#He leaned into kiss me that night and stuck his finger through the ring like he does my collar and pulled me close and i just melted
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He Proposed y'all 🥺
We had this romantic weekend planned where we were going to drive to the next state over and stay in a cabin with a hot tub and everything. Wrench got thrown into the plans. We ended up having this really rough talk about life and expectations, and what our future will hold (he has stage three Parkinson's and apparently the outlook isn't great according to his doctors) and He had this long speech about me "not waiting for him" because he feels like I'm just sitting here on a shelf, waiting for him to come back to me again and again, and how if anybody else comes along in my life that makes me happier, to please please move on without him -- and I thought he was breaking up with me. I sobbed and felt my heart shatter... He held me and told me he's not leaving, he's not going anywhere, but he wants me to be happy, because he's not sure what kind of future he can provide me... but he still wants a future with me. Then he brought out the ring and told me he doesn't want me to keep waiting on him... to ask the big question. and then he gave me the ring.
The box was covered in pearls and a big golden E (for my name) on the top -- which got my all teary-eyed. The ring itself isn't my style (it's more of a wedding band than an engagement ring) and it's a size too small, but I was still so fucking blown away. The inside has our favorite song engraved there, and it's white and gold (his favorite colors).
The weekend got ended short because of some personal matters, and now I'm sitting at home while he's four hours away getting ready for the next place his work is sending him, and I'm such a mix of emotions.
I'm excited, and have nobody I could tell aside from my mum & brother (who gave "meh" responses to things??) and there were a lot of heavy things He and I spoke about... so I want to be excited and cry happy tears, but at the same time, I know the road ahead is going to be fucking rough on us both...
I just wanted to celebrate the news with somebody... even if this post gets thrown into the void and nobody reads it. I'm happy, and I wanted to tell somebody...
#My stupid joints are swollen so i can't get the ring on#and i might've cried about it#so now it's around my neck on a chain#and i can't stop playing with it#He leaned into kiss me that night and stuck his finger through the ring like he does my collar and pulled me close and i just melted#knowing he did that with my engagement ring was a whole other level#i love him so fucking much#i would wait until the end of the earth for that man#i've got so many mixed emotions going through me and nowhere to put them all#-----#Emi talks about her life
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istg that “just because you’re beautiful and a good kisser does not mean i forgive you.” “you think i’m beautiful?” is sooooo eddie coded.
i'm picturing a sorta enemies to lovers with eddie pulling yet another prank on reader (we all know this boy has the emotional maturity of a five year old when it comes to making a move on the girl he likes) but he really does hurt her feelings this time so he tries to make it up to her and they end up kissing.
from what you've written before i think you could put a great spin on this sorta scenario, if you feel like it <3
hope you like it! :D — you're eddie munson's biggest enemy. and, yes, you're also his soulmate. (enemies to lovers, secret relationship, 0.9k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
You storm into the bustling lunch room, having traded your pretty corseted blouse for a piece of oversized Corroded Coffin merch — definitely not by choice. “Do you have a death wish?” you ask when you reach the Hellfire table at the very back of the cafeteria, zeroed in on its leader at the head of it.
Eddie turns slowly, blinking up at you with innocent button eyes. His chews through the hamburger wadded in his cheek. “Potentially,” he answers, muffled before he swallows it down.
You huff, too easily frustrated. It isn’t any wonder why he likes to mess with you so much. “Where are my clothes?”
“The ones you left on my bedroom floor last night or…?”
“No, you idiot— The clothes you stole from the girl’s locker room. Which makes you a total perv, by the way.”
“Oh, that sexy little number?” he croons, turning in his seat to face you more. “It’s in my locker, actually.”
“Well, get it out,” you say with gritted teeth.
He thinks for a moment, pursing his lips to the side. “Hm… I don’t think I will.”
Your jaw tightens. “Why?”
“‘Cause it’s a little revealing, don’t you think?”
“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point, Munson.”
He smacks his lips against his teeth, then scrunches the bridge of his nose. He wags a sarcastic, ringed finger at you. “See— Those aren’t the values a nice girl like you should have—”
“God, you’re infuriating,” you groan and stomp off again.
Eddie smiles to himself while he watches you go, cheek tilted lazily to his shoulder. The only thing he likes better than seeing you come (in more ways than one) is watching you leave.
He sighs a deep, contented sigh and turns back to the rest of the table. They’re all wide-eyed and silent, still musing on the sudden interaction with the disbelief that it had happened at all.
Eddie only grins, wider this time. “Ah… She’s obsessed with me.”
—————
By the end of the school day, your blouse hasn’t yet been returned to you. You’re still stuck in the stupid shirt Eddie had left for you — all black, too big, and obviously his. You know it belongs to him because you’ve worn it thousands of times while sleeping over at his place. It smells just like him, like weed and cologne and boy.
You’re heading towards the exits when a hand pulls you into an abandoned classroom around the corner — pale, ringed, and lanky. As if you needed any further confirmation it was Eddie Munson.
You stumble in, and he locks it behind you.
“Don’t you think you’ve bothered me enough today?” you squint.
“Oh, so you don’t want your shirt back?” he teases, waving the thing in his free hand. You reach for it, and he snatches it back, smirking softly down at you. “Uh-uh. What’s the magic word, sweetheart.”
“Give me my shirt back,” you answer in a monotone.
“Not even close, but I’ll give you a kiss for it.”
You sigh like it’s a chore for you and lean in to kiss his cheek. Your lips just barely graze his stubbly jaw. Eddie shrugs. “You missed, but I’m feeling nice today, so—”
You snatch it from him when he hands it to you. “You can’t keep doing this, Eds. We’re supposed to hate each other.”
“Well, one, we do hate each other. Obviously,” he scoffs and leans back on one of the desks. It shifts under his weight, and he stumbles. He decides to sit on it completely while you laugh. “And two, this was, like, a genius prank on my end. I made my arch nemesis walk around in my shirt all day— you’re not giving me enough credit for this, sweetheart.”
“Yeah, except I got called the freak’s girlfriend all day.”
“By who?”
“Who do you think?”
He ponders for a moment. “…Jason?”
You nod, all slow because it’s obvious. The only one who hates Eddie more than you do is Jason Carver. You wonder if he’s secretly in love with the town freak, too.
“Well, it’s about time he knows who you belong to,” the boy says with a laugh. “He’s only been trying to get with you for two years.”
You cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t belong to anyone— I’m not a toy.”
“Well, yeah— only when you wanna be,” Eddie teases, reaching out for you. His ringed fingers curl around your wrist to pull you closer. You sigh in annoyance but walk between his thighs anyway.
“You’re so annoying.”
Eddie grins, pink and boyish. “But you like me anyway. So who’s the real loser?”
“I thought we hated each other,” you quip with narrowed eyes.
“I was kidding— Just kiss me.”
You giggle quietly and lean in to peck his lips. He tastes like nicotine and spearmint, mouth soft like flower petals. You get lost in him too easily. One peck becomes two — then three — then a longer, languid, and more drawn-out thing.
You feel Eddie smile against you, knowing he’s won now that you’re melting for him. You pull away with a smack when you regain your senses.
“Just because you’re pretty and a good kisser, doesn’t mean I forgive you, by the way. You know that, right?”
“Mhmm,” he hums mindlessly, already leaning forward to kiss you again.
You pull softly back. “And that I’m totally getting you back for this?”
“Yep.” He pecks your lips once, with a lot more self-restraint than you’d had. “So… When are you coming over to get the clothes you left at my place last night?”
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson#stranger things#stranger things imagine#eddie munson imagine#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble#event: bug turns one
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ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ/ᴍᴀꜱᴋ ᴋɪɴᴋ
KISS ME | Stalker!Harry x Reader, purge au
You left him with a taste of you lingering between his teeth, after the first time. With his appetite, it’s only fair he comes back for seconds.
★18+
I don't know what possesses me to write a psycho sicko every time the pumpkins start rolling out onto the doorsteps (see Hitchhikerry) but there is simply something in the air, I fear. This is ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ for the KINKTOBER projects.
PLEASE read the warnings, and please put yourself and your comfort first and foremost. Consume only what you’re comfortable consuming. This one is not intended to be read as a love story, and has sensitive topics, dark themes, and *dubious consent.
If you enjoy this, consider checking out my patreon masterlist, constantly being updated, with loads of exclusive content. If you would like to see the other KINKTOBER projects and join the taglist for upcoming projects, do so here.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: dubcon. stalking. sexual assault. coping with sexual assault. under negotiated kink. unsafe sex (no use of condom, no negotiation prior). manipulation. mask kink. leather kink. daddy kink. breeding kink. p-in-v. oral (m to f). general manhandling.
WC: 12.3K
As always, Harry is just a faceclaim.
Spring is bleeding out onto the tarmac.
Gold and liserian and bluebonnet. Midnight and cherry-red massacre, seeping into the gutter grate with the sky glowing like a peachring.
Spring is bleeding out onto the tarmac. It’s unstilted, and smells like rust, and kerosene, and Summer feels a hundred miles away. A thousand, like sunrise on the twenty-second, milliseconds seeping like sand through a clogged hourglass. Like someone wedged their sticky fingers in through the top and stuck a piece of gum to the narrowed opening.
The miasma, even days later, when waste management hordes the lily-white cadavers into semi’s and street sweepers come out to pressure wash the asphalt, burns your nose like you’re huffing acid.
And it feels like God cupping his hands around the continent and squeezing every ugly, brutish thing out. You wonder if the blood seeping between the asphalt slates sticks to the grooves of his palms. His fingerprints, casting massacre into the pitch sky, smudging asterisms together. You’re supposed to feel the holy spirit.
(Feel it— don’t you feel it?)
At the back of your tongue, in every empty room, like a nebulous haze of goodwill and unconditional love. When you were a kid, you wondered why feeling God didn’t make your skin itchy. It would, right? If the body of Christ stalled at your nape, looming over your shoulder. You were raised catholic, so it still lingers and sticks to the nook of your periphery like an oilslick, no matter how hard you knuckle at your eyes.
You wonder if it’s that same holy spirit they’re tasting in the heme when they cough, supine on the sidewalk. If it’s God’s liquid love, righteous across every capillary, with the swing of a sword. A forefinger on a trigger.
That’s what they say, anyways. Last Tuesday the blonde lady on Fox news said it was always God in our veins on the night of the holy purge— feel God (transubstantiation like a distant, muffled folklore ringing in your ears) cleanse your soul. Fox news always starts to lean on epistemic justification in Spring, and you wonder if people believe God is scrubbing them from the inside with a bathbrush. You wonder if they really even believe in God, anyways, when it’s all just a mangled apparatus for population control.
(But God wants them to kill the poor people, right?)
Last spring, a man broke into your apartment.
Charcoal bulk. Tapered obsidian. Wide shoulders, wide arms, wide, herculean thighs, in all black. Slate denim. Battered leather jacket. Those massive hands, coated in pure-nightfall leather. You remember them well, because you thought they resembled the thick, sheepskin gloves your grandfather would wear out in the snow—
Nothing besides black on him, besides the cruel arsenic white of a plastic doll mask stretched over his balaclava. Like those ugly, inexpressive porcelain things you’d find stacked up in antique stores. Your gaze lingered on the delirious scripture across the forehead. Kiss me.
He slunk in while you were in the bathroom. Cracked in your front door. You discovered a crater in the shape of his kneecap, days later, when you replaced the broken locks.
You found him on your couch like a stygian king, thighs split, like he belonged in your tiny living room in all his ominous, leathery heft, and for a second, you just stalled at the threshold with your heart at the base of your throat. Eyes wide. In stagnant impasse with this absurdly nonchalant intruder. Between a beleaguered rock and a hard place. He’d cocked his head at you. Dead silent, and your hindbrain prickled with parity of a slasher film clip— the kind you’d peep over your blanket, folded up to your nose with shaking hands, after bedtime. You weren’t allowed to watch the movie, at the time. But you always remembered that scene where the indifference rolled off the killer in lapping, tidal waves before he’d strike and carve a character open.
Something scratched at your hindbrain. Some hysterical thread, clinging to the falsehood that this was a rancid illusion. A nightmare, limned in butter-yellow off the lamp on the side table. His dirty boots kicked up on your coffee table. Inkblots in the plastic cut-outs of the eye sockets, glimmering like hungry nightfall. Because it was the purge, sure, but it wasn’t you.
Never you. It couldn’t happen to you.
Hindsight humbles the untouchable, crooked complex you wore on your shoulders. Your head, with your chin held high, behind the glowing string-lights tucked across your blinds and the bleeding street under your balcony.
(You remember you thought God prickled at your nape that night. May God be with you— that’s what they say.)
(God was cold, and it made your skin itch. Maybe he would have been warm, and kind, and you would’ve felt the goodwill and unconditional love if you didn’t ask so many stupid questions in kidhood during bible camp. If you didn’t bury your bible into the bottom of your nightstand when you realized they were justifying their gnarled agenda with the pages.)
You felt sick—
And he told you he didn’t have any interest in killing you. A purr, muffled by layers of stitched cotton and plastic. No interest in all that. Wouldn’t wanna hurt a pretty thing like you.
Like a sarky paradox to all the formidable space he was taking up, in all his horrifying gear.
Kiss me.
An irony to the ichor thumb-smudge across his forehead. An irony, you thought, to God with a bathbrush, and the date, and the time, and the uncomfortable, imperfect squeeze of you into the bracket of wrong-place-wrong-time. In your own apartment.
Aren’t you gonna thank me, he hummed, on his feet now, from across the room. Stalemate. Rotten stasis. Deadlock, at his discretion, with you, shaking like a leaf under the archway.
For protecting you? That’s what he said.
(If you weren’t frozen in place with the leftovers you had for dinner curdling in your belly— eye to eye with a facsimile of the reaper— you would have snorted. It was just so absurdly ironic that it nearly made your ribs ache.)
He was so big, you thought, when his shoulders climbed and his chest swelled, under the animal skin. So rigid. You wondered if he was all bulk like that, under the layers, or if the loose coat, and the gloves, and the daunting mien of a predator just made him seem that much larger. You’re not a small thing, but he made you feel as much. Like a dolly. A maquette— a perfect marionette to toss around between his hands on the perfect night, the perfect date on the calendar.
Lotta bad men around, tonight.
The floorboard creaked under his weight. One step forward. The carpet bristled under your heel.
Aren’t you gonna thank me for protecting you?
(Kiss me.)
You remember how you went along. Easy. Didn’t say no.
And you could chalk it up to survival— pure, self-preservational instinct— and the gunfire looming outside your window. No. You remember the swell of panic, the riptide of adrenaline tearing you into a deluge of auto-pilot. Something seeped into the hairline fracture across the line between saving yourself— and your dignity, your pride.
(Something ugly, and wrong, and so out of place. So warm in a room so bone-chilling.)
You thought you were broken. The two choices, unequivocally, were always fight or flight.
(So which synapse misfired, that night, that kicked your gears into neither?)
You remember ugly things from that night. It felt like your ribs were being pried open, and he was picking you apart, pinching some raw and deep to pluck it out between leather fingers, until you were squirming in a pool of your own spilled volition. Like milk knocked over on the counter. Left to rot. Curdle.
Because it didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt you.
And maybe that was worse. Because you were supposed to kick, and fight, and scream, and you—
Didn’t.
And maybe at first, it was a form of endurance. Survival sense— shutdown, like a generator on its last limb, preserving its own continuance. Just go along, just survive, just—
It’s easier, you think, in retrospect, to justify that.
What’s harder is that you remember you thought you were broken because part of you, eventually, didn’t want to kick, or fight, or scream.
(Go for the eyes— that’s what they say— and where would you go, in those inky craters, under the shadows? Like polynyas brimful of tar. You’d drown.)
You remember the way he called himself daddy— come sit on Daddy’s cock, tell Daddy how good he feels— and you remember the visceral burgeon of disgust swelling in your belly.
The way it made you revolted, and shuddery, and white-hot.
Wanting. Slick.
Because he’s not your daddy. Wasn’t. Isn’t.
You knew it for what it was. A gross game. Meant to debase your conation. This scary man in his scary mask on this, scary night, in your home, here to take something for himself. A flinder of your rib— a cracked piece of bone, here to tuck it into the inside of his coat. To watch your face crease with the juxtaposing blend of repulsion and want, rolling down your spine like rainwater off a downspout, as your cunt fluttered.
He fucked you stupid on his cock again, and again, and again, until the sun was scraping at the land with its hot fingers, and the corners of your room were white and blue. Took what he wanted, because he decided he could.
And that’s the game. The brutal nature of humanity crumbling under the weight of anarchy, and unrestricted autonomy, even if only for a night. Bereft morals. Selfish whims.
(And you took it. Just took it. Didn’t put up a fight, not when terror started lagging behind pleasure.)
He ate your cunt, too, just the way you liked. For hours, with the plastic mask tucked up like the balaclava, to the tip of his nose. The hard edge, and the cotton, pressing into your mons when he rolled your clit with his tongue, pressed the flats of his white teeth against it. You remember that.
His nice, clean white teeth, and his pink lips.
He must’ve been a pretty man under all the unnerving guise.
By the time the siren screeched at seven, you were strewn on your sheets like puddy across the sidewalk. All worn, and tired, and malleable, which he seemed to like. Panting, sweaty, tacky. Covered in him. The sticky, pearlescent mimesis, like memorabilia. Your pink underwear dangling out of his pocket like a perverted token to pin up onto his wall like a poster, after. His hard, leather fingerprints, blooming across your soft love handles, where he held your bones in place (but you didn’t need him to— not when you were so willing to placate and assuage and give). The chiaroscuro made your ribs rattle when you breathed deep.
You stared at the popcorn ceiling when his belt buckle clinked. Slotted himself back together, into unobtainable nightfall against the backdrop of daytime.
There’s a lot of things that stuck with you from that night. He didn’t hurt you, and your skin stayed sealed, but according to everyone, a part of you maybe-died, or that’s how you should feel, anyway. So, you wondered if that gangrenous part of you was severed off, bleeding out onto the carpet. Between the floorboards, staining the ceiling of the apartment on the floor under yours. A nebula of rust red across plaster.
(You thought it was severed, because at first you didn’t feel it. Anything. Nothing. Numb. Pinpricks across your psyche like your hand when you slept on it the wrong way. Maybe he cut it loose when you weren’t looking— when your lashes fluttered, smogged in the haze of yellow string lights, when your cheek kissed the mattress, and sex.)
You remember a lot of things that make your chest feel tight, like cotton unspooling in the crevices of your lungs, and your head feel waterlogged, and your knees brittle. But you remember he told you, before he left, that he’ll see you next year.
I’ll see you next year, sweetheart.
Like a portent. It should’ve been. In a way, it felt like a reassurance, and you hate that pulpy part of yourself.
And what can you do?
You’re a statistic.
The label feels wrong. Permanent. Like a bumper sticker stamped onto your forehead with gorilla glue. You’re lucky, they tell you, after. What a close call, when you swallow preventive abortion pills and shiver at your own reflection passing in the mirror. You think, maybe, your guardian angel blinked, somnolence searing at the backs of its eyes. Because, maybe, angels sleep, too. You don’t know. They didn’t teach that in church.
You go to therapy. The woman in the big, sable chair gives you this look. Crinkled countenance pinched in pity. How pitiful, you’re reminded, and how lucky you are to only be scratched by a freight train. You’re not smattered pulp on the railroad tracks, but in the cruel cosm, you feel like jam dripping down God’s hands.
You ask her if it’s fucked up that it felt good.
She tells you it’s not.
But then, you ask if it’s fucked up that a crackled fragment of you, maybe-sort-of-in-a-way, wouldn’t mind if it happened again.
That’s a different question.
Because you’ve been mulling that thought over between your teeth, in the hollow gaps between mortified, pale-faced solaces, I’m sorry’s, I’m-sorry-that-happened-to-you’s. It’s been festering, and feels like a chunk of you rotting under the sun. But maybe, if someone tells you that it’s okay—
If you had to do it over— you put it that way, like emphasizing a crease in a sheet of paper, and she gives you another, long, reticent look this time, instead of a response.
(Because, maybe, putting it that way makes the insatiable itch in your arteries more relatable. Easier to swallow. Easier to tolerate. Maybe you sound like less of a freak, with the tumult.)
Guilt for feeling pleasure is, apparently, very common, as indicated by the PDF she emails you that night to look over. Rape Victims and the False Sense of Guilt.
Rape. The word rape, across the screen, makes you flinch. It’s such a small word in the sea of the text, only four Lilliputian letters. Teeny-tiny. But it feels big. Like a big deal— rape, that’s a big word. It’s razor sharp when it echoes behind your skull. It’s ugly, and it ends on a blunt, hard sound. No elasticity. No give. This unyielding, little word that shatters around you in its hideous, mangled phonetics— is that what happened to you?
You’re lucky. What a close call. I’m sorry that happened to you.
Pleasure is a natural, physical reaction. A bodily reaction. That’s what it says.
You can cope with that. Comprehend that. The rest is— loaded. Like an assault rifle, in spring. You don’t know how to peel the pieces apart. You never learned how to take apart a gun.
You know what a bodily reaction is.
But nothing explains the chimera you chase after— the fantasy, when you’re plugged around two of your own fingers, weeks, months later, chasing the phantom ache.
Liking masks is okay, but liking masks is only okay if there’s something preliminary about them. Liking to feel small and scared is okay, but only if there’s a safety net, and safewords, and you trust the other person, and know them like the pores across the back of your hand. A stranger isn’t allowed to make you feel this way.
But liking this— thinking about this, with your head fuzzy and your skin simmering— is wrong. Bad.
It’s okay, but you need to heal. Something bad happened to you, and you need to sweep your pieces into the dustpan before you start to put them back together. That’s what you read between the lines. It feels accusatory.
(Only, you don’t think you could mold them into the same form, if you tried. Stick them back into their rifted crevasses, when they’re jagged and misshapen.)
The things you feel are, by all definitions— according to the internet, and everyone around you— wrong. Ugly. Sick. You shouldn’t feel anything but nausea scraping at the back of your throat, pooling briny under your tongue, when you think about that night. About him. That’s what you find in the vats of their eyes when you tell people what happened, the stricken shape of their faces. Like you’re broken. Because you are broken.
Some part of you has a big indigo bruise stretched across it, smarting something awful. Some part of you is fractured ceramic.
You’re a statistic. A number. A sliver on a bar graph. It feels like throwing yourself headfirst over a rock face. Into a yawning abyss. You splinter upon contact with the water, but it doesn’t ripple around you. Just lets your dissevered pieces wade and buoy.
You don’t go back to therapy after the third time, and you spend all summer burying your esoteric predilections at the back of the shelf. Let them gather dust, because they’re shattered anyways, and you don’t know how to make any sense of the smashed fragmentations. They’re so jagged, they’ll cut the soft skin on your palms up if you cup them too close.
