did.

Giselle notices her phone is vibrating in her pocket. She checks her screen and sees several missed calls from Karina, plus a notification in their chat.

She knew she could count on her members when she got home, and they'd reached out with some comforting messages. However, her tough-girl image was starting to show some cracks. The day had been long and stressful, and she was feeling the effects. Giselle's mood has taken a bit of a turn for the worse. She used to enjoy her freedom and her little adventures on her own, but now she wishes she hadn't gone out today.

She looks relieved when she sees her manager come into the café. He comes over to get her bags, and Giselle, feeling a bit embarrassed, heads for the exit. She feels her manager's hand rubbing her back as a gesture of kindness.

The night is now more aggressive, sending waves of cold wind across the city and blowing Giselle's hair around. The cold air hits her face, still covered in makeup. She picked up the pace, eager to get to the car and find some shelter. She notices the lights on her manager's car are blinking, indicating it's unlocked. She puts her hand on the back door handle, tosses her purse into the middle seat, and gets in, fastening her seatbelt as she goes. She's eager to get home.

She hears the trunk open and her manager say, "Let me drop off your stuff, and we'll get going." "I'll be as quick as I can." The man's voice is reassuring. He puts the bags and package one behind the other, then runs over to the driver's seat.

You've been stuck in this black box for a while now, even though you can't see anything and your tentacles are all tangled up. You're calm and thinking about the best way to get out. You feel the vibrations of the ride and wait helplessly for what's to come.

The ride home is as quiet as a church. Giselle looks out the window and enjoys the light show. The manager, despite his best efforts, would rather focus on the road. He knows the member will find the right words.

Once parked in the underground lot, the way to the dormitory is the same. Giselle leads the way, and her manager is busy with shopping. They get to a big white door. She opens the black box on the side, enters the 4-digit code, then closes it. You hear a small validation sound, and the lock releases. Giselle goes in first. She takes off her shoes, and her manager leaves her stuff at the entrance before heading back to the elevator. "Good night, Giselle. See you tomorrow. You've got the day off, so make the most of it!" he says after completing his mission. She quickly turns to thank him, a big smile on her face.

Now that she was barefoot, she put her shoes back where they belonged and opened the door to the main room. There she finds Karina sitting on the sofa and Ninging's body, clearly unconscious from exhaustion. The leader takes the initiative and comes to hug her, like a mother would comfort her child after a difficult event.

There's no need to say anything. Both women enjoy the moment of silence. Karina is relieved to see that her colleague is unharmed. Giselle is happy to be home. They spent a good two minutes rubbing each other's backs before they heard Winter come back from the doorway.

"The food is here!" the young girl announces, her hands full of plastic bags. She'd gone downstairs a while before Giselle got there to start cooking dinner. Karina and Winter get the food ready while Giselle takes her things back to her room. She quickly put her stuff away and went back to the living room. Ningning was brought back to life successfully when the young woman caught a smell of food filling her nostrils.

After dinner, the girls enjoyed the food and Giselle's spirits lifted for a moment. She was able to forget what had happened that day. It was well past midnight, and the girls were heading to their rooms to get some rest.

Speaking of privacy, when Giselle returns to her room, she decides to change into her pajamas. She removes her clothes, including her underwear, and puts on a long white t-shirt that reaches to her knees. Her two large mounds hug the shape of the clothing, and her anal plug is still firmly lodged in her small asshole.

Now she turns her attention to the package that caused her so much trouble. She grabs the scissors on her desk and begins to open it with a vertical motion. As the employee said, the package has already been opened, so there are only a few pieces of tape holding it in place.

You've finally had a chance to see the light. The room is warm and bright, and the light hits your eyes. You catch a hint of a sweet smell as it wafts in towards your nostrils. You come face to face with a human with black hair, big brown eyes, and perfect skin. Her lips are painted a pretty pink, and her skin is white like the flash of a light. As soon as you lock eyes, you freeze, suddenly aware of where you are. It's likely that the Humans have already killed one of your own, and there's no reason to believe they won't do the same to you.

"Wow, so cute" Giselle says as she looks at you and quickly picks you up to put you on the ground keeping her eyes on you the whole time. She had a pretty good idea of what to expect from an octopus and never thought she'd get such a pretty toy. Octopuses aren't the most attractive creatures, but when she sees your little round head, black eyes, and mouth, she can't help but think of you as a little puppy.

She opens it by touching your tentacles. Much to her surprise, she feels your warmth in her hands. The gelatinous yet firm feeling is pretty addictive. She places her fingers on your suction cups and feels how strong they are. The pleasure of touching you now makes her feel good, so she puts her lips on your head, and you don't seem to mind. Instead, she follows up with a quick flick of her tongue, releasing a sweet but not unpleasant taste into her mouth.

She starts by putting two of your tentacles in her mouth. The contact of her lips and tongue makes you quiver inside. The sensation of moisture at your tips is a pleasure you've never experienced before. Then you feel more tentacles on her warm body. Soon you're completely used by the human.

You're still immobile, and you're starting to worry about the attacks on your body. The fact that she's started putting her lips on you and even biting your head makes you think she's going to eat you. Then you feel your body being lifted and you land in a soft, comfortable place.

Giselle has taken the liberty of placing you on her bed. "I think it must be hidden over there," she says, peering between your tentacles. She notices a crack and gets really concerned. "What?" "I can't believe they sent me the female model!" She starts to touch your "bottom."

"What on earth is this person doing? Why is she putting her hands so close to...?"

Your excitement causes your penis to jerk out from between your tentacles. You feel vibrations running from the middle to the tip of your tentacles.

"Oh my, that looks so much like the real thing!" Giselle's eyes widen and she blushes. She's got the penis of a space creature in front of her, and she has no idea. She uses her hand as a measuring tool and assesses it with interest. "Oh my goodness!" "It's probably going to reach my uterus with ease."

Things have escalated quickly. Just a few moments ago, you thought you were in serious danger. Now, a human has just pulled your dick. You feel her breath on the tip. You're frozen in place, realizing what's going on. You don't see the human, but you get a few jolts and a sensation of moisture around your cock. It touches something that looks like a tentacle. It's itchy, and the heat and moisture of your cock make you feel warm and relaxed.

Giselle had taken your cock in her mouth without you noticing. She started with gentle kisses on the tip and then took the length into her mouth. Her tongue traced the length of your shaft, tasting the natural flavor of your arousal. Giselle gave it her all, already reaching for her pussy, naked as could be.

Giselle inserts a finger into her wet little hole and forces her ass to move her butt plug, determined to get her satisfaction. It's a great feeling to have both holes taken care of. She keeps going with your cock, and thick drops of saliva stick to it.

On the other hand, you found the pleasure increasingly difficult to bear. You never thought something like this could happen in your life. You felt the human's hands take your tentacles and wrap them in two spheres of flesh. She squeezes your tentacles with her hands, and you hear her moan. One of your tentacles is pulled to the ground before you feel a sticky warmth at the tip.

Giselle was letting off some steam after a long day. She'd wrapped her toy cock around both of her breasts. Her previous sucking had made the shaft quite slimy, which helped as she massaged the cock while licking the tip hungrily. One of the tentacles kept going into her pussy. She could feel the suction of the cups peeling her walls back, and a nasty stain had appeared on the floor. The room was getting warmer as Giselle pressed her breasts against your cock, making sure to put more saliva on your length. She dropped to her knees and jumped up a few times, feeling the tentacles breaking into her hungry little pink pussy.

The pleasure was overwhelming. You felt like you were floating on a cloud, and you released your cum without knowing where it would land. You automatically grabbed Giselle's head, pulling her closer. Your penis hit a wall that you couldn't identify. Giselle is taken aback when she suddenly sees the cock piercing her throat, her breasts squeezed between her and her toy, her pussy sweating warmly, leaving an incessant liquid on the floor. The pleasure is too sudden, and her body tenses before she drowns in her orgasm. She feels the spasms of her body travel as long as she is held by the creature.

You know you messed up. You've kept a poker face the whole time, but you can't help but feel pleasure. Once you've let go of the human's head, though your cock is still hard, you straighten up to face her.

Giselle was caught off guard by the taste and smell of the substance, and before she knew it, she'd swallowed some of it. She sensed that something was amiss. No toy is designed to trap its user in this way. She backed away from the bed, cum all over her face, and a feeling of dread hit her as she came into contact with her new "toy."

She was at a loss as to how to react. There was an octopus on her bed, standing upright with a terrified look on its face. The tentacles were almost touching her face, as if to protect themselves. She stood there for a few minutes, naked, her face covered in cum, her breasts reddened, and her pussy hot and lubricated.

You're standing in front of the human, ready to defend yourself if you need to. You don't speak their language and you're not sure where you are. Your only option for survival is to escape, but you know you're trapped in this room without looking. Then, right in the middle of your confusion, the human reaches out to you. Her expression is firm but not threatening. If you were in her shoes, you'd probably use your advantage, but the human doesn't seem to be going down that route. You're not sure what her gesture means, but you extend one of your tentacles toward her and make contact, aware of the risks if she catches you.

(Yes this image exist for some reason)

Your eyes are still locked together. You can feel the softness of her hand on your tentacle, then she gently applies pressure to bind you, moving up and down. She smiles and lets go of your tentacle to come over to the bed. She's just a few inches away from you. Her body blocks the light from the ceiling. You slowly bring your tentacles towards you, being careful not to make any sudden movements.

She's trying to communicate. You hear her say "Gis-elle" while pointing at her face with her hand. This isn't the first time you've come across other species that can speak. You know that people have names, and through repeated movements and words, you've come to understand that her name is "Giselle." You also try to imitate Giselle's gestures: "Cok, cok, cok." You do this a few more times, pointing your tentacles at your face.

Giselle, on the other hand, quickly realized that your name was Cok. "What am I going to do with you now?" "You don't look like the octopus I see at the market sometimes, and the fact that you can talk doesn't make my job any easier." "You just played a dirty trick on me. My body is stained with your semen, so I guess a shower is necessary now. Don't worry, water shouldn't scare you."

You don't understand what Giselle is saying, but she comes closer and picks you up before putting you back in her bag. Once again, you find yourself in a dark place, your erection notwithstanding. You always hope that nothing will happen to you.

Giselle, who has put her T-shirt back on, opens her bedroom door with her bag under her arm and heads to the bathroom. She makes sure the room is empty before opening her bag.

You feel Giselle's hands emerge from the darkness, and you discover a new environment that's even brighter than the last one. Even though you don't understand a word she's saying, she still gives you a quick overview of the place. "Welcome to our bathroom. Across from us is a shower and a jacuzzi. The sinks are to your left. "You'll find our toilets tucked away to the right." She goes over everything in the bathroom and points. You follow her with your eyes, even though you're still a bit confused.

She puts you down by the sink, and you watch as she tosses your semen-soaked t-shirt into a bucket. Then she heads over to the spot she calls the "Jacuzzi" and bends over to turn on the water, showing you her butt plug she left at "home" along the way. She gives you a signal to follow her by pointing at you as she steps into the jacuzzi. As you crawl towards her and finally plunge into the water, a haze of warmth fills the room.

"Ah, that feels good," she says with a smile. You have to agree; the sensation of swimming in this warm water is very pleasant. You see her look at you and smile, and you feel her hand on her head as she rubs it gently.

You notice Giselle looking at you and feel her feet rubbing against your leg. Each time she makes contact, she immediately pulls her foot back, but she keeps coming back for more. She gives a little smile that you can't miss. "mhh-hhh" You hear her making little whimpering sounds, and it's your turn to gently caress her toes, making sure to get your tentacles between each one. Her toes are clinging to you, and you're not sure what her hands are doing.

You then dip your head into the water and watch in surprise as two tiny fingers rub against her pretty pussy. You see them go into her body and then immediately come back out again. She speeds up the rhythm, and you realize you're no longer feeling pressure on your tentacles. This allows you to move up her legs as you bring your head closer to her perfectly smooth pussy, which is just a few inches away from your face.

"Not so sweet so fast my dear, let me savor you first" You see her suddenly stand up and lean towards you, her breasts right in front of you, her nipples still hard. Up close, you realize how beautiful they are. She spreads her legs while bending her knees and comes to lay her dirty pussy on your head. She rubs lightly against you and continues to pound her cunt with her fingers. "Oh, ah, I'm coming," Giselle says. A bit more pressure is applied to your skull, with her slit rubbing against you as her fingers play with her little clit above the entrance.

Her legs suddenly spasm, and you feel a rush of water hit your head and body. It's clear that the source is her red, quivering pussy. "Wow, that feels great," she says, her eyes full of desire. She's now sitting up, her legs feeling a bit wobbly. She's aware of what she's doing and the show she's putting on, and she sees your hard cock. She wants to use her toy right now, too. She's so caught up in her ecstasy that she doesn't care what you look like. She just wants a good fuck to bring her back to earth.

Giselle puts her hands behind her back and hears a "poc" as she removes her toy from her ass. You can see her face twitch with pleasure as she takes her partner out of her hole and places him in a small bowl next to the jacuzzi. She turns around to show you her backside, and you get a close-up of her freshly spread ass and her little pussy, still waiting to be loved. She uses her left hand to spread her hole, revealing all of her warm flesh as she points at the entrance repeatedly.

You can tell when a female is in heat, no matter what species. Giselle is releasing pheromones that indicate she's ready for male attention. That's all she needs, and without further ado, you make a swim towards her, climb up her legs and point your rod at her backside. Your tentacles squeeze her buttocks while you linger on both of her breasts. Not content with this lack of attention, the last one goes to her mouth, which you don't fail to penetrate. You're there, in possession of a human body, ready to fill her with your entire being.

"Cok cok cok cok cok" you hear your name as you tease her by rubbing your cock against her entrance, but this was a mistake. Giselle, who takes your cock in her hand and puts it in her ass herself, screams as you come hard against her ass. “Ohhh fuck, it’s big” Giselle's insides are warm and welcoming around your cock as you thrust into her ass. You start thrusting back and forth, harder and harder. “Mhhh-mhh more” she cries, your combined movements cause the water to shake as you satisfy your new mistress. You feel her tongue around your tentacle, trying to give you the best suck she can. You also pinch her breasts while playing with her nipples. You give her an ass-slapping rhythm to match her bouncing buttocks.

"More, more, more!" Giselle moans, lost in pleasure. She reverts to a simple primate, in need of pleasure. Her head is thrown back as you grab her hair and pull her towards you. The force of your bodies hitting each other leaves red marks on her buttocks. You move on to her stiff breasts and push into her still-wet pussy with a sharp thrust. Giselle ends up being double penetrated.

The noise in the room is getting louder by the second, and Giselle is losing all her self-control. She's on her hands and knees, her breasts pressed against the edge of the jacuzzi. She's being mistreated by her new toy; You don't let go, every time you pull her hair, she tightens around your cock: "Harder, hurt me, baby". She gives everything, the frenzy of your bodies increases, the heat in the room is at its peak. Her ass has become your sheath and your masculinity belongs to her.

While you ravage her ass, your tentacles take care of her dripping pussy, you come slamming against these walls while repeating circular movements, the tips are compressed to the extreme, this bitch has cum several times already, when you remove your tentacles, her fluid explodes from her slit before going back in again and again.

The thrusts are getting stronger and stronger as you feel the release coming. Her pussy fills the water again, and you feel Giselle's body go in one last thrust. Then you grab her hair in two spots and thrust as far as you can into her. You feel immense pleasure as you release all your cum into her conquered hole.

As you let go of her hair, you fall backwards, hitting the water with a small splash. When you return to the surface, Giselle is still in the same position, looking like she's waiting for anything to happen. You can see your cum coming out of her ass and sliding down her body, and her little pussy is lightly covered in your seed, which falls into the water. Your cock is now completely dry and fully retracted behind your slit.

The water is covered in semen and Giselle's wetness as they float on the surface of the jacuzzi. You hear her ass spew your cum in waves with obscene noises, then Giselle turns around, her arms slumped on the side of the jacuzzi. Her hair is a mess, and her body is covered with the marks left by your lovemaking.

You can't see Giselle's eyes, hidden by her hair, and you're waiting for her next reaction. You stand there staring at each other in an awkward silence. It's not forever, though, because you hear a knock on the door. "Giselle, I need to use the toilet," you hear her say. Of course, you can't understand, but you quickly grasp the situation when you see Giselle's panic-stricken face.

"I'll be ready in two minutes. I'll just rinse off and get out," says Giselle, taken aback. As she presses the button to drain the water from the Jacuzzi, she grabs you by the tentacles and heads for the shower, bumping into you on the ledge as she goes. "Don't be a princess. I've already seen you naked. I'm going to pee myself," she says as the door opens. You find yourself behind the curtain, restrained by Giselle's arms around her stomach.

You feel the hot water fall on your bodies as you're held back by Giselle. Her breasts press against your head, and you feel her breathing quicken. "You were totally fine showing me your butt plug in the dressing room, and now you're afraid I'll see you naked?" a woman says now sitting on the toilet, the sound of the shower masking that of the toilet.

“Shut up and hurry away, I'd like to dry off and...” Giselle feels your semen leaking from her ass again, which startles her. She knows the water won't cover the leaking on her leg. She looks at you and, with her hands, mimes her anus and the other finger, asking to plug it up. You use your tentacles to come and penetrate your anus and her … pussy

She's always happy to have her holes well occupied, but Giselle trembles at the presence of your tentacles inside her. Your communication still isn't perfect, but you've done what she asked. You feel the liquid trying to get out at the tip of your tentacle. Now that she's in the shower, Giselle takes the opportunity to wash her body and hair. You now stand alone at her waist with your tentacles around her, keeping the two of them warm deep in those caves. She watched Karina finish her business and leave the room after washing her hands at the sink. "Good night, Giselle," she said as she closed the door. Giselle had noticed that Karina was wearing only her panties.

The danger is now gone, so you pull your tentacles back while still holding on to Giselle. You slide down until you touch the ground, "You bastard, you've filled me well. Even my pussy hurts." Of course, she knows you don't understand. She moves her legs closer to you again, and you feel a warm liquid fall on her head. "Here, this will teach you to take me for your bitch."

Giselle had just pissed in your face. You frown and whip her lower legs with a tentacle. All the while laughing. She approaches you and rubs you with a soft ball that quickly foams. The rubbing sensation is pleasant, and Giselle works hard to rub it all over your body. Although you still can't communicate verbally, you feel like you're doing pretty well with this woman. It's hard to picture her as a threat now that she's let you take a "dominant role". Once the shower's over and she shows you how to use a hairdryer, she doesn't even put you back in her bag. She holds you in her arms at stomach level.

The quiet click of her bedroom door means you're safe again. Giselle turns down the lights in the room, the temperature is just right, and there's a nice smell of freshness from the shower. She'd changed into her pajamas, which were a loose-fitting T-shirt and pink shorts that let her lower body breathe. You stand on her bed and watch her brush her hair in front of the mirror.

Like her, you're tired from your journey. Sleep is one of your needs, unlike oxygen or food. Your body feels heavy and you sense that you're about to fall asleep. You feel a sudden motion on the bed as Giselle opens the blanket to slip into it. You're afraid of being crushed, so you shake your head no when she asks you to come closer.

You fall asleep on the pillow next to your mistress like a little puppy. Giselle grabs one of your tentacles and inserts it into her ass. After all, she wouldn't want you to run away now. You lose consciousness, feeling a warm sensation at the tip.

Giselle starts to wake up as the sun comes through the curtains, painting shapes on the wall. She feels her limbs are pleasantly heavy, with a soft ache from the restless night spent with her unlikely new friend. She turns to her side and laughs softly. There he is, her toy, an octopus, sprawled across her pillow, his tentacles lazily dropping over the edge.

The faint sounds of footsteps and lights under her door indicated that her bandmates were still getting ready for their day's work. She was the only one with a day off; her next schedule is the following night. As she discreetly slips out of her bed, she feels your tentacle gradually withdrawing from the depths of her ass as she moves towards the door, stopping for her own pleasure along the way and taking advantage of the last few inches still inside her, she disappears from her room.

You are awakened by the light coming from Giselle's bedroom door. Your body is still resting on one of her pillows. Your tentacles are scattered all over the bed and floor. Two shadows suddenly appear in your pupils, not fully dilated. You struggle to recognize the people in front of you :"Wow, what's this, Giselle-Unni really has poor taste," a quiet voice lets out. "It's probably her new doll. Hurry, grab the tablet from the bedside table. We're going to be late."The second grumbles as she grabs the tablet herself.

As they leave the room, you can see Giselle in the distance under the hallway lights, "Giselle, when you take the tablet, remember to put it back in the living room, we need it for our challenge!" she says nothing and walks towards you, closing the door behind her.

"Good morning, sir. It looks like you slept well here," she says with a smile as the two of you are alone again. In the distance, you hear the front door slamming, which means the other humans have left.

With a flick of her wrist, she opens the curtains to let in the light, then goes to the other corner of her room to find her clothes. Her "pajamas" twirl around the room, revealing, to your surprise, her butt plug. She grabs you and carries you out of her room. You're now in what looks like the main room of her dormitory. From the height of the table, you can see your surroundings and are now at Giselle's bust height.

The silence is broken by a sound coming from Giselle's buttocks. She removes a device from it and brings it to her ear while sitting across from you.

"Yes, manager-nim..." The rest is hard to understand, since she had taken the malicious pleasure of coming to crush her two mounds on your head and caress one of your tentacles as if it were one of her strands of hair. The weight of her breasts exerts a gentle pressure on you. Her softness is a small cloud over your misery.

In revenge, you come and squeeze her breasts through her clothes and take the time to insert one between in imitation of your big cock. Her face turns red; "In about how long?" she sighs. She pulls her clothes down to reveal her tiny nipples, which you must immediately attack with your tongue. It was already sensitive and hard in your mouth. "Mmmh, I'll w....ait for you..... then," you alternate between her nipples, one being devoured by your mouth while the other receives love from a tentacle. Her breathing stops and becomes irregular. The pleasure is intense but brief.

"See you in a minute," she says, putting her device down on the table. You had startedto get really serious, but she suddenly gets up and goes to her room, coming out with a handbag. She stares at you and says, "It's too risky to leave you here alone, we will finish this later" before shoving you into the bag with a mischievous smile on her lips.

Unlike the others, she has taken the liberty of leaving her bag open. You see a variety of sights and sounds. A spectacle of sensations unfolds before you. From time to time she turns her gaze to you, a slight smile on her lips, and you watch it interact with her own. You begin to decipher a few words and facial expressions.

The liberation comes as she puts her bag on her lap, unable to tell where you are. The close-up of her beautiful face is comforting. She brings her mouth to her bag and mumbles, "Hey stupid, I'm still wet from earlier. She pulls back and starts massaging your between-tentacles so you understand what's going on when she decides to take your tentacle out of her bag and slide it under her skirt.

You don't need her help to know what comes next: the capricious one has made sure to tuck her bag under her skirt. Your work as a miner has begun. Make your way to her watery cave. On your way to the rare loot are her panties. You rub them lovingly, already smelling the foul stain on them. It doesn't take you long to hold them up and pull them apart, while your colleagues take care of the rest.

The attack begins when you slide three of them in and feel her body vibrate. The passage is narrow and she resists you. You begin to rub violently against her walls and tickle her insides. You continue inside her until you come up against a wall. From then on it's impossible to go any further and she crushes you with a pelvic thrust. You slowly pull out of her and give way to another group of three; it becomes a game and her pussy a real amusement park.

For her part, Giselle is subjected to your repeated attacks as someone approaches: "5 more minutes and the director will see you". She takes a firm stance in front of the secretary, closing her legs as tightly as possible.

You feel her pussy tremble more and more with each thrust; you know her orgasm will be big and that it's close. Since she's in public, you're the only one who can satisfy her immediately, so your decision to step back, this slut deserves a good punishment. Without seeing her face, you can tell she's frustrated with the way she's rubbing her legs; her panties are completely soaked, not to mention where she's sitting. No doubt she's stained him with her love juice.

At Cok's mercy at this moment, Giselle takes it upon herself and is soon approached by one of her managers, she was in her company's building to talk about yesterday's incident as she was seen leaving the building when it was evacuated.She picks up her bloody bag and follows her manager to the director's office making sure to turn off your light as she closes her bag, clearly offended by your actions.You lose track of time as you fall asleep next to her.

When you regain consciousness, you're back in Giselle's room. It's as quiet as a graveyard, with the sun's rays streaming down the slope and fresh air coming in through the window. You're definitely alone in the room. You've never had a moment to yourself. Always in the company of Giselle or at the bottom of a bag... You already know the bed. You slip off the foot of the bed and fall to the floor. You slide to the center of the room and scan your surroundings again. You notice writing on the ceiling that you recognize: "6:48... 6:49 PM...".

On your right, glued to her bed, is a desk, which you climb over and find yourself in front of a book with the name GISELLE inscribed on it, as well as the technological object the other humans took this morning, but in a different color. With a simple touch, you press the object, which lights up and symbols appear. In the same way, you open the book, which seems to provide knowledge of her language, and the technological object allows you to listen to it. This is your way to learn Giselle's language, but despite your abilities, it's going to take some time.

The clock is ticking and there's still no word from Giselle. You concentrate on your task and try to assimilate as much knowledge as possible. The words make sense and your first sentences are still close to a newborn's speech. The slamming of the front door wakes you up and your instincts tell you to return to your position on Giselle's bed, motionless as a statue. In your panic, you've left the tablet and book open.

You hear footsteps approaching Giselle's room and quickly relax as the door opens to reveal her in an all-black skintight outfit. "Are you awake, you bastard? I needed to spend my nerves at the gym," she says, even though you've seen her before. Her body is truly a work of art!

Her eyes devour you completely, her walk is full of confidence, she approaches the bed and stops in front of it, her scent catches your nostrils, but it's not the scent that disturbs you, it's the "aura" she's been radiating since she entered the room.

Giselle reeks of sex, her whole body oozes those pheromones, those of a woman in heat, ready to be filled, the fact that you left her hungry earlier must have awakened her appetite and when you look at her, you know she's very hungry. Without delay, she lifts her top with her left hand, exposing her breasts and you notice the teeth marks on her nipples. Her right hand pulls down her leggings to reveal her sweet, freshly shaved pussy; a trickle of wetness still binds her slit to her clothing and her lips are scarlet red.

As she removes her top, she jumps onto the bed to take you in her arms and place your crotch on her slit, licking your body as she moves her pelvis, causing both your sexes to rub against each other. You are devoured by this lioness.

Her breasts are pressed against your mouth and you take the opportunity to suck on her nipples. Your tentacles try to get into her ass, but it's already busy: "No, no, tonight it's all in my pussy," she says, shaking her head.

The friction between your sexes is driving your arousal into overdrive, and your penis is more than ready to come out. Your tentacles had encircled Giselle's body, squeezing you together as each gave pleasure to the other. Giselle's nipples are now marked with your mouth. You feel the tip of your penis quivering at the entrance to her pussy. The rubbing of your sexes creates wet noises that echo around the room.

Giselle can't wait any longer, her pussy needs love and her sperm bakery is more than eager to have its first customers. She lies on her back and spreads her legs, leaving full view of her hungry hole. “Come, Cok, turn me into an octopus slut,” you line up and with a quick thrust, you penetrate her vagina, while you're immediately surrounded by her legs, who intends to feel you deep inside her. “Ohhhhh, say hello to my uterus!”

Frenzy overtakes them both as Giselle wiggles, hoping to reach a deeper place, your cock like a drill inside her. Her walls envelop you tenderly as you ram her with all your might: “More, Cok, fuck meeeeeee, kiss my womb”. You wrap your tentacles around her legs, spreading them wide to give you a full view of where you're lovingly fucking her

“Cumiiiinng, ahhh” cries Giselle as the pressure around your sex sends you skyward and allows you to shoot your first well-deserved load into her. Her juices try to expel themselves from her vagina, but your big cock acts as a seal and your juices mix while hitting her lust-filled walls. “Oh ohh, so hott, your cum is burning me from the inside!, i want more seed”

Far from satisfied, she lies on her stomach to show you both her plump buttocks and the glow of her butt plug as your cum drips from her pussy. She pushes it aside and lets you admire the havoc wreaked by your cock and then with all her carnal lust she says, "Honey, come and plug my wicked leak, we have all night so make sure to fill me again and again" as she wiggles her buttocks.

At a glance, you read “9:13 PM”. Then you move towards her open hole, taking your time to let her feel your thickness. As you push back into her vagina, making contact with her uterus, she cries out in pleasure: “Ohhh, it's finally here, hit me hard, my ovary want to meet lots of your baby seeds”. You feel the perspiration on her body as you strike her ass with your tentacles. Your thrusts go further and further and your “belly” comes to touch her buttplug. Grabbing her hair, you pull her towards you and increase the pace as you feel her repeated orgasms attack your cock. You watch the juices flow out of her as you pull back before returning with a hard thrust, ready for your second load of the evening. You make sure you come to plaster your tip on her womb and, in a final strike, you grab her by the throat and rip her womb open to spill your cum. “Oh oh oh, bredd me Cok!”, you feel your cum flood her insides as some of it comes out while the other remains more stuck deep inside her baby oven.

— 9:48PM

Giselle straddles you as you pound her bouncing breasts, your clit attacked by your tentacles as you send another load her way. Semen drips onto the bed, mixed with her fluids.

— 10:32PM

Her screams never stop, you can see her talent as a singer. She has orgasm after orgasm, her pussy still filled with hot cum that warms the inside of her belly. You don't stop when you reach your fourth orgasm.

— 11:17PM

Both of your exhausted bodies are still at it as she lies on her back again, each of your limbs wrapped around the other; your cock hasn't left her pussy since the orgasm, her body covered in tentacle marks and kisses. Her hard breasts are now in Giselle's mouth as she tries to suck her own milk while her cunt is served by your monstrous rod. You know there won't be another tonight, so you come with your tentacle and remove her butt plug and thrust your tentacle deep into her: "oh. .. mhh... more. breed me." Giselle is unable to form a sentence, her whole body shaking as she surrenders to the pleasure.

— 11:27PM

The front door slams as the group returns to the dorm, but you're both too busy to notice. Giselle's screams echo through her room and it's clear that she's struggling, no doubt heard throughout the apartment. Entering Giselle's room, Karina sees her lying with the blanket over her. "ah ahh, so.rry-unn.ie," she says with considerable struggle. Karina sighs. "Hurry up and finish, you start in a few hours and keep the volume down, the others can hear you like theyre watching TV," Karina says with a sigh. She slams the door.

Meanwhile, you continued to penetrate her, Giselle's legs trembled with pleasure, she had exceeded her limits. "Cok, cok, cok, one more, I want your baby so badly, I want you to conquer my womb, make me your wife," she said, tears in her eyes, far from sadness. Her body no longer knows how to respond to these emotions, but you intend to grant her wish: your sixth charge is your last. Her walls are smooth now, each orgasm comes to squeeze you, then her pussy opens again on your cock. Your cum still drips from her as you prepare to fill her again.

— 11:59PM

As the day draws to a close, you flood Giselle's octopus oven with your cum. Her pussy has become your baby factory. After several hours of effort, you finally pull out. Just then her last orgasm arrives and a stream of juice spills onto her bed. Her cunt is wide open and you see her walls covered with your seed and her well-fed womb.

Giselle lies inert on her bed, her belly full of semen and her head full of stars. It takes her a while to find the strength to get up and look at the damage to her body and bed. As she approaches you, she places a loving kiss on your cock, tasting her own pussy juices. She comes up to you to kiss you and says, "Thanks, Daddy," while touching her belly. You reply in near perfect Korean: "You're welcome, Ms. Cok".

______________________________________________________________

🐙

#giselle aespa #aespa smut #giselle smut #kpop smut #gg smut #giselle x reader

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acidblum · 1 month ago

Text

COLD • A.A.

Wife!Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader (AU) pt2

MASTERLIST DO NOT BUY TLOU

PART I AO3

after what had gone down a week ago, you and your wife go to visit your father-in-law whom seems to have a few guests over and it builds a new fear deep inside you and more chaos ensues in your marital life, forcing you to take a step back, or at least try to do so.. (w/c: 5.2k im so sorry)

WARNINGS: 18+ minors dni..angst, ooc abby anderson, abby calling reader baby, slut. abby choking reader, INFIDELITY, abby hitting reader. bruises. drinking. no smut only angst, dina and ellie cameo, no mention of readers skin colour, or hair texture. (also there will be no part 3)..

A/N: i apologize for being sooo late with this one, life been super hectic lately (which i’m kinda thankful (not really) for otherwise i would’ve never finished this part) it’s been 4 months in the making and i hate to admit that but yah..pls pls tell me your thoughts and inputs on it i wanna know what y’all think about it. if there’s any mistakes or warnings missing please notify me.

After what had gone down you started viewing Abby in a different light entirely, now cold were the arms she wraps around you late at night, the weather was much warmer then how her embrace felt.

She’ll come home smelling of this awful floral perfume when you wore yours in sandalwood and honey. Unfortunately the both of you are on your way to meet with Jerry for the weekly family gathering, on any of the previous ones you would’ve had fun but not now, not after what she did.

Today you woke up with dread filling your body, usually the first thing you feel is the warmth of her body against yours but you can hear her murmuring under her breath.

“make sure to not say anything about what happened last week” she says as she’s tying her bolo tie in front of the mirror in your shared bedroom, the sun peaking through the sheer curtains and reflecting on her french braided hair.

you catch her eyes over your shoulder while you put your light cream boots on “wouldn’t dream of it, don’t worry i already learned the consequences of my actions” your sarcastic tone wasn't news to her— you stand up just to find her face close to yours, hovering over your frame.

“ Did you though?....with that tone of yours it sounds the other way around t’ me” raising an eyebrow at you a dark look washes over her face with her eyes searching in yours for answers.

she closes the distance between you, brushing her cheek against yours—leaving no room for you to take a step back before she brings her cheek against yours, inhaling as much as she could she wraps her strong arms around the front of your neck engulfing your figure. whispering “be nice or else-”

cutting her off “or else what?” A look of hatred all over your face is something you never imagined looking at her with, the love of your life, someone who you thought wanted you, And only you.

smirking at you menacingly “you certainly won’t like the outcome” from where the both of you are standing she looks at the door that leads to the living room where the shotgun is, before giving you a knowing look.

“Oh- and also, a few of my dad’s acquaintances will be there for dinner so make sure to look your best baby” kissing the side of your head she goes back to getting ready, putting the final touches of wearing her trustee black cowboy hat.

Holding yours you follow her. Choosing to stay silent but now it’s ailing you cause Jerry always likes to keep it in the family when it comes to gatherings and outings. Unless she told him something, you choose to brush it off before loading up in Abby's red truck, highly aware of what’s under the seat. Biting your nails she glances at you trying to pay attention to the road with one hand on the steering wheel. “Oh for fuck sa-” reaching out to hold your hand that you’re busy gnawing on.

You flinch, your whole body tensing up when she looks at your face. Seeing the look that she once promised to never be the reason for, blasted all over it “ ‘m not gonna hit you” rubbing her forefingers against the balm of your hand “just’ stop…please” the switch up was crazy and it prompted the lines to start blurring up in your mind, you decide to look outside disassociating as you passed by the big trees and farms thinking that whoever she's been seeing behind your back might live on one of these lands.

Pulling up Jerry's farmhouse you can see his horses roaming freely and a couple of bodyguards in working attire pass by the truck nodding their heads at Abby like some obedient puppets. She passes by them and barks her truck right behind Jerry's, killing the engine. Abby opens the door trying to come and open yours for you but you open it on your own in a haste.

Standing with her arm stretched in front of you, you hear Jerry's heavy footsteps, staring her down before giving her your back and painting a big smile on your face as you walk up the porch where he’s standing with his arms stretched wide open for you with a cigarette dangling off of his left hand “ohh here comes my favourite kid” you try to laugh Hugging him back in a shallow hug. You go on to stand to the side whilst he hugs abby just the same

“Hmph alright..hey dad” smacking her back twice before pulling away and ushering the both of you inside.

“C’mon i need the both of you to meet my new business partner”

Walking into the very expensively decorated living room, funny you’ve already been here many times before marrying Abby with your uncle and also had your wedding in the very spacious backyard but it never stops amusing you how put together it is being kept. You hear the sounds of no more than two people in the dining area, one of them giggling softly with her back towards the both of you.

when you feel Abby slither her hand on your waist to rest there casually without looking at you when the full bearded man notices the three of you walking towards them he starts addressing jerry.

“And here i thought ya’ bailed on me”

“Who me? Isn’t that a dream a’ yours eugene??” they share a chuckle before he turns around and puts his hand on your shoulder. your father in law starts speaking again “this is my very special daughter in law right ‘ere and that's eugene linden my former friend and now work partner” he finally addresses the big elephant in the room which frankly is the prettiest girl with short red auburn hair, the deepest green for eyes and reddest of lips you’ve ever seen.

“Here is his daughter Sara Linden” she takes a glance at Abby noticing how she’s turning fidgety all of a sudden beside you and tips her root beer glass at the both of you in greetings.

smiling back at her tightly you choose to ignore the odd feeling you got from the way she looked at your wife feeling as if you’re missing something—after a moment of silence eugene beckons the both of you to take a seat at the table, you sit beside abby which also puts you facing sara with jerry at the head of the food filled table.

“Sara here has her own company” already at it was jerry when Abby clears her throat and looks across the table at her in an interestingly faux surprise “oh- interesting”. putting your hand on Abby's thigh you act as if nothing is seemingly wrong. you can see her looking at you through your peripheral vision but choose to not look at her, too entranced by the one across the table trying to pinpoint why you feel something is odd. You try to chime in “wow that’s actually amaz-“ just to end up getting cut off by her

“it is! couldn’t imagine doing it any other way luckily i have a supportive family and all that..i’m sure you know quite a lot about family huh?”

Trying to stay composed you can feel abby smirk, the air feels dry and you can feel yourself heaving and your blood boiling. Instead of lashing out you take Abby's left hand and put it on the table to showcase your rings with a bright fake smile.

“Oh my- of course i do..i know plenty as you can see”

Jerry looks at you with a proud look-maybe he does have a soft spot for you- and it just sends your mind spiraling over if Abby's words about her father siding with her had an ounce of truth. maybe you’ll rat her out and see where it goes from there.

“ Now who wouldn’ dream of a daughter in law like mine??” he starts laughing with eugene while sara is glaring at your -still- intertwined hands.

Abby puts her hand on top of yours, patting it twice before pulling away, busying herself with opening another beer bottle. Taking big gulps while you’re still looking at your hand on the table. Seeing Sara looking at you smugly followed by a condescending look.

Eugene and Jerry are in their own world talking about god knows what whilst nursing their beers, the sun is setting and sounds of fireflies buzzing is filling the western humid air. and you can’t help but feel the boredom seeping in.

after saying your farewells and goodbyes you’re already halfway to your farm with abby who insisted to drive whilst tipsy when you offered your help, but ooh god forbid she lets you do anything talking all about how she’s ’not that drunk’

trying to put a stop to it “abigail let me drive..the car is literally swayi-”

she glances at you with crazed eyes “oh shut up you fucking slut!” she lands a punch on the steering wheel setting the horn off making you flinch. “don’t even fucking breathe or so god help me” pointing at you.

you roll your eyes at her, turning your back to her,paying no mind to your wife–still– going off at you. noticing how quiet the world is outside of the big car. when a strong fist connects with your face at wild speed. prompting your ear to ring loudly and all you can hear is the loud ringing. It's like the world stopped for a minute, nothing is moving but the trees and the cold air wafting against your burning skin.

a few minutes passed when she finally pulls up to your quiet farm, still in your shock you question how this is the first time she ever actually landed a hit on you, yes she did threaten you but never did she actually do it, trying to catch your bearings, the both of you sitting quietly in the car, blood boiling— you get out of the car. Smacking the door of her beat up truck as hard as you can.

You open the door running straight into the bedroom locking the door behind you.

Taking full strides behind you but facing none other the locked door was Abby “C’mon you can’t do that!” pounding on the door full force, whilst you try to scramble anything you own putting it into your barrel bag that you usually used for when she had work far away from home and you had to tag along. Trying to breathe deeply and ignore her yelling from the other side of the door,heading into the bathroom to check on your bruise, standing in front of the mirror with tears brimming your eyes. You spit in the sink feeling the iron taste fill your mouth, call it whatever you wanted to call it but you had to get out of there..before you ended up 6 feet under somewhere unknown in this godforsaken farm.

Opening the door with the bag in your right hand, you try to hide it behind your back. But she instantly finds it “oh no baby please no-” with knotted brows trying to hold your face in her hands you winch when her left hand rubs the bruise. You whisper “let me go abigi-”

Shaking her head in defiance tears filling her eyes.

“ i did nothing wrong don’t do this”

“You finally did it abby..look at this” pointing at your face you try to search for remorse in her eyes, anything that tells you she’s sorry for what she did..you find nothing.

“You had it coming!” she holds your hair in her fists bringing your face closer to her’s

“look at me” leaning her forehead against yours“Abigail no” you whisper—faint murmurs of her begging you is all you can hear. finally looking into her eyes that are brimming red with them beautiful pouty lips you’ve grown to love and ache for, but you know there’s no going back after this.

“i’ll just..go to dina’s for a while hm?”

“we can talk this ou-”

“just for a few days please abby” you beg “i need this” you try to put your hand on top of hers to make her ease up the harsh hold she’s got on your hair. She scoffs “and what am i supposed to do huh?” thrashing her arms around she throws a vase that is next to her on the floor, shattering it into pieces.

she pauses “Fine alright you can go..it’ll do us some good” searching her eyes “really?” she hums, turning her back towards you with finality.

“i’ll drop you off..c’mon” picking the bag you walk behind her towards the door whilst questioning what came down onto her that made her change her mind. She turns abruptly “on a second thought tho-” before you know it she has the side of your head in her palm and smashes it against the wall. And before you can react everything turns dark.

The sun is shining through the curtains furiously, you try to open your burning eyes. Just to find a man with his back facing you in a suit with a lab coat on standing at the door with a bag clutched in his hand talking to Abby whom still didn't notice you stirring awake in the bed you've been tucked into neatly, no longer in your clothes from the previous day -or was it days?- with an IV connected to your wrist. Wincing at the horrible pain you’re feeling on the side of your head and cheeks you try to catch your bearings, listening to what the man is whispering.

“Does your father know of this?”

“No he doesn't…and don't you dare gale”

“Just cause i owe ya’ one” she puts her arm on his shoulder in silent thanks, he nods before he walks out of the door silently. Trying to fake sleeping you close your eyes shut tightly hoping she’ll just not talk to you or call out your bluff.

Staying still you hear the clattering of things around and what seems to be Abby putting on her jacket followed by the thudding of her boots—shes murmuring under her breath and you can hear a faint harsh “fuck” spat right out of her mouth like venom. The door closes behind her and of course she locks the door shut twice. you open your eyes, trying to regulate your heart that's hammering inside your rib cage, making an effort you know you shouldn’t do.

you sit up slowly trying to get accustomed to the harsh lighting. Looking around the bedroom thinking of a way to get out of this hell, in a moment of irrationality you pull the iv needle as fast as you can-gasping at the pinch of pain—you get out of the bed, taking small steps towards the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror you think to yourself that your eyes must be deceiving you, your face looks very foreign. A bruise on your cheek with a split lip, followed with a feeling of lightheaded-ness prompting you to clutch the sink with your life. Shaking yourself awake you splash some water on your face. Knowing full well you can’t just sit still and wait till your wife comes back and ends you, it never ends well once it starts.