You move when your lease ends in the summer. Not really by choice, but the decision has the weight of all those ruckled, condolatory looks. Those I’m-sorry-that-happened-to-you’s, like flour-sacks across your shoulders. Your apartment still reeks like him. It’s a phantom musk, whispering along your lungs. Cigarettes, and leather, and tangy sweat (it almost feels like it belongs— not unpleasant, like the brine across Poseidon’s abdomen). It’s uncomfortable. You long for it. You’re imagining it, you know that.
Your new apartment is clean. It smells like bleach, and it has all different locks, and the promise spills in cobwebs behind your skull. You try not to get tangled in them.
And everything tells you it’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong— everything. A churning, gut feeling, when you sign the new lease, when you roll around your sheets in the middle of the night with your hand between your tacky thighs.
You feel like you’re breaking an unspoken rule. You’re supposed to heal. This isn’t healing.
You consider booking that out-of-country trip in March. Week-long, just to stifle the premonition under the heel of your palm. The omen, that was still dripping heady, clotting the air alongside the stifling sound of the zipper closing its teeth together. Crinkling leather when he buckled his belt.
Your mom gives you a call. Tells you to come out to Maine for the weekend. You shrug the invitation off with your phone cradled between your cheek and your shoulder, and your laundry between your fingers. I’m fine, mom. I’m—
Fine. Cataclysmically. Okay. Bleeding out onto the tarmac with every step, like the incipient springtide.
You cup a posy of daffodils between your hands with wistfulness speckling across your chest.
You used to love spring. In kidhood, before the heavy, inordinate burden of purge-nights spanned across your shoulders, spring had the delicacy of a flower. The warmth of sunshine beading across your skin. The naivety of pastels. A callow touch of rose-tint.
You always knew living alone had its risks. In an apartment, no less, flimsy and unsheltered by security shutters and the bulwarks of a standalone. A danger, like a yellow warning sign. It’s the same precarious footing that warrants your mother’s calls back to your hometown every spring.
(The same reason she called you last year. And you— stupid, stupid— didn’t go.)
You don’t know how to excuse yourself this year. Lack of self-preservation? Stupid, callow hope? You don’t know what you’re hoping for.
(What you’re feeding.)
Maybe it’s the way you’ve been dusting the shattered shards on the shelf.
Anybody else in your position would be halfway across the continent, and you’re shutting down your flower shop and turning in for the night. Pretending (that you’re pretending) you’re inviolable, like that headspace didn’t get crushed under his thumb last year. The clock ticks on the wall.
The man who comes up to the register has a bouquet in his hand. A sprig of carmine carnations that crinkles when he lays it flat onto the countertop. He’s tall. Broad. Pretty— the first thing you think of, upon impression, mapping out the ridges of his face, the even slope of his nose, the burnt umber curl that spills over his forehead. Wordless. He stares at you.
Just stares. Not quite boring into you, but lingering, inkpools fixed. Indescribably. Unremitting.
There’s a familiarity in his gaze. Something that weaves across you in unspooling, crepuscular cobwebs, something that prickles. And eye-contact feels like a stalemate. A competition; who will give first? Your mettle splinters in hairline fractures.
“Is this,” your smile is flimsy. Brittle. Eyes dipping to the flowers he’s laid out. “…all for you today?”
He smells expensive. Like amber musk, but something sticks to his scent like an afterthought. A note, in undertow.
Smoke.
Like he washed his hands, brushed his teeth, but couldn’t kick the odor off his clothes, lingering in the stitches.
Emotions dredge up from the pit of your psyche like his presence is the metal head of a shovel. Cold leather. A hot touch. Things you’ve left numb for too long, oozing, electric, alive. Your fingers flex on the stems, and the plastic clicks under your hand when you stare down at it. You can’t look.
“Mm.”
You feel flayed. Raw. Like you’re going to come apart into tatters in the middle of the store. In front of a customer. You cast your gaze up. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Hands buried in his pockets, eyes listing across the melange of flower assortments you’ve got on display behind the counter. And you feel—
Embarrassed. Silly. Your cheeks heat, your heart thundering at your throat. It’s silly.
“Oh,” you breathe as you roll the bouquet between your hands. Key in the numerical series to the system, “I like these. They’re very pretty. …Looks like today, it’s going to be… twenty-six.”
For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Nothing at all, doesn’t make any motion towards procuring a payment method, and that nagging sense of worry spirals between your brows when you cast your inkpools up to find him staring again. Under your hands. There’s a judder to them. You watch his hand reach into the front-pocket of his jeans, and cull a cashfold. He licks his fingers before he separates the cash, and hands it to you.
Your fingers brush. You swallow.
You hand his change over with your fingers twitching.
“Happy purge,” he tells you. Suddenly.
Your smile wobbles. Creases. Curls back up into a proxy of a cheery mien you have the resolve to upkeep. “Happy purge.”
His fingertips drum across the counter. “And may our souls be cleansed.”
It sounds droll. Wry. Like he’s making a mockery of every piece of propaganda the news channel paints across your screen, a week-long affair in snippets before commencement. You swallow.
“Up for anything tonight?”
The question shouldn’t nick between your ribs. Scrape into the soft place— you’ll get loads of customers that ask. That participate, affluent folk. Young people, with grease smeared across their smiles when they tell you that they’re excited to exercise their God-given right.
You shake your head. “No— no. I don’t… partake.”
The silence that congeals between you is suffocating. Heavy. You feel your poise withering. Shrinking back into you, under the weight of his gaze. It’s an eerie stagnancy, and you feel like you’re sinking to the depths.
“You’re,” you tell him, trying to smile, but it doesn’t meet your eyes this time, “…all set.”
His eyes roam. Openly. Lash across you in bounds, slow, detail-oriented. It’s odd. Makes you feel strange. Finally, they fix on your face. No doubt, creased with discomfort.
“Stay safe tonight,” he tells you, before he turns, bouquet in hand.
“Right. You— stay safe,” you rock forward on your heels. The bell over the door jingles.
You’re broken, but you’re not stupid. You twist the locks when you get home. Double-check every window. Turn off every light that you aren’t using.
The announcement comes across the TV when you’re in the shower, and by the time you come out, the emergency broadcast has morphed off into a rerun of Friends. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Tuck your knees to your chest and stare at the clock? Roll into the fetal position and pray?
May God be with you.
The gunfire outside begins during the credits. You can’t stomach the harrowing scream that seeps across from the street below, so you plug your ears with your headphones, and you blast music until you feel like your ears are bleeding. Hole up in your bedroom.
You can’t discern the feeling that clots in your chest when you come out to your living room, eventually, to find him on your couch. In eerie stillness. Terror? Relief?
He notices you. Swells when he breathes, all heft, just like you remember. The burgeon of fear that prickles at your nape, making your hair stand on end, you find, clots beside something you’re unable to dissect. For a long second, the both of you just breathe. Observe.
He breaks the silence.
“…Come tell Daddy hello.”
Daddy. Daddy— the titular moniker makes you bristle, startling you out of your stupor like whiplash. What are you doing? What are you doing?
You stall by the bathroom door. This game of cat and mouse is precarious. You’ll lose— that fact is brassbound. Undeniable. You don’t know what you were expecting. Why you stayed. You’ve got the short end of the stick, always. And still, you contemplate, lingering with your hand on the doorknob. The stagnancy in biding your time feels like staring at a snake coiling beside your feet. Waiting for it to lash forward.
You take a slow step forward. Another. He doesn’t make any moves towards you, doesn’t give any indication that he’s keen to sit up. Content with the view of your dread snowballing. Mushrooming. Hands resting across his lap, his tree-trunk thighs split apart.
Waiting. Watching.
You don’t expect it when he sits up, grunting, to wrap his hand across your forearm. Lug you forward, into the alcove between his thighs. The brush of leather across your bare skin makes chills erupt across your skin. Manhandling you, like puddy between his hands. You’re supposed to fight, you’re supposed to kick, you’re supposed to—
Scream. You exhale when he twists you and forces you to sit on his knee. You’re stupid. What you’re chasing isn’t healthy.
You think he’s going to ask why you moved. Silly girl. Didn’t think I’d find you?
He doesn’t.
“Been a good girl?” he drawls, instead, chest swelling in your periphery. It feels mocking, despite the casualness of his tone— unsanded around the edges. The irony of the position has your teeth set, like you’re a child on Santa’s lap, and not a grown woman on his. A petrifying—
Half-stranger. Almost.
The revelation is uncanny to the way you’re searing under your skin. And there’s a thin line, you think, between coercion, and the way your heart batters a little faster, the way you clench your fingers together to avoid squeezing your thighs.
You don’t say anything. It’s rhetoric, because he isn't finished. He cups your knee under his palm, the dark leather, and says, “Kept your pussy to yourself, mm?”
Not your hands. Not your hands.
Your pussy.
The undiluted vulgarity trickles down your nape, makes you flinch, and you fist your hands a little harder, until the crescents dig into your palms. It’s still just as nonchalant, even-toned. But it’s crude, and it makes your face hot.
Like he owns that. Like you belong to him, in some way.
(And maybe, in some way, some part of you does. That piece of your rib he still has tucked into his pocket from last spring.)
Your heart is in your throat. You turn your cheek. Away. Just enough, but the hand that was on your knee presses against the side of your face. Two fingers, gloved, that pry your attention back onto him. It’s almost effortless. Feels like he’s using hardly any strength at all, has your chin snapping back, and the weight of two fingers, against that groove under your cheekbone, has an ache radiating up into your temple. He’s feeling the ridges of your teeth through your soft flesh. Wrenching his fingertips into the hollow rift between the two rows, and your breath ebs your lungs in soft pants, free falling the gap between your lips. The slick, gummy inside of your cheek twinges under the pressure.
You stare back, and—
You don’t know what you find. What you’re looking for. There’s a hunger in the plastic cut outs, glimmering in the tenebrose, like a predator shimmering in the distance of the thicket. One that’s spent all winter hibernating.
He digs his fingers in a little harder. Makes your head tilt with an ease that makes your head spin. The sound that leaks out of you is embarrassing. So unlike you. So small, and vulnerable, and raw.
It reminds you of feeling like you were being carved open, like you were having those pieces pulled out of you. Those fragments that you’ve buried deep behind your ribs, all yours. Delicate chattels between his fingers like a thread that he’ll tug to unspool you to the core.
His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth. Your lower lip. Rests there, all leather. It smells like charred tobacco. Tar.
“Yes,” you breathe. Appease. The word comes out tangled with a frantic note, an exhale, and sounds garbled off your liquified, molasses-heavy tongue.
Maintaining eye contact is difficult. Intense. Feels like wading a knee-deep morass with how treacly it makes your head feel, but it’s impossible to look away. With the angle he has your head, you feel snared into an unspoken standoff. Feels like you’re caught in a springe he’s laid out. You, with your rabbiting heart, and your ankle caught in a noose. And him—
Those deep-seated inkpools glimmer from the underbrush.
“Is that right?”
It’s like a car crash, you think, stuck in limbo. A beatific maelstrom of metal scraping on metal. The beautiful, horrifying view, in the split-second of collision. Time in stasis. Slow motion.
You can’t look away.
He stops pressing to rap the pads against your cheekbone, instead, and the thump that echoes in your skull almost sounds hollow. Loud in your ears. The pang lingers in your jaw, like a dull ache, across your upper teeth, the inside of your cheek.
There’s a split second there, where that bilious feeling slinks into your stomach and coils up, stretching between your lungs. That sick you find, buried under the galvanized cobwebs spooling your sense of self-preservation, like a haze of little, electric gossamers across your synapses. The incipience of a wave of nausea, softly lapping, at the thought that all of this, everything, is premeditated, and the gnarled root of it all sinks so much deeper than you’d ever expect.
That he’ll know— knows— that you brought another man home last fall.
It was stupid. A one off, scraped off a bar stool on a Saturday night after one too many whiskey sours, and the sex wasn’t even any good. You don’t remember it.
But your head feels syrupy. You don’t know what’s worse: this burgeoning fear that you’ve disappointed him with— what? Free will? Autonomy?
Or the slick ooze of the bone-juddering revelation that settles; he’s probably been watching you. Keeping tabs.
(How else did he know where you moved? How to pin you under the pad of his thumb with such startling ease? You’re a thumbtack on a paper map, and a petrified part of you wonders if he’s got it— a chart of your whereabouts, your existence snared into a creased sheet— dangling next to the panties from last spring.)
If he knows about your liaison, he doesn’t indicate it. Opting to, instead, graze the shape of your lips with his thumb again, and push in to scrape the flats of your teeth with the leather. It’s gross. Feels strange— leather against the smooth inside of your lips, and when you breathe around it, you feel like you’re spinning out, headfirst, hurtling toward the ground. Something you don’t want to acknowledge rolls over, white-hot, in the pit of your tummy.
“That’s good,” he settles on, and palms your breast so abruptly that it makes your lungs squeeze. Your throat clicks when you swallow.
It feels so mechanical. Calculating. Collected. Nonchalantly purposeful— nothing gradual, no build up— like he’s here to reap and take, intent on what he’s looking for. But it’s all a startling, unnatural paradox, considering you were left so overly-satiated last spring, that you almost felt like a mindless shell of yourself. Entirely sapped. The enigma left your head clogged up and heavy for days. Weeks. Months. Your lashes flutter, dusting unfitting bliss across your cheeks like the speckling heat. Like pleasure is bulky, and rounded, and doesn’t fit into the jagged slot your anticipation has chiseled.
He squeezes the doughy flesh in his hand, and scuffs your pebbling nipple with a side-swipe of his thumb. Then, the other. Long, thick fingers spanning, and coasting across your diaphragm, climbing your waist, the chiseled, swelling rungs of your ribcage, cupping under one of your tits again. He only stops at the soft sound that crawls out of your windpipe. Eyes flickering at the reedy, wanton whine that gushes through the seal of your teeth. The self-awareness makes you wither into yourself. Shrinking. Ecstasy feels like an agrestal parasite, mushrooming between your nerves. Budding in that slope under your navel.
(Wrong, wrong, wrong— a broken mechanism, misfiring. Grinding. Your eroded mettle squealing under the pressure.)
You can hear him breathing. He sounds like an animal. A panting beast. Feral. Untamed, wild, huffs stifled by ribbed cotton and matte plastic. He notches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and pinches it. Tugs. A gust of your desperate breath escapes through that barren dearth between your teeth when he palms you by the front of your neck and pushes you against the back of the couch.
It’s sloppy. Clumsy, an awkward angle from where you were on his lap— your limbs flail before you topple, and it requires more core strength on your part than you anticipate to sink back, but it isn’t violent. Aggressive. The coarse denim on his thigh abrades your naked skin when he twists to hover over you. Cushion denting under the weight of his knee. Your neck cranes back as he pins you to the back of the couch by the column of your throat. Head tipped back, nearly dangling over, neck straining. He looms over you.
Just—
Staring. Staring. You stare back and wonder if he feels your pulse hammering with the layer of the leather barricade between skin kissing skin. Like this, the mask is limned in shadows from the slant, and the crepuscular orifices under the plastic are even harder to make out. Harder to gauge. You want to gauge. You want to see—
You won’t have the upper hand. You know that, but prying for the threadbare margin of a hint, a motive, a reaction, feels like digging your fingers in for a last-ditch lifeline.
His eyes are half-mast. Dark lashes spanned over the glint in pitch, mounted in white. You can’t see what he’s thinking. Can’t—
He reels forward, back hunched, leather jacket crinkling, and you feel the plastic mask tucked to your cheekbone. Your temple. Your hair. He reeks like santalum. Petrichor— the first rain spilling onto the pavement, scrubbing the bloodshed off into the grates— and the overwhelming scent of leather that clots in your nose. His mask scrapes your ear. He sniffs.
And you think, a little hysterically, that he’s smelling you. The recognition prickles in your skull, and climbs up your nape in a shiver. And it feels so—
Animalistic. Primal. Indelicate. Like any sense of decorum flaking off and shedding like desquamate feathers, and it makes you feel so small. A frisson rides the ledges of your spine. Something shudders across his shoulders. Rattles them— you clock it in your periphery, stunned into subservience with your fingers twisting into the couch cushion.
He sighs. Hums. Like he’s vibrating over you, buzzing, and the thought has that skein across your lungs tightening. The sound that seeps out of him is brassy. Low. Hungry. And the likeness that scrapes at your hindbrain, through the plume of reluctance and crushing desire, nearly makes you feel delirious— it almost sounds like a dog whining. Like he’s been holding himself back, and your scent is too much, chips an integral shard out of his flinty resolve.
You don’t know why, but it makes you squirm. Makes your chest roll under him, hips shifting. Your eyes oscillate. Stutter from the ceiling fan to the corner of the room, because he’s smelling you and sounds like he’s falling apart.
Your throat jumps under his hand. He drums his fingertip under your jaw, and it feels like the tick of a clock. He reels back. Slowly. Tipped over you, huffing with his head cocked. Almost panting. This harrowing monster, quivering in his skin, in all his heft, like he wants to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. His eyes slip. The feather-dust of his lashes kisses the pink-rimmed seam of his lower lashline, and he takes a deep breath, intumescent across the breadth of his shoulders.
You swallow again, your throat still under his hand. The heel of his palm glued to your trachea. Your jaw arched back, under the press of his fingers. His eyes list. Stall across the apex of your denuded thighs, and the brief blip of pressure across your jaw, your throat, the fleeting restriction on your airway when he levels his weight and resituates, has your irises lolling and tainted gossamers stretching in sticky netting behind your skull. His freehand skates your abdomen. Prods your diaphragm, leather fingers grazing your belly button, the hem of your sleep shirt. Rucking it up.
The boundary between arm-twisting and downright craving is negligible. It’s a foundation, under you— a poor excuse of a half-wall— crackled in fissures. When your hips hitch at the way he circles your navel, in a way, it feels like crumbled free will. Your own autonomy worn down and corroded by the chemistry spuming your veins (you tell yourself it’s artificial. A lethal injection of dopamine and melanocortin), because it feels like the hunger is pried out of you. Pulled out, tangled on his crooking fingertips.
(And what do you have to say for yourself, when you need him like you need to eat.)
Your hips cant when he strokes his fingers over your waistband, across the sensitive, soft stretch of skin over your mons. You can still hear him breathing over the bloodrush, like spindrift, across the little, vibrating bones, deep in your ear. He sniffs, gaze pinned to the shape of your quivering thighs (juddering knees, swelling tummy)—
He knocks your legs apart with his thigh, until the plush of them spills around the shape of him. All broad, all muscle, all denim against your smooth skin, and he wrenches one of your thighs up with his fingers under your knee. Presses you back by the shin, with your sole planted on the couch cushion, and—
Like this, he has the perfect view. The perfect shape of your cunt, through your panties. They’re white this year. So unassuming, just a plain bikini-cut in ivory, but you wonder if he’s weighing the way they’ll look beside the other pair, like a sordid tchotchke.
His eyes linger on it. You can’t see his inkpools, but they feel molten. Heady. Predatorial, and the shockwave riding the slanting arches of your ribcage makes it harder to take in a full breath. Lagoons spilling heat. They surge the soft shapes of your body like lavascapes, melting across your skin.
You’re wet. You know that— feel the damp heat like you feel the want droning across your bones, lacing your muscles. And the sloppy, saturated shape of your dribbling pussy, behind the thin veil of a gusset, is no exception. You curl your toes. Dig them into the couch cushion. The carpet. Dangling onto the fragility of your self-possession (unraveling), and then he probes, with the tip of his index, right where your clit sits. A meager tap.
Your arousal is a tangible wad in your gut, and he plays with it between his fingers.
Desperation climbs to the base of your throat at an alarming rate. Echoes in your jugular as a thrum when his eyes sway between your face and the shape of your cunt. The shape of it under the entirety of his palm, swallowing you whole, between your legs, when he pastes his hand there. And he can’t feel the way it’s soaking, can’t feel how slick you are, but you wonder if the sheer heat leaches through the layers.
If he can feel how hot and wanting you are, through the glove.
He purrs like he can. Trails two fingers along the splitting fjord, your puffy lips. His thumb crooks into one end of your gusset just to let it snap back and watch the shiver roll up through your shoulders, huffing around a thick, rumbly noise that sounds amused. Drenched in humiliating mirth. A crater forms around his knee cap when he presses it onto the cushion. Between your split legs, thigh pressed flush to your cunt. Tight.
“Gonna be a good girl,” he murmurs, face dangling over yours, and the words sound masticated. Starved. “—and let me eat that slutty cunt?”
There’s a fine line, you remind yourself, between being forced, and whatever the— you don’t want to admit it, won’t admit it, stuff it down— rapacious froth inside of you means.
He splits your lips with his fingers. Pries them apart like a butterfly to pin up and frame.
Mental snapshots to encase on a shelf, mounted beside your underwear and a pushpin map with your face smattered in uneven, sawtooth cut-outs. All raw, and sloppy, and wet. Gushing down to the cleft of your ass— he can see everything, and his eyes rove like he’s mapping every bit of you to memory, your underwear balled and tucked into the pocket of his coat. Drinking in every delicate detail, your pebbled clit twitching under his thumb scuffing, and it’s so—
Humiliating.
Embarrassing— shame clots in that interstice between your battering heart and your ribs, that soft spot it’s been dribbling into since he perched you on his lap like a little girl begging for a present. You screw your eyes, cup the heels of your palms over them. You can’t look— can’t—
He moans again. Gives you a heady hum, nearly as slick with want as you are between your thighs. Only, his is oil to your honey. Motor fluid to your syrup— a slippery smear of grease to sap. Rotten. Thick and coal-dark, like tar. Something gritty that catches like sand between his teeth when you try to close your knees. It’s a faulty maneuver, with your feet pried apart on his elbows, and you can only latch your knees, and—
It’s the wrong thing to do.
A slipshod attempt to preserve your dignity, but what’s the use, when it’s porous enough for him to spew the virulent pollutant of longing for him? Noxious. Infectious. Enough to mill your pride from the inside into a powdered dust. Instead, he pries the folds of your cunt apart with one hand, on two fingers— an index and a thumb— and slaps the back of your thigh with the other.
Your thighs quake. Plush flesh shaking upon impact, the searing heat wave that robs you of your ephemeral resistance— rolling the thought that this is gross, not what you want— and scorches it through to the core, until all that’s left for you to face is the overwhelming desire.
“Eyes on me,” he grunts. Dour. Unrelenting, until you peer through the spaces in your fingers like you’re watching a nightmare unfold, and let him wrest your knees back apart. “Yeah,” he tells you, hardly over the feather-light weight of a whisper, despite the way it feels like it’s crushing your skull from the inside when it swims your ears. “Just like that. On me, pretty girl.”