Calling Dina from the landline phone, you bite your nails. You don't know where abby’s gone and all you can do is hope that she doesn't come back before Dina gets here-if she would even pick up- she does interrupting you clattered thoughts “hey?”

Getting choked up upon hearing her voice you can hear Ellie in the background asking her who it is whilst JJ seems to be fussing. “Dina” whispering as you try to find your voice and failing miserably-She calls your name “breathe f’ me” you try doing as she says. Tears well up in your eyes.

“what happened?..where’s your useless wife now!?”

“Dina p-please can you-” you take a moment sniffing and trying to not think of it and the sudden cruelty that must’ve been brewing all of the past months. “and Ellie come pick m-me up?”

She replies instantly “yes of course..hang in there we’ll be there in a second”

“t-thank you dee” wiping the tears off of your cheeks-you hang up before getting up and opening the closet, taking the first thing you see and putting it on all whilst trying to keep your ears on the door—for if Abby shows up, you see the bag tucked neatly under the bed and take it out thanking god she didn’t put everything you've packed back or else you’d have to leave without anything. Tears are still streaming down your face, wetting your white shirt.

Sitting at the edge of the bed you look around—contemplating if this is the right thing to do.

it hurts physically to admit but you’ve always loved Abby and you’ve always imagined growing old next to her. She made you laugh and was the absolute most loving wife..until she cheated. You never asked if her cheating was emotional but based on the kiss that was on her collar you can tell there was more than just that happening. Maybe it’s time she understood the loss of your love and affection, fuck the consequences and to hell with what Jerry would think of you, he might even send someone searching-you’re well aware of what happens to those who choose to stay-it becomes a non-ending cycle.

A few minutes pass by whilst you’re engrossed with your thoughts before the sound of a car pulling into the driveway fills your ears, jumping on your feet in quick movement that nearly knocks you down just as fast as you stood. Praying that it isn’t Abby you clutch the bag in your arms before walking reluctantly towards the only window in the room-which is facing the driveway- just to see Dina followed by Ellie get out of the car with A look of fear blasted all over their faces.

You start knocking on the window frantically, Ellie noticing your face and -the bruise clear as day- her mouth moving in whispers calling out to Dina whose hand was close to knocking the door. You can hear her muffled words in anger “fucking Abigail-” wiping her face in distraught she gives Ellie a look and a nod towards the car, the taller brunette goes to the backseat taking out what seems to be a club hammer and you can already understand what she’ll be doing-taking ten steps back into the bedroom-

Your mind wanders to Abby, she could come back anytime now and it’ll get more severe. The history that went down between Ellie and Abby was bad and lasted until Abby isolated you and made up plans out of her head whenever you’ve voiced that Dina invited you to her house or any of that sorts. She was very adamant on making you exist as hers and have no other friends-unless it’s her-

The sound of glass shattering fills your ears prompting you to curl inwards against the wall—flashes from the other day filling your vision, Ellie helps Dina step in, who sprints towards you and you can’t help but break down in tears when she hugs you tight, rubbing your back.

“What did she fucking do now? Hm?” in a tone of concern, you can sense how hard she’s trying to stay calm with the way she’s rubbing up and down your arms in consolation. Shaking your head “what didn’t she do?” your voice breaking in agony. Ellie notices the bag in your hand-taking it without a word- pursing her lips in anger “that bitch-we need to get you out of here c’mon”

Gnawing at your lips you can’t take the idea of Abby coming after you out of your mind whilst trying not to dissociate. Dina helps you jump out the window and into the open green field-taking full strides- you get in the car hastily—praying that the blonde doesn’t come back now. Shaking you out of your trance is Dina's hand holding yours from the front seat. You look into the rear view mirror where she looks at you in reassurance.

That's how Dina always was with you, the most caring, loving, understanding. Even after telling her about Abby who always had a pristine history-she still wasn't getting it-but was very considerate about how you felt for your wife. When you showed her the engagement ring she and Ellie gave you the talk-if you were hundred percent sure of your choice- she even took a step further and went with you to pick your wedding attire.

The further the car goes the louder your heart beats against your rib cage-sensing yourself hyperventilating-you try to take deep breaths. Seeing your friends mouths move but unable to hear them clearly, you feel the need to claw at your throat. You can make out Ellie mouthing at you to breathe deep, blinking frantically. All you can see is red, vision going foggy before Dina is suddenly beside you in the backseat whispering in your ear “breathe f’ me” looking at her with tears brimming your eyes with her arm looped around you rocking you left and right, she starts taking deep breaths and it isn't that long before you start following her steps, feeling your ears pause the ringing. “ ‘m good now” you nod sniffing.

Ellie looks back “if she ever comes back i’ll kill her”

“Hell i’ll do it first” Dina retorts with her arms still around you, she glances at you before averting her eyes to the moving road outside “we’re with you” she promises.

“Thank you..the both of y’all” you whisper.

looking back at the farm. observing everything that has gone down in your memory, the marriage, the love and all the growth—all of that for nothing?..

Abigail Anderson..oh how soft and warm inside saying her name made you feel, as if every time you said it and mentioned her you fell more and more in love with her. saying it now makes the hole in your heart expand with hatred and dread.

“oh hell no” Ellie spits out when you notice what she’s talking about. Abby's truck is tailing ellie’s at a dangerous speed. you try to duck down the seat—you can feel your knees weaken. Looking into Dina's eyes “She’s gonna kill me” comes out in a choked whisper.

“Oh i’d love to see her try”

“The bitch knows where we live but don’t you worry”

“Dina baby grab the pistol f’ me”

She does as told by her wife, kneeling and taking said pistol out of the compartment under the chair, checking the glove,which seems to be loaded. A look of terror passes your face-yes you’ve thought and tried to kill Abby but now the possibilities are endless and honestly Dina would take one for you and do it with no hesitations-in the end her and Ellie have Joel and he is no easy man for Abby to try and hurt his daughter and daughter-in-law.

Soon enough Ellie is pulling up to their farm, you’ve been here a handful of times before you married Abby and once after you married her and it was hell because you had to beg her for a whole week to let you visit them and promise you’ll never ask anymore-which you never did afterwards. And every time you saw Dina and Abby was with you she'd tell you that you’re leaving-without even letting you say your goodbyes she’d yank your arm straight to the car. Making you very embarrassed and the next day you’ll call Dina to apologize.

Abby parks right behind Ellie in front of the house, before getting out of the car and coming to ellie's side of the car, tapping twice on the window. Ellie sighs—rolling her eyes before complying.

“Anderson” tapping her fingers against the steering wheel

“Cut the bullshit Williams i know damn well she's there with you”

“Uhh no she isn’t??”

“Yes the fuck she is” going as far as trying to open the car door and side track the brunette-Ellie locking it just as quick. “Not very quick Abigail..gotta work on that” she chuckles in your wife’s face whilst you’re trying to stay silent. Dina breathes before preparing and when Abby takes two steps back. Dina taps Ellie's shoulder to open the lock. Getting out of the door she tucks the pistol in her pants. Walking up to the other one in full strides.

She growls “You fucked up Abigail..big time fucker!”

“Oh c’mon she just fell”

“As if I'll believe your lies” she spits

“How many times did I tell you if you hurt her I'll kill you? Hm??”

The blonde folds her arms in defiance “she’s my fucking wife! I’ll do whatever the fuck i please to her”

Getting fed up you open the door punching your wife in the face as hard as you could, wincing when it hurts your knuckles instead, Ellie gets out of the car after killing the engine.

“You need to leave Anderson, you’re not welcome around here”

“Not without what belongs to me” she glances at you

Dina holds your face in her hand “look at what you did! Is this the way we treat what belongs to us??”

“She’s not going with you”

“Just leave Abby” tears stream down your cheeks “you disgust me”

“And i’ll send you the papers in the mail..make sure to sign them”

“Oh she will” Dina looks at Abby with her nose high.

“Are you out of your mind?” You can see a vein pop in Abby's forehead.

“I’ll always love what we had..but you broke it apart with your own paws”

Abby tries to walk your way—getting stopped when Ellie puts her gun cladded hand on Abby's stomach. “I think you heard her” raising an eyebrow at her “my dad will never allow you to tarnish our marriage” she spits in your friends faces “that’s questionable..oh my! we can go dad for dad how about that Anderson??” she says sarcastically

“Goodbye Abigail” you say in finality. Dina puts her arm around your shoulder-walking you inside their humble farmhouse, Ellie follows after shoving Abigail out the way.

a few weeks passed after what had gone down at your friend's farm—you’re still staying with them. You’ve promised to find a place as quick as you could but got brushed off by Dina saying that it’s best if you continue to stay with them.

You never know when Abigail—whom still didn’t sign the papers..will find a way to nudge herself back into your life. The bruises she gave you look dark and purple-ish as of now, you knew it’ll take some time to heal but also it’s a matter of time until someone sees it and then everyone living within a five-mile radius will know about what your wife has done to you.

“There’s a gathering in the bar today to celebrate miss moo’s 85th birthday” Dina says, shaking you out of the trance you’ve been in “i think you should come with us”

looking down at your hands. “I don't know dee..”

“it’s alright, take your time, but it’ll be a nice change hm? you haven’t been out since that day”

you nod at her from your place at the dining table. looking down at yourself you can see how unkempt you look, maybe it is a good change..hoping nothing bad would happen you make up your mind. Going ahead and taking a cold shower, you wear your usual attire with a button up shirt and a pair of jeans alongside your working boots. making sure to not forget your hat.

maybe it’ll steer their eyes away from the bruises.

the ride to the bar was an easy quick one, the bar is well known and everyone around the block frequents it—if there’s any gatherings it’s always done in this bar, owned by Tommy Miller and his wife maria. Even before you’ve grown into who you are now, you used to spend time with Ellie and Dina in this bar watching movies and eating popcorn for free until it was too late to go home—sometimes waking up with Tommy standing with his arms crossed looking down at your guilty—and very hungover faces.

Ellie parks her truck in front of the yellow lit bar which seems to be buzzing with people inside and out—you breathe in..and out holding on for dear life, before heading in with your head low.

The country music was bellowing all across the bar, with Tommy and Joel tending to everyone else you can make out Maria chatting with one of the regular’s to your right.

Ellie chimes “i gotta catch up with the big boss..just a sec’ ” prompting you and Dina to nod before taking your usual table—which all of you agreed upon as teenagers and now has your initials carved into the table top.

“It’ll be real nasty if she showed up here” you mutter

She chuckles before responding “Well it’ll be out of character if she didn’t”

“She’s obsessed” Ellie puts the three beers down before sliding into the chair next to Dina putting her arm on the back of Dina's and you can’t help but notice—now that’s one thing you won’t be able to experience because of her actions.

From your place at the table you see the door open up and lo and behold, none other than Abigail Anderson walks in, all polished up like a mare of a distinctive breed with her hair put in a neat braid—shame she couldn’t be as loyal as horses were. Waltzing in like she owned the place before.. “what the actual fu-” Dina spits out, of course this is the “lady” and it’s Sara.

Everyone around the bar is looking at Abby and her new plaything, some with disgust, some in amusement. Your mind can’t help but wander to her dad and you know too well that he cares too much for his legacy and reputation to allow his daughter to marry a fickle girl like the one that has her hand in your soon-to-be ex-wife’s hand. He tried to come see you but was faced with a very pissed Dina and Joel.

You can see Joel go up to Abby and treat her like any other customer, you also can see Abby smirk at him before telling him what she and her plaything wants which he responds to by pursing his lips into a thin line. When Sara seems to be searching for someone and her eyes fall right on you, prompting you to lift your hat for her to see your face clear as day— a look of fear that gets just as quickly concealed by smugness passes through her face.

Dina tries to jump up before you stop her in her tracks, you shake your head in defiance making her reddened angry face soften and her shoulder’s relax a bit before she mutters “i’m so sorry” you hold her hand in yours “you don’t need to dee” a sad smile graces your face.

“It’s only a matter of time..i feel it in my bones”

Ellie chuckles “amen to that huh?” before taking a few gulps of her beer followed by you doing the same—with a very well concealed heartache bellowing between your rib cage.

#☆-acidblum #writings done by yours truly🙂‍↕️#abby anderson #the last of us #tlou2 #abby tlou #the last of us 2 #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson angst #ellie williams #dina woodward #abby anderson x reader #tlou angst #tlou

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adverbally · 3 months ago

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Think of the Tender Things

———

The NICU has its own window, far enough from the regular nursery to seem intentional. It makes sense to Eddie, theoretically speaking— keep the preemies and the sick babies away from the healthy ones so the comparison isn’t so startling. It just doesn’t work that well if they have to walk past the full-term nursery anyway.

They pause to observe the fat, happy newborns who will be going home in the next day or two. They’re all chubby cheeks and chunky limbs, round little tummies swaddled tightly with matching caps on their heads, just like the parenting books advertise.

Steve’s hand squeezes his, and Eddie knows he’s feeling the same thing: that’s how it should’ve been, and all of the guilt and fear and bitterness that goes along with that line of thinking.

They keep walking down the hall until they reach the door indicating the special care nursery. The glass there is smaller, since fewer babies fit in a room when they’re surrounded with incubators and ventilators and monitors galore.

The second bassinet from the right has a card with a stork that says “Baby Boy Munson” and wow, that’s going to take some time to get used to. Eddie gets closer, almost pressing his nose against the glass, to get a better look.

“He’s so small,” Steve says beside him. “I figured he would be, but…”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. It says right there on the little card: three pounds, thirteen ounces. Sixteen inches long. Not the smallest baby there but noticeably smaller than the ones they just walked past. “A lot of hair, too.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet after that. There’s not much they can comment on before they have to acknowledge the fact that they’ve just become adoptive parents a full two months ahead of schedule.

Their son (holy shit) seems even smaller with the tubes and wires obscuring him. Eddie identifies an oxygen cannula, a feeding tube, chest leads, an IV, and a blood pressure cuff, plus a few other lines he doesn’t know the purpose of. When you factor in a diaper that seems to dwarf half of his tiny body, there’s barely any skin visible. And from what Eddie understands, they’re lucky that more serious care isn’t necessary.

“Thirty-two weeks. That’s not… it could be worse,” Steve said after they got the call from the adoption agency that morning. The whole drive to the hospital, he rambled about lung maturity and the suck/swallow reflex and birth weight, going into one of Eddie’s ears and out the other as he tried to focus on the road.

Steve was the one who read all the books. Even the parts about premature births and what could go wrong throughout the pregnancy. “I’d just rather know and be prepared,” he explained. “Just to cover our bases.”

Eddie had skipped those chapters. It felt like bad luck, like tempting fate or something, as if avoiding it would prevent anything from happening. In retrospect, he wishes he had more of a clue about what’s going on, what their future will look like.

Any future seems far away when the present is so uncertain. Eddie watches his son squirm, with his too-long limbs and his too-big head, and he watches his chest rise and fall with each breath. His tiny lungs are working and he’s moving and none of his machines are beeping, and that has to be enough for now.

Just keep breathing, please, he thinks desperately. Keep growing and getting stronger and we’ll worry about the rest later.

When Steve breaks the silence, his voice is small. “Do you think we can hold him? Or, or touch him, at least?”

Eddie doesn’t want to. He knows it’s just his anxiety talking, but he’s terrified that he’ll pull some essential line or do something wrong. He was supposed to have another two months to prepare for this. How do people prepare for this?

“Ed, are you okay?” Steve’s voice startles him back into awareness.

“Yeah, just…” He pauses to think about how to say it without alarming Steve. He settles on, “I’m scared.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie’s neck and pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m scared, too,” he confesses in a whisper. “I think we’re gonna keep being scared for the next eighteen years, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

Eddie tucks his nose just under Steve’s ear and breathes him in, sweet shampoo and hints of spicy cologne in the collar of his jacket. They stay like that for long moments before Eddie sighs and pulls away with a decisive nod. “Okay. Let’s go meet our son.”

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #once again I do all this research and use hardly any of it #I definitely have one more prompt that will require some medical stuff #but after that I’m taking a loooong break lol

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corroded-hellfire · 4 months ago

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Prompt Day 30: Fame and Fortune

Words: 1000

Rating: T

Pairing: Eddie x Reader

CW: language

Summary: When rockstar Eddie and his actress wife go to buy a sports car, their salesman has a familiar face

@corrodedcoffinfest

Eddie didn’t think his life could get much better. He’s a Grammy Award winning rockstar in a band with his best friends, he’s married to you, a smoking hot Oscar Award winning actress, and you two have your dream life all planned out. Where you want to live, how many kids you want to have, and even what cars you want to drive.

Which leads you to a Ferrari dealership in Chicago. It’s not where you live, but if you happen to find a car you fall in love with, you have more than enough money to have it delivered to your home.

The two of you step into the pristine white building, Eddie’s hand held snugly in yours. A dealer makes his way out of the offices in the back to greet you, and you hear Eddie let out a surprised scoff. You turn your head to look at him in question, but he’s looking straight ahead at the shorter man approaching you.

“Well, long time no see,” Eddie says once the man is close enough.

The salesman looks cowed. There’s a pained pinch to his face, like Eddie is the last person he wants to see and this is the last place he wants to be.

“Welcome in,” the man says. He looks from your husband to you. “My name is Jason. What can I help you with today?”

Eddie’s hand falls from your own and he stretches his arm out and over your shoulders. A glance in his direction shows a satisfied smirk on his pretty face.

“The wife and I would like to purchase a new car. Thought we’d test drive some Ferrari’s and see if anything catches our attention.”

“Uh, sure,” Jason says, slipping his hands into the pockets of his khakis. “I’ll meet you outside and we’ll take a look at some cars?”

“Sounds good,” Eddie says.

He steers you towards the side door while Jason heads toward the offices.

The shit-eating grin on your husband’s face confuses you and the moment you step outside, you question him.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“That shrimp is one Jason Carver,” he says as you wander between cars.

It takes a moment for the name to click. You skid to a stop, causing Eddie’s arm to slip from your shoulders.

“That’s the guy who was such an asshole to you in high school?”

The shock on your face only adds to Eddie’s giddiness.

“That’s him.”

“Ugh,” you groan as you start to walk through the sea of Ferrari’s again.

“Aw, baby!” It’s Eddie’s turn to come to a halt. He grabs your hands and excitedly bounces on the balls of his feet. “Can we please, please, please act like douchey rich snobs? You’re an actress, think of it as an exercise.”

You can’t help but laugh. He drops your hands and you reach up to cup his face.

“Let’s fuck with the asshole,” you agree.

By the time Jason comes out to meet you, you and Eddie have narrowed it down to two different cars you’d like to test drive: a red Ferrari and a yellow one.

Eddie slips into the driver’s seat for the test drive of the red one. As soon as he pulls out onto the main road and lets it get up to speed, he prompts you for the first bit of fake snobbery.

“What do you think, sweetheart?”

A long-suffering sigh escapes your lips as you lean back in your seat, wearing the most bored facial expression that you can manage.

“Ferraris have a reputation for speed,” you say, “but they don’t have the same level of meticulous craftsmanship found in an Aston Martin.”

Eddie has to dig his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from laughing. This act is so in contrast to your true personality last night when you found a fun sized KitKat in the bottom of your purse and were excited about it for the rest of the day.

“Ferrari’s have a more aerodynamic design than Aston Martins, which allows them to have a more aggressive and efficient performance,” Jason says from the back seat.

You don’t bother with a response, only humming a small, uninterested “mm” before turning your head to gaze out the window.

When you arrive back at the dealership, it’s your turn to get behind the wheel of the yellow sports car and Eddie’s turn to come up with obnoxious things to say.

“It’s really minimalist in here, isn’t it?” Eddie asks, inspecting the dials and buttons built into the dashboard. “You wouldn’t even know it’s a Ferrari if you didn’t look at the emblem on the steering wheel.”

“And it doesn’t ride as smoothly as the Porsche I drove in my last movie,” you add.

“Was it a prop car?” Jason asks.

You let out an offended snort.

“Absolutely not. You think I can’t tell the difference?”

“Oh no, that’s not what I meant to imply,” Jason says apologetically.

It’s the closest you and Eddie come to bursting out laughing.

“Was that in the superhero movie, baby?” Eddie asks.

“Hmm? Oh no, I drove a Lamborghini in that one,” you brag. “Which also rode smoother than this.”

This time when you get back to the dealership, Jason can’t get out of the car fast enough. You and Eddie share an amused look as you trail behind him back towards the building. Something tells you that Jason is going to be getting a drink after work tonight.

“So, what did you really think, babe?” you ask Eddie quietly, slipping your arm around his waist.

“I actually really liked the red one,” he admits with a laugh. “I’d hate to give him commission on a sale, though.”

“Aww, Eds,” you coo. “But then you’ll be the bigger man.”

“True.” Eddie considers. “Eh, what the hell? Then I can also hold being the bigger person over himl.”

You can’t help but giggle. It’s not exactly what you meant, but you can hardly blame him.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #corrodedcoffinfest #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #CCF

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chocostrwberry · 6 months ago

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If yall have noticed, I often mention “seasons” when describing the timeline of my AU.

“Choco?? What are these seasons you are talking about? Why are there only three when the show has five??”

Sit down, little one, and let me tell you a story…

AHDKWHSJ JK JK

But anyways-

I have split the events that happen in my AU into seasons because then it’s easier for me to keep my facts and timeline in order! All episodes are in exact order/sequence of events!

Season 1: Gabriel can create sentimonsters.

In this season, it’s establishing the world of Miraculous. Marinette and Adrien is learning how to be miraculous holders while navigating their own lives.

Origins: Marinette becomes Ladybug for the first time alongside Chat Noir to defeat Stormy Weather.

Ladybug and Chat Noir defeat an Akumatized Mylène, Animelle. Together, they visit Master Fu for more information on their new duties.

Marinette has a hard time balancing being Ladybug and her civilian self. Ladybug and Chat Noir have to team up to defeat a game-themed teenage akuma.