You can’t look away, so you chew on your fingers instead. Tuck them between your teeth, toes curling into the cushions. Your sleep shirt is in a discarded puddle of fabric on the floor, beside him. There’s something so uncomfortably potent in nakedness when he hasn’t even discarded his gloves.
He won’t.
But an element of intrigue gets dredged up into the mist of your yearning when he sticks the pad of his thumb under the plastic chin of the mask to pry it to the bridge of his nose. Speckling the nebula, that clouds you, like stardust. Worse, yet, when he pries the balaclava to the same, angular slope, to show his bare chin, his full, pink mouth, his cupid’s bow.
His nice, clean white teeth.
His tongue, slinking out to smear across his lips. Like this, the cut outs aren’t over his eyes, and the pools of hunger are shrouded behind the plasticated layer. He feels with his fingers. Spreads your pussy apart, grazes his thumb pad across your throbbing clit, slick with your own sticky wetness, and you watch him purse his lips before a tacky, wet glob lands across your hood. Drool, dripping down, coagulating at your drenched hole.
You shudder. Can’t look away— it’s—
Gross. It’s wet, and it’s rancid, and the feeling of it being smeared across your cunt, the feeling of a finger prodding at your rim, uselessly clenching at the air, makes your face crease. Brows pinching.
(So why, then, do you feel so dizzy from the spiraling wave of your own lust fizzing across your veins?)
You mewl. He tucks his fingers into his mouth. The same ones that have been smudging the amalgam of your slick and his own saliva, still tucked in that leather glove, and the sound he makes at the taste— pure hedonism, dripping around the plug of his own fingers— has your thighs hinging apart wider. Straining.
It sounds so— shattered. So desperate. Frenzied. A sound like that, out of him, feels so unco that it nearly wrenches your head back. He groans around his fingers, sloppy, and grunts when he takes them out to feel for your hole, tease a breach with the middle digit, not quite bursting the threshold—
And God, when he eats, it’s like he’s a man starved. Famished. All animal between your thighs, suckling on your clit, dragging his tongue across your hole, like it’s pure sustenance and he hasn��t eaten in weeks. Slurping around you, bullying your clit between his teeth like he wants to chew you up to spit you out. Rinse and repeat.
He drags his tongue across you, so obscenely, seam to hood, like he wants you to see. Wants you to watch— wants you to know that you’ve got this horrifying brute on his knees between your legs, kissing on your cunt. Wants that ugly revelation to stick to the inside of your skull like knotgrass spilling across your bones— a twisted thought you’ll never be able to tame out of fruition. You let this happen; let him take.
(And worse yet, you liked it.)
“Sloppy, little pussy,” he grunts, the words muzzled against your sopping cunt, spilling against his mouth, dripping. Sticking in strings to his lower lip, the corner of his mouth— and he crooks his finger. Notches it against your rim.
It feels wrong. Strange. Leather against your cunt, instead of skin, when he prods and—
Pops the tip in. Stretches your gummy walls to the first, gloved knuckle. The soft, wet heat of you pulsing around him like a heartbeat is lost on the leather, the barrier between your skin, but he’ll make up for it. He’ll make up for it, he’ll—
“God,” you mewl when he crooks the finger and stuffs it to the hilt, stroking the wet squeeze of your walls enveloping it.
The brutal ugliness in the concept of this man prying you open, stretching you taut when he wedges his ring finger in beside the first, with a glove on, douses you in shame. Has a white-hot heat spewing, geyser-like, at your underbelly.
The sounds, though, the wet-squelch of those leather-coated fingers fucking into you, spilling slick and shoving it back in, makes your eyes screw. Has a heat nipping at the apples of your cheeks the way it nips at your cunt when he grinds harsh circles around your clit. It’s too much. Nearly too much when he nicks the razor-sharp mantel of your nerve-endings and hones there upon the horrid, wheezing sound you make, the way your leg flexes out beside his head in jarred reflex. Like he’s punishing it. You. For congealing up in his teeth like an insatiable sweet-tooth he’ll never scrape off his enamel.
You cry out. Knock the heel of your palm into his forehead. Into the edge of that eerie mask, the kiss me, unsmudged, but he’s unperturbed. Unruffled. Unyielding, the same way the brutal crash of pleasure spooling tight behind your navel, your burning, flexed core.
He catches your wrists in his hand. Like two limbs of a lamb, ensnared. The most perfect, decadent feast to carry out on a charcuterie board, and the sound he makes against your cunt nearly sounds inhuman. Like a rabid, territorial animal at its mealtime, mouthing off at a hand that tries to intrude. Encroach. Take. The vibrations make your head spin. Dizzy— you’re so dizzy, and you don’t recognize that you’ve been holding your breath until the shuddery cry that tears its way out of your mouth is silent. A hiss of a breath that melts into a long, wet gasp.
He tucks your hands to your tummy, and takes. And takes, and takes. It belongs to him, right? The garbled slur that slips through the negligible gaps between your teeth sounds fucked stupid, and he hasn’t even split you apart on his cock.
Your fingers twitch, pressed to your mons. Try to reach— to pry— hips canting back, forward, away, into. Against his slippery chin, and his tongue, and his unrelenting mouth.
And oh, how you unravel, under his jaw, like you belong there. Under his hands, and the tip of his nose tucked to your mons, and the flats of his teeth, grazing—
He doubles down when he feels the pop— the release— your pretty, little cunt fluttering around his fingers, sucking them back in on every twist out, like a vice.
It starts on a long, wilting mewl. A desperate note that laces across your vocal cords and seeps out, not by your own volition, and ends on a gasp. The cord snaps. Too taut. Too much. The ripples of the aftershocks, lapping at your core, red-hot, sloppy, and spent, and overly sensitive, crescendo into a horrible ache when he suckles over your clit. Draws a searing stripe across your nerve endings with the tip, stifling groans into your puffy sex.
You squeak. Tremble, toes tensing. Flexing. Hips arching back, trying to scoot away. Off.
“I— came,” you bluster, but it sounds hoarse. Distant, in the thundering thrum of your vertiginous headrush. “I—“ you try again, hips canting, and he swipes out with his tongue, catches something raw and smarting on the fleshy edge.
You jolt. Spine twisting, distorting pleas between your teeth you’re swishing them across your gums. You wriggle your foot, wheedling it under the space where his mouth is flush with your cunt. “I— please—“
He wrenches your foot back into place so aggressively that all you can do is make a pitiful, helpless squeak. Lashes fluttering, writhing, gnawing into your lower lip when he rolls his tongue across your pulsing clit. The sound that rumbles across your core rattles you down to the marrow. It feels like he wants to chew you to the bone.
And when he pops off, finally— finally— panting like he’s had his fill, sucking at one of your lips until it’s tender and kiss-bruised— satiated this quenchless thirst that riles in the apertures of his skeleton, humming in his musculature— you breathe. Just breathe. Catch it— snag it. A soft repose in recompense for the throb in your guts, between your legs. Crystalline beads hover, sprouted from the corners of your eyes, streaking across your lash line. Your gaze is lachrymal. Pools of an unspooled bliss, mottled overwhelming, shimmery and red-rimmed.
And the breath you’ve been catching—
Is forced out from between your lips when his hand lurches. Pins you, supine, to the couch, fingers spanning your nape. Heel of his palm at your jugular. The abruptness of the motion has your heart lurching to your throat. It nearly kisses the shape of his hand.
(But you suppose, if that cracked bit of your rib belongs to him, then maybe a sliver of your lung does, too.)
Somewhere between the dazed stupor of you, panting like you’ve run a marathon, and laying you out on the couch, he’s fixed the mask back on. The balaclava. And the crass, dirty thought that his chin is still slick under the cotton, making it sodden, and hot, and tacky to his skin, seeps across you and cakes like cement.
He stares down at you through the cut-outs. Your heart is a hummingbird behind the rungs, trying to break free, and you feel it in your pulse, where his thumb strokes. You wonder if he can feel it. You’re still in that balmy, soggy headspace with your muscles pliable, your head heavy. A pastiche of heaven in a come-down, roping its way across your bones and smogging your hypervigilance.
You’re less unnerved to be stared down at like that— like you’re a meal for him to chew apart between his teeth, like he’s contemplating every possible scenario and picking through to find the prettiest position to put you in, how to grind out the prettiest sounds— with your head feeling like it’s liquified.
Your lashes flutter. You trace the seams on the ceiling, where it’s been repaired for water damage. Maybe someone bled out on the floor above, you think.
But the warmth of the evanescent fog doesn’t curb the note of nervousness that paints its way into your respiration— like bleeding watercolor— when you hear his hands on his belt buckle. See the way he hovers over you, so large, and indomitable, eyes potent and intoxicant. Hungry.
(He’s sated his appetite enough to hold him over, bar him from tearing you apart, but he’s still hungry.)
“Think it’s about time you start to give back, sweetheart,” he tells you. Dripping ichor-thick with want. Like blood melded with syrup.
Even with apprehension dancing across your mind, you want him to fuck you. You want him to stretch you fucking dumb around his cock, just the way you remember he did—
But his next words make that reluctance buzz a little louder in your hindbrain. Alarms. The blood-curdling croon of the siren.
“What do you think, mm?” he mulls aloud, tracing the pad of his finger across one of your pebbled nipples, then the smooth, unmarred skin of your tummy, pausing over your belly button. “Should Daddy make you a mommy this time? Make it stick?”
Your gasp sticks to your throat. Tangles between your tonsils. Your nostrils flare when you try to take a deep breath as indemnification, and you blink up at him, you find nothing but firm resolve in those voids. Abysmal, and unrelenting.
“I— can’t… have a baby,” you croak, a touch incredulous, but you sound alien in your own ears. Like you’re drowning.
He cocks his head, tipped down at you, with that ugly, ivory mask. “Sure you can. That’s what you’re built for, isn’t it?”
And the degradation, being stripped down to the metal cogs, the tender technicalities of your biology, makes your cheeks blister. It’s demeaning. You hate it. Hate him, you hate him— something molten rolls in your underbelly.
(Something hot lingers between your thighs.)
You feel your legs dipping when under the weight of his crowding closer, between your split thighs. Bent at the knee, feet planted. The couch creaks. And when the coarse brush of denim kisses your naked skin, you feel the heat from it like a furnace.
“No,” you tell him, eyes carved into narrowed slits, and the demand in your own voice makes your bones tremble when you hear. You suck in a breath.
He blinks. Something flickers, congeals, in his eyes, almost like you’ve stunned him with your gall. Your unrestrained defiance. And there’s something uncomfortably stifling in his gaze, searing down at you, when he tips his head. Almost like he’s contemplating your response. Rolling it between his fingers. His thumb draws a feather-light line over your mons, across the stretch of skin where your womb is buried under the soft layers of muscle and fatty tissue.
“How do you think,” he kisses his teeth behind the layers— a muffled sound, but one you pick up on with your heartbeat in your ears, “it works out if I take you now, and they find you later? Keep you all to myself. Cancels out, doesn’t it?”
The indirect threat, framed as a hypothetical happenstance, makes something curdle in your blood like sour milk. The bile rolls in the pit of your tummy, and you feel your throat squeeze. Your exhale is a weak hiss. A wheeze, because you feel like the breath has been knocked out of you, alongside the foolish temerity.
The finger that’d traced a line across morphs into a hand, and he presses the breadth of it to your underbelly. Big. All leather, broad, your belly button peeking from the wedge between his digits.
He sighs, and takes the hand away. Works it back over his belt buckle, until the tails are free-standing, bifurcated, and his fingers work over his zipper. It’s a huff that swells his shoulders, and you’re reminded just how big he is, over you. How massive. How staunch to his ideas— you wouldn’t stand a chance.
“But maybe,” his head bows to watch where he’s working, and his tone is thoughtful. Menacing. Saturated with condescension, the same way you’re drenched with the remnants of your gushing slick, between your thighs. He meets your eye. “They wouldn’t look at all. Awful lotta people go missin’ altogether, tonight.”
You blink. Squirm. Thoughts of you, swollen and pregnant with his baby— chain-linked to his wrist, to a dreary, foreign bedroom like a dog to a doghouse in a backyard— makes you vitriolic. Angry.
Horrified.
(So why, then, does it make your head fuzzy? Kindles crackle at your underbelly, where he pressed his enormous palm.)
“No— no. I’ll be. You can—“ you shake your head. Try again. Placate. This is a gun, broken china on a back shelf. You can’t dissect it for what it means. Your ribcage shakes. “You can do— anything. Please.”
You imagine he’s sneering at you from behind the mask. Under the balaclava, lips crooked, when he tucks a thumb into his waistband and frees his cock. One hand squeezing at the root, stroking up. The motion has a slimy glob of precum blurting from the tip. It’s thick in his fist. Heavy. Mushroomed ridges vivid pink, long, fat. A little lopsided, skewed slightly to the left in his hold, arching towards you.
He didn’t make you suck it last time, but you wonder if he will, tonight. Gag the bold subversion out with the subtle flex of his hips, your insolence— you, stupid, little thing, telling him no— with his cockhead spewing against the gummy wall at the back of your throat.
The view makes you dizzy. Like you’re staring up to the summit of a mountainside with him looming over you. The peak that crawls over you, so tall, and makes you feel so insignificant.
Those liquid gemstones have shed across your temples, but you don’t recognize it until his thumb swipes at the corner of your eye. A pillow-soft caress. It’s almost tender. Almost. Deliriously, you watch him smudge the same thumb, brandished in your tear, along his cockhead. The wet thumbprint coagulates with the slick there, weeping from his slit.
“‘Course I can,” he tells you.
There’s no gentleness in the way he manhandles you, then. Wrangling you, by the scruff of your neck, into a hover across his lap. Positioning you how he sees fit, with him seated back on the couch, and you dangling over his cock, angled up in the seal of his palm. Your knees split across either side of his lap.
“But mum and dad,” he grunts, and when his cockhead prods against your seam, you gasp, flinching up. “should stick together. Don’t you think?”
He drags it forward, smudging it against your spent core, and it catches on your clit, the overstimulated nerve endings there, enough to make you shiver. It wracks up your spine.
There’s nothing romantic about the way he holds you. He doesn’t cradle you close with this sense of softhearted adoration— despite your vulnerability— only pulling you close by the nape when his slick cockhead slaps your clit, your mons, with a wet smack. You gnaw into your lower lip, muscles clenching. Seeking. He smears the tip back to your pulsating rim.
“What’s’a’matter?” he coos, probably at the rucks between your brows, creasing across your forehead. Your eyes flicker up. “You don’t wanna be my sweet, little wife?”
(You do, you do— you—)
“Oh—“
The press of his tip wrenching you open, taut around him, knocks your head back. Makes your shoulders rigid, spine arching over him, and his chuckle to the gasp that clots in your trachea is dark. Rich. It fizzles into a husking growl, though, when he presses down on the tops of your thighs and sinks you over him. Against him. Stretching the wet, sopping heat around him that throbs like a heartbeat with every tight breath you take, every inch lower. Your knuckles scrabble. Notch into his leather jacket, crinkling, burrowing, balling.
“There you go,” he hisses. Groans. You’re not looking, but you know he is. Feel the molten pools of his gaze fixed where he’s feeding his cock, unwavering. He nearly sounds awed— splintering apart— when he tells you, “Such a pretty pussy. Look at this slutty, little cunt. Swallowing me right up.”
It’s raw. Bare— skin on skin— as close as you can get, and the pang that smarts at your rim permeates all the way up to your head, until that too, feels plugged. Foggy.
It’s too much. Too—
He flexes his hips up sharply when you stall, just enough to wedge in to the hilt, and it wrests a high sound of surprise out of you. Nearly pained. Liked a kicked animal. It snags on something deep with the motion, something you haven’t been able to reach with your own measly fingers, and you mewl.
He gruffs a slur behind the mask, tethers it with a groan, a breath that sounds caught in his mouth, but you can’t make out what it is. Not over the thrum in your ears. The assault on your senses, the unstilted stretch that feels like it’s prying you apart. Splitting you down the middle. Your thighs tremble. A sting. A dull throb that spills in your underbelly, lapping at your sex in sweltering, warm waves. Your clit twitches.
There is something so cataclysmic in the way he hollows you out. Carves himself deep, scoring you in a way that’ll leave you begging for a piece of him, after, when you’re empty. A piece of his rib in return. It’s wrong— you shouldn’t want this man, crave him like you crave sanctum and stability. Your frenzied desperation, panting over him, seated to the throbbing root, feels chock-full of a festering longing you’ve been burrowing down since last spring. Spilling over. It sprouts— and spring, you think, bitterly, is all about revival. Rebirth. Flowering— the yearning you’ve been hiding behind your teeth germinates across your shuddering shoulders.
He makes you ride him. Grunting, spitting how he wants you to bounce on his cock like the good girl you are. Soft, sloppy, half-hearted grinds you can manage over him, until he takes over, hitched on a huff that sounds nearly exasperated, and ruts up into you with the leverage of his feet on the carpet.
He fucks you like he’s sedulous to make good on his words. Hard, fast, bludgeoning your rationale until it feels like you need the tang of cigarettes and santalum in every wheezing breath you take, writhing over the shape of him. His thumbs on your nipples. His fingers under the weight of your bouncing tits.
Every pummel up into you feels like it kisses the seal of your womb. Feels like it’s battering a little closer to fruitions, to threats, and omens, and promises.
And you like it. Love it. Can’t get away, can’t get enough, pawing at his chest, and then his collarbones, and then his chin, fingers knocking the border of the plastic mask. Kiss me— you think it’s cruel. So cruel, that you can’t kiss him. Can’t make out the shape of his bared teeth, the glint of them with his lips snarling. You want to lick across them. Bite. Taste blood for doing this to you. For making you feel this way. You want to tear him apart. Catch his tongue against your incisors.
The thought is a distant chimera. A daydream you can’t chase, snared in a limbo— just take, take, take. But over the crests of your cheekbones, your dewy gaze watches him. Watches him, the way he’s watched you. Unrelenting. It’s hazy at the borders. Your sight flecked with wetness, shuddering, like a camera in hands that can’t stay still, but you’re unremitting.
“Spit on me,” he growls. It’s an abrupt request— command, brimful of authority. Perverse. Then again, when you don’t oblige, it spills as a rasping grunt, “Spit on me.”
It wheedles into your threadbare sense of logic, registers. Your brows weave. Pinch, face creasing when he delivers a sharp plunge up, into you, tip to root. It’s gross. Disgusting. Lecherous. You think about your saliva blooming across his face, the way his heavy balls will throb.
You want to spit on him. You want to bite him, claw at him, hit him— you pucker your lips.
It lands as a tacky glob stretching across the bridge of the nose on the mask. Seeping into the inner-corner of the eye cut-out. Glistening, slick. The sight is revolting. Nasty. Your lips curl down, your brows crinkle—
He groans. It’s loud. Suffocated on desire, hunger, want, akin to the noise he made sniffing at your hair like a monstrous hound. A fucking creep.
One of his hands leaves your chest, his thumb wriggles under the plastic white mask. It gets discarded, tossed off onto the couch.
The view of him in, only in a balaclava, is new.
No less unnerving, but it’s different, and it makes your inhale tangle in your throat. Something clicks in your lungs. You hover over him, with his neck craned up at you, and his eyes are green. Two pools of epidote, eroding under the swell of his pupils. Hornblende inkblots. A long, winding wild forest. You could get lost in it.
(And pitifully, part of you already has. Melting apart like gum under the sun, between his stupid, thick fingers.)
“Fuck. Again. Give me another,” he tells you. It rumbles, but it sounds like a plea. You feel it vibrating in his chest, under your fingers, first, then watch the divot of the balaclava wavering into his mouth when he takes in a breath between his teeth. The way the cotton is stretched, tucked, across the bridge of his nose.
You spit where he breathes. Where he’s huffing with every brutal thrust of his hips. It speckles the ribbed cotton with shimmer, then melts into the black where his lips lay. You can’t see how it saturates the mask, but you watch the way it affects him. Watch him unravel— the way he breathes through his nose, long, deep, lashes fluttering and dusting along his cheeks as his irises loll, and you’re faced with the view of their pure ivory frames. The pink rim across his lower lash line.
He hammers into you, mercilessly, with his leather fingertips against your clit. It’s too much. Too harsh. Pleasure and pain coagulate into a lagoon that sloshes your head, pulses between your thighs, under his incessant fingers.
And when he comes apart, under you, you nearly tip over the precipice at the experience alone. He makes a ragged sound, a groan, hips stuttering, and spurts ribbon after ribbon of his cum against the spongy walls flexing around him. Into you. Against the seal of your womb— oh, God— you burrow your hot face into his shoulder, hips canting, and bite at the leather.
“Fuck,” he slurs. Heaves— and you feel him melting under you. Thawing.
Your spine ripples. The molten heat of his cum, sticking to you, plugged up by his throbbing cock, makes you feel feverish. Aching. Charred all over, from the inside. You take a deep breathe and taste his musk at the back of your throat. Lingering along your tongue.
It’s almost comforting. But the reminder of who this man is, and what he does (has done to you, is doing), crawls along the serenity of your haze like a poisonous treacle. You muster the strength in your core to rock up onto your knees, make to clamber off.
“Okay,” you breathe, “Okay—“
The thought of repose is a bittersweet mirage, though, sparkling in the distance, when he nudges his hips back up from beneath you.
It knocks into something that makes your lungs seize. You feel his tacky spend coated across the undersides of your ass cheeks, spilling against the inside of your thighs. Pooling in the thicket of dark, wiry hair that nests around the root of his cock, dusting his balls. He grunts, and when he jostles you over his lap again, you have to catch your balance with your hands against his pecs.
His eyes are shimmery when you blink up at them. Expressive enough for you to clock the derisive mirth that curdles, in shavings, along the chrysoberyl flecks in the tumultuous seas, when he hums. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?”
He’s not done. Not for a good, long while. But you suppose, that a year of self-denial, precipitous self-restraint, is bound to spill over, eventually.
(It’s just too bad for you that you ended up in the path of the hurricane, front and center.)
He fucks you again over the arm of the couch, with your ribs smushed to the ledge and your knees on the cushion. Arms behind your back, head dangling, tits aching with the press of his weight, every drag against the fabric. Fingers in your mouth, straining the corners wide, riding the grooves of your clamped, slick teeth. Pawing at your ass, squeezing the flesh, prying your cheeks apart humiliatingly wide.
He makes you cum again. And again, until you’re sobbing. Legs hitched over his shoulders, chin twisted, gnawing into your own shoulder to stifle your mewls.
“Tell me your name,” you slur under him. With his chin over tucked your shoulder, his hum ripples across your eardrum like a humid gust. Rolls between your shoulder blades.
“Tell me your name,” you beg, again, mottled with frenzied desperation that climbs your throat. You know those eyes. You know that face— the one that lies underneath. The misty contours of it scratch across your skull in the smog of a memory. You know—
Your lower lip wobbles when he cups over your sternum, takes your breast in a doughy handful, squeezing around it, drowning you in every wet squelch, every slap of his hips against your ass.
“Daddy.”
When you wake up, he’s not there. Ephemeral. The night nearly feels temporal, if not for the slick between your thighs, dewy at your cunt, where your seam is still aching. Crusting along the insides of your thighs.
You feel like every bone is out of place. Like everything needs to crackle and slot back. Worn, tired, when you kick your feet over the edge of the mattress and stand. It pangs between your legs, first. And then across your chest.
Your underwear is gone. You know you won’t find it.
When you check the clock it’s midday. Late, too late to even be considered sleeping in. You’ve wasted the twenty-second off into somnolence. There’s still a haze across your head. This balmy, misty thing that keeps you sluggish. Tired. You’d chalk it up to oversleeping, but.
It’s short-lived. Hollowed by the vacancy. Something stirs in the back of your head— you should probably send a life signal out to your family. Let them know you’re not splattered across the sidewalk, somewhere, or worse yet—
You think about his words. Keeping you all to himself. The thought makes your shoulders shudder.
On the way to the bathroom, you find carmine carnations in your kitchen. Mounted in a vase that belongs to you, plucked out of the cabinet over your fridge. Beautiful, beautiful carnations.
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@bxtchboy69 @iloveharrystyles04 @littlenatilda @witch-rry @watermelonsugarslut
#harry styles smut#harry styles#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#dark harry#stalker!harry#harry styles writing#harry styles one shot#stalker harry#harry styles fanfiction#dom harry styles#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#purge au!harry#harry#kinktober#kinktober 2024#dom!harry x sub!reader
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*cue me draped over a dining chair talking on a telephone while twirling the cord*
“RING RING ITS GARGOYLE HOURS BABY! I WANT A BIG OL’ STORY WITH A DND NERD GARGOYLE AND BANSHEE READER WHO NEEDS HIM CARNALLY AND IS VERY VOCAL!!”
*hangs up before you can respond*
-☎️
*proceeds to call you back over and over again but hang up just as you answer and then giggle like a schoolgirl*
WC: 1.8k
You had it bad. You were absolutely down bad and wrecked for the Gargoyle bartender you had met long ago at your usual bar. In fact, he was the only one you ever really bothered to talk there.
Not many people went looking to pick a Banshee up at a bar. I guess screaming in ecstasy was easily confused with screaming for their impending death. Was death not hot as fuck? You had no idea at this point.
But the Gargoyle bartender was the only one who ever really caught your eye anyway. It didn’t help that not only was he stunningly gorgeous, but he had an amazing personality too. He was a total nerd under all those chiseled stone muscles and frequently acted as the Dungeon Master in your groups DnD campaigns.
You frequently found yourself drifting off in thought, subtly staring at him during game nights or during nights like this. Thats what you were doing even now, stuck in your head thinking about him as you order drink after drink. You didn’t even realize how late it had gone and how much you had to drink.
Until you went to stand up and the world immediately spun. You wobbled, letting out a loud ‘woah’ into the almost empty bar. Luckily Gargoyle bartender was right there to help steady you. A husky chuckle falling past his lips.
“Let me drive you home. I don’t trust anyone else with you right now,” he said into your ear.
Your pussy gushes with arousal, clenching around nothing at his words alone. They send a thrill up your spine and your drink-infused mind leans into him a little too much. But he doesn’t hesitate to firmly hold onto your wide waist to keep you stable against him.
The ride back to your place is silent. Yet comfortable. You two have done a lot together. Battling monsters and going on all sorts of adventures. Through a game, true, but they last hours and go on for months. You trust him.
He helps you up to your apartment due to the fact that the moment he let you go outside of his car you nearly stumbled into the concrete. Walking into your apartment he moves around the space with ease. Having spent more than a handful of game nights here.
Setting you down on your couch he moves to get you some water to help flush the alcohol from your mind. He sits with you, the two of you talking and laughing for hours. Suddenly you’re back to where you were at the bar. Downing drinks and staring the beautiful Gargoyle. Only this time you don’t have to be subtle about it.
By the look in his eyes you could see he was waiting for something. It wasn’t until all the fog had cleared in your mind, your eyes had dried up, and you seemed to get your focus back that you knew what he was waiting for. As if a chain had finally broken, Gargoyle bartender swoops down and captures your lips in a heated kiss.
You inhale sharply, leaning into him immediately. Not believing this was happening. This was really happening. It was all that ran through your mind as the two of you stumbled into your bedroom, throwing your clothes off along the way.
Rolling onto the bed you sprawl out, spreading your thighs wide for him. The moonlight casting a brilliant glow on your glistening folds. The gargoyle growls at your enticing form. His hand curls around his hard aching cock, pumping himself slowly as he watches you clench around nothing.
“Touch yourself,” he snarls. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent imagining what you look like touching yourself.”
Your eyes widen and there’s nothing that could’ve stopped you in that moment from sliding your hand down your body. You moan softly as you dip your fingers into your folds, spreading them and showing him all of you. He growls again and you shiver in anticipation, your need for him unbearable.
He slowly works his cock to the sight of you teasing and exploring your cunt as if it’s the first time you’ve ever touched yourself. It has his every nerve on edge. All while your body is shaking, your fingers dripping into your soaked pussy and imagining it’s his thick cock. But god, you know your fingers can’t even compare.
You don’t know how long the two of you go on. Edging yourselves, slowly bringing your bodies to the edge of release. Merely from the sight of watching each other use your hands to bring you to release. You rock into your fingers, body shaking, the tension in the air only making you want his cock that much more.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he says through panting breaths. Your head snaps up to meet his eye and you cry out, a mix of pain and pleasure coursing through you. “Not like this. I want every moment of our first time together burned into your memory.”
“I’m not gonna forget this,” you moan, fucking your fingers even harder.
He laughs, the loud deep and raspy. His hand picks up to match with your pace and he moans, throwing his head back. Only then does he see the rising sun. His eyes widen in alarm.
“F-fuck!”
What you thought was a noise of pleasure has your body going over the edge. Your hips jerk into your hand and you moan loudly as your orgasm crashes through you. Your eyes closing in ecstasy. Gargoyle bartender watches you come undone. He grunts, about to cum himself when suddenly he can’t move.
A second later his body turns to stone, the sunlight pours through the windows and illuminates his strong features. As you come down from your release your eyes flutter open and you immediately gasp to see your Gargoyle a frozen statue standing at the end of your bed.
You knew gargoyles turned to statues in the sun. Your game nights were always exactly that. At night. He worked the night shift at the bar. But you had no idea his stone state looked like this. You didn’t exactly know what to do. You assume there is nothing you can do until the sun sets.
But in the meantime… he’s stuck exactly where he is. Frozen on the edge of a climax. You also know that gargoyles can see feel, hear, and see everything around them while in their stone state.
Oh, you could have fun with this.
You spend the entire day relentlessly torturing him. After you come up with your plan, you head off to take a shower. Not bothering to hide your plush form from his frozen eyes with a towel as you leave your room naked and come back naked.
Given that it was the weekend and you had nowhere to be, you didn’t see the point in wearing clothes at all.
Sometimes during the way you’d watch by, brush your hands along his skin. Every inch you thought might be sensitive. Even his frozen hard cock. But you only bother with lingering touches that were sure to drive him mad.
The day passes by quickly as you come up with way after way of teasing the Gargoyle.
Eventually you come up with the bright idea to put on some spicy entertainment on the tv. That way you can not only tease him with yourself, but with those in the videos as well. Your selection has more than the desired affect as you begin to squirm on your bed, moaning softly. Your hands going back to where they were this morning.
You get lost in the moment, so focused on your own pleasure that you forget everything else. The gargoyle at the end of your bed for one thing. But especially the setting sun.
The first thing the Gargoyle can smell is your arousal. The last thing he had smelt before turning to stone welcomes him back as he returns to flesh. It perfumes the air and riddles his mind with blinding lust. His hand flies off his cock, not wanting to waste his seed on touching himself. Not when you’ve been so naughty all day.
You hear a low growl pierce the air and you freeze. The people on the television long forgotten. You barely have time to look to the end of your bed as he’s pouncing on top of you. All you see is a blur and the next thing you feel is his thick leaking tip making a mess of your folds.
“Was it worth it?” He snarls, meeting your wide eyes. You know you’re in some serious danger but you prepare yourself to get the best fuck of your life.
“Yes,” you don’t hesitate to say.
“No fucking remorse?”
With another growl he slams his cock inside you. Both of you release fierce screams into the air. He doesn’t give you a moment to breathe. It’s only fair after what you’ve been doing to him all day and you welcome it. Writhing and moaning on his cock. Desperately trying to buck up into his furious thrusts.
Gargoyle swears he sees red as he pounds his cock inside you. The sound of your joining echoing off the walls and overpowering the video still running on the tv.
His claws sink into your curvy hips and you arch into him, wanting everything he’ll give you. He brings you down on his massive length even harder, wanting to tease you as much as you’ve been teasing him all day.
And he just does that with the skillful way his dick glides along your wet gummy walls. Keeping you right on the edge just as you had done to him. He leans over you, surrounding you completely and you happily let yourself be consumed.
With this new angle he shifts his hips, grinding his pelvis roughly against your clit. The unique texture of his stone-like skin has your body buzzing and tingly. You let go almost immediately and he makes you cum so hard you can’t hold in your banshee scream as you clench down hard around his length.
The Gargoyle grunts as you squeeze his cock, milking it for all its worth. You’re so perfect, so tight around him. He can’t possibly hold back for another second. He throws his head back, letting out a roar that rivals your scream as he cums deep inside you.
Spurt after spurt it seems never ending. An entire day worth of being pent up spills inside of you. Your body trembles with the aftershocks as you feel him fill you up, keeping your body stuffed full of him.
You sigh in relief, a sense of contentment coursing through you. You had been waiting all day for this too. And it was even better than you imagined. But as you look up at the Gargoyle, catching his heated predatory gaze, you know the night is long from over.
And he doesn’t plan on stopping until the sun comes up.
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Could you write about Lando after his p2 in Singapore and he goes full dominative on you? Maybe that you went out before with Carlos and a couple of the other drivers to celebrate the Singapore podium and you have been teasing him the whole night and he’s completely done with it?
Okay I know I took a really long time to answer and I’m genuinely sorry. I’ve been going feral over the video below. It also inspired me to make this blurb🤭
This looked better in my head tbh. Written it just feels really random and idk. Still hope you like it though!
THE FINGERS, THE RING, THE GENTLENESS, JUST HIM IN GENERAL
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You were enjoying yourself on the dance floor with some of your friends, while your boyfriend Lando was celebrating his podium with some fellow drivers. This whole night has been crazy, full of sexual tension and teasing touches between the two of you.
You've been craving Lando the whole day. All you wanted was his touch all over you and he knew it. You tried to seduce him but he wouldn't give in, so you decided to wear the sexiest dress you own to the after party for his Singapore P2 finish.
His eyes widened when you arrived with your girlfriends. You enjoyed a few drinks and were quite tipsy and consequently even hornier so you made your way to the table where Lando and his friends were chatting and having drinks. You greeted them all before sitting on Lando's lap and taking a sip of his whiskey. Licking your lips, you leaned down to kiss him.
When you started moving your hips and rubbing yourself against his already semi hard dick he had enough. He excused you both and basically dragged you to a just slightly more private corner and pinned you against the wall. His knee found it’s way between your legs, pressing on the spot where you’ve been craving his touch for a while. "You still wanna play games?" he asked wrapping a hand around your neck. "but what about all the people Lando?" you asked looking around to see if anyone is looking at you. "you didn't seem to care before, did you?" he asked and before you could answer he shoved his tongue down your throat.
You couldn't help but start grinding on his knee that was still between your thighs. letting our quiet moans.
You pulled away from the kiss catching your breath and looking around wondering how many people are watching you. he grabbed your chin and turned your head to face him telling you to keep your eyes on him. "these people are too drunk to care what we're doing, don’t worry" he reassured you before taking your hand and leading you through the crowd to the VIP area.
There was no one there so you felt slightly more at ease. Lando didn’t waste any time and quickly continued what you started. Pinned against the wall you felt his fingers drag your panties down your legs. He took them off and stuck them in his pocket.
His lips then quickly found their way to your neck. He knew where all your sweet spots were and he made sure he left a mark on every single one. Moans and needy whimpers left your lips from the wet and warm feeling on your neck. Your hands made their way up his arms to play with his hair.
Lando reached down to gently rub your clit, soaking his fingers in your pre-cum. "mmm so wet" he quietly murmured into your neck. "Lando please" you moaned out, desperate to have his fingers shoved deep inside you. "what do you want princess, use your words." he encouraged you, continuing to rub your pussy painfully slowly.
"I want you to finger fuck me" you said, adding a "please". That wasn't enough for him though. "beg for it" he said looking straight into your eyes. You were so desperate for at least just a little more friction in your sensitive areas, words and pleads just spilled out of you. When you were practically on your knees begging, Lando was finally satisfied.
He stopped rubbing your clit for just a minute to quickly taste you on his fingertips, humming in satisfaction. A finger quickly found it’s way into your pussy, and he was quick to add another one. They slid in with ease since you were so wet you were practically dripping on the floor from the buildup of desperation throughout the whole day.
You were clenching around his fingers, chasing release. It didn’t take long for you to reach your high and spill cum all over his soft fingers. Moaning his name you grabbed his shoulders for support, nearly collapsing. While you were trying to catch your breath he shoved a finger into your mouth expecting you to suck it clean, and you obviously obeyed.
After you regained balance he walked you out of the bar. Your cheeks were extremely red walking through the crowd of people that probably saw everything, not to mention you were in a really short dress without panties underneath.
You can probably imagine how the rest of your night went after you came home.
#lando norris#smut#f1#f1 fandom#formula 1#mclaren#lando norris fanfic#lando norris smut#f1 fic#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#lando norris x reader#lando x reader#lando imagine#max verstappen
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"poor baby.." ✮ hobie brown x fem!reader
a/n: what is up!!!! this is my first fic, AND IT IS NSFW. but i've had this idea stuck in my head and it literally won't go away so basically it's hobie being gone for a while from his universe because of a mission, and his reunion with reader (his gf) when he comes home very affectionate!! reassuring, and just hobes n reader being cutesy and in love nsfw will be below the cut!!! if you like this, pls interact and my reqs r open <3 word count: 1.6k!! notes: smut, scratching, riding, fingering, praise, eye contact, heavy affection, soft turned rough, established relationship, no protection, pussy eating (hobie is a munch n nobody can change my mind), subspace, aftercare
✮ ⋆ ˚。𖦹 Hobie was tired. Exhausted, really. Pulling his mask up in the dead of night as he slipped into his apartment through his bedroom window. Throwing it aside. He was just happy to be back in his universe after a draining mission, because it was somewhere where he could properly relax. With his beautiful girl. Speaking of his girl, you laid on his bed unstirring. Wearing one of his hoodies and wrapped up in the blankets, sleeping peacefully. He had been afraid to leave you all by yourself in this shithole of a universe for a week, but you'd reassured him that you'd be okay. He chuckled fondly to himself at the sight of your peaceful sleeping face, stripping himself out of his Spider-Suit and into a pair of sweatpants instead. You quietly stirred, eyes slightly opening and blinking awake. Sitting up with a soft gasp when you realized what, or rather who, was in your house. "Hobes!" You squealed, getting up and latching onto him the minute you recognized the silhouette of his wicks. Always excited to see him. This mission had been extra long, and you'd missed him. Hobie grinned, gently wrapping his arms around you and placing you back onto the bed. Climbing on top of you, the dark moonlight barely illuminating his face. "Ay, luv. Missed me?" You pressed a kiss to his lips, nodding with a cute little smile and eagerly looking up at him. Settling back under the covers with him. "Mhm. How'd the mission go?"
He grumbled at the thought of that mission, kissing you back before muttering. "Fuckin'ell, was a handful dolly. Miguel never fails to get on me nerves. Just satisfied to be back here with ya." You pulled him down and cuddled up to him. He cooed, realizing what you wanted. "Poor baby. Must've been s'lonely." He teased, moving so he was sitting up in the bed with his back against the headboard, and you were straddling him. He peppered kisses all over your face. You whined in response to the affection and teasing, pouting. He grinned, leaning your forehead against his own and noticing how pent up you seemed. "Awww. What is it? Use ya words, I know ya can. Got somethin' to tell me?" "Need you 'Obie." You mumbled under your breath, and his eyebrows raised. "Oh, 's that it? Sweet lil' ting, been worked up all the time 've been gone? Huh?" He gently started to pull up your hoodie over your head, he'd already noticed you hadn't worn anything underneath earlier.
He cooed as you whimpered in reply, you didn't even need to use words. His hands slowly slid up your thigh all the way to your already glistening cunt. "Christ, y'really do want me. Don't think I even need to prep you. Gettin' wet at just the sight of me now?" But he did decide to prep you anyway, finger circling your clit before gently sliding down and into you. The cool metal of his rings on his hand making you shudder, a sigh escaping you. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck as your body tensed, breathing heavily against his skin. Squirming as his finger curled inside your dripping entrance. He let you adjust to being stretched out, taking it slow before adding a second finger. Listening to your shaky moans as you got overwhelmed. The sound of your noises filling the room. "Takin' me fingers so well. Knew this gorgeous pussy craved me. You were the only thing on my mind." You loved him, and this moment. Those calloused rough fingers you'd seen him use to play guitar about a million times now stroking your g-spot. You were his 'warmup' as he called it, sometimes using you before a show to get his fingers ready. His thumb came up to rub your clit again, making you squeal. You grinded your hips down, and he took that as a sign you were more then ready. Pulling you into a passionate heated kiss as he slipped his fingers out of you, to quickly pull his sweatpants and boxers down. His throbbing erection springing free, hard and already leaking with precum. The sight of it almost made you want to get on your knees. "See what 'y do to me, baby?" He nudged your legs further apart with his hand, then lined himself up. You writhed as you felt his tip press against your aching slit. He moved to gently gripped your hips, slowly sinking you down. "Ffffuck, Attagirl." You let out a soft whine, always struggling to take him because he was just so big. You swore it felt like he was impaling you, and he liked it. He left a hand on your hips, the other hand wandering up to your chin to force your doe eyes to look at who was fucking you. "Eyes on me, doll. You know the rules." He spoke sweetly, a surprise, considering most of the time it was done harshly in a destroying-your-insides kind of way. This was soft, instead. He purred when you managed to look at him and his thumb soothingly rubbed your face. Starting to slowly thrust up into you as you sputtered out a cry. "Ssshhhh, that's it. Good girl. You can do it." He reassured, as you wrapped your arms around his neck to cling to him. Wanting him to be as close as possible, the sound of your wet cunt slapping against his dick only serving to make you both more turned on. You slowly started riding him on your own, but his other hand on your hips stayed to help lift you so you wouldn't get too tired too quickly, his own hips thrusting up to meet yours as well. "Missed you s'much.." You slurred desperately and he chuckled, observing your eyes as they clouded with lust. "I know, I know you did, sweet thing. Don't worry, I gotcha." Grinding yourself down onto his cock like your life depended on it. Clawing at his back and moaning when his tip hit that perfect spot, sending shudders through your body. He let out a soft grunt, as you clenched around him like a vice. With each piston of his dick, you became more of a mindless thing. He let out a hiss as you continue to weakly lift yourself up and down, and he decided to switch your positions. Quickly pinning you underneath him on the bed and starting a deep pace. "S alright, baby. Relax. You did so well, j'st gonna take care of you now." He whispered into your ear as you wriggled and cried out. "God, your pretty little pussy is so tight. Tryna fuckin' milk me." He kissed down your neck, both hands now gripping her waist.
Your glossed over eyes stared up at him as he pounded into you, feeling him twitch. "Good fuckin' girl. Huh? Gonna let me fill you?" He laughed as you nodded eagerly, too fucked out to form a single thought. He gave one last push, before spilling his seed deep inside you. Panting as he let his head droop against yours, his grunts and groans slowly stopping. You pouted as he pulled out, managing a soft- "Obie? What're you-" as he settled between your legs with a 'Shhh'. Quickly getting to work. You wrapped your legs around his head, pulling him imminently closer to the spot you desperately needed him. His tongue lapped at your wet heat like he was a starving man, unrelenting and desperate. Mewls quickly spilling from your mouth as your slick and his cum dripped down your slit, now mixed with his saliva. You arched your back, already close from just how quickly Hobie had gone from railing you and abusing your cervix to eating you out like nothing else mattered. His tongue, pierced, circled your clit making you practically scream. Your hands scrambled to grip the sheets tightly beside you. "Hobie!" Your eyes rolled back into your skull as you reached that climax, letting out a loud whimper. You could've sworn you were seeing stars as white hot pleasure rushed through you. As you slowly came down from the high, you mumbled gibberish, tears streaming from your eyes. Hobie quickly gave your cunt one last lick before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in close, realizing you'd slipped into subspace. Pressing kisses to your sobbing face. "S alright my darlin'. You did so good for me today. So 'appy to be back wit'cha." He whispered in a soft reassuring tone, as you cuddled up to him. Craving his warmth. "I love you so much." He keened and nuzzled into your neck, showing you all the appreciation he knew you needed. He liked nothing better then seeing your little face so out of it. He gently picked you and a water bottle up and carried you to the bathroom, sitting you on the counter and grabbing a cloth. Running it under warm water as he cleaned both him and yourself off. Your lips managed to find his, and he smiled and kissed you back. Filling up the water bottle in the mean time and pressing it to your mouth. "Drink." He commanded, though it was gentle. Your boyfriend loved you, and taking care of you was always his priority. "Good. Y'want to go back to bed? 'S pretty late now." "Mhm." You replied quietly, and next thing you knew the water bottle sat on the bedside table next to you and you were wrapped up under the thick fluffy blankets and Hobie. Shutting your eyes as they drooped and silently appreciating having your Spider-Man back home.
#atsv x reader#hobie brown smut#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x you#spiderpunk x reader#spiderpunk x you#hobie brown x fem!reader#smut#first fic#hobie brainrot
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💍💍💍 please!!!
Thanks for the prompt
🩶
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They both lay naked on their bed—Tommy vertical and Buck horizontal with his head rested on Tommy’s stomach. Tommy’s hand was on Bucks clavicle with Buck delicately playing with his fingers and occasionally lifting them up to kiss.
They were enjoying the post-sex come down with the breeze from the open window across the room cooling their hot skin.
“You did not know that early!” Tommy accused him.