Sweetpea: Marinette enters a design challenge with Alix, and Adrien is her model! Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea after a health scare makes her unable to help her team with their design.

To Be or Not to Be: There is a school play, and Chloe will stop at nothing to get the main lead. Ladybug struggles to win over Chat Noir, who seems oblivious to her attempts at flirting.

Boy meets Girl: Marinette develops a crush on the class’s most popular boy after defending Juleka against Chloe. LB and CN battle Reflekta.

Princess Justice: Marinette is chosen to submit a dress design to high-fashion company represented by Chloe’s mother. Jealous of her success, Chloe destroys her project, causing Marinette to be Akumatized.

Fish Food: Ladybug and Chat Noir have to defeat an akuma who goes by the name of Captain Kraken. For the Winter Ball, Marinette makes plans to ask Luka to be her date.

Winter Formal: The winter formal is here, but Marinette is worried about an akuma attack that might ruin her chances with Luka.

Be My Lover: Now that Marinette is officially dating Luka, Adrien’s jealousy becomes more apparent. Chloe’s repetitive and harsh rejections of Kim turns him into Dark Cupid.

Road Rage: Adrien has a fight with Chloe about her behavior towards others, and she acts out once again and Nino is akumatized into a foul-mouthed biker with a vendetta against her.

New Girl: A transfer student is introduced to the class, but Marinette is suspicious of her two-faced behavior.

Prophetica: Marinette’s constant lying and lack of trust makes her and Alya have a fight after she fails to bring cupcakes to her sisters’ birthday party.

Primadonna: After Chloe’s mother decides to take her half-sister to her movie premiere debut instead of her last-minute, Chloe becomes Primadonna and turns Paris into her own personal black-and-white film.

Sabrina seeks Marinette’s help to expose Lila after she comes between Sabrina and Chloe’s friendship.

King of Music: Jagged Stone is akumatized and it is revealed that Luka and Juleka are his children. Marinette’s duties as Ladybug become more demanding and her relationship with Luka strains.

Winter Wonderland: After Chloe misses one of Sabrina’s recitals, she is Akumatized into Ice Queen and turns Paris into an eternal winter.

Marinette misses one of Luka’s concerts, where he was going to debut a song he wrote for her. They break up and he is Akumatized into Heartrocker.

Liar, Liar: Marinette finally tells the class who Lila really is, but they have a hard time believing her. Lila is Akumatized into Miss Miracle and offers her services to Hawkmoth in order to take down Ladybug.

Lila strikes a deal with Gabriel when Adrien invites her over to his home out of pity. Hawkmoth’s identity and motives are revealed. Chat Noir takes Ladybug to see Master Fu for help because of Plagg’s warning against Lila.

A New Guardian: Master Fu makes Ladybug the new Guardian before Lila can get to the Miracle Box.

Goldbug: The peacock miraculous is fixed. Hawkmoth unifies the miraculous to become Shadowmoth. He creates Miss Miracle’s first sentimonster: Goldbug. Marinette becomes Firefly to defeat them both.

The time span for this season is about 4 months, starting in the beginning of Junior year.

Season 2: Emelie wakes up.

This season focuses on the lore of the miraculous. Ladybug unifies miraculous every other episode to defeat both akumas and sentimonsters. Lots of kwami-swaps and unified ladybug happen in this season! (Scarabella, Queen Bee, Carapace, Ladybee, etc.) Marinette is also warming up to Adrien.

Chat Noir is skeptical she’s the right pick to be guardian, and she takes that personally. She decides to unify against Reflekta and her sentimonster, Reflekdoll.

Mr. Midas: After rejecting an expensive present, Chloe’s father is Akumatized into Mr. Midas and wants to turn everything into gold for his beloved daughter. Tigerbug and Chat Noir try and defeat him and his sentimonster.

Sweet Dreams: Ladybug becomes Hercula after a sleepy akuma discreetly puts Paris into an eternal slumber.

A Spider’s Web: Ladybug becomes Mantigirl to defeat Arachnia, a kindergarten teacher who is Akumatized at the Paris Zoo and trapped Adrien and others.

Marinette comes down with a mysterious illness, and so it’s up to Scarabella and Chat Noir to save Paris from an Akumatized grandmother and her gang of angry sentidogs!

The Wailing Lady: Firefly and CN battle against a grieving widow and her sentimonster, a giant willow tree in the middle of Paris who she believes is her deceased spouse.

Sugar and Spice: Marinette faints while working at the bakery. This makes Sabine anxious, and she is Akumatized into Mother Desserts. Marinette and Chat Noir work together to save her.

Tikki suggests giving others different miraculous to help her fight the akumas and sentimonsters. Adrien tells Chloe about his crush on Marinette thanks to Plagg. Chat Noir visits Marinette and takes her on a trip around Paris.

Operation Ladybug: Luka suspects Marinette is Ladybug, and he recruits Alya to help him figure out the truth. Chloe starts treating Marinette with less disdain, much to everyone’s surprise. Firefly and Chat Noir fight another akuma and sentimonster.

Bon Appétit!: Alya’s mother becomes akumatized while working at the hotel. Ladybug and Alya work together while Chat Noir tries to keep Chloe and Sabrina. Alya’s suspicions are confirmed, but she tells Luka to stop digging.

Kwami Captor: After some mischevious kwami escape the miracle box with their jewels, Marinette becomes Multimouse to hunt them all down.

Queen Bee: Chloe decides to use the Bee miraculous she found to try and help Mantigirl and Chat Noir. Her need for attention makes the mission not go according to plan. Chat Noir and Marinette have an argument about his secret identity.

Protector of All: Nino and Adrien are in charge of elitist children for a day while Marinette and the class set up a school sponsor event. When an akuma attacks, it’s up to Nino to protect the kids while Tigerbug and Chat Noir defends them. Luka finally gives up his suspicions.

Miracle Team: The Miracle Team meet up for the first time to take down an akuma. But they struggle to actually work together! Chat Noir breaks up with Marinette, leaving them both devastated.

Soulmates: Marinette and Adrien spend the day together to find a gift for Chloe’s birthday. Nathalie finds out about Gabriel and Lila’s dark deeds with Hawkmoth.

Happy Birthday Chloe!: Chloe’s birthday party goes awry, thanks to Lila’s sabotage, and Chloe is Akumatized.

Sick Day: Marinette is too sick to go to school most days and struggles with night terrors. She is worried about her health, and talks to Tikki about it. Alya, Nino, Luka, and Sabrina try to clear Marinette’s name. Adrien visits Marinette at the bakery.

Marinette vs The World: Marinette’s friends finally has what they need to prove Lila is terrible once and for all. But Adrien isn’t sure it’s the best idea.

Cheer up, Marinette: After unifying once again to defeat an akuma, Marinette’s condition is so bad she is bedridden and cannot celebrate Chinese New Year with her family. The kwamis try to cheer her up. Adrien is growing worried about his father’s health and seeks comfort in Nathalie.

Like Mother, Like Daughter: Chloe’s influencer half-sister, Zoe, comes to Paris. Chloe humiliates her out of hurt and anger, and Zoe is Akumatized into Delightfulee.

Reign of Bourgeois: Chloe’s mother arrives in Paris after hearing about her outburst against Zoe. She is then promptly akumatized into Stylix and takes over the city. What’s worse, she has put a bounty on Chloe’s head.

A Sunny Day: The Miracle Team accepts Vesperia as the new Bee miraculous holder. Her outgoing positivity is welcomed, but her hesitation puts them in danger.

Never Trust a Fox: Trixx abandons Alya and runs away with the fox miraculous, pledging his loyalty to Lila instead. Volpina tricks LB and Chat Noir into thinking she’s on their side. Ladybug has to unify once again in order to defeat her and the akuma once she betrays them.

The Wish, Pt. 1: Because Marinette is out of commission, Scarabella, Vesperia, Carapace, and Chat Noir have to fight against Volpina, The Wailing Lady, and her sentimonster.

The Wish, Pt 2: Gabriel now has the Ladybug and Cat miraculous. Marinette and Adrien follow Volpina to the Agreste mansion, and Adrien learns the hard truth about his father.

By the end of the season, Shadowmoth has completed his mission and trades his life for Emelie’s. A part of Lila’s backstory is revealed.

This season ends at the end of Junior year, breaching into summer.

Season 3: Marinette’s Sacrifice

This is the final season of my AU!

Summer Break: Adrien’s doppelgänger cousin Felix attends the school after visiting with his aunt and uncle over the summer to help Emelie readjust. Lila now has a new name, Cerise Blanc, a woman sent by The Order. Emelie decides to give Cerise the butterfly and peacock miraculous in exchange for her having The Order keep an eye on Adrien. Cerise unifies the Peacock and Butterfly miraculous to become The Empress.

Return of the Butterfly: Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea once again after receiving devastating news about her condition. The Miracle Team return to take it down.

The Emperor’s Daughter: Adrien’s mother surprises him with his fiancé, Kagami, who he hasn’t seen in years. Her social class proves difficult for her to make friends.

Paper Flowers: Because of his shy nature, Felix makes an origami flower with a romantic poem written inside of it for Kagami. However, Kagami believes it was Adrien and becomes determined to make their relationship work.

Felix becomes depressed over Adrien and Kagami’s relationship while going out with them for the upcoming winter formal. Emelie grows jealous of how close Nathalie is with Adrien and sends her on a business trip abroad.

Boys’ Night: Emelie’s hovering nature makes Nino worried for Adrien. He starts to encourage Adrien to rebel a bit, but Nino didn’t expect Adrien to become so out of control when he’s off a leash. Meanwhile, the girls on the Miracle Team are having a sleepover to buy exclusive Jagged Stone tickets.

The Star: Adrien is akumatized into The Star after Emelie tells him she will unenroll him from school and return to homeschooling because of his recent behavior. She also fires Nathalie.

Tales of Scarabella and Kitty Noire: Adrien is under house arrest and Marinette’s sickness is coming back, so Scarabella and Kitty Noire have to keep Paris safe!

Hanabira: Kagami witnesses Adrien and Marinette together while waiting for their date at the Louvre, and is Akumatized and takes over the museum.

The Masked Lady and Me: When Cerise catches Felix looking for the peacock miraculous, Cerise later introduces herself as Madame Morphosis and makes a deal with him to avoid unification sickness. Felix’s backstory is revealed.

Our Frozen Hearts: Felix and Marinette find an unexpected common ground when they are forced to watch Adrien and Kagami dance together as Winter King and Queen.

Sentimaggedon: Madame Morphosis tests Felix to see whether or not she should let him keep the peacock miraculous she gave to him. In a desperate attempt to prove himself, Felix as Argos creates multiple sentimonsters that accidentally bring about the apocalypse. It’s up to the Miracle Team, with Dragonbug, to save the city.

Cat and Mouse: Marinette uses the Mouse miraculous once again to be undercover while dealing with akuma-related disappearances. But Chat Noir won’t take any chances and hunts her down to bring her miraculous to Ladybug.

The End of Us: Kagami breaks off the engagement with Adrien. Adrien then asks out Marinette, who delightfully says yes.

Motherbird: Emelie willingly becomes Akumatized by Madame Morphosis in order to keep her son Adrien under her watchful eye.

Sing a Little Song: Clara Nightingale, an American popstar and a close friend to Zoe, comes to Paris to shoot a music video. But her overbearing manager and strict schedule causes her to become akumatized into Frightingale.

Birds of Prey: While hanging out with Marinette, Kagami is kidnapped by Argos. The Miracle Team have to defeat Argos’s sentimonsters in order to rescue her.

Frenemies: Adrien is trying to get Chloe to warm up more to the idea of Marinette and him being together. Marinette helps Felix overcome his fears and talk to Kagami.

Bonded by Our Sins: After getting closer to Kagami, Felix tries to back away from Madame Morphosis’s control. However, she scares him into submission by threatening to hurt Kagami.

Who is Lila Rossi?: Argos is sent by Madame Morphosis to take Marinette’s miracle box after being informed by Trixx. But him and Marinette devise a plan to trick her.

True Love: Felix confesses his feelings to Kagami at the fashion show and shares his secret with her. Volpina hunts Marinette’s classmates one by one for the scattered miraculous, using extreme measures to get what she wants.

Let’s Do This, Together: The miracle team, along with Argos, has to defend Paris against Lila, who has unified most of the miraculous and become a magical hybrid monster.

Always and Forever: Ladybug and Chat Noir decide to take one last stand against Lila.

Happily Ever After: Marion, a 12 year old girl, discovers small magical creatures who live in her favorite music box!

Quick explanation for episodes 22-24:

Lila collects and unifies most of the miraculous, becoming a monster-animal hybrid and losing herself and all sense of rational. Marinette exposes her identity to all of Paris because of her, and Marinette is aware in a few hours everyone she’s ever known will forget her. Chat Noir reveals himself as Adrien to her before she takes his and the Ladybug miraculous, and unifies them to become Gimmi Marinette and destroy her for good!

Marinette feels Senti-Queen’s mixed emotions of betrayal and hate and loneliness, and her kindness shines through. She uses the Lucky Charm to rebirth Ah Lam as a child, giving her the opportunity to live a normal and love-filled life, the one she never had.

The time span is towards the end of Senior Year, when they were suppose to graduate.

AFTERMATH

So Marinette no longer exists, no one remembers her, and there’s a child version of Lila now.

Now what??

Child Lila is adopted by Marinette’s parents, who have always wanted to have a child. They rename her Marion. It means “wished for child” :,) But also “sea of sorrows”, symbolizing Lila’s life and the pain she caused!

After reading Marinette’s diary, the city knows she was Ladybug. They create a new park called “Ladybug Park” in memory of Marinette.

The Order of the Guardians come to reclaim the jewels unified by Lila, but the kwami refuse to be captured again and flee with their jewels. They all go back to the miracle box for safety. Marion finds the miracle box in Marinette’s old room, and unknowingly becomes the next Guardian.

Adrien only remembers Ladybug, and believes she was the one to unify the miraculous. He has no real recollection of Marinette, but subconsciously feels the loss.

Congrats for making it to the end heheh!

Have some cake! 🍰

Eat it under this rainbow for a break! You deserve it!

🌈

“BUT CHOCO!!”

“You still haven’t explained why there are only three seasons!”

Oh yeah! Sorry!

It’s because I feel like it took 5 seasons in canon to explain what happened in 3. I imagine my AU to be a Disney-owned show that was about to cancelled.

How can I sum up the plot of Miraculous Ladybug in 3 seasons, 12-15 episodes each?

LMAOSJW-

But yup! That’s it! Hope you had fun reading!!

#chocoau lore #building my master post!!#SOMEONE MENTIONED THE NAME GOLDBUG FOR LILAS UNIFIED FORM AND I LIKED IT SO THANK YOU WHOEVER YOU WERE #I have been putting off posting this for a month bc I was nervous on what y’all would think about it #but I get so many asks about the lore esp with the art I post #so I’ve decided to do it!! y’all deserve to know what’s going on here!!#I also didn’t include “filler” episodes in this #so it SEEMS like lots of things happen very quickly but there are little adventures spread out in between!#miraculous ladybug #mlb au #miraculous au

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rapturously · 11 months ago

Note

uhh asking for a request of bo and just anything that involves with duct tape 😭😭 gagging or bounding im happy either way

Also love ur work! 🩷💖

souvenir.

➾ pairing ; bo sinclair x fem!reader.

in which bo decides that he’ll take you as his souvenir — a pretty hiker lost in ambrose.

format: one-shot — requested.

word count: 5.3K.

warnings: SMUT (mdni), DUBCON, drugging, kidnapping, bondage (tape and chains), restraints, cunnilingus, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, groping, knifeplay, rough sex, p in v sex, different positions, spitting, choking, bruising, hair-pulling, scratching, marking, use of pet names (good girl, sweetheart, etc.), dom/sub dynamics, begging, dirty talk, edging, creampie, unprotected sex, bo is definitely not nice in this fic

author’s note: this is definitely more of a darker fic, but I actually loved writing it ,,, nothing like gross and horny sex with bo sinclair to get the blood flowing! I hope you all enjoy! Still working on requests, I’m hoping to post a few things this week since I’ve been so busy!

Warm, glittering rays of a vibrant Louisiana sun cut through the thick canopy of trees and marshland, bathing your face in a haze of heat. It was midday — hot and sticky, accompanied by a stifling humidity that was prevalent in the South, not terribly far from a saltwater coastline.

Beneath you was the grass — clutches of wildflowers blossomed amongst strands of emerald, a temporary refuge for you to rest as you savored the outdoors. A town sat in the near-distance, baking away underneath the sun, as evidenced by the paint wearing thin and the asphalt looking gray instead of black.

You’d been hiking by yourself — that was your first mistake. Too brazen and bold enough to be without the company of your friends, and now, subject to the ire of Ambrose’s hidden devils.

It was akin to ringing the dinner bell when Lester had caught wind of your presence through the scope of a well-used Barrett. Once he’d informed Bo over a very colorful phone call, your fate was sealed, doomed to become another pretty fixture in the House of Wax.

There was no getting out of Ambrose — you just didn’t know it yet.

As the glaring sun began to slip behind the verdant canopy above you, you took it as a sign to relocate, trekking the short distance toward the quaint town. You could hear the general buzz and chatter of townsfolk, but there wasn’t a soul in-sight — the ones that were, confined to their eternal tombs.

“Nobody’s home.” You murmured, thumbing the thick straps of your backpack as you sauntered down the middle of the road, glancing at some of the vehicles lining the road. Some appeared brand-new, others showing signs of weathering.

You passed the gas station and row of various houses, making your way toward the church. The distant hum of an organ guided your path, leading you to the steps and to the devil himself.

Bo Sinclair stood in front of a set of white doors, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a bead of sweat glistening upon his brow. He wore his Sunday best to look the part, gaze flickering toward your pretty, doe-eyed countenance when you’d stopped a few feet away.

A cloud of billowing smoke drifted into the air, a thin gray wisp that dissipated into the staggering heat. He appraised you in an unusual silence, drinking you in, shamelessly admiring the way your jeans clung to your body. Bo’s own fascination was nearly palpable — he still wondered what possessed a girl to go hiking alone.

Maybe you were stupid — he didn’t think so.

“Sermon getting to you?” You hadn’t intended to come off as simpering or awkward, gesturing toward the cigarette in the stranger’s mouth. A chattering ambiance and piano music emanated from inside of the church, and you felt severely underdressed in the presence of this man — the only one you’d seen in the town so far.

A huff escaped him as he ashed his cigarette, granules of charcoal floating towards the steps. “Might need another cigarette if that’s the case,” Bo chortled, taking another long drag. He ogled you again, jaw tensing as he sized you up, unbeknownst to you. “You lost?”

You would do perfectly — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages, that much was for certain.

Bo’s mind worked differently than yours, sinister and callous when compared to your innocuous demeanor. Whilst you stood along the picket-fence, contemplating about finding a good drink of water, Bo was picturing you strapped down to his bed, clothes cut away.

“A little bit,” It was painful for you to confess to being lost, considering how many times you’d traversed the backwoods of Louisiana. The sound of your voice was enough to momentarily sever Bo’s salacious train of thought, watching as you picked at the fading paint along the fence. “Do you know if there’s a convenience store around here or anything?”

He shook his head, motioning down the street. “Closed for th’day, I’m afraid. Lookin’ for somethin’ in particular?” Bo asked, attempting to lay the foundation for you, building a rapport that was surely to break once he got his hands on you. It was all about the building.

You shrugged, withering away beneath the oppressive heat of the midday sun. You wondered how this man was so unusually comfortable within an all-black suit and tie. Nonetheless, you decided to be truthful. “I’m just looking for a quick drink before I hike back to the main road. I’m a little low on water.”

“If you’re willin’ to make the trek, I can take you up to my place. Won’t take long, ten minutes or so.” Bo offered, attempting to sweeten the deal. It was akin to a predator skillfully drawing their prey inward, making it difficult to resist. He took another lengthy drag of his cigarette before smashing it against the concrete with the toe of his boot.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother,” Admittedly, you felt intrusive — a meddlesome presence amidst a quiet, peaceful town. You felt even worse interrupting a church service, but Bo didn’t seem phased whatsoever. “I don’t want to distract you from church, either.”

Bo scoffed, lips twitching into something sardonic, one hand perched atop his hip. “Don’t think th’good Lord really cares a whole lot for me these days,” He mused, and you couldn’t tell if he was being serious. “Let me take you up there.” He motioned for you to follow him.

Leaving the white chapel behind, you walked alongside him, somewhat smitten by his Southern drawl and charismatic charm. Beads of sweat glistened along his brow, and he promptly loosened his tie as the two of you made it toward a stretch of beaten-up road.

“Name’s Bo, by th’way. Forgot my manners.” Bo mused, making sure to really lay on the flirtation and appeal. It wasn’t hard for him to tell how flustered you were already — and he fully intended on manipulating such a fact.

“Nice to meet you, Bo.” You smiled, cordial and polite as you sauntered alongside him. “How long have you lived here in Ambrose? It seems so far from the rest of civilization.” It was out of reach, away from the rest of the world, a world that was impervious to the sinister deeds of the Sinclairs.

Unfortunately, you were now in their territory, subject to their rules and ire.

Bo chuckled, shamelessly stealing glances at you whenever possible. You were gorgeous — a looker with a sweet demeanor. He wanted to lick that sweetness right off of you, drain it all, keep it for himself. “Lived here for most of my life. Town’s real quiet, jus’ known for the House of Wax.”

Intrigue glistened upon your features, and you recalled the sign that you’d spotted during your hike — Trudy’s infamous House of Wax. The building itself sat in the distance, nestled amongst a cluster of hills. Even that seemed relatively dormant.

“It’s nice here, really peaceful. You must get used to the silence.” You replied, stepping up the incline as Bo gently steadied you with one arm. You murmured a soft ‘thank you’ as a house came into view, rustic yet large. This must’ve been Bo’s home. “Is this it?”

He motioned toward the house, wrapping his tie around his hand as he loosened up his collar. “Yeah, this is it. We’ll go on inside, you can sit an’ I’ll get you fixed up with somethin’ for the road.” Bo chimed, making his way to the front door.

Bo let you inside, gesturing toward the couch and recliner that sat in the living room. It was a very well lived-in home, but you didn’t seem to mind. You moved toward the couch, finally able to sit somewhere comfortable and relax, placing your backpack beside you.

“Thank you for doing this, Bo. I appreciate it.” You piped up, watching as he moved toward the kitchen. The interior of the home felt warm and inviting, littered with plenty of things to look at. There was ample opportunity for Bo to take matters into his own hands.

One of the cupboards in the kitchen had what he needed, a syringe filled with some strange concoction, a thicker liquid. His dark gaze darted toward you, distracted by your surroundings. Bo took the syringe, discreetly keeping it by his side as he stepped behind you, offering you a water bottle.

“‘Course. Heat’s pretty bad in these parts.” He replied, and you immediately unscrewed the lid, greedily drinking several gulps of icy water. Bo was close, hovering above you with a manic look in his eyes.

Before you had time to properly react, his hand closed around the underside of your jaw, squeezing tight to hold you steady. The intrusive, cold prick of a needle digging into your neck made you scream, but Bo had you in a rather uncomfortable chokehold.

“Shh, shh,” He soothed, stroking at your hair. Everything felt numb, and you could no longer feel anything in your arms and legs, reduced to simple tingling sensations. Your cries were in vain, throaty and hoarse as you sank into the couch, limp and lifeless. “Jus’ relax. All that strugglin’ is gonna make it worse.”

Your eyes felt heavy, beginning to close with a weight to them — the last thing you remembered was the glimpse of Bo’s insidious smirk and dark hues before you’d been rendered unconscious.

———————————————————————————

The scratch of duct-tape reverberated around the concrete cellar, obnoxiously close to your ear, causing you to involuntarily wince. The haze of unconsciousness was lifting, but that sound — it made you groan, unpleasant and invasive. You attempted to move as the heaviness wore away in your limbs, but you had no such luck.

You were in the underbelly of some cold, dingy cellar, cement walls lined in grainy polaroids, tools, and obscene amounts of sex toys. An icy, uncomfortable sensation began to pool within the pit of your stomach, and you tried to jerk against the tape around your wrists.

A strange, unsettling chill fluttered about your body, causing you to shudder. Your hiking boots were nowhere to be found, flannel stolen too, leaving you in your shorts and tank top. Something felt intrusive, as if there was an outside presence bearing down on you, crawling beneath your flesh.

Bo was standing at the foot of a strange chair, stained with months-old cruor, dressed differently than before. A pair of mechanic’s coveralls were stained with grease and oil, dark enough to conceal bloodstains. He bit at the strip of duct-tape, clutching it between his teeth as he bound you, keeping you restrained.

“W—Wait,” You babbled, and suddenly, the heightened sensation of fear and startlement blistered through you, visceral and volatile. “Please don’t do this.” Your whimpers fell on deaf ears as Bo continued his mission, sweat layered in a thin sheen along his temples.

Death in a town that wasn’t on the map was a fate worse than any other — you would rot into the ground with no one to find you, only the animals and trees would know; bear witness. You would cease to exist and become a memory, a painful one, eternally trapped within Ambrose.

“You can make this real easy on yourself,” Bo’s husky, dark drawl emerged from the bitter chill of the cellar, roughened hands sliding along your legs. “All you gotta do is behave for me, yeah?” He stood above you, a twisted version of the man you’d met at the church — or perhaps, the real him.

You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling vulnerable and exposed in your current position. Your hands were bound on either side of you with many rings of duct-tape, legs chained to the floor, yet there was some room for you to walk — if that were even possible. You shivered, mostly from the oppressive cold of the basement coupled with fear.

“Please,” Your chest felt tight, fear unfurling from your ribcage as it spread across your body. A shudder rolled down your spine when Bo grabbed your chin, thumb stroking along your lower lip. “Please don’t kill me.”

Something about this place told you that he’d killed before — they’d been in the very same spot that you were now. A sinister, lascivious gleam glimmered within his dark eyes as they raked over your body, lips curling into a smirk.

“Didn’t say anything about killin’ you, beautiful.” Bo corrected, digits beginning to squeeze your chin, putting pressure on your jaw. “But I might change my mind if y’make this hard for me.” His other hand moved toward your shorts, unbuttoning the front as he ripped the zipper down in one swift movement.

You began to squirm, mortified and flustered as you fought against the tape wrapped around your wrists — but it wasn’t any use. “Don’t.” Your voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper as he gave you a pointed look.

Bo scoffed, head cocking to one side. “Be a shame if I gotta shut that pretty mouth of yours, too.” It wasn’t a warning, but a threat, a promise — one that he intended to make good on if you weren’t careful. “Gonna open up for me?” He crooned.

There was something hideous about him touching you — and even more so was the disgusting fact that you wanted to let him do it. He was handsome at the church, all a facade of Southern charm and debonair wit, but this was something else entirely.

With a defeated, pitiful expression, you began to part your legs, and that was akin to victory for Bo. His dark chuckle made you shiver, feeling his hand brusquely tug and wrestle with your shorts, inching them down your legs. “You’re real pretty,” He uttered, looking you in the eyes. “Prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages.”

Heat pooled within the pit of your stomach, and you clenched your hands into fists, nearly whimpering when he ghosted his fingers across your clothed cunt. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction — this was wrong, depraved on so many levels, but you found yourself submitting instead of retaliating.

A strangled whimper escaped you as he rounded the chair, standing right in front of you as he planted a kiss against your forehead. “Bet you’re all wet from this, huh?” He husked, voice kept to a low growl as he slipped his fingers into your panties.

Arousal had collected there, slick and warm upon his digits. Part of you wanted to melt into the chair and disappear, muscles tense and taut as you worked to suppress your whining.

“Fuck, look at that,” Bo sneered, greedily sucking your nectar right from his fingers, causing your breath to hitch within your throat. “Guess I was right.” His hand returned to your aching cunt, the other wrangling your panties aside, movements harsh and rough.

You hated that it felt good, offered you a sliver of relief — you wanted to scratch at your restraints, thighs beginning to quiver. A string of incoherent babbling escaped you, mumbled pleas for him to stop. It was quite the juxtaposition to your hips, which happened to lurch forward into his hand.

Bo bullied his way in between your legs, spreading you apart as he lowered himself to his knees — unexpected, but you still felt embarrassed. “Gonna have to have a taste of this pretty cunt,” With a gravelly hum, he grabbed your thighs, unceremoniously spitting a wad of saliva onto your throbbing cunt. “Don’t move.”

“Bo,” It was almost involuntary, moaning his name as you jolted forward, mouth agape. Bo’s grin felt like a hot brand against your inner thigh as he clamped his hands down into your legs, hard enough to cause bruises. “P—Please.” You sputtered.

Part of you felt terribly embarrassed for enjoying yourself at the hands of this man who’d kidnapped you, your innocence being taken advantage of. His calloused, rough hands spread you apart, broad tongue licking a stripe along the length of your slit.

Bo was eating you out like a man starved, breath hot and heavy as he savored you with his lips, tongue swirling across your cunt. His hands groped into your haunches, against the swell of your pliant flesh, practically forcing your hips to tilt into his face as he buried his head between your legs.

With a wanton moan, you slouched back into the rigid frame of the chair, listening to it creak and groan as you writhed around. The manacles that shackled you to the concrete rustled with your movements, fingers curling into your palms. His tongue was deliberate and slow, teasing you with every stroke.

You tried to smother your noises, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but he was ten steps ahead of you. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart,” Bo stopped, ceasing any further contact until you submitted to him. “Gonna have to beg for it, I s’pose.” His sigh was theatrical and badgering, forcing you to whimper.

A simpering, choked-up noise escaped from the back of your throat, desperation beginning to mount as you jerked and jolted forward. Bo simply sat still, attempting to smother that smarmy, devilish grin of his as you shook your head back and forth. “Please keep going, please!” You cried.

Bo clicked his tongue, seemingly unimpressed and dismissive, reaching for the knife that sat in his back pocket. “Ain’t ever met a girl this ungrateful. You rather I stop an’ get this all over with?” His voice was vitriolic, full of a manipulative venom that only served to drag you deeper into his pit.

The sharp, icy blade suddenly traced over your legs, goosebumps erupting in its wake as you shook your head. You didn’t want Bo to hurt you — the idea of being harmed, of being so helpless — it frightened you. Bo enjoyed seeing that little pang of fear within your doe eyes as he prodded the tip of razor-sharp silver into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” You gasped, stumbling over your words and babbling, restless within the chair. “Bo, please! I — I’ll be loud, I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt me.” It was a gushing string of pleas and begging that didn’t go unnoticed this time.

With soft shushing, Bo sighed, kissing along your inner thigh as he dug his nails into your flesh. It was rough enough to make you feel the burning sting of pain, chest heaving with labored breaths as he nudged his lips against your cunt again. “I think I’m gonna keep you for m’self, how’s that sound?” He uttered.

“Good, good,” You nodded. “I — I want you, please keep going.” Whatever bite and edge you had before had diminished completely, shadowed by his dark, domineering nature. It was hard for anything to break through that barrier of his. He retracted the knife, then and there.

A cajoling chuckle escaped him, one filled with mockery and a duplicitous edge as he lapped at your cunt once more. His tongue was like hot coals, raking across your slit with a wanton need, fingers grabbing and groping at the meat of your thighs.

His cock twitched within his jeans, desperate to be inside of you, make you scream. You wanted to grab at his tousled tresses or grip onto his shoulders, but the duct-tape prevented you from going anywhere, digging into your wrists.

Bo savored you as if you were some delectable meal, licking his lips before toying with your clit. His mouth was feather-light and teasing that bundle of nerves, enough to make you contort within the chair. A strangled moan left you, noisy and desperate, wrought with desire.

“Please, Bo, please,” You breathed, and when your thighs threatened to squeeze his face, he roughly pushed you apart, gazing at you from between your legs. The duct-tape chafed at your flesh, uncomfortably tight around your wrists as you writhed, hips bucking forward. “Please!” You were nearly sobbing.

All inhibitions had been abandoned — you were his now, reduced to his pretty plaything, all spread out on a silver platter. Molten heat surged through you when he lapped at your cunt, hand slipping down as he teased your entrance, giving you no warning as two digits sank into you.

A blissful whine left you, head rolling back against the chair as he nudged your clit, just enough to keep you chasing after that sensation. Bo was undeniably cruel, grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud, causing you to squirm and shiver, all sound escaping you.

“Sing pretty for me,” Bo’s husky, Southern purr emerged from between your thighs, teeth nicking your thigh before he finally began to suck on your clit. His thick digits pistoned in and out of your weeping cunt, providing you with an overwhelming barrage of pleasure. “That’s it.” He huffed, lurching forward.

The rattling of chains couldn’t rip you from the moment as liquid heat coalesced between your legs, with Bo’s chin steeped in your arousal. You moaned again, flexing against your restraints, stomach churning with an anticipation that made you want to melt.

Bo grunted, greedily lapping at your sweet cunt, fingers beginning to curl into that sweet spot, prompting you to choke on any sound that bubbled within your throat. He was like a predator, with you in his clutches, a rabbit trapped within the jaws of a wolf.

With another barrage of practiced licks, he continued his onslaught against your clit, eliciting a myriad of sinful, inhuman sounds from you. Bo — it was the only word that fell from your lips like some chant, and he didn’t stop, feeling your knees buckle and shake around him.

His digits buried themselves into your tight cunt, sluggishly rocking in and out as he sucked on your clit. It sent you careening over the edge, lost to a white-hot explosion of ecstasy as you came, moaning and shivering, a complete and utter mess.

He was the devil — pearlescent teeth glinting in the low, buzzing light of the cellar. The shadows moved in a way that made him seem sinister. You were surprised that he didn’t have horns and a forked tongue, but it was likely a trick of the eyes. You huffed, fading away into your post-orgasm haze, but Bo was far from finished.

“We ain’t done just yet,” He uttered, licking his lips as he moved up from between your legs, hand gripping your chin as he dragged you forward. Bo made you open your mouth, head tilted backward as he leaned in, countenance contorting into a sneer. “Got a little gift for you, for bein’ good.”

A wad of his saliva landed upon your tongue, and you nearly choked, feeling filthy and vulnerable. His eyes glistened with an insidious shade, shadowed and bemused as he closed your mouth, forcing you to swallow his spit.

Bo was expectant, waiting for you to say something — but when nothing emerged, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Where’s your manners?” He reminded you, patting your jaw like he would a beloved dog.

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, somewhat shrewd as Bo grinned, seemingly satisfied with your answer. You squirmed again when Bo began to unzip the front of his pants, breathing noticeably heavier and wrought with unrestrained excitement.

“Now,” Bo hummed, fishing his cock from the confines of his jeans. His erection was thick and heavy within his calloused palm, oozing with pearls of precum. With a step in your direction, he pressed the head of his cock against your cunt. “M’gonna fuck you right.”

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, letting out another moan as he teased your entrance, hooking his hands around your hips. Bo was rough and callous, dragging you forward as he sank his cock into you, grunting at the tightness and warmth.

Another wanton moan escaped you, back beginning to arch as he thrust forward, chest rippling with grunts and subtle growls. Lewd, crass noises reverberated throughout the cellar, the only ambiance that you could really focus on. His shadow eclipsed the stark glare of the light, gaze fixated on you.

Bo’s eyes were shadowed, brewing with something dark yet indecipherable. He began to adopt a very brutal pace, cock pounding away at your poor cunt. You hadn’t done this in so long, to the point where it felt borderline unfamiliar. You sputtered and moaned, feeling one of his hands abandon your leg.

That rough, calloused hand of his found its way to your slender neck, digits squeezing at your throat. It wasn’t particularly gentle, but not enough to completely rob you of air. You whined, unable to keep from watching the way his cock disappeared again and again into your sweet, oozing cunt.

You wanted to grab onto him, onto his arm, chest, anything — instead, you were met with harsh resistance from the duct-tape. “Bo,” You moaned, hips rolling in-tandem with his movements. Bo hunched closer, hand tight around your throat as his thumb pressed into your jugular, causing you to wince. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Bo’s voice dropped to a lower octave, cock rutting away into you with a rough, unyielding amount of force. If he went any harder, he might’ve threatened to split you in half. “Fuck, you’re nice n’tight. Can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. You like bein’ tied down an’ fucked by a stranger?” He uttered, and you began to stammer.

A wave of liquid heat burned bright within the pit of your stomach, a flame that only grew in intensity as he kept up with his brutal ministrations. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his cock at his words, causing you to shiver again. “I—I …” You didn’t know what to say, embarrassed and ashamed.

Bo scoffed, voice tapering off into a grunt as he continued to rut forward, cock buried inside of you until he could go no further. “Got you so fucked you can’t even speak,” He sneered, grip tightening on your throat. It was bound to leave some sort of mark, but you knew he didn’t care. “You gonna behave?”

Your head bobbed up and down several times over, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.” You squeaked, watching with blown-out pupils as he reached for the knife, cutting you loose from the duct-tape. Though, once your hands were free, you were being dragged onto the cold concrete on your stomach.

The steely, sharp bite of the knife sliced through your tank top like butter, leaving you completely exposed to Bo, who remained entirely clothed. Goosebumps coalesced along your spine from the icy temperature of the ground, feeling his hand close into your hair as he fucked you from behind.

His cock battered away at your cunt, stretching you in ways that you never thought possible. It was harsh and intrusive, digits tugging on your hair, wrangling you like you were molded from obsidian. Bo savored the sensation of you rocking back into him, thighs quivering like a leaf.

Your eyes flickered toward the muted brick wall on your left, met with a garish display of polaroids — other girls, girls like you. You had a feeling that none of them had lived to tell the tale.

A pang of dread consumed you, followed by fear — you hoped that you wouldn’t end up on that wall too, immortalized in some sick photograph. Instead, you wanted to increase your chances of survival, moaning and whimpering his name, forehead snug against the concrete.

“You wanna cum?” Bo asked nonchalantly, spoken through labored breathing as his thrusts became quick and sporadic. He was close, cock throbbing inside of you as his other hand clawed bruises and marks into the swell of your hips.

“Yes,” You didn’t hesitate, moaning again when he dug his nails into your flesh, causing you to squirm from discomfort. “Please, Bo! I want you to let me cum!” Desperation was laced within your voice, high-pitched and simpering as he let go of your hip.

“Good girl,” Bo grunted, somewhat perplexed by you. “Finally usin’ your manners.” He reached between your thighs, slathered in your slick and his precum, thumb rubbing circles into your clit. Your back began to arch, pushing back into him as he fucked you like a wild animal, chains clanking against the floor.

Pleasure rippled through you in blistering waves, coupled with the faint sting of pain that radiated from your hip. Bo grunted, breath hot and strenuous as he fucked you senseless, pounding away at your cunt with little regard for your comfort. His thumb toyed with your clit, causing you to writhe and moan.

With another harsh rut of his hips, Bo grunted, pushing his hips forward as he came inside of you, ropes of white-hot seed flooding your cunt. His brow glistened with perspiration as he pulled his cock free, leaving you with the mess of it all, haphazardly smeared between your legs.

Bo, in all his cruelty, tore his hand away from your clit, leaving you a throbbing mess, edged to the brink. You wanted to beg for him to continue, but you were spent, hot flesh soothed by the cold temperature of the floor.

“W—Wait,” Your protests were weak, but still strung-out with desperation. “Aren’t you going to keep going?” There was a little sliver of hope within your voice, but he relented, lips curling into a bemused smirk as he gave your ass a light smack.

“Changed my mind.”

You hated him.

For a moment, you saw red, frustrated without any semblance of relief, but also in misery over your current situation. You didn’t know what to do or say — and the last thing you wanted was for him to become angry with you. You didn’t want to become a permanent fixture on his wall of past trophies.

He stood up, hovering above you as you sheepishly rolled onto your back. Bo’s unsteady, dangerous leer sent shivers down your spine, watching as he stared at you for several moments. “Guessin’ you’ll last longer than the rest have,” He crooned, swiping his tongue across his lower lip. “Go on.”

His head jerked toward the chair, signaling you to climb back in. Your legs quivered in the aftermath of being fucked stupid, and you awkwardly reached for your panties and shorts, but Bo intercepted you. Wordlessly, you sat down in the leather seat, naked and entirely vulnerable.

“Keep you like that for when I come back.” Bo’s Southern purr made you shudder as you trembled, both from fear and from the cold. He couldn’t help but take a little bit of pity on you, tossing you a blanket from the old mattress that sat several feet away from you.

Something about being left entirely alone, naked and used in this basement, made you more terrified than anything else. You didn’t want to be left alone with just your thoughts. Even if Bo had kidnapped you, he was more tolerable than solitude. “You’ll come back?” You asked.

Bo huffed, retrieving his baseball cap. “Maybe,” He could see the hint of fear that had glossed over your eyes. “Maybe I’ll leave you down here an’ let you rot.” His voice was somewhat vitriolic, but undecided — part of you knew that he couldn’t leave you alone after this.

You would take the physicality over being isolated.

Silence drifted between the both of you as your legs shifted, the sound of clanking manacles providing the only bit of ambiance. Bo made for the iron-wrought door, standing in the doorway to give you one last look. Even in your disheveled state, you were beautiful — and now?

You belonged to him.

Before Bo shut the door, his lips twitched into the ghost of a devilish smirk. “Guess I’ll see you soon.”

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x you #house of wax #house of wax smut #bo sinclair #bo sinclair fanfic #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #house of wax fanfic #house of wax 2005

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rainybubbles · 1 year ago

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What are COD men and women missions as your guardian angel ?

Ghost, Price, Soap, Gaz, Laswell, Farah, Valeria, Alejandro, König, Roach, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)

G H O S T :

-He was sent to prevent you from accepting a job opportunity that would lead to your death.

-The prospective boss was destined to be tyrannical, pushing you to overwork, neglect your health, sever ties with loved ones, and gradually spiral into a state of despair.

-Ultimately, exhaustion would compel you to cross a road, only to be struck by a truck.

-Simon's purpose was to avert this tragic fate.

-Simon exerted considerable effort attempting to erase all traces of the job offers and announcements from your computer, eager to fulfill his mission swiftly.

-However, you persisted in pursuing your dream job, repeatedly defying his interventions.

-”Fucking hell” he whispered one night after passing hours on Indeed to delete everything.

-He realized he had to convince you. But it means getting to know you.

-He sighed and moved in, thanks to his power, the flat next to yours was magically free.

-Despite his strategic move, Simon struggled with social interactions.

- He tried the “have you any sugar ?” but it was 1AM, so it scared you.

-God, Simon and his social skills.

- One day, you, alarmed by a peculiar noise, knocked on his door, convinced that an intruder had breached your home.

-Trusting Simon's intimidating presence to scare off anyone, you spent the night at his flat for reassurance.

-This incident marked the beginning of a gradual acquaintance.

-As Simon got to know you, a mutual exchange of pastries became a regular occurrence. You started it to thank him for that night, and he offered you ones, and it has became a regular thing.

- Friday nights turned into joint activities like watching matches or cooking together.

-During these moments, you opened up about your dream job, and Simon, in turn, disclosed the harsh realities about the company.

-The realization dawned upon him as he witnessed the trust you placed in him.

- When you decided not to pursue the ominous job, he felt a sense of joy until the weight of the truth settled in—his mission was complete.

-Simon waited in anticipation for the next assignment.

-He waited.

-Days

-For another name, another mission.

-Nothing came.

-And he saw Laswell.

-He knew what it meant.

-“Simon, they decide you can either continue as an angel or stay with her and become human”Laswell says.