Buck laughed. “Okay, okay I didn’t know know. But I definitely knew something changed when I met you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I knew that I had to see you again, and that I needed to know you.” He said in that sweet and earnest way that always melted Tommy. His lifted Bucks hand to his mouth to kiss. “What about you? When did you know about me?”
“I was endeared when you were excitedly shouting about the new 118 motto in the back of my helicopter.” He said and Buck laughed. “But what really solidified it for me was standing in your kitchen and you just being so honest and open about how you thought you did wrong.”
“I did do wrong—I acted like a child and got my best friend hurt.”
“I know, but not many people are so quick to admit when they’re wrong—you did it immediately. Plus, you said some really nice things about how cool I was and how could I possibly resist that?”
“Was? You’re still the coolest person I’ve ever known!”
“Evan, you literally had to clean up my puke couple of weeks ago.”
Buck laughed. “So? I’d do it every day if you needed me too.”
He said it in such easy way and Tommy knew he meant it. After all this time together Evan still surprised him with how simply, and easily he loved him.
“Come up here.” He said gently and Buck immediately shifted upwards; arms and legs wrapped around Tommy like an octopus. He adored how physically affectionate Buck was. Very early on in their relationship he’d found himself not being able to sleep without Buck attached to him like a limpet.
He placed a few soft, long kisses to Bucks lips before Buck nuzzled into his usual place in the crook of Tommy’s neck.
“Well shit!” Tommy said after a while.
“What?”
“The sun is coming up.” He told him. Buck lifted his head up to see the beginnings of pinks spreading across the sky through the window.
“Shit. We stayed up all night talking?”
“And other things.” Tommy whispered playfully kissing his temple. “Are you going to be okay today?”
“Yeah.”
“Really? Evan I love you, but I know what you’re like when you have little sleep.” He teased. Buck leaned up on his elbow to look down at Tommy.
“On any other day I would agree, but not today.” He smiled and ran a thumb across Tommy’s jaw.
“No?” Tommy smiled.
“Nope.” He kissed Tommy softly.
“What time is Eddie picking you up?”
Buck reached back to look at his phone. “In about an hour.” He snuggled back into Tommy’s body.
“Last chance to change your mind, you know.” Tommy told him lightheartedly.
“Not a chance. You’re stuck with me forever, Kinard.” He smiled into Tommy’s neck and squeezed tighter into him. “What about you? You’re not thinking about making a run for it, are you?”
He pressed 2 fingers into Bucks jaw to gently guide him up to meet his eye-line. “Nothing in this world could make me walk away from you.”
After more warm and lazy kisses they eventually dragged themselves out of bed to get ready for the day. Buck finished packing his bag while Tommy showered.
“I made you a coffee.” Buck called out as he heard Tommy walking towards the kitchen.
“Thanks babe.” He kissed Bucks temple and picked up his mug, leaning against the counter. “Have you packed everything?”
Buck scanned his bags in the table. “Uh, I think so, yeah.”
“Suit?”
“Hanging by the door.”
“Shoes?”
“Check.” Buck replied patting one of the bags.
“Ring?”
“Eddie has it.”
“Only thing left is vows.” Tommy said.
“I don’t need them—I know what I’m gonna say.” Buck closed the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Tommys neck.
“Yeah?”
“Easiest thing in the world.” He said as the sound of Eddies horn blasted outside.
“I guess it’s time.” Tommy said.
“I guess so.” Buck smiled. He turned to begin picking up his bags but Tommy reached out and held his shoulder to stop him.
“Wait a second.” Buck turned back around and Tommy held his face gently. “I love you, Evan. And I can’t wait to be your husband.”
“I love you, too, Tommy and I can’t wait to marry you.”
If Buck left the house 30 minutes and an orgasm late, well that was his business.
#911 abc#911#tommy kinard#911onabc#bucktommy#911 buck#buck x tommy#evan buckley#evan buck buckely#bucktommy fic#bucktommy prompt#911 prompt#tevan#kinley
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first kiss in front of the team/at work!!
"You ready?"
Eddie turns. He's been staring at the firehouse, but Buck is a much prettier sight, cast in gold by the morning sun filtering through the car windows.
"Ready? For work?"
"Sure." Buck rolls his shoulders into the Jeep's driver's seat in a half shrug. "For work, and for—you know. Twenty-four hours is a long time."
Eddie leans against the door at his back, a smirk blooming on his face. "Is that a pickup line?"
"I don't have to use pickup lines on you," Buck tells him, but he's smirking too. "I picked you up a while ago."
Eddie hums.
"All I'm saying," Buck continues, "is that twenty-four hours… is a long time."
Eddie could keep playing hard to get. Taking the bait sounds more rewarding, though. He reaches for Buck, curls his fingers into the front of Buck's black t-shirt, "Guess I better stock up on this while I still have the chance, huh?"
"I guess so," says Buck.
Eddie looks over his shoulder at the parking lot. It's empty, not a soul in sight.
"We're all alone," Buck mutters, voice softer than before, though the gleam in his eyes hasn't changed.
"All alone," Eddie agrees, and tugs him close.
They arrived in the parking lot half an hour early, but when they actually make it inside, their shift is about to start. That means the locker room is empty, which in turn doesn't mean much—the glass walls provide no privacy—but Buck is nothing if not bold.
"Stop," Eddie mutters, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, which hangs half-open from his shoulders. He doesn't have to glance up to know Buck is looking at him, can feel the weight of his gaze on the exposed skin of his chest. It makes him feel stupid, and tingly all over, and warm.
"I'm not doing anything," Buck replies, equally quiet, though the smile in his words is loud.
"You're staring."
"I'm admiring."
And, honestly. Buck just spent four consecutive nights admiring every inch of Eddie's body. He should've looked his fill by now, but when Eddie finally meets his eyes, the hunger in Buck's smile is as obvious as it was this morning, yesterday, two weeks ago. Eddie shivers, glancing past Buck at the app bay to make sure nobody is watching them.
What if they both took a sick day? What would Bobby say then?
He pulls himself together and slaps Buck's (gloriously naked) chest. "Get dressed."
"Yessir."
"Oh my god," says Eddie, and moves to the other side of the locker room before he forgets himself.
And just in time, too. Hen knocks on the glass door, then sticks her head inside. "You guys coming?"
"Did the bell ring?" Buck asks, eyes wide.
Hen narrows hers and looks from Buck to Eddie and back to Buck. "No. I think you would've heard that."
"Right," says Buck. "Sure. I wasn't distracted or anything."
Hen frowns at Eddie, clearly expecting him to know what is going on with Buck, and she's not wrong, but Eddie shrugs anyway, feigns ignorance. Hen sighs.
"Bobby made waffles," she says. "If you don't hurry up, I'm giving your share to Ravi."
The city keeps them busy, after that, provides them with a steady stream of fender benders and fires and the occasional cat stuck in a tree. By the time they get another moment to themselves, the sun is setting over the city and the station is awash in shades of crimson and gold.
Eddie is just stepping off the treadmill, sweaty and in dire need of a shower, when Buck joins him in the gym.
"Hey," Buck says.
Just that. Just hey. He's smiling and his curls look soft in the afternoon sun, and Eddie wonders if this will ever stop being thrilling, if he'll ever be able to look at Buck without feeling like his chest is going to burst from all this love, if he'll ever be able to exist in Buck's presence without wanting, no, needing, to put his hands all over that glorious body.
"Hey yourself," he says, and Buck's smile widens, and he steps towards Eddie as if magnetized.
"I've missed you."
"You saw me ten minutes ago."
Buck shrugs. "You know what I mean."
Eddie does. He doesn't wish that he didn't. He likes knowing.
"Sixteen hours," he says lowly, as Buck stops in front of him, just a few inches shy of appropriate—but then they've never needed much personal space when it came to each other. "Think you can manage?"
"Barely," Buck replies, before his smile sweetens. He looks down at his feet and Eddie looks down too, at Buck's hands, which are twitching at his sides as though they're desperate to reach out. "But, yeah. I'll manage."
Eddie nods. He drags his eyes back up and finds Buck watching him in return. He's so close Eddie can count his lashes, could trace the smile lines in the corners of his eyes.
"There you are." Chim strides into the gym and stops dead in his tracks, frowns at them, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that Eddie just jumped away from Buck like he's been stung. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Eddie says, too quickly.
Chim's frown deepens. Behind him, Hen appears on the scene of the crime, watching them over Chim's shoulder.
"If you guys are in some kind of trouble—"
And really, that's just uncalled for. Eddie opens his mouth and closes it again when he realizes he doesn't really have an excuse. Not for the first and probably not for the last time, Buck saves him.
"It's, uhm. Christopher's birthday party," he says. "We're—making plans."
Hen looks at Chim, who shakes his head.
"Chris' birthday is months away," she says.
"Well." Buck scratches the side of his neck. "Doesn't hurt to be prepared, right?"
He slides a pointed look Eddie's way, waiting for backup. Eddie opens his mouth.
It's new, still, this thing between them, new but not fragile. Three weeks ago, when their first kiss shattered every single one of Eddie's defenses, when he finally allowed himself a shot at true happiness, he warned Buck—told him that it would take him some time, that he would not be able to be Buck's plus one to a wedding any time soon.
Buck laughed at him, told him to stop worrying and we're not going to any weddings anyway, Eddie, unless you know something I don't, and kissed him again, and ever since then, he's been—patient, and careful, and wonderful, and everything Eddie could ask for and more.
He'd live like this, in secret, for another six years if Eddie asked it of him.
"Cause, you know," Buck continues, probably realizing that Eddie is too distracted to help him, and covering for him immediately, because he has his back even now. "Teenagers, they have—expectations. Right?"
"Right," says Eddie, and then he reaches out a hand and cups Buck's cheek and pulls him into a kiss, firm and sweet. When he breaks away, Buck is slack-jawed and glowing, and Eddie clears his throat and turns back to Chim and Hen, who are watching them with twin blank expressions. "Any more questions?"
"Huh," says Chim.
"Huh," adds Hen, and then, to Chim, "you owe me so much money. I knew it would happen before Christmas."
Chim groans loudly. Eddie leaves him to his misery and turns to Buck, who still looks stunned.
"Okay?" he asks quietly. He's lightheaded and giddy and so, so happy.
Buck's expression morphs into something different, something new, something that looks a lot like the inside of Eddie's chest feels—soft and warm and wonderful. "Okay. You?"
They have to talk to Bobby, and soon. Their future holds questions, of that Eddie is sure, and a lot of paperwork. He doesn't care about any of that right now.
"Never better," he says, and kisses Buck again.
#thank you so much for the prompt!!#buddie#buddie 911#eddie diaz#evan buckley#buck x eddie#buddie fic#buddie fics#mine#q
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𑊡˚+₊🍼✦ — rizz + bkg.
૮ ͈>◡< ͈ა warnings — fluff + sfw, fem!reader, bakugou does nawt know what rizz means and his students make fun of him, pro hero!bkg is a teacher at UA, mentions of pregnancy scars, girl dad!bkg.
rizz — (slang) one’s ability to seduce a potential love interest. synonymous with game, charm.
“baby?”
“katsuki.”
“what the fuck is ‘rizz’?”
now he has your attention. setting aside your book for the night, you glance at your husband with an amused smile, he’s fresh out of the shower— golden skin shimmering with pearly droplets of water and hair matted wetly to his forehead. “who’s askin’, kats?” you coo, shifting to your knees as bakugou takes a seat on the edge of your shared bed, his lips drawn into a long frown— almost as if he’s pouting.
“i’m askin’, i swear t’god. these fuckin’ brats,” the blonde goes on to rant, the shower he’d just come from clearly not doing much to soothe the stresses of the day. circling an arm around his slender and unfortunately towelled waist from behind, you press burning kisses up and down the pro hero’s back and shoulders— hoping to calm katsuki just enough for him to get his thoughts into order. “one of my kids in class said i had no fuckin’ ‘rizz’ because ‘m ‘touchin’ thirty and haven’t got a damn ring in my finger yet. whatever that fuckin’ means.”
“rizz is like charisma, baby. like… how good you are at flirting or charming people,” keeping your words tender, you watch the clogs turn in katsuki’s head.
“that’s fuckin’ stupid.”
“awh but baby, you know what they said isn’t true…you’re the rizziest man i’ve ever met,” you can’t hide how hilarious you find the situation, still pressing tender kisses up katsuki’s neck until you reach just behind his ear— tugging on that spot with your teeth the way he likes. scratching at his wet scalp too. the bulking explosive man, with the roughest exterior and softest heart you’ve ever seen leans back into you, exhaling slowly through his nose. “where’s your wedding ring katsuki?”
he tilts his head back to look at you, love laced into his smoke screen and scarred eyes as pulls on a chain that sits comfortably against his neck, the golden band attached to it with his dog tags. “didn’t wanna lose it while trainin’ up the kids, today.” katsuki mumbles shyly. he’d done so once before almost in tears, only to find out you’d taken it to get cleaned of all the ash from his quirk.
brushing a thumb over his slightly chapped bottom lip, you smile at him again— taking in how beautiful katsuki looks under the warm glow of the lamp on your nightstand. “so what did you do? did’ya tell them you were married, with your baby keepin’ me up all night?” you say it like you’re exasperated, but while rolling his eyes katsuki knows you’re just kidding— happy to be stuck at home with your mini bakugou in the form of a precious little girl, blowing through his wallet to appease your cravings and soothe the boredom maternity leave brings with online shopping.
“of course i fuckin’ did,” he responds, failing to use his words as he tilts his head up for a kiss. a smile spreads slow on his lips, sexy and adorable all at once— a pleased look etched into bakugou’s features when you give into him and give him exactly what he wants. “showed them a picture of you.” he breathes into the lip lock, cheekily licking the words into your mouth.
“yeah?” you hum, pulling away from your husband with a glint in your eyes. “and how’d that work out for you, sweetpea?”
bakugou practically purrs at the pet name. he’ll never admit how much he loves to be babied — especially by you. “they believed me. said i had ‘infinite rizz’ whatever the hell that means too.” he lets you pull him into bed with you, let’s you crawl into his lap to get closer— his callous hands immediately settling on your hips, thumbs slipping under your (his) shirt to brush over the evidence of your pregnancy. stretch marks from your bump, the small scar from your c-section. “called you a milf as well, fuckin’ brats.”
“just means they think i’m hot and they’re surprised you that you managed to bag me. consider yourself lucky, mister dynamight.” you laugh again, sighing in content as bakugou massages the aches and pains— adoration pulsing through him because what you say is true. he is lucky. lucky that you stick around, that you’ve dealt with him for this long, that you love him the way you do and want him for the rest of your life. lucky to have his family, to have you.
and in the low light of your shared bedroom, it hits him all at once. the life that katsuki bakugou leads now, is a blessed one. he has a stable job teaching an amazing set of kids, his wife loves him more than anything and his little girl? well, she’ll be the death of him. but bakugou knows for a second he won’t take it all for granted, appreciating the quiet moments— like this, with his wife making a love-sick fool out of him, a smile of your lips so bright katsuki can see his future.
one that he never in a million years thought that he’d deserve.
“well then for once, they wouldn’t be too fuckin’ far off.” the blonde grins, pinching your hips lovingly— as if to get you back.
#bakugou x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou fluff#bakugou drabble#bakugou fic#bakugou imagine#bakugo x reader#idk what this is olelckdk#i thought it was funny but now i just love him#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing#tteokdoroki#✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted
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new romantics.
pairing: modern!ellie x best friend's sister!reader
summary: ellie is your brother's best friend, and also a loser lesbian. oh, and you are "off-limits."
warnings: drinking, ellie being a loser maybe?? suggestive themes
a/n: this is purely self indulgent tbh... just needed some ellie pining and soft fluff... idk this trope makes me dizzy even though i am brotherless... pls enjoy.. AUDIOS AT THE END HEHE! also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses
wc: 2.4k
"every night with us is like a dream."
ellie was excruciatingly uncomfortable.
okay, that was a little dramatic, but she still felt the sweat pooling at the back of her neck when you opened the door for her. this happened too often for her liking, you letting her into your house as she had to wait for her best friend to be ready to go. she’d curse him out for it later, but now she was stuck making small talk with you.
you, who was showing way too much skin today, the fleshy skin below your neck peeking through the loose tank top you wore. your skin looked soft and moist, almost as if you were glowing and ellie could smell the sunscreen coming off of you. you, who her best friend, and your brother, told her was off-limits. she often questioned why he said that, but as you flashed a toothy grin at her it became apparent. you were a dream.
if ellie was being honest with herself it pissed her off that he banned her from trying anything with you seeing as she had no game and you were just so easy to talk to. it’s not every day that you run into a pretty girl who also likes girls, and it’s not every day that you have an in with her brother. fuck you, sean ellie thought.
“hey, ellie. come on in,” you held the door open for her, closing in when she stepped through, “sean will be down soon.”
involuntarily, a blush spread across her face, pink picking at the freckles on her skin. her hand nervously scratched the back of her neck, a nervous tick she had picked up.
“hey,” she was looking anywhere but your eyes, sitting at the marble island in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and reeling in the comfort of the cool material on her skin, “what’re you up to today?”
“some friends and i are going down to the lake to go swimming,” you followed behind her, leaning on the counter opposite of her, “maybe drink a bit. what are you and sean up to?”
“we had nothing planned,” she chuckles, fingers fiddling with the rings on her fingers, “sounds fun, though.”
she watched as you turned towards the fridge, pulling two water bottles from it and stuffing one in your tote bag that hung off your shoulder. you handed the second one to her, your hands briefly touching. a shiver ran across her skin. you were being kind at most, but her cheeks still glowed red as she thanked you.
“you should come with,” you leaned back on the counter a small smirk on your lips, “didn’t really think that was your scene though. but i’d love for you to come — both you and sean should come.”
“uh — um, yeah,” she chuckled again, nervously opening the water bottle and taking a sip, “i’d come, i mean, yeah. that sounds cool.” she’d forever curse herself for how awkward she sounded. “thanks.”
sean came down the stairs, his hair messy and phone in hand. he wiped the sleep from his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, nudging your shoulder as he opened the fridge to find something to eat.
“did you just wake up?” ellie asked from her place at the counter, a teasing and knowing tone to her words.
“yes, i did,” he rolled his eyes, settling on a water and pulling it out of the fridge before turning to the two of you, “it’s saturday. let me live, el.”
“uh, i think ellie’s gonna join us down by the lake.” you told him, causing him to shoot an odd look to ellie, raising his eyebrows as he took a sip of his water. “you should come too.”
“uh,” his eyes darted in between you and ellie, “um sure, that sounds… cool.”
ellie didn’t even realize she was holding her breath till he agreed and she let out a deep sigh. she was just happy he didn’t ask any questions or wonder why she agreed. she knew she’d get the worst of it later, but now she just wanted to be uncomfortable in your presence. she didn’t realize how much of a loser she was until now.
“well, dina’s coming for me now,” you smiled brightly at both of them, gripping the straps of your tote harder, “she should be here any minute, you guys can come with us.”
sean looked at ellie, waiting for her response.
“yeah, yeah,” ellie stood from her seat, scratching the back of her neck again, “that sounds good.”
-
when the car pulled up to the lake and you all piled out, ellie found herself sticking close to you and sean, obviously uncomfortable. she didn’t know why she was even here, was she that desperate?
almost as if you could sense her discomfort you turned towards her, “you okay, ellie?” when she didn’t respond immediately you spoke again, “i know this isn’t your usual scene but we’re pretty chill.” you led her down to the table you and your friends had set the stuff up on and pulled a beer out of the cooler, “here, have a beer. loosen up.”
ellie reached for the beer hesitantly, but opened the lid and took a small swig, face setting up at the taste, “yeah, i’m fine, i just — i don’t party much.”
“it’s not really a party,” you giggled, taking your own beer out of the cooler and cracking it open. you took a long sip before speaking again, “it’s so funny, you’ve been friends with sean for so long and i feel like i know nothing about you.”
a small laugh left ellie’s lips as she looked up at you with a shrug. she hated nothing more than talking about herself, but she wanted nothing more than to talk to you. “well, ask away.”
you took another swig of your beer, squinting slightly at her as you watched her take another sip. “hm,” you pretended to be deep in thought, “what about how you and sean became best friends?”
ellie felt small under your gaze, shifting her weight onto one foot as she fiddled with the hem of her shorts that were now fraying.
“well, we just used to hang out at lunch and one day i found out he liked savage starlight…” she chuckled, shaking her head, “nerdy, i know. but we just… clicked, y’know? then we just sat together every day, and — i guess the rest is history.” she shrugged again, taking another sip of her beer. “nothing too special, i don’t think.”
“well, i think it’s special.” you smiled at her, taking another long sip of your beer and holding it firmly in one hand, “if you could put up with my brother for that long then you are a saint.”
she chuckled again, shaking her head. “fair enough, fair enough. i dunno how he puts up with me either, to be honest.” another sip of her beer. “i’m sure he’d say the same about you.”
you faked a gasp and scoffed, playfully pushing ellie’s shoulder with your free hand. “well, he shouldn’t, i’m an angel.” you giggled and took a long sip of your beer, finishing it and resting it on the table.
when you pushed ellie’s shoulder she couldn’t hide the blush that was now seeming permanent around you, the eye contact between the two of you lingering for almost too long. ellie looked away, hand at her neck again. “if you say so,” she said in a half-whisper.
“i do say so,” you whispered back. you took a step back and pulled your tank top off, revealing a blue bikini top covering your chest, leaving your shorts on. “you swim, williams?”
ellie’s eyes widened at the sudden flash of skin, all the previous color draining from her cheeks. her mouth fell open, only for a moment, before she cleared her throat to distract herself. taking another sip of her beer, she leaned against the table.
“uh… yea, i’m… i’m alright.”
“alright?” you questioned, now removing your pants to reveal your bikini bottoms, the bottoms not leaving much up to imagination, “can’t have you drowning.”
ellie had to look away, she didn’t want to be a creep. she was staring at the water, the people floating and talking by the shore, sean who was talking to dina and jesse and somehow laughing and then back at you, mesmerized. “i’ll be fine, i promise. i just don’t have a swimsuit.”
you looked her up and down. she had a loose t-shirt on and shorts, nothing special. “you got a bra on?”
“yea.”
“then take the t-shirt off,” you said matter-of-factly, “and the pants too.” you smiled at her before turning on your heel and heading towards the water, “then come and swim.”
ellie’s eyes stayed trained on your ass you as you headed into the water. she almost didn’t notice when sean appeared next to her, almost as if he had been waiting.
“what are you doing with my sister?”
“talking-“
“ellie-“
“what? i can’t talk to your sister?” she rolled her eyes as she pulled her shirt over her head to reveal her sports bra. “would the world implode on itself if i did?”
sean gave her a pointed look. “you’re not going to try anything funny, right?” he watched as ellie’s eyes drifted back to you again as she pulled her shorts off and put them on the table. “i told you she’s off limits, el.”