-Being with you.

-Waking up with you, living a life with you…

-It sounded perfect.

-He didn’t deserve that. Not after all what he had done, not…him with you, you deserved better.

-The following morning, you knocked on his door, only to find the flat deserted.

- Frantically searching for Simon Riley on social media, you discovered an unsettling absence—like a ghost, he had vanished, leaving you with a broken heart.

-“He fucking ghost me”, you cried on the floor of your flat, not knowing the truth.

P R I C E :

-He had not been sent for you, but for a boy named Clark.

-Clark was on the verge of homelessness, and John's mission was to help him develop an idea to secure some much-needed money.

-As John succeeded in his task, he couldn't help but notice the negative transformation in Clark.

- The influx of money had turned Clark into a selfish person, threatening his friends if they considered leaving him. And that's how he encountered you—a kind soul who had been there for Clark since the beginning.

-You, always supportive, witnessed how toxic Clark had become towards you.

- Slowly, you began to believe you deserved such treatment, unable to find better friends.

-John, disturbed by this realization, hoped for another mission to rescue Clark's friend from the clutches of his destructive behavior.

-But nothing changed.

-Frustrated, John couldn't stand idly by while people suffered for the sake of his mission.

-His purpose was to rectify injustice, not allow someone to turn into a despicable person.

-During a party, he found you outside and couldn't help but express his thoughts

- "I'm glad you're in his life. He's so much better now. He was really broke, and I was scared he'd end up alone on the streets. He lived at my house for a long time." you said.

-"He should have end up in the streets," Price asserted without regret.

-Your eyes widened, but a chuckle escaped you. "You shouldn't say that."

-"But you agree.

-”Money got to his head, but he's a good guy."

-"He's not, and you know it, love."

-"I don't want to lose him. I love him." you admitted.

-And then it clicked. You loved Clark before he became the person he was now.

-"You loved him before all of this." he realized.

-"I know. And it hurts because I still hold onto the hope that he'll realize and suddenly become better."

-"I'm sorry." Price said.

-"It's not your fault."

-It was, but you couldn't know.

-"Maybe in another life, I'll be as happy as he seems to be?"

-Price could have read your life with his power and gotten to know your future. But he didn’t.

-"I hope you deserve it." he answered.

-"Hey John, if I'm not happy, could I count on you? You're always here for me."

-"I promise, love."

-You smiled.

-Later, when John received his new mission, he decided to peek into your future to protect you one last time—only to realize there was no future.

-He rushed to your flat.

-The police were there.

-Clark had been arrested.

-And a body was being taken to the morgue.

-Maybe he should have looked at your future earlier.

S O A P

-He had been dispatched to safeguard your moral values from crumbling into ruin.

-The situation was straightforward; you were shattered, and a friend of yours suggested a lucrative opportunity to intimidate someone for a hefty sum.

-In simpler terms, you were on the verge of joining a gang for the sake of money.

-Broke, homeless, unwilling to burden your family, and unable to afford food, you were desperate enough to consider anything that paid, given the absence of job offers.

-Soap's mission was to avert this downward spiral, to prevent you from evolving into a heartless figure with bloodstained hands, a potential mafia leader.

-Naturally, he couldn't just hand you money; you wouldn't accept it from a stranger. So, he devised a plan to hire you at his bakery.

-Initially taken aback, because hell you couldn’t even say or bake croissant.

-Nevertheless, your role was strictly to sell, not to bake.

-Moreover, your boss, Soap, emanated a comforting presence.

-He treated you kindly, just as he did with everyone on his missions

-But to him, your smile was more than just a pleasant sight; it stirred something within him.

-Your laughter, dry and infrequent, motivated him to ensure you laughed more often, even if it meant he made a fool of himself with sugar or butter.

-When your friend said you couldn’t stay at their place, Soap went a step further and provided you with one.

- As you began accumulating enough funds to secure a flat, you encountered difficulties in finding one.

-Leveraging his magical abilities, Soap helped locate a suitable residence for you.

-Once settled, he taught you the art of baking, gradually helping you to take charge of the bakery.

-A year later, you had become a skilled baker, and Soap realized his mission was accomplished.

-Independent and content, you were ready to take over the bakery.

-Craftily, he fabricated a story about relocating to another country and passing the bakery on to you.

-Initially hesitant, you eventually agreed after lengthy discussions.

-As Soap sensed the emergence of a new name and mission on the paper, he looked at you and sighed, "I'll miss you, love."

-"Me too, Johnny," you replied.

-Little did you know it was the final time you would see him, but Soap was acutely aware.

- So, for the first time, he allowed himself to act on impulse and kissed you. In that fleeting moment, he wished he could relinquish his wings and live with you indefinitely.

G A Z :

-TW : social anxiety :) !

-He was sent to help you with your health.

-You grappled with social anxiety, a condition so severe that the fact of being in a crowded bus could make you faint

- Asking for a bag at the cashier's counter filled you with fear, and even a simple "hello" caused three weeks of overthinking

- You existed in a state of solitude, ensnared within a relentless cycle of anxiety.

- Your mental health had plummeted, yet the luxury of a therapist was beyond your means.

-Social anxiety, insidiously, severs connections, making it difficult to seek help, leaving you trapped in an endless loop of overthinking.

-The act of breathing itself became a struggle

-Walking in the streets became a nightmare, convinced that every passerby scrutinized your every move. Life, for you, felt burdensome, your very existence a weight upon others.

-Enter Gaz, sent to prevent you from venturing too close to the precipice.

-He initiated contact through social media, engaging you in conversation within a fandom you both shared.

- He witnessed the genuine joy in your smiles as you responded to his messages, the relief emanating from having notifications from a real person rather than an automated system.

- Talking to him felt right, providing a respite from the isolation.

-Gradually, your interactions with Gaz progressed beyond the digital realm.

- Attempts to meet in person were met with reluctance or last-minute cancellations, fueled by fears of judgment, rejection, or even the possibility of an elaborate prank.

-However, perseverance prevailed, and one day, he succeeded in meeting you face-to-face.

-The anxiety lingered, but Gaz's warmth created a sanctuary, a safe space for you.

- Together, you confronted the formidable adversary that was social anxiety.

-Gaz became your anchor during the lows, comforting you when crowds induced panic or tears flowed at the thought of being among people.

-Of course there were downs, where you couldn’t go out, where you would cry just by the idea of being in a crowd. But he was here for you.

-Every Monday, he accompanied you through bustling streets, holding your hand as you breathed through the anxiety.

-Small victories were celebrated, such as summoning the courage to ask for water from a waiter.

-To some, these achievements may seem ridiculous, but Gaz understood the immense courage they required.

-He cherished the moments you shared, the progress you made—ordering food by phone, making a call—each step a triumph on the arduous road of overcoming social anxiety.

- In these moments, Gaz recognized that this was more than a mere mission; it was a lifelong commitment.

-Social anxiety was not a battle with a finite resolution; rather, it was a continuous struggle.

-A knowing chuckle escaped him.

-Captain Price, knowingly, had bestowed upon Gaz a life mission.

-In a quiet moment, Gaz whispered his gratitude, acknowledging that if his mission was to love and support you, there was no doubt he would embrace it for eternity.

V A L E R I A :

-She was sent to save your marriage.

- Angels, renowned for their influence on matters of the heart, and Valeria, in particular, was on a divine mission to salvage the threads that held your union together.

-However, as of late, doubt began to creep into her convictions as a guardian angel.

-In numerous assignments, she found herself helping individuals of questionable character.

- Then, she met you—a person ensnared in a wretched marriage.

- Your wife treated you poorly, arguing with you for trivial matters, asserting your worthlessness without her, forgetting your birthday and engaging in infidelity with others.

-Valeria questioned the purpose of preserving such a toxic bond.

- Was she supposed to save this tormented marriage?

- Was the sanctity of matrimony so sacred that it should endure despite the evident misery it caused?

-No, she had enough..

- She reached a breaking point, disenchanted with being the obedient savior in every situation.

-She wasn't Rudy or Alejandro—she wouldn't blindly adhere to a mission that clashed with her newfound convictions.

-Instead, she took a daring step and seduced you, believing you deserved better, deserving her.

-You, with your kindness and generosity, deserved someone who would treat you with the respect and love you lacked in your current relationship.

-Valeria refused to surrender you to the shackles of your miserable marriage.

- She cared not for the rules of her celestial role; she wasn't a guardian angel any longer.

-That night, driven by an irrepressible desire for change, she made a drastic choice—she cut off her wings.

-The pain was excruciating, but amidst the agony, she found relief and liberation.

- She knew this act condemned her to damnation, but the prospect of being with you made it inconsequential.

- Morality blurred into shades of gray as she willingly became a fallen angel, abandoning her celestial duties for the ecstasy of earthly love.

- The sensation of your lips against hers eclipsed any impending punishment, and in that moment, she embraced the fall from grace for the happiness she found in your arms.

N I K O L A I :

-He was the one training guardian angels.

-Nikolai wasn't a guardian angel, but a fallen one.

-In the past, he had fallen in love with the one he was supposed to guard.

- As a consequence, they severed one of his wings and stripped him of his celestial status.

-To prove his devotion, Nik decided to assist in the formation of guardian angels.

- Laswell and Price supported him, and they agreed.

-So, he began training new guardian angels, and you happened to be one of them.

- He admired how you struggled to fly, resembling a fawn.

-"Солнце (=sun), use your back muscles, not your arms," he teased as you tumbled to the ground once again.

-"How could you know?" you snapped back, frustrated.

-He stopped, his lone wing retracting.

-You realized the impact of your words.

- "Shit, Nik, sorry, that's not what I meant."

-"It's okay, but I used to fly in the past, you know. Don't doubt my abilities again."

-"Of course, I... It's just frustrating to see everyone else succeeding."

"-It's okay. Ghost took six months to fly; Soap burned his wing three times," Nikolai said. "So, don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Really?" you laughed.

-"Yes, so don't doubt, Солнце."

-"Isn't it difficult to watch all those angels and not feel free like them?" you asked, a question no one had posed to him before.

-"It is, but I deserved it."

-"You just loved someone. I don't think it was worth the punishment," you whispered.

-"Maybe, but I betrayed my mission."

-"I still think you did it for good reasons. The world isn't black and white. Sometimes we have to be gray. Loving them, it's not a crime."

-He stayed silent. "Maybe."

-"Sorry, I overstepped, but I think it's unfair they treat you like this. Graves is keeping his wings when he had killed people to succeed in his missions, not very guardian angel of him."

-"You're right, but we can't do anything."

-"I will. I'll fight for you. Use my wings to give yours back," you said, determined.

-That day, Nik felt a spark—the same one that had cost him his wings.

-The one who was back with you.

-He ignored it.

-"If you say so, I'll watch you doing it," he chuckled.

-Little did he know, you would succeed and restore his wings.

-Perhaps, one day, Nikolai would fly again with his wings and not a helicopter.

A L E J A N D R O :

-He was sent to protect you, to help you to expose the truth.

-You, a journalist delving into a precarious story surrounding the cartel's sway

-. Alejandro understood the gravity of this mission; his entire previous life had been defined by this relentless fight against the cartel.

- With unwavering dedication, he vowed to shield you with all his heart.

-Thus, he concealed himself, surveilling your residence, neutralizing all dangers, confronting cartel members seeking to harm you under the cover of darkness.

- His magic thwarted explosive threats, and he meticulously tarnished the reputations of those aiming to intimidate you after your initial article.

- He stood watch, silently guarding you.

-His cover was blown one day. In your apartment, a cartel member lay unconscious at his feet.

-"So it was you?" you inquired.

-"I can explain," he stammered.

-"You were the one protecting me, weren't you? I've never felt threatened since my colleagues shared their ordeals. Only words, never physical harm or bombs. My family is unharmed. Someone protected me. It's you, isn't it?"

-Your perceptiveness impressed him.

-"Yes," he admitted.

-"You should have said something. I can pay you if needed. Being a bodyguard for someone who challenges cartels must be challenging."

-"Not as challenging as being a colonel fighting the cartel in my previous life," he thought but refrained from saying.

-"It's okay. I don't need a salary."

-"Then live with me. Let me repay you, in a way. This way, you can keep an eye on me 24/7 but still have a place to stay."

-It was tempting, avoiding the need to surveil you from across the street, being able to follow you closely to prevent traps.

-"Okay," he accepted.

-Gradually, he became a fixture in your life. You shared your findings, and he assisted during investigations, often necessitating clandestine break-ins to gather information.

-He marveled at how you managed to stay alive with your audacious pursuits.

-But with each cartel member arrested due to your articles, he felt satisfaction and pride. You were making a difference.

-Until one day, the absence of the familiar sound of typing alarmed him.

-Racing to your room, he found you lifeless, a bullet wound in your head.

-How was this possible? He had used his magic for protective measures, installed cameras.

- Then he noticed it—a black wing on the floor, a fallen angel turned malevolent.

-He knew who was responsible—Valeria. Of course, she would be entangled in the sinister web of cartels. Mierda...

L A S S W E L L :

--She was sent to ensure peace.

-You, a fledgling diplomat, had just entered the scene.

-In a matter of months, a critical meeting loomed on the horizon.

-Unfortunately, one of the other ambassadors harbored nefarious plans.

-Their aim? To ensnare you, hold your country responsible for an attack, derail any alliance, shatter hopes of peace, and plunge nations into war.

-Laswell, tasked with preventing this diplomatic catastrophe, sought to guide you through the treacherous world of international relations.

-Gaining your trust, however, proved to be a formidable challenge.

-You toiled in isolation, reluctant to confide even in an assistant.

-Acutely aware of the sordid nature of politics, you had no intention of succumbing to manipulation or falling prey to powerful lobby interests.

-To demonstrate her capabilities, Laswell embarked on a mission to help you confront a corrupt mayor.

-When she successfully ousted him and exposed the truth, despite the mayor's pervasive connections, you were compelled to extend a job offer.

-"Thanks for this. I couldn't have done it without you. He had connections everywhere," you expressed your gratitude.

-"I have connections too, but I guess mine are just better than his," she replied with a hint of confidence.

-A chuckle escaped your lips.

-It was evident that Laswell, fueled by a genuine commitment to peace, would prevail.

-Witnessing the purity of your heart, she found solace.

- She had observed how the hearts of political figures often tarnished when power came into play, but you remained an exception.

-"You're a remarkable diplomat, never doubt that," she reassured.

-"Maybe, but niceties don't seal alliances or foster peace," you sighed. "Money does, and we don't have it."

-Together, you delved into the intricacies of contracts and gathered information about other nations.

- Nights were spent in your office, surrounded by take-out containers, punctuated by jokes that lightened the mood while maintaining a serious focus on work.

-Gradually, Laswell began to open up to you.

-Of course, she concealed her past as a CIA agent, weaving a narrative that shielded her secrets. Yet, you felt a sense of security in her presence.

-One evening during a break, you asked,

-"Do you have someone, Kate? You're always here with me, and I wouldn't want your significant other to worry."

-"I had someone," she admitted.

-"Sorry to hear that," you responded.

-"It's okay. It was a long time ago, like a previous life," she joked, though the truth lingered beneath the surface.

-"How were they?" you inquired.

-"She, and she was wonderful. My wife. I could have given everything to her, except I didn't. I didn't give her my time. I was working too hard."

-"Did you divorce?" you asked.

-"No, but I quitted my job for her."

-"Oh."

-"It was the right thing to do. She deserved it," she smiled.

-"And you never met anyone after?"

-"No.”

-Because after that, she died old and happy with her wife, before becoming a guardian angel.

-She never looked for love.

-"No, but maybe someday." Laswell said

-"I don't doubt it," you chuckled.

-"And you?"

-"I'm too busy with my work. They say I'm mostly married to it," you attempted to joke, but Kate sensed the underlying sadness.

-"You'll meet someone. You're a great person."

-"Thanks," you replied, returning to your work.

-After weeks of collaboration, Kate unearthed a drug affair involving the other diplomat and dealt with it discreetly.

-On the day of the crucial meeting, the peace offer was accepted without hesitation, thanks to the covert threat.

- The treaties were signed, and a sigh of relief echoed through the diplomatic corridors.

-However, when Laswell awaited her next mission, she discovered a surprise.

-Your name resurfaced, but the mission had taken an unexpected turn.

-"Marry them."

-Confused, Laswell pondered the note. Guardian angels can't love humans. Then, she noticed a message on the back.

-"You deserve a retreat, Kate. And they're your type. Enjoy it. - John."

-She chuckled. John, always meddling where he wasn't needed.

- However, she didn’t know if she would marry you or not but this life as a diplomat, reshaping the world for the better, was the love she had found."

F A R A H :

-She had been sent to infuse you with the strength to confront adversity with courage and resilience.

- Once a firefighter, you had walked away from the profession after a tragic incident where a child lost his life in a fire.

-Your attempts to alert your boss about the suspicious nature of the recent fires fell on deaf ears, and disillusioned, you resigned.

-The question lingered: Why be a firefighter if you couldn't save lives?

-Farah had been dispatched to restore your inner fortitude because, deep down, you were right

-Those recent fires were no accidents.

-Only you had the power to uncover the truth, having been the sole observer of the pattern.

- Fate placed her as your neighbor, but your demeanor was reticent, a mere husk of your former self.

-Observing your silent suffering, Farah chose a bold approach.

-She ignited a fire in her own apartment using a toaster, triggering your instincts.

-Without hesitation, you rushed to her aid with a fire extinguisher, quelling the flames.

-"Thanks, I don't know what happened," she lied, keenly observing the adrenaline coursing through your veins and the relief in your eyes.

-"It's okay; toasters can be tricky, many of them catch fire," you reassured her.

-"Do you often see that?" she inquired.

-"I'm a firefighter," you paused, correcting yourself, "was, sorry."

-She smiled, finding solace in your continued identification with the role.

-"You quit? Injuries?" she probed.

-"No, I... it just wasn't for me."

-"It doesn't seem that way," she said, nodding towards the fire extinguisher still in your grasp.

-"It was just a reflex."

-"Hmm, if you say so. You know, just because there are some bad firefighters doesn't mean you have to quit," she remarked.

-"True, but sometimes it's hard to... fight when you're alone."

-She understood. Without the support of people in her past as Karim, Farah would never have succeeded.

-"But without brave people like you, the bad ones win," she emphasized.

-"Maybe," you conceded, "but... why am I discussing this with you? I don't even know you," you whispered.

-"It's easier to confess to a stranger, especially one with a burnt toaster," she joked.

-You chuckled, finding an unexpected comfort in her presence.

-"Maybe you're right. I just... I felt useless. I knew something was wrong with those fires, that we should have saved those kids, but... no one believed me. Maybe they're right."

-"Or maybe not. Now we'll never know since you quit," she countered.

"-Maybe..." you sighed.

-"I can help you," she offered.

-"How?" you inquired.

-"I'm a journalist," she lied, "if those fires are really peculiar, then I have a great article, and you could regain your job."

-"…But it means investigating my own brigade."

-"Betrayal often comes from those close to us," she said, recalling what did Hadir.

-"You're right, okay," you agreed.

-And so, the investigation began. Farah watched as the embers of your internal fire reignited. You didn't give up.

-Gathering evidence, taking photographs, you uncovered a shocking revelation: a colleague was a pyromaniac, deliberately setting fires to play the role of a savior, to feel godlike.

-Presenting the proof to journalists, your chief could no longer cover for the rogue colleague. Farah felt a surge of pride for you.

-"You fought well," she commended.

-"I'll continue, thanks, Farah," you said, embracing her, the lingering scent of burnt still on your clothes after your mission.

-"Never give up, even when I'm gone," she whispered.

-"Never," you smiled.

-When her mission changed, she left you a collar. Months later, Farah noticed how you kept it as a talisman.

- She smiled, realizing that although she couldn't stay, your strength and hers would forever be intertwined.

K Ö N I G :

-He had been sent to rekindle your passion, to bring happiness back into your life.

-Once a talented dancer, you had abandoned your love for dance in favor of a more practical career, burdened by financial responsibilities.

-Your parents, disapproving of a dancing career, further added to the weight on your shoulders.

-König, however, was on a mission to reignite your love for your hobby and give your heart what it truly desired.

- So, in your building, he discreetly posted a classified ad seeking a dance teacher for the waltz.

-When you stumbled upon the ad, you thought, "Why not?"

-A little extra income wouldn't hurt, and you missed the joy of dancing. Intrigued, you decided to respond to his ad, accepting his offer.

-Little did König anticipate that it would work.

-Now, with his towering 2-meter frame, he found himself awkwardly attempting to move like a swan without crushing your feet. The stress was palpable.

-“Breathe and focus on me, not on yourself,” you instructed, guiding his hands to rest on your waist.

-Slowly, with the accompaniment of a piano, you led him through the graceful movements of the waltz.

-Suddenly, it felt like home. Memories flooded back – the aroma of onions and Zwiebelrostbraten cooking, the cramped kitchen adorned with peculiar pictures, his mother's gentle dance, and him on her feet as she attempted to teach him how to dance.

-Dancing, he thought, could be so beautiful, and those who tried to prevent such feelings were truly awful.

-You noticed the sparkle in König's eyes, a reflection of the passion you had years ago.

- “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you remarked.

-“Yes, it’s like we’re floating,” he responded.

-“Waltz is beautiful. I…I wanted to compete when I was younger – waltz, salsa, and more.”

-“What stopped you?”

-“My parents. They said I would never be good enough to make a living from it. And they're right; only a few dancers can sustain themselves.”

-“But you could still live through it in a different way.”

-“How?”

-“Teaching it. Many dancers become teachers.”

-“I don’t have connections, König. Studios prefer people with a reputation.”

-“Then I’ll spread the word. You’re a great teacher. I mean, you made me dance the waltz, and I'm a giant,” he joked.

-You smiled. “Because you’re a great student.”

-“Nein, believe me, I can’t dance without you.”

-And so, König set his plans into motion, praising your classes to everyone.

-Soon, a married couple sought your expertise, and as their marriage flourished, the word spread.

-Requests poured in, and slowly you amassed a following.

-König, with his mysterious charm, helped you secure a studio.

- Although you maintained your part-time job, you now knew you could live from dance.

-“I’ll quit,” you whispered, nervous. “I need to quit to have more classes and finally be happy.”

-“Good, you deserve it,” he smiled.

-“Thanks. Without you, I probably would never have been brave enough to do it.”

-“I’m here to support you,” he assured, even though he missed holding you in his arms and waltzing with you.

-He asked for one last dance to celebrate. Unbeknownst to you, he would soon leave.

-As you danced, he felt your heart beating fast, resonating with happiness.

-When a paper appeared in his pocket with another name and another mission, he looked back at you.

-Perhaps now, when alone, König would practice the waltz for the day he would meet you again.

R O A C H :

TW : death (not of Roach or you though) + (i kinda create a past for him, I know it's not canon)

-He was sent to help you to protect Orion.

-The problem was, he had no clue who Orion was.

- Despite attempting to tap into his powers, all he could extract were names: Orion and yours.

-Thus, he met you out and forged a close friendship, yet Orion remained elusive.

- Not in your familial ties, not as a romantic interest or enemies—nowhere.

-Until one day, after returning from work, you shared an anecdote about Orion.

-Orion.

- A four-year-old boy.

-Suddenly, it dawned on him; he comprehended his purpose

-. Roach, with his own history in foster care, knew he was selected because he understood the flaws in the system and how one could make a difference by adopting a child.

- However, Orion had loving parents, leaving Roach perplexed.

-"He's a sweet boy," you smiled.

-He reciprocated with a smile, albeit tinged with fear.

-Did this mean Orion would lose his parents?

-Or was he expected to kill them?

-Roach was uncertain, prompting him to shadow Orion's residence, using his expertise in navigating air ducts, he was not called Roach for nothing, air ducts were his things.

-As he observed, nothing seemed amiss until he spotted it: a crack in the wall.

- Regrettably, before he could extricate himself from the air duct, the building collapsed.

-The landlords had ignored warnings about the need for renovations, leading to the tragedy.

-Roach barely escaped the ruins, coughing and trying to find his way out.

-Then, he heard Orion's voice.

-Under a table, the little boy clutched his deceased mother's hand.

-Roach froze; there was no doubt, Orion's parents were gone.

-Why was he sent to manage this?

- Why wasn't he tasked with preventing the tragedy or saving them?

- Why did Orion have to endure such a harrowing experience?

-He crawled to Orion, embracing him as the boy cried and screamed.

-He waited with him at ER, refusing to leave despite your attempts to reach him. He only sent you a text “at ER”

-You joined him and he…he could only express his pain through a silent hug.

-You and Roach became determined to ensure Orion wouldn't be left in the system after such trauma.

- Despite the challenges, you visited every day, dealing with bureaucracy and, with Roach's magical assistance, eventually adopting Orion

-. Roach didn't leave; he remained a steadfast companion in your collective journey.

-It wasn't easy—Orion was confused, lost, and traumatized.

-Yet, through your unwavering support, he slowly began to open up to both you and Roach.

- A family emerged, something Roach had only discovered in his twenties during his time in the military.

- He was grateful that Orion could experience it now, but he couldn't bring himself to leave.

-Each day brought the fear of a new mission, a new departure. Until one day, Ghost appeared in your flat.

-"What are you doing here?" Roach questioned.

-"Cutting your wings," Ghost responded.

-Roach recoiled. "I never kissed them." he said, yes he loved you, but he never tried…

-"Roach…"

-"You can't take them away from me, please L.T. I don't want to lose everyone like I lost you and the unit."

-"I’ll cut your wings so you can become human, Roach, not to punish you."

-Roach halted. "You—"

-"You deserve it."

-"Thanks, L.T."

-"You're welcome," Ghost whispered, cutting his wings.

-Roach felt pain but also a strange sense of freedom. He smiled at Ghost and let him leave. Finally, he had found a family.

_____

_If you want more : my COD masterlist

_My masterlist

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alltheirdamn · 6 months ago

Text

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 10 Home

Summary: How bittersweet it is to come home. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 8.6k Warnings: NONE!!!! Find out for yourselves xoxo A/N: If you made it this far, thank you. This obviously isn't the absolute END, there will be an epilogue to come... but I still want to thank each and every one of you. This series has such a special place inside my heart, and I will be forever grateful for the love and support you all have given. All the kisses and hugs and love to you all. (I also realize there are going to be a few questions left unanswered, but I promise it'll be resolved in the epilogue) * And once again, I'm the most thankful to @loonmartell for helping me create the most beautiful story. Sending you all my love, sweet pea <3 *

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

You most definitely had a concussion—which was not ideal when you were behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Not only were you trying to subdue the memories still filtering through your mind, but you were also trying to navigate the roads with blurred vision. Streetlights that had once been unfamiliar slowly morphed into a memorized path, leading you right back to the place you once called home. Sarah had guided you home just months ago after a soccer game, but this was different. This was a reawakening, a thousand tiny moments rising from their endless slumber. Each turn of the wheel and stopsign guided you back to the one person your heart cried out for… Joel.

If only your brain and heart could get on the same page. While your heart ached for Joel in ways you hadn’t felt in months, your mind still clung to the anger you associated with him over the last several months. You couldn’t just stop loving him, but you didn’t know how to stop hating him at the same time.

The final turn into his neighborhood was coming up fast, yet your speed came to a crawl. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he could have moved on. Half a year was enough time for Joel to move on, to find another woman, to be happy without you. You experienced the exact opposite: you couldn’t move on, didn’t find another man, and were far from happy. Seeing him again was probably a mistake, but how would you move on now that you knew everything?

The nausea was back in full force as you pulled up to Joel’s home, his truck parked crooked in the driveway. This was your home once upon a time. Yeah, you were going to be sick again. Wrenching the door open, you leaned out of your car and dry-heaved. Nothing came up, which you were thankful for. You needed a strong stomach and a clear mind for whatever would come. The ground beneath your feet became distorted as you walked the path up his front yard. You took a moment to shake away the double-vision, your mind clouding around the edges. It was not the time to lose your grip on reality.

The worn wood of Joel’s front door taunted you, your hand hovering over the center as you debated knocking. All it would take is a quick rap of your knuckles, and you’d see him again. Before you could sabotage yourself, your knuckles tapped against the door.

“Comin’!”

The sound of Joel’s voice in the distance electrified your nerves. He was right there. Any moment, he’d open the door and—.

The door cracked open, and you stared up into the familiar brown eyes that plagued every memory overlapping inside your mind. Joel stood motionless, his eyebrows slightly raised and lips parted. He looked at you as if you were a ghost. You gave him the most pathetic smile, unsure of what to do with your hands or body.

“Can I come in?” You blurted out.

“Of course,” he said softly, opening the door wider.

A simple step over the threshold, and you were home.

You took a moment to let it all settle in: nothing had changed. The varnish was worn in certain places on the floor, the same as it had been when you lived here. Joel walked the same path daily: through the front door and to the right, directly into the kitchen. Sarah’s soccer bag hung on the staircase railing, a pair of her shoes strewn across the second step.

“Is Sarah home?” You asked, your eyes still wandering around the downstairs of the house.

“No, she’s stayin’ with a friend this weekend,” he replied.

Joel shifted his weight, tearing your focus away from the house and back onto him. There was a look of confusion furrowing his brows together, and you realized you hadn’t entirely explained yourself to him yet.

“Listen, I know I’m here unannounced,” you started. “I, uh, I haven’t touched the book since you gave it back. Well, I didn’t until today. I found it again, and this slipped out.”

Digging through your purse, you pinched the Polaroid between your fingers and pulled it free. Joel hesitantly reached for it, his fingers avoiding touching yours as he held it between his hands. A small smile formed on his lips as he ran his thumb over the photo's edges.

“This was from a campin’ trip we went on with Sarah,” he sighed. “Sarah had just taken a tumble in some mud, and I remember I couldn’t stop laughin’, and you were quick with a camera and snapped this photo.”

“I know.”

“I got a photo of you, too. I still got it hangin’ up somewhere—.”

Joel’s voice trailed off, his eyes drifting up to yours. He had been so wrapped up in reminiscing that he didn’t listen to what you said.

“Do you still have the one of Sarah, too?”

Joel’s eyes grew wide, swaying in place.

“You remember?” He faltered.

“I remember everything, Joel.”

Not Mr. Miller. Joel.

Joel opened and closed his mouth at least three times before finally just shaking his head. He took a step back, letting the picture fall to the ground. You glanced down at the Polaroid lying between your feet, the photo of Joel doubling in your vision. Your body moved on its own accord, your balance teetering as you stumbled a bit to the side. Joel quickly caught your weight, his hands firm around your arm.

“Woah,” he exhaled. “Y’okay?”

“I might have a concussion,” you laughed absently. “Took a bit of a fall earlier and hit my head.”

Joel cursed under his breath and slipped an arm around your waist, guiding you toward the dining room. Sunlight bled through the window shades on the wall, and you squinted your eyes to avoid intensifying your headache. The kitchen was just as you had remembered: cluttered and homey. Piles of dishes were laid in a drying rack by the sink, the dark countertops void of dirt aside from a few crumbs from toast or a residual ring of condensation from a beer bottle.

Joel helped you into one of the dining room chairs, moving swiftly to get you a glass of water. You weren’t sure if he meant to do it, but he had sat you in your chair at the table, the one you had always chosen during any family meal with him and Sarah. You smoothed your hands over the table, digging your nails into the groves of the woodwork.

“Here,” Joel said, extending a glass to you.

You muttered a soft thank you, taking a drink as he took a seat beside you—his seat. The silence between you both was louder than the ringing in your ears, and you couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Say something,” you pleaded.

Joel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he peered up at you through glassy eyes. You knew that look: the exhaustion, the sadness. You had worn it well the last several months, and clearly, so did Joel. The person you were six months ago would have loved seeing Joel look so disheveled, but not now. Not when the past was hanging in the balance, finally uncovered and real.

“Does Bennett know you’re here?” Joel asked, his eyes rising to yours.

“What?” You gaped. Out of all the things Joel could have said, he chose that?

“Tommy saw y’all together,” he huffed.

You wracked your brain, remembering when Tommy could have seen you and Bennett together. The only time you had seen Bennett was after the…. Oh.

“He asked to meet me after everything happened,” you explained. “He wanted to share his side of things. You left out a lot, Joel. There was so much you didn’t tell me, and I had to rely on Bennett to piece the rest back together.”

“Are you datin’ him again? ‘Cause if you are, just tell me, and I’ll—I’ll find a way to move on and let you be happy. I ain’t gonna get in the way of your happiness, even if that means it’s with him.”

There was no way to ignore the bitterness in his words, yet you stifled a laugh.

“After everything that’s happened, you actually think I'd go back to him?” You questioned.

“Christ, I don’t know,” Joel sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“Bennett’s married,” you stated. “You must not have seen his wedding band when you were beating the shit out of him.”

Joel was harrowingly silent, his eyes trained on the work boots covering his feet. All you ached for was some sort of reaction—some kind of response—and he gave nothing. Your expectations had been set so high for this moment, yet nothing was going as you hoped.

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest,” you said.

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you fight for me?” You whispered. “When everyone was making decisions for me, why didn’t you step in and fight back?”

“I tried,” he lamented. “Your family decided on everythin’, and I couldn’t step in.”

“Yes, you could have,” you pressed.

You brushed your hand over the stumble on his jaw, lifting his face to meet yours. You saw it deep within the dark brown of his eyes: regret.

“That’s not a good enough answer, Joel. No one fought for me,” you pressed. “I was alone in everything, and you should have been the one person standing up to them against everything they were choosing to do. You let Bennett come back into my life when you knew he had been horrible to me in the past. Why were you so willing to just let me go?”

Joel grabbed your free hand and brought it to his lips, pressing soft kisses into the center of your palm. It wasn’t till the first tear hit your fingers that you realized he was crying. Joel looked defeated, his face framed between one hand and your other pressed against his lips. Truly and utterly defeated.

“I never wanted to let you go. Sayin’ that last goodbye to you while you were in the hospital was the hardest damn thing I’ve ever had to do, and I ain’t got no excuses for the choices I made. If I could go back and change everythin’, I would. I swear I would in a heartbeat. Losin’ you was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, and I know I coulda done more. You deserved more. You deserved better, and I shoulda been the one there for you. Not Bennett. I know I ruined everything. Fuck, I—I really fucked it all up.”

“I hate you for what you did,” you said, lifting your hand to brush away his tears. “I hate you so much for hurting me.”

Joel only nodded, more tears streaming down his cheeks as he closed his eyes. You ran your thumb over his cheekbone, tracing the line of his beard as it dipped down to his jaw. Joel released a shaky breath, leaning into your touch.

“There ain’t enough words to describe how sorry I am,” he mumbled into your hand. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry for hurtin’you, and I’ve been livin’ with that guilt for years. I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

“I was happy, Joel. With you. I loved you so much. So many memories are still unraveling in my head, but in each of them, I know I loved you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he cried softly.

“I hate you, Joel. I hate you, but I can’t ignore the fact that I still love you. I love the life we built together and the memories we made with Sarah. I miss this house, and I miss this kitchen where we’d make breakfast together. I miss waking up beside you every day. I miss staying up late with you and annoying you about the books I was reading.” You took a deep breath, trying to slow yourself down. “I miss you, Joel. I don’t know how long it will take me to forgive you, but I—I really miss you.”

A choked sob escaped from Joel’s mouth, and he leaned his head back, your hands falling into your lap. You didn’t know what to do with yourself other than try not to throw up—because your body was still trying to desperately fight off the nausea rolling inside your stomach. Confessing feelings while also battling a minor concussion had not been your brightest idea, but you had braved through worse before.

So many moments of silence passed before Joel finally glanced back at you, his lips twitching as he held back another round of tears.

“Y’have no fuckin’ idea how much I miss you,” he confessed. “I’ve waited so long for the moment you’d remember everythin’. I tried to imagine what I’d do when y’got those memories back, and… fuck. I’m so sorry for everythin’ I did.”

You took his hands in yours, interlocking your fingers around his. It was your turn to start crying, and you felt the tears fall against your fingers.

“What did you do?” You asked. “When you imagined me getting my memories back, what did you do?”

“I imagined kissin’ you and tellin’ you how much I loved you,” he said.

“What’s taking you so long?”

In one fluid motion, Joel sent his chair flying backward as he dropped to his knees before you. Reaching up, he cupped your face between his large hands, his mouth hovering over yours. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for, but you gave him a simple nod, and that was enough.

The first kiss was delicate— cautionary. He wavered between losing control and reluctance, the path of his lips moving fluidly like they had always known their place against yours. It was so much different than the first kiss months ago, where then it had been about discovery and excitement, each draw of your bodies together new and profound. But now, it was a kiss to rekindle a flame that had dwindled out, a resurgence of emotions neither of you had experienced in years. Yes, those few months together had been exhilarating, but you had barely scratched the surface of where the bounds of your love lay.

You were the first to cave into the chaos, deepening the kiss until Joel’s movements determined your breathing. When his head moved, so did yours. When his tongue overlapped yours, you repeated the motion. Over and over until you lost the ability to identify where you started and he ended.

“Joel,” you panted, his lips still crushed against yours.

“Hmm?”

He was too enamored with you to respond coherently. You raked your nails over his scalp, refamiliarizing yourself with the softness of his curls. Joel groaned into your open mouth, his tongue dancing with yours once more.

“Joel,” you muttered again.

“Yeah, baby?” He exhaled, finally breaking away from your swollen lips.

You pressed your forehead against his, your eyelashes fluttering up at him. Joel looked down at you with blown pupils, the brown color in his eyes nearly black as he waited for your response.

“I think you forgot to say something,” you whispered, laughing softly.

“Don’t think I forgot at all, baby. Just wanted to savor you a minute,” Joel grinned. “I love you. God, I love you so fuckin’ much. Ain’t ever gonna stop tellin’ you how much I love you.”

“I still don’t forgive you for everything,” you reminded him. “It’ll take me some time to heal from all of this fully.”

Joel brushed his nose against yours, his lips tugging upward.

“I got all the time in the world, baby. Gonna spend every damn day provin’ myself to you. I’m already on my knees for you. Anythin’ you ask of me, I’ll give it to you.”

Breathless. You were breathless. This was the man you should have spent your life with, the man you should have married. Joel saw his faults, admitted them, and submitted himself to you out of love and dedication. Anger was still to be had, but it could wait.

“Anything?” You echoed.

He trailed his fingers up your bare legs, his hands teasing their way higher. You mindlessly decided on a dress earlier and thanked yourself for it. A shiver ran over your skin as he pushed the hem of the dress further up, his head bending down to kiss a path over your knee and up your thigh.

“God, I missed you so damn much, baby,” Joel groaned, his tongue gliding over your pebbled skin.

“Show me how much you missed me.”

Joel lay his head in your lap, his puppy dog eyes staring up at you with a glimmer of desire. You knew that look; you had seen it so many times before in his eyes. Too many memories had taken their place in your mind to ever let you forget the way Joel looked at you when he wanted you.

“Can I?” He asked, brushing his hand between your thighs.

Your body responded easily to his touch, a familiarity you once knew. The friction of your underwear against your clit was growing uncomfortable as it throbbed at the vibration of his voice. Like a moth to a flame, you were drawn to Joel in more ways than one. You craved to be touched, to be pulled apart and put back together in the ways only he knew.

Joel tugged your ass down to the edge of the chair, flicking the hem of your dress into your lap. You tried working your fingers over the band of your underwear, but Joel beat you to it with a swiftness that left you dizzy. Well, dizzier than you already were.

Joel hoisted your calves over his shoulders, settling himself between your thighs. Flashes of memories in this exact position came flooding in; this was familiar. Familiarity beyond compare and something you desperately yearned for.

“Please,” you whined.

He wasted no time giving in to your plea. Joel licked a thick stripe up your slick entrance, rewarding himself with a soft moan leaving your lips. You unknowingly lied months ago when you said no one had tasted you like this… Joel had. He thrived on giving you pleasure like this, doing this countless times before. He knew your body better than anyone else, and your body cried out for him in ways you could not control.

He devoured you like he sought to destroy the years of distance that had passed between you. Every flick of his tongue against the apex of your sex, every gravelly moan from his throat—it all revolved around that undeniable truth that you both were meant to be together. That’s how it should have always been.

“More,” you begged.

Words failed you, yet Joel knew what you needed. His tongue plunged inside of you, curling ever so slightly. The pleasure inside you burned slowly, igniting a warmth through your veins. You throbbed against his mouth, his breath hot on your skin as he latched onto your clit. You arched against him, your hand snaking down to latch onto the hair on his scalp. Joel let out a prideful moan, working his tongue faster against your aching bud.

“There… right there…” You whimpered.

Joel gave the softest nod as if to say I know, driving you closer to the edge. A hitch of your breath, another flick of his tongue, repeated motions back and forth until your orgasm was crashing against the surface. You cried out, tears springing from your eyes as you succumbed to the climax wracking through your limbs. Joel pulled away, his mouth and mustache glistening from your release.

Lowering your legs off his shoulders, Joel wordlessly hooked an arm around your waist and hauled you onto the dining table, the wood creaking under the weight. You pawed at his shirt, and Joel obliged your silent request as he yanked it over his head. You lifted yourself on your forearms, drinking in the sight of his bare chest. You glanced up at Joel to catch him smirking, amused by your silence.

“Y’can’t be lookin’ at me like that, baby,” Joel groaned, stepping between your open legs. “Not when I got you spread out and ready for me.”

“I can look at you however I want,” you smiled.

Joel leaned down to meet your lips, dragging you in for a long kiss.

“I missed you so fuckin’ much,” he chuckled.

His lips worked their way down your neck, sucking marks into your skin, while his hands worked quickly at the belt around his waist. Hooking one leg around his waist, you drew him closer, your breath hitching as he lined himself up with your entrance.

Joel drove himself deep inside you in one thrust, the tip of his cock spearing into you. You gasped as his cock filled you with its entirety, your body stretched passed comfortability. You forgot how much you loved feeling him everywhere. With his cock fully seated inside you, Joel leaned forward and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I need to hear y’say it, baby,” he begged. “Please tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Joel,” you exhaled. “I love you.”

That’s all he needed to hear—a simple admission, a coupling of words that rewrote the story lost between the both of you. You spent months trying to deny your love for him, but there was no way to deny this connection. There was always an invisible string connecting you both, and though the string had frayed and unraveled, this moment snapped it back into place.

“I love you,” Joel said. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you go.”

He pulled out slowly, only to snap his hips forward and render you speechless. You reached up to hold him against you, your nails digging crescent-shaped marks into his shoulder blades. Thrust after thrust, Joel drilled into you forcefully—brutally. You cried out every time his body slapped against yours, and your vision started to blur around the edges. Your core clenched around him, your thighs slick from your arousal that dripped between your bodies.

“Takin’ my cock so well, baby,” Joel praised. “Doin’ so good for me.”

“Yes… yes…” You chanted the word between every thrust that he assaulted you with, every caress of his fingers around your waist, another revelation of how perfect you were together.

“My perfect—fuck—perfect girl,” he gritted out.

Joel locked an arm around your back and lifted you from the table, spinning you both until your back hit the wall across from the table. The impact was enough to knock the air from your lungs and dizzy your mind, but he gave you no opportunity to recover before he was driving upwards into you, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through your muscles. With one arm braced around your body and a hand pressed against the wall beside your head, Joel ground into you deeper…slower… your body begging for release. He could sense it, too, the way your thighs tightened around his waist and your cheeks dampened with tears.

“Yeah, I can feel it, baby,” Joel crooned. “I know you’re close. Gonna cum for me? Gonna give me what I want?”