“can i swim with her, sean?” ellie said, her voice dripping with annoyance, "is that okay with you? or is that off limits too?”
“c’mon, el,” he sighed, leaning on the table, “i’m serious.” ellie couldn’t help but roll her eyes again.
“fine,” she sighed, looking up at him, face still set up from before, “i’m just swimming with her. nothing funny is happening. scouts hono-“
“ellie! you coming?!” you called from the water.
“nothing funny,” he repeated.
“nothing funny,” she echoed back.
ellie stepped down into the water with you, ignoring how awkward it all felt. she was in her underwear trailing after her best friend’s sister. the beer had left a light fuzz behind her eyes, making the water bearable as her calves got soaked in water. she was grinning from ear to ear as she approached you, the sun now setting behind you, casting a yellow glow on your skin. you shook her from her thoughts, splashing cold water in her causing her brow to wrinkle.
“took you long enough,” you stood in the water in front of her, the water where you were appearing to be deeper as in came up to your thighs, “what were you guys talking about? sean seemed serious.”
ellie wiped the water off her face, glancing back to sean at the shore and then back to you, “uh— he just wanted to remind me that you were — that you… are,” she cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. this was the longest amount of time she had spent in your presence and she was already drowning. she didn’t want to lie to you. “off-limits.”
this smile on your face fell as you adjusted your posture, “wait what?”
ellie’s breath caught in her throat, “uh… y’know. like he didn’t want me… well,” her hands came up in a weird gesture between the two of you. “you know.”
no, i don’t know,” you shook your head in disbelief, looking back at him and then back at ellie, taking a step closer to you, “did he tell you not to — to, flirt with me?”
ellie felt the air around her tighten as you stepped into her space, you were dangerously close, “well— uh— sorta. yeah, he did.”
“what the fuck,” you whispered under your breath.
“well, would you—“ where the fuck was this confidence coming from, “would you mind if i did?” she watched as your eyes widened and brows furrowed in confusion before your lips curved into a smile.
“oh — uh, no. i don’t mind.”
“cool.” ellie smiled.
as the sun began to set you and ellie talked, floating together in the deep end, occasionally laughing nervously when your feet touched. at some point you began a game of tag, running across the shoreline and splashing water in each other’s faces. it was all innocent and gummy, all of the panic that was usually stuck in ellie’s head dissipating for a brief moment in time as your bodies became silhouettes to those on shore.
your body had grown tired and asked ellie to come get another beer with you, she smiled and agreed, wiping her wet hair from her face.
“do you think sean will be mad?” she questioned as she watched you open the cooler again, pull out two bears, hand one to her, and sit on the picnic table. you pulled your towel out of your tote bag and wrapped it around you, tapping the place beside you for ellie to sit.
“i don’t care if sean gets mad,” you opened your beer, clinking your glass with hers as you wrapped your towel around her back, both of you now sharing the terrycloth, “it’s so fucking stupid.”
ellie’s face was warm again as the wet skin of her shoulder burned against yours, “it is stupid.”
“it is,” you reiterated, taking a swig, “he probably thinks i’ll corrupt you or something.”
“he might,” ellie chuckled, “i can be corrupted, i’ll be honest,” she shrugged, taking her own swig of her beer, “maybe you will corrupt me.”
you looked over to her, smirking slightly as your voice went low, “you flirting with me, williams?”
her throat felt tight.
“maybe i am,” she leaned closer, “is that a bad thing?”
you pursed your lips, looking back out at the water and taking another sip of your beer. ellie’s eyes flicked down to your lips briefly. what was happening to her?
“not a bad thing no,” you giggled, “thought i was…off-limits.”
“you are… but i feel like you don’t exactly mind.” her voice was low, an innocent smile plastered on her face, “do you mind?”
you leaned in a little too close for her liking, breath blowing puffs of air over her lips as you spoke. behind the two of you fireworks went off in the distance, scattering hues of blue, silver, and red across the sky, “i don’t mind.”
ellie was fucked.
ai audios:
#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams smut#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams x reader smut#ellie williams the last of us#ellie williams tlou2#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams fan fic#ellie williams x female reader#ellie williams x you#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams oneshot#modern!ellie williams#college!ellie williams#ellie williams one shot
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out of the woods: theo raeken.
1989 (Heartbreak Grill’s Version)
looking at it now it all seems to simple. we were lying on your couch. i remember.
“i have to go.”
theo groaned as the words left my lips. his arms, wrapped securely around my waist, tightened their grip as he inhaled a hopeless breath.
“no,” he nudged my neck with his nose, eliciting a soft giggle from me. “no, stay, please.”
“theo,” i wriggled away from his ticklish touches, “i have to go.”
i tried to remove myself from his grasps, but he was strong. his large, warm hands, slid over my bare stomach, gripping onto my hips. he pressed my back into the mattress, as my wrestling arms came to rest on his shoulders. he had been growing out his hair and now it hung low enough to ghost over my collarbones. i shivered as the strands drug across my skin, theo’s lips attached to my neck.
“theo,” i persisted, “scott gets off at 8. he’s going to come into my room and check if i’m there. when i’m not, he’s going to notify every single supernatural within a thirty mile radius, and every policeman within the county. they will be on your doorstep by 8:15, and i will be dead.”
as i spoke, i continued to try to fight theo’s strong hold, lifting my body from the mattress, and pushing back at his shoulders. my words seemed like a good enough threat to get him moving.
“i don’t want you to go,” he moved to the edge of the bed, feet flat upon the floor.
i stood and gathered my clothes, occasionally tossing him pointed glances, “as much as i enjoy this- i would prefer to not die tonight. i have a chemistry exam tomorrow. here-“
theo rolled his eyes as i tossed his boxers to him. it landed on top of his head. i stifled a laugh and tugged on my jeans.
theo ripped the boxers off and mocked my laughter, “haha, very funny.”
i shrugged and stuck my head through my t-shirt. “listen,” i made my way towards the front door of theo’s tiny, studio apartment. it wasn’t much, but it beat sleeping in his truck every night, like he had been doing. i laced up my shoes, “i should be able to see you tomorrow night. i’ll text you, though, let you know what’s happening.”
theo noticed i was reaching for the door handle and quickly shimmied into his boxers. he slapped a hand against the door, “wait!”
it slammed shut. i looked up at him, an expectant expression on my face. “yeah?”
theo caught my chin in his hands, and planted a sweet kiss on my lips. i melted into the moment, leaning my weight into his hold, allowing my fingers to gently ghost his chest. however, as soon as theo moved to deepen the exchange, my phone started ringing.
my eyes flew open, a wide, worried look taking over my dazed face. i held out a finger towards theo, as if to shush him, as i answered the call.
“hello? oh, hi, scott,” i shot theo a glance. he crossed his arms, figure shrunk in a guilty demeanor. “no, yeah- i’m on my way home now. oh, chinese sounds good. yep- no, yeah. just gotta shower first. just- with gina. yep. studying. chem exam tomorrow! yep. yeah. k. love you! bye.”
i stared at my phone for a second, as though scott were going to climb out of it and kill theo for even being in the same room as me. when that didn’t happen, i let out a deep breath.
“okay,” i looked to the boy, “i have got to get going. i’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“yeah,” theo couldn’t help but grin down at me, “tomorrow.”
i noticed his body tilt towards mine, his chest lean towards me, and i held up a finger, cocked a brow. “don’t even think about it or i will never get out of here.”
i could hear him groaning as i shut the door behind me.
–
you took a polaroid of us, then discovered the rest of the world was black and white, but we were in screaming color.
“what are you doing for your birthday?”
i balanced the popcorn bowl on my lap as i twisted around on the couch. theo glanced over at me from the fridge, flashing that bright, wide grin.
i couldn’t help but smile, though nothing special really was happening. “not sure yet. why do you ask?”
“just wondering.”
i stared at the back of his stooped, trying to read between the lines of his very few words. theo could feel my gaze, could hear my curious heartbeat, and looked up against. “what?”
i slowly brought a piece of popcorn to my lips, brows furrowed, “why are you asking?”
“nothing,” he reached into the fridge and grabbed a can of coke. the door shut softly behind him. he neared the couch and cracked open the drink. i continued to stare him. “why do you keep staring at me like that?”
“because i know it’s not nothing,” i set the bowl down on the coffee table and came up onto my knees. theo tilted his head and peered down at me. “you’ve got stuff on your mind. say it. let it out into the open. this is a judgement free zone.”
he chuckled softly as i gestured to the tiny apartment. “not exactly a zone as is.”
i reached up and smacked his forearm. “just tell me! please?”
theo took another sip of his coke, thinking intensely. “there’s really not much to say. i was just thinking how your birthday is coming up and i wanted to maybe do something special for you.”
“wait, really?” i perked up, elbows pressed into the back of the couch and chin planted upon my palms. “aw, wait really?”
theo rolled his eyes, “yes, really. but, i know you guys probably have stuff planned. so, i was just trying to get a feel for when we could fit something in.”
“no one’s said anything to me about any plans. though,” my mind wandered a bit, and the stupid hope theo’s healing heart always gave me filled my lungs, “if they do figure something out, i don’t see why you couldn’t just come to that..?”
theo’s soft face hardened slightly, a gut wrenching frown painting his pink lips. “yeah…i don’t know about that. liam still wants me dead. scott and stiles hate me- not to mention malia and lydia probably would be happy to kick me in the balls.”
i thought over the words, imagining each scenario play out. he was right. “yeah…” i trailed off, “yeah, i don’t think that would happen. i just-“
i struggled to find my words, gaze distant, hope shattered. “i don’t know-“
“i know,” theo touched my cheek, fingers cold from the can of coke now in his other hand. “i know.”
“i’m tired of hiding, theo,” my voice came out quiet and timid, expressive to how i was truly feeling. it was exhausting, constantly sneaking around, always being on the lookout for scott.
“i know, baby,” he squatted down to my level, holding my face with both hands, now. his thumbs brushed over the apples of my cheeks, eyes catching my distant ones. “listen…i know it’s hard, but…they just don’t understand it, okay? they wouldn’t get it. you- you put your faith in me when i didn’t deserve it. if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for your hope, i don’t think i would be the man i am today. you saw a lost, broken boy and you helped me get back on my feet. you helped me make up for every wrong i’ve done. i…”
he didn’t continue any sentence. he just pressed his lips together. my heart fluttered at the anticipation of what it could’ve been he wanted to say.
“i just wish…” i gathered some thoughts, “i wish they’d give you a chance.”
“one day,” theo kissed me shortly, “i think…one day, it’ll happen.”
we curled up on the tiny couch, fit for his small apartment, and watched a movie. i lay in the crevice of his side, clutching to his body like it would be taken from me. often, i worried that that would happen. scott would catch us, committing no crimes, and juror theo to a fate worse than death. it seemed so silly- scott was the sworn protector of this town. he always ensured everyone’s happiness, health, prosperity. yet, when it came to me, those guarantees fell short. he’d rather i be holed up in my room, or holed up at school, my nose in a book, than i live, than i date or work or go out with friends.
it made everything so complicated. it made my life complicated- i had rules to follow, i had curfews, i had to answer the phone every time he called or the entire world would fall apart. i understood my brother just wanted me to be safe, to stay alive- but he was ruining my life while trying to save it.
i looked up towards theo, worry swimming through my eyes. he turned his head at my own shuffling and smiled, though it faded at the sight of my worried face.
“hey, hey,” he shifted his body towards mine, “baby…it’s okay. hey…everything’s gonna be okay, yeah? i won’t let anything ruin this, okay?”
“i’m just worried he’s gonna take you away from me…”
“i know,” theo brushed the hair from my face, “i know, but i won’t let him. i…”
that unfinished thought again.
i set my hands upon theo’s shoulder, worry being coaxed down by the affection i felt for him. “i love you,” i admitted.
theo’s face softened, the gold flecks in his eyes on fire from my confession. he pulled my face closer towards his, rushing out a response before crashing our lips together.
“i love you.”
–
and i remember thinking: are we out of the woods yet? are we in the clear yet good?
“i saw theo today.”
i looked up from my plate, eyes widened in curiosity. i flicked my gaze between lydia, scott, stiles, malia, and liam. everyone paused from eating their food. they focused on lydia’s words.
scott straightened his stooped neck. his thick brows were furrowed with inquiry, “really? where?”
“the store,” lydia spoke pointedly. “he was buying a dozen roses from the supermarket.”
“well, at least we know he’s a cheap date,” stiles was quick to nip.
i felt my face grow warm, both from worry and frustration. i shoveled some noodles into my mouth.
malia poked at her straw, “what’s he doing here? i thought he left?”
“i think we all did,” scott sighed. he wiped a napkin across his face. “did he have any other groceries?”
lydia rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, as if to recite the items she saw in his cart. “eggs, milk, icing, chicken nuggets, a loaf of bread, and, i think, penne noodles. could’ve been elbow macaroni, though. couldn’t really tell.”
a smile creeped onto my face as i pieced together the groceries. i was supposed to see theo tonight, though i’d told mom and scott i was going to gina’s for a sleepover. i guess i had a birthday cake and flowers to look forward to.
everyone thought for a moment. then, stiles cracked another lame joke, “hey, maybe he’s going to make up for nearly killing y/n by baking her a cake!”
i choked on my water. scott reached a concerned hand over to pat my back. i pressed a napkin to my face and coughed erratically. “you okay?” scott brushed hair form my cheek.
i nodded wildly, “yep- yeah. yep! great. good. sorry.”
scott patted my back again before returning to the conversation. “for his sake, i hope he isn’t planning on doing that. i hope he isn’t planning on contacting any of us. if he does, you all need to tell me- immediately, okay? stiles, let your dad know he’s lingering around. y/n-“
i sniffled from my coughing fit. “yeah?”
scott’s face was lined with a deepened worry, brown eyes swimming with concern for me. “i don’t think i want you going to gina’s tonight. or anywhere but school for the time being. not until we know what theo’s doing here.”
my brows furrowed tightly, “what? no! what- why- how is that fair? no- scott. i can’t-“
“mom will agree,” scott cut me off. “i’m not risking anything.”
“but…” i went to continue to argue my case, but scott continued rattling off instructional orders to the rest of the group.
and, so, my birthday dinner turned into driving to the sheriff’s station with the entire pack. sitting in stilinki’s office until we figured out where theo was living. we drove to the street and patrolled his apartment until 1am. then, stiles dropped scott and i off at home.
nobody even sang me happy birthday.
looking at it now, last december, we were built to fall apart. then fall back together.
“it’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.”
“theo,” i grinned as i took a box from him. a big red bow adorned the glittery wrapping paper. it wasn’t heavy, and the size of the box was quite small. but my heart lit on fire from the lovely gesture. “you really shouldn’t have.”
“no, i wanted to,” he waved me off. “you deserve…so much. the world.”
i met his eyes and recognized that familiar, glistening adoration i’d gotten so used to. “i just…feel bad. you don’t have much money, and-“
“it doesn’t matter,” theo pressed a hand to my knee.
we were criss-cross on the couch, sparse christmas decorations scattered through his tiny apartment. i’d insisted on lining tinsel across the door, lights around the tv console, putting the fake tree in the already crowded corner. i hadn’t been able to come over much and wanted theo to be able to feel some semblance of joyous occasion when i wasn’t there. this was the first time we’d seen each other since thanksgiving.
i only managed to escape the house because i convinced scott that gina and i had to spend christmas together.
“open it!” theo squeezed my knee again.
i giggled at his excited stature and quickly unraveled the bow. inside, amidst the folds of a velvet box, was a necklace with the letter t hanging off of a gold chain. i grinned at the sight, “oh, my gosh! here- put it on me!”
i held my hair from my shoulders as theo clipped the necklace at the nape of my spine. his cold fingers ghosted across my skin until his palms were around my shoulders. he tugged my back into his chest, laying us down upon the couch.
your necklace hanging from my neck, the night we couldn't quite forget when we decided to move the furniture so we could dance.
silence enveloped our presence, a comforting feeling of peace that we rarely had. “i love you, theo,” i let myself whisper. i tried to say it more often than not, worried that one day i wouldn’t be able to remind him of it.
“we should tell scott.”
i pulled myself up, out of theo’s hold, turning to face him on the couch. i was bewildered. my face surely showed it, “what?”
theo ran a hand through his hair, “i think we should tell scott, y/n.”
i shook my head slightly, “no, no. no- we can’t do that. theo- no.”
his tone became increasingly critical, disagreeing with my own disapproval. “why not? im tired of hiding-“
“he’ll kill you, theo,” i rushed out. my breathing was anticipatory in it’s quick speed. “scott will kill you, theo.”
“i don’t know. he’s…merciful. i think if we tell him, we can-“
“theo, no!” i jumped from the couch. “please, just stop. i don’t want to fight about this with you. it’s not happening. end of stor-“
“why does that get to just be your decision? why don’t i get to have a say in this relationship? it’s all up to you!” theo followed me from our seats. he spoke wildly, his hands moving with his words.
i crossed my arms, “i risk everything every single day that i text you. i put myself on the line just to see you. i’m lying to my brother, my best friend- my mom! theo- i thought you understood-“
“i’m just tired of being your little secret. i want to be able to- to see you. i want to come to your birthday dinners and spend christmas morning with you. i want to be in your life. i feel like i’m just on the sidelines!”
“maybe you shouldn’t have tried to kill all of us!”
the words blurted from my lips before i could stop them. the stale silence that followed my heartless thoughts was bitter and cold. theo turned his shoulder from me, dropping his head into his hands.
“oh, my god,” i stepped forward, bracing my hands for impact. “i’m so sorry. theo- i-“
“i thought you’d forgiven me,” he murmured into his palm. “you told me you forgave me for that.”
“i did- i did, i just- i’m sorry! i don’t know why i said tha-“
“maybe scott’s right,” theo met my eyes finally, tears blurring his green ones.
“what-?”
“maybe i never will change. maybe i’m just a bad guy. maybe it’s not a good idea for you to be around me.”
“no, theo, no-“ he kept interrupting me.
“you should leave.”
i couldn’t find the words to stay, but i needed to.
i stepped forward, again, touching theo’s shoulder. he whipped his head back to face me, beautiful eyes darkened by the yellow hue, fangs protruding from his teeth, claws digging into his palms that were beginning to bleed.
“get out!” he roared.
i flinched, throwing myself back a few feet. my hands were shaking. i quickly gathered my things, never turning my back from the monstrous boy standing before me. his chest heaved with anger. he glared.
for the first time in a long time, i was scared of theo.
so, i ran.
baby, like we stood a chance; two paper airplanes flying. and i remember thinking…
“are you awake?”
scott knocked upon my bedroom door.
i rolled over in my bed, away from the sound of his voice, away from his incessant worry.
i knew he could hear my heartbeat. i knew he could smell my pheromones.
i ignored him. he had his answers. i wanted to be left alone.
scott sighed. “please talk to me.”
i didn’t want to.
“well,” he tried to sound cheery, but it failed, “i’ll be out here when you’re ready.”
weeks had passed.
silence had followed.
scott was always wondering why i didn’t go to study group with gina. mom worried why i didn’t want to eat my favorite dinner on thursday nights. stiles was confused when i would voluntarily tag along on patrols with him and scott. when we’d pass theo’s house, i’d press my headphones into my ears and drown the two teenage boys out.
lydia drug me to the mall the following week. scott had told everyone he was worried i was depressed. but he didn’t know why.
i knew why.
i didn’t text theo. and he didn’t try to reach me.
i let the necklace pool in my makeup drawer. my fingers ghosted over it every morning, and i’d flinch as though it burned me. it just made me brain flicker with unwanted memories.
i had nightmares about him.
he’d come into my room and tear me apart.
he’d kill scott right in front of me.
he’d rip my mom’s throat out during dinner.
i dreamed of him, too.
of his arms, the contradictory peace i felt from his fingers. i knew, deep down inside, that his threatening demeanor wasn’t real. it was a projection of his innermost insecurities, his frustration because he could only ever have parts of me.
but i was still terrified. it took me back to a time in my life when theo really was the villain. back to the night when the dread doctors nearly killed me. it reminded me of things i’d worked hard to get over.
it felt like last year, only this time, my heart was broken, too.
i don’t know why i thought it would work. bad people never changed. they’d maybe give you a hurricane eye, false hope that things would be clearing up, the storm would pass. and, then, their true, dark colors would appear like the rain. thundering down on you.
i thought back to months ago, when i first let him in. i’d run into him at the grocery store, like lydia. he was buying tuna fish and a potted plant. he had a certain soil type in his cart. i didn’t recognize him at first, mostly because i’d blocked his face from my memory, and his hair had grown out. he was hiding beneath his hoodie, too.
are we out of the woods yet? are we in the clear yet? good.
“that soils gonna kill that plant.”
i peered over at the stranger’s cart, my own basket swinging from my arm.
“oh!” he looked up from the cereal box in his hands, surprised by my voice.
his brows furrowed, friendly smile faltering slightly. “oh. uh…” he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
i chuckled shortly, “sorry to startle you? i just…don’t want to watch this poor guy be carted off to his death.”
theo looked at the plant as i pointed to it. he set the cereal down in his car, shook his head once, and met my eyes again, “oh. that’s okay. um…would you mind telling me what soil i need?”
“yeah, of course. cmon.”
i marched us off to the plant aisle. as we walked across the entire supermarket, i told him all about my plant collection at home. i shared personal details of my life, remarked as he brought up his own stories.
then, i found the small bag easily, and dumped it into his cart, shoveling the other one back onto the shelf.
he thanked me with this sweet grin. “wow, uh, thank you, so much. any other tips?”
his smile twisted into a smirk, something friendly, nothing too extreme. but, it’s what clicked my memories together. i recognized him then.
i frowned and took a slow step back, “um. sorry…”
i quickly turned on my heel and raced away from the aisle. theo was hot on my heels. he chased me with his cart, stumbling over apologies that i was sure didn’t mean anything. “wait- no! y/n! i’m sorry! please! please let me-! i’m so sorry!”
i tried to pull my phone from my pocket to call scott, but it clattered to the floor. i skidded to a stop, dropping to my knees to grab it. the basket in my arm tipped and everything sprawled across the floor.
i reached for my phone and cursed at the mess. his hand came down over mine. he shot his grip back, apologizing. “i didn’t mea-“
“leave me alone.”
i don’t know how he convinced me to go to dinner with him.
remember when you hit the brakes too soon? 20 stitches in the hospital room. when you started crying, baby, i did, too. but, when the sun came up i was looking at you.
“i think we should talk.”
i glanced over at lydia, thumbs pressing into my thighs anxiously. i sucked in a breath, cold air drowning in my lungs. the wipers rubbed over the window wildly, rain pouring down outside. the radio played softly.
i watched a raindrop race down the window, then glanced over at lydia. “about what?”
she met my eye for a second. she looked like she knew something i didn’t want her to. i gulped.