“Please,” you cried, nodding vigorously.

Joel crushed his lips against yours, and you sobbed into his open mouth. Your body sized around him as your orgasm tore through you, stronger than the first. His thrusts stalled as your core pulsed through the aftershocks, the room spinning quicker every time another wave of release rocked through your stomach.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my good girl. Give me everythin’. I got you. Keep goin’.”

It was disastrous how obedient your body was to his commands. You entangled yourself in him, your tongue rolling over his tongue to silence his muffled words. Joel wasn’t far behind you, and soon enough, he punched out your name through clenched teeth, spilling himself into you.

You rested your head back against the wall, his body sagging into yours as you both fought for air. The slow drip of his cum down your inner thigh and the sweat clinging to your brow was the only sensation you could feel as time passed in comfortable silence.

“I love you, baby,” Joel groaned, his head falling onto your shoulder.

You carded a hand through his hair, leaning your cheek against his sweat-dampened curls. Right there, in Joel’s arms, everything made sense. The anger inside you could dissolve away—at least for a little while—and you could remind yourself that this was what love felt like. To be held. To be seen. To be cherished.

Faint sounds of sniffling traveled past the rush of blood pumping in your ears, and you tugged at his curls to pull his head off your shoulder. Joel looked up at you through blurry eyes, his thick lashes coated in fresh tears.

“It’s okay,” you hushed.

“It’s not, though,” he argued. “I shoulda came back sooner. I shouldn’t have waited. There’s so much time we can’t get back, baby. S’all my fault.”

“We’ve got time,” you said softly. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you, Joel.”

“Promise?” He asked.

“I promise.”

The evening grew late, and both you and Joel had settled into bed. It surprised you when you cried at seeing his room again, realizing nothing about it had changed. The fan was still humming softly in the corner as it always had, the soft breeze floating over the bedsheets as you climbed under the covers. Miscellaneous items were scattered on his dresser, and worn clothes littered the floor beside his hamper. Joel mumbled a slew of apologies at the sight of the mess, but it only made you cry harder. You didn’t care if it was messy. You only cared that you were finally home. Even without the memories resurfacing, your house never felt this way. It had never been a home because Joel wasn’t there to make it a home.

“How’re y’feelin’, baby?” Joel asked, his hand drawing circles into your back as you leaned against his naked body.

“Like I could spend the rest of the night throwing up,” you said, half-jokingly.

Your headache was splintering into a full-blown migraine, and your body had yet to recover from the fall earlier in the day. You had no regrets about being fucked against the wall, but it definitely proved to have done some damage to your fragile state.

“If I had known y’needed a good hit to the head to get all these memories back, I woulda tripped you myself,” Joel teased.

You attempted to laugh, only to have the nausea rising in your throat silence your efforts.

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” you groaned, curling yourself tighter around his body.

“S’only kiddin’, baby. I’m just way too damn happy to have you in my arms again. I spent the last few months tryna figure out how I’d go on livin’ without you.”

“It wasn’t easy for me either,” you sighed. “I hardly recognize myself most days.”

“I won’t lie, seein’ you at parent-teacher conferences nearly broke me,” Joel admitted.

“It broke me, too.”

Silence slipped over you, and the fan turned into the only noise inside the bedroom. Joel’s chest rose and fell softly under your head, his heart pounding echoing through your ear as you pressed yourself further into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he finally spoke. “I wish I had a better word to describe how sorry I am. It wasn’t right of me to lie to you, and I shouldn’t have ever let your family make that decision.”

“I haven’t talked to them in months,” you muttered. “I don’t know how to forgive them for what they did.”

“Y’don’t need to forgive them until you’re ready. I just hope y’know they love you, baby.”

“I do know they love me, and that’s why it’s so hard. How can they love me yet still hurt me so much?”

Joel pressed a soft kiss against the crown of your head, his fingers squeezing around your shoulder.

“I don’t want to be angry anymore,” you said, your voice cracking. “But I don’t know how to feel anything but anger towards them. Especially toward Beth. The things she’s said to me in the past…How do I forgive her?”

“I ain’t gonna take sides,” he cautioned. “But I think the accident affected her the hardest. She was so angry at your family's plan, and I think she took out a lot of that anger on you when y’didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s not fair,” you cried. “It’s not fair that she gets to be angry when she wasn’t the one that lost everything.”

“You were her everythin’, baby,” Joel whispered. “She lost you.”

“You’re taking her side,” you grumbled.

“I’m just tryna show you the other side of things,” Joel offered.

“I know you are.”

Joel sunk further into the pillows, dragging you down beside him. You nestled into his arms, your limbs twisting around him like they had a hundred times before. It’s odd what your body remembers, but your brain forgets; it is a simple gesture of an embrace that can never be entirely forgotten. You understood why things always felt so right when you met him again last year; your soul knew he was the missing piece that had been lost.

Joel spoke your name softly, the syllables more beautiful than ever when they rolled through his accent. You hummed in response, gazing up at him through tired eyes.

“I woulda waited an eternity for you, baby,” he confessed. “I woulda gone to my grave waitin’ to have you back in my arms like this again.”

You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes, failing miserably to hide the quiver of your lips. Joel didn’t wait for your response, nor could you verbalize anything to match the poetry of his words. You only nodded and said, " I love you, " before your eyes drifted shut. Home. You were home.

Joel was softly snoring when you woke up. In the quiet light of the morning, you took the time to admire every softened feature of his face. The worried creases between his brows had smoothed overnight, yet you still found yourself brushing a finger over the spot they usually were. Brushing your hand down his face, you traced the outline of his lips, slightly parted and pouty, the soft kiss more kissable now than ever. Kissing him could wait; you wanted to savor this moment.

You drew a path down his neck and chest, the spattering of hair across his torso tickling your fingertips. Joel stirred above you, his head rolling to the other side of the pillow. His eyes never opened, though, and you took the opportunity to crawl under the sheets.

Joel’s cock lay heavy against his lower abdomen, precum leaking onto the soft skin of his stomach. You ran your hands over his hips, settling yourself lower until you were comfortable between his legs. His cock twitched as you wrapped a hand around his length, stroking him slowly and deliberately. Leaning your head down, you kissed up the shaft of his cock, dragging your tongue up the length and around the head. Joel’s body tensed up, yet he still didn’t wake. You took him into your mouth, the salty taste and musky scent overwhelming your senses. You hadn’t pleasured him like this in so long, and you had forgotten how much you loved it.

Taking him deeper, you flattened your tongue, teasing the base of his cock with the tip of your tongue. You faintly heard a moan slip from Joel’s mouth, his cock twitching against your tongue.

“Baby?” He groaned.

You hummed softly, pulling him from your mouth. With your saliva coating the entirety of his cock, you pumped him quicker, feeling his body seize up under your touch.

“Fuck,” he grunted, bucking his hips upward.

You rewarded him with another swirl of your tongue over the head of his cock, your mouth and hand working in tandem. He was close; you could feel it.

“Just like that, baby. Forgot—fuck—forgot how good your mouth feels.”

You took him deeper, the tip of his cock tapping against the back of your throat. You sputtered around him, drool rolling down the corners of your mouth, yet you didn’t stop. Hollowing your cheeks, you heard Joel choke out a gasp. The warmth of his release flooded your mouth, coating the back of your throat and tongue. You drank down every drop, pulling off of him with a soft pop.

“Jesus Christ,” he sighed, slumping into the pillows. “Get your ass up here, baby.”

You crawled over his body, your legs straddling his waist. Joel grinned up at you, his tired eyes still barely open as he drank in your naked body.

“C’mere,” he yawned, reaching up to grab the back of your neck.

His soft lips met yours, and you molded your body to him, letting him guide your mouth however he pleased. There was still a pang of anger tucked into the darkest corner of your heart, but you knew with time, it might fade away, and all you wanted was to bask in Joel’s love as long as possible. Things would take time, but you were willing to work on it.

“I missed wakin’ up to you,” Joel muttered, his lips working down your jaw.

You could feel him growing hard against your core as you ground your hips down on him. It was impossible to hide the fact you were slick with arousal between your thighs, your body terribly responsive to every touch he placed on your body.

“You’re drenchin’ me, baby,” he groaned. “Need to feel your pussy now.”

“I’m all yours.”

“Damn fuckin’ right you are.”

You lifted your hips, notching his cock at your entrance. Inch by inch, you sunk onto him, both of you exhaling a shaky moan as he stretched you open. Leaning forward, you laced your fingers through Joel’s, holding him firm in your grasp. All you ached for was the tenderness he could provide, the slow synchronicity that flowed through his body and into yours.

A gentle rub of his thumb over the back of your hand, the slow rise and fall of your hips against his cock… it was the lazy movements that spoke louder than words. It was the recognition that you were his just as he was yours. Soft moans fell off your lips as Joel guided you against his cock, little reassuring grunts leaving his mouth with each roll of your body.

“S’fuckin’ beautiful, baby,” Joel exhaled.

The sun seeping through the blinds lit the amber flecks around his pupils, the morning light painting his naked body golden. The veins beneath his thick neck strained as he lifted his head to watch you, his lips parted in awe as you sucked him further inside your slicken sex.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he demanded. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

Your fingers slipped away from his hand, brushing down his flexed stomach as you made a path to your throbbing clit. The feather-like touch immediately sparked pleasure through your core. You clenched around his cock, whimpering with each circle of your fingertips.

“I feel it, baby. I know you’re close.”

“Mhmm,” you whined.

Joel raised his body to press into your chest, one hand cradling your heavy breast, the other kneading the flesh of your ass. With his weight against your body, your hand pressed harder against your clit, the arousal pooling between where your bodies connect.

Your head fell onto his shoulder, teeth sinking into his sweat-covered skin. Joel groaned at the sensation, only grounding you down harder onto his cock. You needed every atom of your being injected with Joel; every one of your senses evaded with his taste, touch, and scent.

“Joel,” you mumbled, nestling your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m so close… so close.”

“I got you, baby. Gonna fall apart right here with you.”

He barely finished speaking by the time your orgasm ignited in your stomach, your body shuddering within his embrace. Joel spoke your name in broken syllables, his release pouring into you only moments later.

Neither of you broke apart once your spasms subsided. Joel tangled a hand into the hair resting at the nape of your neck, urging your lips to his. Slotting your mouth over his, you slipped your tongue over his bottom lip, a starved search for a deeper connection. Joel fulfilled your need, devouring the soft sounds you exhaled.

Slowly—reluctantly—you tore from his lips, gasping for air to fill your lungs. Joel’s swollen lips formed into a crooked smile, his brown eyes softening the longer he gazed at you. Somewhere inside your chest, you felt that pain reawaken, a haunting reminder that you could have had this all along. Had the lies never been told… Joel would have always been yours.

How did he survive the years of pain? How did he allow himself to let you go, knowing you’d never be satisfied with another?

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you turned your head to hide the emotions cresting over your face. Nothing went unnoticed with Joel, and he gently pinched your chin to bring your eyes back to his. With furrowed brows, Joel studied your features, the realization striking home for him, too.

“I know you’re scared, baby,” he whispered. “And I know there’s a lot I gotta fix between us, but I swear to you that I ain’t ever gonna leave again. I made that mistake once, and I’ll never do it again.”

“I want to trust you, Joel. I’m trying. But I don’t know how to forget what you’ve done… what everyone has done. There’s so much pain inside me. It’s unbearable.”

Joel cradled your face in his hands, leveling you with a gaze you couldn’t discern. So many emotions swirled within his eyes, an endless expanse of grief that weighed him down.

“Give me your pain. Give me all your anger and everything inside you, and I swear I’ll keep you safe. Y’ain’t ever gonna be alone again. Not while I’m still breathin’, baby. It’s you and me. Forever.”

“Forever,” you echoed.

“Yes, forever. I don’t want another moment of my life without you in it. I can’t lose you again.”

“I can’t lose you, either,” you cried. “I never wanted to lose you in the first place, so please don’t leave.”

Joel’s eyes clouded with tears, and he shook his head.

“I love you too much ever to leave you,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m keepin’ you so long as y’let me.”

Eventually, you both made it out of the bed. Joel grumbled at your wishes to leave, keeping you in his arms and peppering your skin with kisses. It wasn’t long before your dizziness set back in, and you were demanding water and painkillers.

As Joel poured you a glass of water, you found yourself swaying against the cold tile floors of the kitchen, the corners of your vision blurring. Your nails scratched at the kitchen countertop as you tried to suppress the lightheaded feeling creeping in. You just needed to sit…that’s all you needed.

You called out Joel’s name the moment your knees buckled beneath you. His body moved in a foggy haze as you tried to keep consciousness, yet you were being pulled beneath the surface of your headache. Strong hands tucked themselves under your armpits, and Joel lowered you to the ground.

“Baby?” His voice was frantic—strained.

You mumbled a few incoherent words as your body sagged into his arms. Christ, your head ached. You hadn’t experienced a fainting spell since the accident, and you forgot how terrifying it was.

Joel choked out your name, his hand snaking around your jaw to wag your head back and forth. You could see his silhouette over you, the shadow molding into the spots within your field of vision, but nothing else registered. Slipping. Drowning. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. Fear set your nerves alight; what if you lost it all again? What if everything melted away into the darkness consuming you? You clawed tooth and nail as your body plunged deeper into unconsciousness.

It was no use.

Joel paced the hallway outside your hospital room like a madman. The moment you went limp in his arms, he knew something was wrong. He should have taken your injury more seriously and urged you to the hospital yesterday. But he had you in his arms again, and the world would have had to fall apart before he even considered letting you go. Every admission from your lips weighed down on Joel’s shoulders, another swell of guilt growing inside him. He anticipated your anger, your grief, your heartbreak; he willingly listened without argument. His own struggles were nothing compared to what you endured, and he’d be damned if you ever felt those emotions again. Chewing at his nails, Joel glanced back at the open blinds of your hospital room. The doctors assured him you’d be okay; it was only a concussion, and there’d be no complications. That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to be absolutely sure you’d recover.

The door cracked open, and Joel rushed toward the neurologist leaving your room.

“How is she, doc?” Joel asked. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

The neurologist, Dr. Oliver, nodded with a soft smile. The smile alone settled the rapid heartbeat banging against Joel's ribcage.

“Miss Smith is going to be just fine,” Dr. Oliver reassured. “There’s going to be a long road to recovery, but I don’t see any long-term effects. I suggest you bring her in for check-ins with me every few months just to monitor her progress.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” Joel nodded.

“What I need you to do, Mr. Miller, is to help her. She may be a bit forgetful occasionally, so leaving lists around the house or notes will help keep her on track. You do live together, I assume?”

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tick he had yet to learn how to shake.

“We don’t, but if y’recommend it…”

“I recommend it, but only because she’ll need someone looking over for her. At least, until she regains enough cognitive strength to keep her memory at full capacity,” Dr. Oliver explained.

“I can do that, Doc. All I want is for her to be okay.”

Dr. Oliver clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder, his lips curving into a grin. Joel could finally breathe; you’d be okay.

“You’re a good man, Mr. Miller. She’s lucky to have you here to care for her.”

“Thank you, Doc.”

“Give her some time to rest, and she’ll be clear to go home tomorrow.”

Dr. Oliver said his goodbyes to Joel and bounded down the hallway to other patients. Joel glanced at the open door, your sleeping frame tucked into the bed among the cords and beeping monitors. He entered quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor so he wouldn’t wake you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Joel took your hand in his, cautious to avoid the IV tube taped onto your skin. Smoothing lines over the inside of your wrist, Joel watched you with weary eyes.

“I love you, baby. I’m gonna be right here when y’wake up,” he vowed. “Like it always shoulda been.”

Leaning over your body, Joel pressed his lips against your forehead, inhaling your sweet scent as he pulled away.

You’d be okay, and you’d forever be his.

The harsh light above you reflected behind your eyelids. You groaned as you stirred awake, your eyes squinting to adjust to the layers of white surrounding you. Curling your fingers into the scratchy blanket, you found a familiar body sagged into a chair beside the bed. Joel slept peacefully, yet the worry lines creased between his brows. Extending your hand over the edge of the bed, you brushed your palm over his knee.

“Joel,” you whispered.

His body jolted upright as he scrubbed a hand down his face. Big, brown puppy dog eyes met yours, the concern in his face dissolving away once his eyes settled on yours. He made no effort to contain the smile breaking across his face.

“Hey, handsome,” you croaked.

“Baby,” Joel sighed, crouching beside the bed. “How’re y’feelin’?”

“A little fatigued, but I think I’ll live.”

“You better,” he chuckled.

With your arms outstretched, you ushered Joel into an embrace. Joel’s lips crashed against yours the second he wrapped his arms around you, his touch soft and cautious. Beautiful melancholy emotions wracked your body; this was the moment you ached for from the start. To be held in your vulnerability, to be cherished, to be loved. Joel didn’t leave. He’d always be here, now.

“There’s someone here to see you, baby,” Joel muttered against your mouth.

You pulled away, confusion scrunching your eyebrows together. God, don’t let it be your family.

“I know that look. Don’t worry, baby, I’ll be right back. I promise you’ll be happy,” Joel reassured.

Joel disappeared from the room, and you sat up, settling back into the pillows. You glanced at the monitor beeping beside your bed, the steady line of your heart rate cruising along the screen. Footsteps sounded outside your room, and your eyes flicked back toward the door, a small silhouette hiding behind Joel’s large frame.

Sarah.

Her bright eyes looked between you and Joel, her stare quizzical–skeptic. You gave her a small wave, ushering her into the room.

“Hi, Sarah,” you faltered. The tears were already forming on your waterline.

“Hi, Miss Smith,” she said wearily.

You patted the bed, scooting over to make room for her. Her steps were slow as she neared the bedside, her eyes glancing back at Joel. He gave her an encouraging nod, a knowing grin on his lips.

“You don’t have to call me that,” you laughed softly.

Sarah settled onto the bed, her tennis shoes swinging over the floor as she fidgeted with her curls. Joel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and a smile glued to his face.

“But you’re my teacher,” she muttered.

You tucked a loose strand behind her ear, the same hair you had braided and brushed years ago. She wasn’t yours, not by birth. But she was yours just as much as Joel was; she was your home. They weren’t just photos captured in time; they were real. They were real, and they were yours.

“Do you remember when I used to read you bedtime stories?” You wondered aloud. “You would always ask for the same one over and over.”

There it was. The light sparkled in the gold flecks of Sarah’s eyes, the same gold that sat deep within Joel’s.

“You and Dad would read The Kissing Hand every night,” she nodded.

“I know you’re a lot older now, but do you remember what we would do before you fell asleep?”

You reached for Sarah’s hand, lifting it to your lips. With a soft kiss on her palm, you guided her hand to her cheek. Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she leaned into your touch, the simple caress of your hand against her face enough to bring you both to the brink of crying.

“I missed you, kiddo,” you cried softly.

Sarah threw her arms around your neck, muffling her sobs into your hospital gown as you squeezed your arms tighter around her body. You missed so many milestones and moments of her life because of the accident, so many memories that were never made. Every family meal, every soccer game…you lost them all.

You lifted your eyes, catching the moment Joel swiped away a tear from his cheek. Beckoning him over with a quick motion of your hand, he crossed the room in two quick strides and wrapped his large arms around you and Sarah. You rested your chin on Sarah’s shoulder, hugging her closer. Joel kissed the crown of Sarah’s head, then placed one on your forehead.

“Wait,” Sarah blurted out, forcing you all to break apart.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Joel asked, craning his head to look at her.

“Does that mean you’re coming back home?” She asked.

You looked at Joel for guidance, trying to find the answers within his gentle gaze. He waited in silence, giving you room to decide. There wasn’t a shadow of a doubt about your answer, not when you had everything you needed right here.

“Only if you promise never to make pancakes again,” you smiled, pinching her cheek.

She buried herself into your arms again, her head resting against your heart. You looked up at Joel, your mouth forming three little words.

I love you.

~ Two weeks later ~

Joel refused any help as he unloaded the last of your boxes from the back of his truck. When you got home from the hospital, you patched up the holes in the wall—with Joel’s help, of course—and got the house ready to sell. It barely lasted a week on the market before the offers came in, making it easy to start packing. That house was filled with memories you didn’t want to remember, memories that you no longer wanted to revisit. It wasn’t home to you anymore.

You and Sarah sat on the front porch, popsicles in hand, watching as he huffed an exasperated breath once the box hit the steps. Joel straightened out, running sweaty hands down the sides of his jeans, glancing back at the empty truck bed.

“Well, I think that’s the last of it,” Joel sighed. “Y’sure we ain’t miss anythin’?”

“I think I’ve got all I need right here,” you grinned, nudging Sarah with your shoulder.

Joel plopped beside you on the porch, leaning over to lick up the sticky residue of the popsicle that had fallen down your arm. You gave him a warning look, shifting your eyes toward Sarah as if to say: Behave. He only shrugged, sticking out his tongue again to tickle your skin.

“You hungry?” He asked, quirking a brow.

“Starving!” Sarah declared, rising to her feet.

You laughed, knowing Joel wasn’t asking her. Nonetheless, you and Joel followed her into the house hand in hand. Over the last couple of weeks, he had decorated the house in countless sticky notes: ones in the bathroom, the bedroom, the kitchen. Each said something important. The one in the bathroom was stuck on the medicine cabinet, reminding you which toothbrush was yours—the purple one. Joel stuck one by the front door with Sarah’s soccer schedule—snack duty included. There were a few scattered around the kitchen: one telling you where to find the coffee mugs, another one with a list of groceries to buy over the weekend. Three photos hung beside the list, sitting in perfect harmony as they always should have been. But your favorite was stuck to the cover of Romeo and Juliet, Joel’s messy handwriting scribbled across the yellow paper. It was only a few words but the only reminder you needed.

Welcome home, baby.

I love you.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #pre outbreak!joel #joel miller fic #tlou fic #fluff and angst and smut

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