“you know i…” she trailed off. she licked her teeth in an attempt to find her words, carefully. “i can see things, y/n.”
i sucked in another breath. i couldn’t get enough. i should’ve known this would happen. lydia didn’t just get premonitions of death. if she was connected to somebody enough, like me, she could see flashes of secrets.
“yeah…” i whispered.
“i don’t…” lydia struggled to speak, “i don’t know what to say, necessarily. i only know bits and pieces. like…christmas. he- he wanted to hurt you. but, then- at the grocery store. he was gonna bake you a cake. wha- please tell me what happened, y/n.”
i explained the situation with a shaky voice, fingers rubbing one another in a ruminating anxiety. lydia just listened intently. i was worried she was going to turn the car around, drive us back home to tell scott. i’d get holed up in my room while the pack went on a man and wolf hunt.
but, when i was finished, lydia just stared off at the road.
“well?” i pressed.
she glanced at me, again, “wow. i don’t…i don’t know what to say. i just…i’ve loved some bad people, y/n. one of them- died. the other moved to london, but…but they did change. i changed them, i’d like to think. they became good people. but, i think that’s because they were good people, in their core. they were just scared…i know you probably know theo better than i do, but…i don’t know. he killed his sister. if he were a real wolf, his eyes would be blue, y/n. he came to this town to kill your brother. to take our pack. and he nearly killed you. so many of our classmates’ lives ended because of theo. i just- he’s…”
as she spoke, images flashed through my mind.
two months ago, theo and i had drove three hours outside of town to go to the movie theater. as we walked inside, we saw a little girl sitting upon the curb. she was leaned over, sobbing into her hands. i didn’t know what to do. i was never really good with kids.
theo dropped my hand, ignoring the end of our conversation. he marched over to her, squatted down to speak to her. i couldn’t quite hear what he said, but she looked up at him with these huge, sad eyes. tears stained her face.
theo stood. he offered her his hand. she took it gladly.
he talked to her, quietly, as they walked inside. i followed closely. we stood with the movie theater attendants while they found the girl’s mom.
later, theo showed me a photo of his sister that he kept tucked within a book in his bedroom. it was the only thing he had left of her. that, and the awful memory of what he’d done to her.
she looked to be the age of that little girl, the one who squeezed theo like an old friend before running off to her mommy. she kissed his cheek. she thanked him.
“every night, i have nightmares about…”
i remember holding him through these terrifying dreams…
“about what i did to her. i regret it- i regret it, y/n. if i could give my life to get her back i- i would do it in a heartbeat. i…i’m so sorry of who i am. of where i’ve been and what i’ve done. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry. i wish..i wish we could start over. i wish i could meet you in another lifetime, one where none of this ever happened.”
i held his face in my hands, gently, “theo…it’s okay. we all…we’ve all done things that we wish we could take back. we can only deal with the consequences, and make the best of it. i love you- i love you so much. i forgive you.”
remember when we couldn’t take the heat? i walked out. i said, ‘i’m setting you free.’ but the monsters turned out to be just trees. when the sun came up- you were looking at me.
“theo is…”
lydia didn’t quite finish her sentence, but my i did with my own sad realizations. “scared. he’s scared. he’s…he’s been fighting his whole life. he was just a…just a boy when the dread doctors found him. they manipulated him and- and, god. i-i was helping him and then…god, i’m so mean. i let your guys’ threats against theo ruin my own beliefs. and i let it ruin us…lydia- i-“
“i’m sorry,” she said. it was sincere. “i didn’t…i didn’t know. i’m so sorry, y/n. don’t blame yourself for how it ended. you…you had every right to say what you did. it was his choice as to how he reacted to it. and he pushed you away.“
“but, but- i could have stayed. i could have helped him. we could have worked it out- i need to go see him. lydia, please- take me home-“
lydia screamed.
my eardrums burst.
blood dripped down my jaw, staining the collar of my jean jacket. the tired squealed against the slick pavement. the car went over the side of the road, flying through an empty field, and crashing down on it’s head. broken glass scraped across my face. the seatbelt nearly choked me as our bodies twisted upside down with the car.
i was awake for a mere moments after the car stilled. the radio continued to play soft, haunting melodies. the rain pattered, splashing my face.
the only thing i could picture was theo’s face.
it was almost as if he was right there before me.
when i woke, i was in a hospital bed. i couldn’t quite open my eyes. my head was pounding and the florescent lighting stung my vision. the cuts in my skin thumped with my heartbeat. the iv in my arm felt thick, heavy, cold fluids running in my veins.
above the annoying beeping of the machines attached to my body were two voices. angry voices. arguing voices.
theo and scott.
“no, i don’t think you understand, theo! get out! i don’t want you anywhere near my sister! you- i don’t trust you! this probably happened because of you!”
my eyes shot open.
theo stepped back as scott yelled in his face. his tone was more calm than my brother’s, hands raised defensively, yet in a surrendering offer with his palms facing the ceiling. “scott, please, just-“
“no! get out! leave! before i make you!” scott’s hands were shaking with anger. he seethed, chest rising up and down wildly.
i tried to move, but my body paralyzed. words wouldn’t come, either, because a breathing mask was over my mouth.
“scott-!” theo tried, once more.
scott growled, eyes turning red, ears pointing up towards the moon in the window. he was completely transformed. i knew how dangerous that was. i knew how angry he was.
my eyes shot towards the doorway as mom quickly entered. she stopped before scott, placing her hands on his shoulders gently, “scott…honey, cmon, you’ve gotta breathe, okay? i’ve got a hospital full of patients and the last thing i need is to have the night janitor clean up after two werewolves.”
“then tell him to leave!” scott pointed a claw at theo.
mom looked towards the boy, brows furrowing in anger. she composed herself better. “theo…” mom spoke warily, “you need to leave. now.”
“no, you don’t understand! i didn’t do this! i-i brought her here! if i wanted to kill her, why would i bring her here!”
“to save your ass!” scott roared.
i examined theo’s face as it tilted towards the light. tears shone on his cheeks. mom pushed scott back an inch, “no, scott! hey, honey, cmon! he’s- he’s telling the truth. he brought her here- he didn’t try to kill her, scott!”
“then what did?”
“a deer,” mom spoke blankly. she pursed her lips. the confession was awkward, humanized compared to what we were all used to.
scott straightened his posture, transforming back into a human. his breathing evened out. “oh. i’m….”
theo sighed, ran a hand over his face. “look…i know you hate me. and you have every right to. but…i just…i’m not leaving. i’m staying.”
he took a step towards my bed. scott moved in front of him, blocking me. “stay away from her.”
“scott,” mom examined theo’s face as he met my eyes. he breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly grabbed my hand.
theo dropped to the chair beside my bed, clutching my fingers in his. he pressed his forehead to my touch, mumbling gratitude beneath his breath.
“i thought i lost you,” theo whispered.
mom and scott watched. mom crossed her arms over her chest, a wondrously pleased expression in her eyes. she glanced at scott. he gasped at our interaction.
i blinked away a tear. theo kissed the back of my hand. “i really thought i lost you. god- i’m…i’m never letting you leave me again. i’m sorry. i’m so fucking sorry for scaring you. i promise, i promise it’ll never happen again. i’m never gonna let go of you, i’m never gonna push you away again, okay? i love you.”
i nodded gently, unable to do much else. my fingers wriggled in his hands. he squeezed mine.
scott stepped forward, “theo…”
theo met scott’s eyes. he huffed, “please. please just five minutes. i’ll leave if you want me to, but…please, scott just give me five minutes, okay? you can chase me out of beacon hills, to the ends of the earth, but please let me have five minutes with my girl.”
scott went to say something else, but mom grabbed his bicep. “five minutes.”
she began leading then to the hall, scott following begrudgingly. she looked over her shoulder to tell theo, “five minutes and then we have a lot to talk about, okay? starting with you’re gonna start going to therapy and i have a 24 pack of condoms in my office.”
my face turned beat red.
theo laughed, a relieved, gentle sound i had missed for far too long. he met my eyes again.
“i love you.”
you were looking at me. i remember. are we out of the woods yet? are we in the clear yet? good.
#theo raeken#theo raken imagine#theo raekan imagine#theo raekan x reader#theo raeken x liam dunbar#theo raeken x reader#theo raeken x you#teen wolf x reader#teen wolf stiles#teen wolf#teen wolf x you#teen wolf x y/n#theo raeken x your name#stiles stilinski#lydia martin#lydia maria child#derek x stiles#stiles stilinksi fanfiction#stiles stilinksi imagine#stiles stilinksi x reader#stiles x lydia#stiles x reader
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KINKTOBER DAY TWO
October 6 -- Phone Sex
masterlist
author's note: first of all, I've been so overwhelmed with the amount of support I've received so far on my first post. Truly, it means the world to me, so thank you! 💖💖💖Also, I've started a tag list for kinktober. If you would like to be added, please reply to one of my posts or message me!
summary: after injuring yourself, you've been forced to stay home from a case and you miss Spencer more than you'd like to admit. Lucky for you, he's missing you just as much.
warnings: female reader, masturbation, guided masturbation, horny ramblings, a little bit of spencer dominance, dirty talk
word count: 2.8k
this is adut content. 18+ plus only. minors do not interact!
Your apartment was spotlessly clean. You’d spent almost the whole day organizing and scrubbing and even rearranging furniture. You hadn’t been able to sit still all day, distracted and bored at the same time.
While on the last case a few days ago, you had sprained your ankle pretty bad. At least bad enough that Hotch had basically forced you to take a few days of leave. You argued that you could work the current case from the office with Garcia, but he’d simply leveled his ‘this isn’t up for discussion’ look at you, and you shut your mouth. Reid had offered to drive you home and then spent the entire night pampering you and not even letting you lift a finger. Then he had to leave for this case, and you were alone. Which had been okay while your ankle throbbed, but now your ankle was perfectly fine, and you were dying being stuck at home.
You were restless, but nothing you did helped. And now you’re frustrated.
You bite down on your bottom lip as you try to think of literally anything else you can do to keep your mind busy. Your eyes fall onto the clock hanging on the wall, and you notice that it’s almost midnight.
There’s barely a slim chance that he’ll pick up, but you grab your cell phone anyway and call Spencer. It rings for several seconds until his automated voicemail picks up. A sigh falls from your lips.
“Hey, Spencer. It’s me. I know you’re busy. I just – I just miss you.” You sigh again and feel slightly annoyed at how pitiful you sound. But it’s true.
It’s been hard to sleep since he’s gone, both because you’ve realized you spend too much time worrying about him and because the bed feels so empty without his long limbs taking up an unfair amount of space. You miss laying on the couch with your feet tucked under his thigh as you both read in comfortable quietness. And you hate how empty your apartment feels without him here. “Anyway, stay safe. And I’ll see you when you get home. Love you.”
You hang up the phone and slump onto the couch with a groan. After a few minutes of trying to read, you give up and decide to take a shower and head to bed. You toss your cell phone onto your bed as you take off your clothes and grab a towel. In the bathroom, you turn on the shower, and as you wait for the water to warm up, you glance at the mirror.
You see your naked body, the body that Spencer spends so much time worshiping. Your hands graze up your thighs, remembering how his hands grab onto them when he holds you pressed against his mouth as his tongue brings you to orgasm after orgasm. You continue your journey upwards across your stomach where he presses kisses and murmurs how much he loves you, to your breasts where he licks and nips and takes your nipple in between his teeth.
A warmth begins to gather low in your belly, and you feel the beginning twinges of need in your core. Quickly, you blink away the images of Spencer and drop your hands to the cool counter of the sink. You take a few deep breaths as you lean against the counter.
In the shower, you can’t help it when your hands caress your skin, paying special attention to your breasts. You moan out loud alone and realize why you’ve been so restless today. There’s a slight blush coloring your cheeks at the understanding. You rush through the rest of your shower and dry off with the towel so you can throw back the comforter of your bed and settle into the freshly cleaned sheets.
You start to rub your thighs, massaging and focusing on the sensation against your skin. With your eyes closed, an image of Spencer emerges, leaning over you, touching you. No, now he’s lying next to you, he’s breathing against your neck right after he kisses below your ear, and his hands leave your thighs and travel across your stomach. Just the fingertips, almost tickling, raising the anticipation, and he smiles when you take a sharp intake of breath before he reaches your breasts. Your hands are smaller than his, so it isn’t exactly the same sense of pleasure, but it works for now.
If he was here, Spencer would be kissing your neck, so gingerly, and then he’d laugh lightly against your skin when you’d squirm impatiently. But since he isn’t here, you don’t have to tease. Release was only a few minutes away. Your fingers gather the wetness at your core and glide upward toward your clit.
Instantly, you sigh at the contact and begin leisurely circles on the sensitive bud as your imaginary Spencer looks into your eyes. He would lean down to kiss your lips, just as slowly as his fingers moved on you, his tongue teasing your lips, but never giving himself over to you fully. Not yet. You moan his name and speed up your fingers.
The pleasure rises deep within you, your hips moving in tandem with your fingers, and you apply just a little more pressure. Another sharp intake of breath, and you can tell you’re close.
Your phone rings. You freeze your motions, unaware of your surroundings for a split second, but then you force your eyes open and scramble off the bed. The ringtone is somewhere in the room, but you can’t remember where you left your phone.
The phone rings incessantly as though it’s mocking you as you feverishly search for it. When you pull the comforter off the bed harshly, a loud clang on the floor confirms the phone’s location. You grab it and answer breathlessly, “hello.”
“Why are you out of breath?” Spencer asks on the other end, a thousand or so miles away.
You press a hand to your sweaty forehead and then push sticky strands of hair off of it. “Oh, I was in the shower, and I heard the phone ringing in the bedroom.” You lie even though Spencer is a genius profiler and would most likely see right through it. But the idea of admitting to him that you were touching yourself to the thought of him made your stomach do somersaults.
There is a small pause before he replies, “I’m sorry for interrupting your shower.”
“I was done. It’s fine.” You chew on your bottom lip.
“Oh, good. I got your message.”
“I’m sorry for bothering you.” You sit on the edge of the bed.
“Don’t apologize. It was nice to hear your voice.” His words make your heart flutter. “I miss you.”
You sigh, “I miss you too,” and lie back horizontal across the bed, your feet dangling off the edge.
“I’ll be home tomorrow. We wrapped up the case about an hour ago, but there’s a bad thunderstorm, and flights were grounded.” You picture him alone in a hotel room holding his cellphone up to his ear, his long body across the bed.
“How was the case?”
“I’d rather talk about you. How was your day?”
You turn on your side so you can fiddle with the top sheet that was left askew by all of your frantic movements earlier. “Nothing exciting.”
“And how’s your ankle?”
“Perfectly fine. Not even sore.”
“I’ll see about that. Don’t think I won’t take a look at it tomorrow.”
“You’re not a medical doctor, Spencer.” You roll your eyes with a small smile playing on your lips. He laughs lightly.
There is a soft silence between the two of you for a few moments. It isn’t awkward but comforting. Almost as if he’s lying beside you and the two of you are simply resting in the presence of each other. “What were you really doing before I called?” He inquires.
You smile. He’s too smart for his own good. “Exercising,” you quip.
“The kind of exercise that requires your hand between your legs.”
“Spencer!” You gasp.
He laughs again, and you wish he was next to you because you’d kiss the laugh off his lips. “Am I wrong?”
“How did you know?”
“I’m a profiler.”
“No, really tell me,” you demand. Profiling isn’t a magic trick, and Spencer isn’t a psychic.
“I guessed.” You roll your eyes because you can see his face in your mind, the sly almost smug smile and the eyes full of amusement.
“Bullshit.”
“No, truly. I figured you missed me just as much as I missed you.” His voice lowers to almost a whisper, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “That you’ve been thinking about me just as much as I’ve been thinking about you.”
“You’ve been thinking about me?” You murmur.
“I can’t get you out of my head. It’s quite distracting, to be completely honest.”
“Me? Distracting the brilliant Dr. Reid?” You ask innocently.
“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” His voice has taken on that husky tone that sends wet heat straight to your core.
“Tell me.” You repeat your earlier demand, your hand rubbing mindless patterns across your skin.
“I’m hard just from hearing your voice. It’s taking everything in me to not to unbuckle my pants and fuck into my hand like I’d fuck into you.”
You can’t help but bite your lip at his words because it’s rare for him to curse like that. “Do it.”
“Only if you do it too. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you touch yourself and make yourself come just from my voice.”
“Yes,” you reply breathlessly, your hand traveling lower.
He hums low and deep in the back of his throat. “You’re already doing it aren’t you, sweetheart? Couldn’t even wait for me to undo my belt. Needed it that bad, didn’t you?”
“I need it.”
You’re about to reach your aching center when he makes a quick tutting sound. “Don’t touch yourself yet.” You instantly pull your hand away. “Go get your earbuds and connect them to your phone. I want to be right in your ear, and I want both of your hands free.”
You comply quickly, putting in your earbuds and then laying back down on your bed. You set your phone beside you. “I’m ready.”
“Are you? What are you ready for?” He teases. He wants you to vocalize exactly what you want even though it makes you blush or maybe because it makes you blush. He wants it despite not being here to see it.
“To touch myself.”
“And?”
“To make myself come from just your voice.”
“Good…” he starts, but you have one more thing to add.
“And I want to hear you come too, baby.”
In the distance, you can hear the clanking of his belt as he undoes it and the shuffling of him taking off his pants. “I’ll do anything for you.” You settle into the bed, anticipation buzzing across your skin. “Are you comfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Perfect. Close your eyes and just focus on my voice and your breathing. Take a deep breath for me. And let it go, just like that. Where do you need me most, sweetheart?”
“Everywhere.” You answer instantly.
“No, baby, I know, but focus for me. Where is that ache? Where do you need me to touch you?”
You take a deep breath. “My breasts.” Your entire body is aching with want, but your breasts are desperate to be touched.
“I want so badly to touch you, I wish I was there. I want to put your breasts in my hands. Do that for me, please.” You do as he asks, kneading your breasts. “Open your mouth, baby, and take one of your fingers and get it wet. Now play with your nipple, tease it, circle it.”
You moan as you tease yourself. “Yes. I want to hear you, tell me how good it feels. Show me how much you miss me.”
“I need you, Spencer.” You groan as you lightly pinch your nipple.
“I know, I know. I need you too.” On the other end of the phone, you can hear the sounds of him touching himself, slowly. He’s teasing himself just as much as he’s teasing you. “When I get home to you, I’m going to show you just how much I need you. I’m going to make you come with my fingers. With my tongue. Over and over again. And then I’ll finally give you my cock, just when you think you’ve had enough. And I’ll make you come one more time on my cock. Is that what you want, baby?”
Your back arches off the bed, still playing with your breasts and nipples. “Yes, oh my god. I want it so bad.”
“How bad, honey? Tell me, is your pussy dripping for me? ‘Cause you need me that bad.”
Your dominant hand moves to your core, and you feel how soaked you are. “Yes. Yes. I need you. I’m so wet.”
“Touch your clit, baby. Slow, do it slow for me at first. You know, just like I would.”
Even though your eyes are already closed, you squeeze them closed tighter when you make contact with your clit. It’s practically throbbing and you exhale a sharp breath. “Oh my god, Spencer. I can’t. I need –”
“Slow, yes you can. Take a deep breath, focus on my voice.”
An uncontrolled moan escapes your throat, but you do as he says. You concentrate on his breaths over the phone, and you match yours to his. Then you match the rhythm of your hand to the sound of his as he ruts into his hand. You listen to his grunts and whimpers, both of you racing toward a needed release.
He lets out a guttural sound. “Do you feel empty? Do you need to be filled?”
“So bad, so bad.”
“I’d fill you so good if I was there.” He groans, and you hear him lose his rhythm for a second as his hips falter. “Slip one of your fingers in. But with your other hand. I need you to keep rubbing that beautiful clit.”
As you slowly push one finger into you, he continues to ramble. “I wish I was there to taste you. You taste so good, baby. I love how gorgeous you look when I’ve got my mouth on you. The way you grind your clit against my tongue because you’re so needy. So desperate to come.”
Your finger pumps faster into you, the need and pleasure climbing higher within you as you buck your hips in time with the movement of your hands. You’re breathless, but you tell Spencer, “I’m so desperate.”
“I know you are.” He groans. “Do you know how bad I need it too? Can you add another finger for me, baby? Fill yourself even more.” You clench against your two fingers. He’s panting into the phone, and you can picture the way his hair would be stuck to his forehead as he pounded into you, completely lost in the feeling of you squeezing him.
“I’m gonna come, baby.” You gasp out. You feel like you have no control over your body as though Spencer was completely in control even though it’s your fingers frantically stroking.
“Are you? Are you going to make yourself come all over your fingers?”
“Yes, I have to. I –”
“Yeah, you do. You’re doing so well. I need to hear you come. I need to hear you be so good for me. Coming all over your fingers, all by yourself. But you’re thinking of me aren’t you?”
“Yes… yes. Always.”
“I can make you come so hard even when I’m not there. And you’re going to make a mess, a beautiful, perfect mess as you finish.” You moan loudly. “That’s it. Just like that.” He’s groaning and muttering, and you know he’s close too. “I wish I was coming in you, feeling you clench around me. And I’d rub that needy clit of yours, your nails would be scratching against my skin because you just can’t help yourself. Please come, baby. I need it.”
You come with his name on your lips, your body clenches and shakes, and you listen closely to his climax. He lets out a shaky breath after a few moments. “I love you.” He says, and you hate that you can’t kiss him.
“I love you too.” Your breathing slowly returns to normal.
“Are you okay?” He checks in with you, and you smile as you roll onto your side and settle deeper into the bed, suddenly very tired.
“I’m great. Are you?” You yawn.
“Yes. Get some sleep, sweetheart.”
“Come home soon.”
“I’m coming home to you as soon as I possibly can. I can’t be apart from you like this.”
“Neither can I. Talk to me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course. Anything for you.”
tag list: @spenciesprincess @catalinasroom @tylevx
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#kinktober#kinktober 2023#my writing
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Vaincre
June part iv
I’ll tell you the truth
But never goodbye
Remus thought about practice and all the sounds he wouldn’t be hearing again for a couple of months now. A din he desperately hoped would come again in the Fall.
The quiet bustle of the boys arriving. Yawns and some early morning groans. Bags being tossed down into stalls. Velcro and stick tape. The skate sharpener across the hall. The shivery sound of a bucket of pucks being scattered onto the ice. The slap of pucks and bodies on the boards rebounding in a high-roofed, empty rink. The ping of the goalposts. Bursts of laughter between drills. Showers stuttering into a hard, hot spray and the echo of voices off of tiles.
He wanted it all again. The crowds and video tape sessions. The signings and the chance to meet fans. The wins—even the losses. Even the press conferences. He wanted to see his best friends every day. He wanted to win.
They didn’t have a destination, but neither Remus nor Sirius tried to change that. They walked through the New York streets, downtown, where everything felt a little bit like a movie set. Most places were shut tight for the night, but it still felt alive.
Sirius looked handsome in the city lights. In his jeans and t-shirt. More importantly, he looked relaxed. More relaxed than Remus had expected, anyway.
“You’re calm.”
Sirius didn’t look over at him, but a small smile appeared on his face. “Maybe I just look it.”
“Okay, fair.” Remus squeezed their tangled fingers together. “I just meant that you don’t seem…”
“Miserable.”
“Well, sure. That word works.”
“I’m just…” Sirius looked down at him. “Not sure if it’s sunk in yet, maybe. You?”
“No. Not really.”
Sirius squeezed his hand back and Remus felt his engagement ring press into his skin. If anything good came out of this, it was that he would not be taking of his ring any time soon. He caught it glinting in the passing lights.
“New York really never sleeps,” Remus said.
“Neither do we, apparently.”
It was helping more than sleep, though—the walking. It was starving off the soreness they were bound to feel soon. He’d already glimpsed a bad bruise forming near his knee.
“Either way,” Remus said. “I like these walks of ours. It feels different than Gryf.”
“Ouais,” Sirius agreed. “At least we both have rivers.”
The next street they turned onto was not asphalt, but cobblestones. It wound and bent, going against the grid of New York that Remus had become accustomed to. He leaned his head back to look up at the lit apartments above. It might have been two AM, but he could see shadows moving around, or the colorful flickers of televisions.
“Did you talk to Logan?” he asked.
“Non, not really. I mean, on the ice I did. But I don’t know. I wanted to get out of there.”
“Yeah.” Remus sighed. He fought the urge to start talking about the game. Part of him wanted to know each and every single one of Sirius’ thoughts. The hit in the second. The odd, sloppy breakaway in the third. That last buzzer attempt.
“You want to talk about it don’t you,” Sirius said.
Remus laughed, then groaned, hiding it in Sirius’ shoulder. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”
It was something special, to have someone who could read his mind. He closed his eyes, inhaling Sirius’ familiar scent and trusting him to guide him on the street. Sirius’ hand disappeared from his and wrapped around his waist instead. A kiss was pressed to Remus’ temple.
“Curb,” Sirius said softly, and Remus stepped down to cross the street then opened his eyes.
“Magnetic,” Remus said. “Do you remember them calling us that?”
“No one needed to remind me.”
Remus tightened his arms around Sirius’ hips and pressed a kiss over his shirt. “I know. I was just remembering.”
Their passes had connected so thoroughly this series. So well. It was awful, almost mean that the passes that stuck in their minds the most were the ones that had missed.
“How about we keep remembering…” Sirius began. “But how about we do it with fries and milkshakes.”
Remus looked up. The idea made his mouth water. “Yes. What made you say that?”
Sirius just smiled and jerked his chin forward. “Là.”
There was a diner on the corner. Many of the booths in the window were filled��Other people in search of late-night snacks. The neon sign out front read 24 HOURS and Remus could see a group of girls with milkshakes and a basket of fries in front of them.
He reached up to wrap his arms around Sirius’ neck and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek. “Love of my fucking life.”
He felt Sirius smile. Sirius reached for his hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing his ring. “Ouais, it’s true.”
He held the door open for Remus.
They were shuffled into a leather, worn booth and given giant seemingly endless menus. Remus found that he could hardly sit still. He kept laughing to himself. At one point, when Sirius gave him an amused, dazed look, he’d had to cover his mouth.
“You’re wild on adrenaline,” Sirius laughed.
Remus wondered if that was it. If adrenaline was what this was. These weird, surprising tight bursts of joy bubbling over in his chest. Surely he should be feeling low. He had just lost part of his childhood dream yet again.
Was adrenaline fueling the smile Sirius gave him when their two chocolate milkshakes and order of fries arrived? Did adrenaline cause Sirius to skeptically watch him dip a fry into the thick chocolate? Did it make them both laugh when Sirius tried it, made a face, and quickly switched back to ketchup?
Or maybe something had changed.
“You know, I always wanted to talk about games with you,” Remus said.
“Always?”
“You know. Before.” Remus brought the straw of his milkshake between his teeth. “I always wondered what you were thinking. Even when you were mean to me.”
Sirius groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Arrêt.”
Remus reached across the table and tried to pull his hands away. “I did! Sirius, don’t hide, come here.” He laughed when Sirius wouldn’t. “Sirius.”
Sirius let out an exaggerated sigh and pushed himself up from his side of the booth, only to slide into Remus’, arm along the back behind him and tight against his side.
“Wh…” Remus began.
Sirius leaned forward and stole the fry from Remus’ fingers with a short tug of his teeth. “You said come here.”
“That was my fry.”
“Too late.”
“Meanie.”
Sirius just made the sound that Remus associated with both him and Logan—a very Quebecois sort of tisk of disapproval (in Logan’s part, mostly jokingly aimed at Finn). Sirius’ arm slid from the booth to Remus’ shoulders and he kissed him. Remus tilted his chin up into it and let himself relax.
“Chocolate and potatoes?” Sirius asked as he dipped to kiss Remus’ jaw. “Really?”
“Sweet and salty,” Remus replied, trying not to let his eyes slip closed. They were in a diner.
“Weirdo.”
Remus hissed at a playful nip to his neck and Sirius pulled back. Sirius dragged his milkshake over to their side of the table and took a long sip. Remus could tell he was thinking. Remus had always been able to tell when he was thinking. Even when he hadn’t been able to figure out anything else about Sirius.
“Tell me,” Remus said.
“I wish I hadn’t broken that stick,” Sirius said quietly. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “Re…”
“I know,” Remus said. “I know.”
Sirius let out a frustrated sound and rubbed at his eyes. “Merde…I don’t know what gets into me. Well, I do…”
They had both been expecting them, but as the clouds of loss edged back into their peripheral vision, Remus sighed. Sirius tightened his arm around Remus and tilted their heads together. Remus closed his eyes as they took each other’s weight.
“Julian said it best,” Sirius said. “I wanted this for you.”
“And you.”
Sirius pressed his lips together. “I—yes.”
Remus arched a brow, confused by the conflicted look on Sirius’ face. “What, what’s that look?”
Sirius sighed. He smiled, just a little. A bewildered sort of smile. He hooked his fingers into the plastic fry basket mindlessly, the greasy paper crinkling at his touch. His eyes went a little unfocused as he thought. Their blue-gray looked so fair in the diner’s light. “I keep wondering why I’m not as upset as I usually would be. I keep trying to, like…” He moved his free hand outward in a small sharp motion, palm forward. “Push myself towards being that upset. Which is insane. Why do I feel guilty for feeling slightly okay about this?”
“I…” Remus nodded slowly. “I get that. I do. Hey, but that’s good. It’s good you feel okay, you wouldn’t have been okay other years. That’s why I said you seem so calm I’m…I’m fucking proud of you for it.”
“Ouais. I guess…” His expression turned almost shy. “I guess me too.”
That made Remus smile.
“What I mean is…I’m gutted.” Sirius picked up a fry. “I want to throw something, I want a do-over…I want to be angry at Logan.” He tossed the fry back, turning to look at Remus. “But the thing that I keep thinking about isn’t the game. Isn’t the Cup. It’s you.”
Remus’ smile faltered. He looked down. “Yeah? Well… you keep catching yourself feeling guilty?” Sirius nodded. “Well, I keep catching myself thinking that this was it. That I’m finished.”
“You’re not. Re.” Sirius’ hand cupped his shoulder and Remus turned his head to look down at it. He could have drawn his scar in perfect alignment even while not being able to see it. Sirius’ fingers, over his shirt, traced it perfectly, too. He watched Sirius do it once, then twice. It was so much apart of him that even Sirius could map it into his skin.
“Loops.”
“You almost never call me that anymore.”
“Well, right now you’re my teammate as much as everything else and I’m telling you you’re going to get there.”
Remus smiled. He felt the waver in it and so did Sirius. “Telling me as my Captain?”
“As your Captain,” Sirius confirmed. His fingers traced the scar again. “As your friend and teammate who watched you…watched you take every part of your life back from Fenrir.”
Remus surprised himself with a laugh and tears springing to his eyes. “Fuck. I did, didn’t I?”
“Ouais.” Sirius kissed a tear away. “You fucking did.”
“Oh my God,” Remus whispered as the tears pressed harder at him. He tucked his face into Sirius’ neck and Sirius wrapped him up tight. His voice was warm and familiar in his ear.
“I’m telling you as all those things, and I’m telling you as someone who loves you more than anything. Ever.” Sirius’ hand spanned his back, rubbing gently. “D’accord. I think that was most of my English for tonight.”
Remus laughed tearfully again, and then let out a quiet sob, shoulders hitching. “I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad or relieved or what.”
“I don’t know either,” Sirius said. His voice held a teasing note. “But our waitress looks like she’s going to bring us free pie.”
Their next laughs were realer, and Remus pulled back. Sirius made a soft sound and thumbed away the tear tracks on Remus’ cheeks. Sirius still looked tired. The strain of the game was still there, but there was a happy, weightless flush to his cheeks that Remus had never seen before.
Sirius dipped a fry in his chocolate shake and held it out to Remus. “Sweet and salty night.”
Remus let Sirius feed him the chocolatey fry. Sirius dipped his own in ketchup and popped it into his mouth. Remus looked over his familiar profile. He’d seen it in shadows and bright lights…he would see him soon in the lake house’s sunset.
“Next year, mon loup,” Sirius said. “You and me. It’s not the end.”
Remus nodded and let Sirius tuck him back under his arm. “You and me.”
~
Logan was leaning against the side of the rooftop bar between Luke and Alex, listening to everyone swap stories and enjoying the warm wind on his back. It was good to be with Percy and Will again. He was glad now, basking in the New York night, that he hadn’t ruined this year for himself—at least not the entire year. He was glad he could stand here laughing with them about old times. The desperate fog of sadness from his first month still haunted him, but it was easier now. That was all he could hope for.
His rum and coke was sweet, but not as good as it was when Finn made it for him. The chicken wings on the table were spicy, but not as balanced as Leo’s. What had started with promises of a big, wild night had mellowed out quickly. It seemed like the team was content to simply be together, basking in the high of the win. Logan was basking with them. Just a little. Even when part of his heart, part of his mind, part of everything that was him, was at home with Leo and Finn.
It was close to three in the morning and Percy was in full form, joking with him about all the girls trying to get his attention. It was true—their group had been clocked the second they came in.
“I swear that’s the sixth one,” Percy sighed, looking over at the bar. “We’re just stars in your galaxy huh, Tremzy.”
“It’s the eyes. Nothing’s changed since college,” Will added. “Thank God Finn isn’t here.” Will had stayed out with them, which was rare. Usually he went home to his family before long. Logan was happy he was here. He’d always loved how loud his laugh was. It reminded him of Freshman year, hanging out in the kitchen of OKN house with Finn and Percy, watching Will cook the house dinner. He’d been such a good captain. The best, besides Sirius.
“What would happen if Finn was here?” Saint asked. He was standing at Luke’s side. Luke kept stealing sips of his whiskey—and narrowing his eyes playfully when Logan smiled at him.
“He, ah, sort of forgets what flirting is,” Logan explained and Alex nodded, pointing at Logan like it would enhance how true that was.
“I mean, maybe it’s more like he’s too good at it?” Percy offered.
Logan laughed. “He talks to everyone and it’s only when they ask him for his number after like, twenty minutes of talking—”
Alex laughed. “Then he’s like, oh no.”
Logan tried for a Finn accent. “Oh, shoot, sorry, I’m actually…”
Will threw his head back with that wonderful, infectious laugh. “Wait, that’s so dead on.”
Logan smiled. “But it was so so wonderful getting to know you! Those pictures you showed me of your dog—Man, they made my night.”
“All right,” Saint held up a hand. “I get it.”
“Yeah stop, it’s creepy now,” Alex said. “That’s scary good. Maybe better than mine.”
Luke scoffed. “Dude, you can’t have a Finn impression. You are a Finn impression.”
“Whoa, whoa.” Alex held up a hand. “If anything, Finn is an impression of moi.”
Logan smiled. He glanced at his phone. One new message, but from Noelle telling him he was coming to lunch tomorrow. It was late.
“Hey, hey,” Percy said, making Logan look up. “I know that look…Nu-uh. Not yet.”
Logan raised his eyebrows, smiling. “Perc.” He put on the Finn voice again. “C’mon, give me a break.”
Percy shuddered. “Okay, I didn’t mean to open this can of worms. This terrifying can of worms.”
“Perc, he beat his boys out today,” Will said. “If he wants to go home, let him.”
Percy put his hands against his chest. “But I haven’t even gotten to the best part of my day yet!”
“How could we ever guess,” Saint said flatly.
Percy winked at him. “Sebastian…Cassie Baker smiled at me today.”
Logan laughed and finished his drink. “Ouais, I’m out. You can moon over my ex-girlfriend without me.”
Alex finished off his drink, too. “I’m done, too. This was fun, boys.”
Percy spluttered. “What? It is young. The night. The earth—is young!”
“I have two boyfriends in my bed, warm and asleep,” Logan said, pushing up from the wall. “And my bed is usually very cold and very empty. So. This was fun. Goodbye.” He looked over at Luke, knocking him lightly in the shoulder as a way of saying goodnight. Luke jerked his chin in reply.
“Tremzy.” Percy actually pouted. “No, non, no.”
“Ouais, yeah, ouais,” Logan said. Percy grabbed onto his arm and made a show of putting most of his weight on Logan to keep him in place. Logan did nothing to help him and Percy began sliding towards the floor.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Will dragged Percy back to his feet with a fond shake of his head. “You’re so embarrassing.” he nodded to Alex and Logan. “You two have a good night. Don’t beat yourselves up too hard. It was a good game.”
“Yeah.” Alex sighed but nodded. “It was.” He looked up and called over to the bar. “A round for these guys, Hank!” He tussled Percy’s hair. “My parting gift, Perseus.”
Percy sent them a mournful look, but looked willing enough to accept the drink. “Fine.”
Even Saint cracked a smile.
“That really was a good Finn,” Alex said as Logan followed him down the stairs to the main restaurant and out the door. A breeze picked up on the dark street.
“Merci.” Logan shivered a little in his thin shirt. “Are you calling an Uber?”
Alex sent him an unimpressed look.
Logan sighed. “You’re walking, aren’t you?”
“What do you take me for?”
“Fuck,” Logan said, but followed him.
It was like walking with Finn—Logan didn’t have to think about directions or finding his way around. He knew they lived near each other but would have to split up at some point. Alex would tell him when they did. For now, the air felt good against his skin and the silence was gentle. Sometimes he still felt like he could hear the game in his head.
“Finn asked me once to try and take the shot for you if I could,” Alex said.
Logan wasn’t surprised. Alex touched his elbow briefly to get him to turn left.
“Luke offered me the same,” he said. “It…it is what it is.” But that wasn’t quite right. “Non. It fucking hurts.”
“I know,” Alex said. “I’ve had that with Kasey. You want to apologize when there’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Logan half nodded, half shook his head. “I don’t know. I wish I had gotten to see Le before we left. I thought he needed space. I thought I needed space…I guess we did. I don’t know.”
“Yeah,” Alex said.
“Adrenaline’s wearing off,” Logan said. “I miss him.”
“You’re walking home.”
“I know,” Logan said, eyes down. “But I miss him.”
Alex’s hand appeared on his back, rubbing gently.
“Is Kasey doing okay?” Logan asked.
Alex was quiet for a long time. When Logan looked over, he was frowning down at the ground and fiddling with the small, dark diamond he wore.
“Alex?”
Alex guided him right. The light was red but not a car was in sight. “It’s…really hard for me to tell right now actually.” He stepped up onto a low wall and balanced for a few steps before jumping off again. The temperature had dropped. Logan thought it felt like rain.
“You’re the one who told me to talk to Finn when I was worried about us,” Logan began carefully, and frowned when Alex sort of flinched. “You’re not the type to not take your own advice.”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “Sometimes I am.”
Logan supposed that was true enough. No one always practiced what they preached. Logan watched their feet as they walked, waiting for Alex to say more. They had fallen into sync. They were quiet for a while again. Alex lead him straight, then left, the straight on again. Logan knocked their shoulders together at one point. Alex knocked back.
“I’m not…worried about us,” Alex said suddenly. “Exactly… I just wonder—I wonder if I’m…” He rubbed a tired hand across his face as they avoided a puddle at a curb. Logan was beginning to think this was about the wedding. He didn’t blame Alex if it was. If Leo and Finn suddenly decided to get married, he’d crawl out of his fucking skin.
“You should tell them,” Logan said softly. He realized he was replying to unsaid things, but if anyone might understand even a sliver of Alex’s situation, it was him.
Alex’s face tightened. “Tell them what?”
Logan thought for a moment. “Whatever you want. Whatever you need to.”
“What I need to?” Alex repeated. “What I need is to show them—show them that I…” Alex gave a sharp shake of his head. Just as suddenly, Alex switched topics. “Thanks for coming out tonight.”
Logan looked up at him. “Alex—”
“I hope—did I force you? I’m sorry, Tremz.”
“What? Non, non. I…I’m glad I came. Really, I am. But—”
“Okay,” Alex said. “Just checking.”
The streets turned to cobblestones and took on curves. There were still a few apartment glowing. Logan liked that. It felt like Gryffindor. There was always a light on. Finally, Alex stopped.
“You’re right,” Alex said. “I’m left.”
“Oh, I thought you were agreeing with me.” What he meant was you can talk to me. “Al, can I do anything?”
Alex smiled. It was a little tight, but he gave Logan a playful shove in the right direction. “No. Thanks, Tremz.”
Logan didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know how to push either.
They stood there in front of each other for a moment. Alex huffed out a laugh and hugged him hard. A hug Logan associated with Finn, with Finn’s parents. They both did the little shoulder pat that their mom hugged with, too. It made Logan smile.
“We’re gonna be okay,” Logan said.
“Yeah,” Alex replied, muffled by Logan’s shoulder.
When Logan had crossed the street, he turned. He felt like he hadn’t tried hard enough, and he’d already made that mistake once tonight with Leo.
“Mais—I’ll say one thing?”
“What’s up?” Alex nodded, waiting on the corner.
“What you said earlier,” Logan said. “In the locker room and just now. About showing them. That we can be both lovers and—” He almost said enemies. “Opponents.”
“The…oh. Yeah?”
“I think…I think I won a hockey game today,” Logan said. "And I love my boyfriend. If I had lost a hockey game, I would still love my boyfriend. When there are no more hockey games, I’ll still love Leo. And if someone, some fucking reporter wants to link those two things, then they can go to hell.”
Alex was shades of blue and silver across the narrow street.
Logan shifted, a little nervous now. “I don’t think…I don’t think we have to show anyone anything. If it’s okay for me to say…”
Logan thought of the hell this year had been. He thought of Leo, holding him when they’d found out he was going to New York. Leo, tumbling into their living room in the middle of the night when Logan had come home from All-Stars. Leo and his soft kisses in the bright hospital hallway while they waited to see if Finn was okay. None of that was a show. Leo might like to put on a performance on the ice for the fans, but everything else about him was instinct, real and pure. Logan admired that. He’d put up fronts for Finn for so long, fronts that he was still tearing down.
“You don’t have to show Kasey and Nat anything. Not, like, a happy face or that you’re okay. That’s not…” Logan shook his head. “That’s just a bad habit, Alex.”
Alex tilted his head up to look at the faint moon over the city. It wasn’t full, but it was getting there.
“Tremzy…” Alex said slowly. When he smiled, the moonlight lit up his face. “You know what?”
“Quoi?”
“You’re fucking right.” Alex put a hand to his chest. The necklace glinted between his fingers. “You’re so fucking right.”
Logan let out a breath. He smiled back. “Yeah? I don’t know if that made sense in English.”
“Yeah.” Alex’s voice cracked, his brown eyes were bright with tears, but when Logan made to step forward he waved him off.
“Well,” Alex said. “I’m going home now.”
There was a lot of relief in that word. So much that it made Logan smile and feel choked up, too. “Me too.”
Logan tried to open the door as quietly as possible, going slow and expecting darkness.
Only, the lamp above his couch was on, turned down to the dimmest setting, and Finn was looking at him from just below it. He was wearing his faded NASA t-shirt and sweatpants, socked feet crossed on top of a pillow. His sling was draped over the back of the couch, his arm resting easily atop another pillow which also propped his book up.
Sleeping against his chest, was Leo.
Logan wanted to crumble to his knees.
“Oh,” Logan mouthed. He kept perfectly still.
Finn folded the book closed silently. He had his glasses on. Hi, his soft eyes said, and then with a glance down at Leo and a palm on his back: Don’t worry, I’ve got him.
Logan set his keys into the bowl by the door as quietly as he could. Leo. He toed his shoes off. Leo. He walked over to the couch and knelt beside them.
“You are so bad at sneaking,” Finn whispered—so quiet. “Did you have a good time?”
“Ouais,” Logan whispered back. He settled a palm beside Finn’s on Leo’s back, eyes trained on his sleeping face. He looked so peaceful. Logan leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss over his t-shirt. He looked up at Finn so he could read his lips more than hear him. “Had a good walk with Alex.”
Finn’s eyebrows raised, surprised. “Oh? Alex…is very good to walk with.”
Logan nodded. He would tell Finn he was a little worried tomorrow.
“Is he okay?” Finn asked softly.
“He will be,” Logan said. He nodded towards Leo. “And ours?”
Finn rubbed a slow hand down Leo’s back with a sigh.
“Lo…”
So far, Leo hadn’t stirred, but at Finn’s touch Logan felt the change in his breathing. Logan could always tell when Leo was awake. Slowly, Leo’s eyes opened. His cheeks were flushed. He regarded Logan sleepily for a moment. Logan felt Leo’s muscles tense as he remembered.
“Hi,” Logan said softly. “Hi, Le.”
“You—” Leo began, but his voice was hoarse and he had to begin again. “You should be out celebrating.”
“I did,” Logan said. “But I want to be here. Merde, Le, I wanted to be here fucking hours ago, I…” Logan shook his head. He was upset with himself, more so than he’d allowed himself to realize earlier tonight. “I should have come and see you. Soleil, I didn’t know…I didn’t know if you’d want…God, I love you, what can I do? Is there anything?”
Tears filled Leo’s eyes. He gave his head a small shake.
“Okay,” Logan said. Was he allowed to reach out to him? Did Leo want that? “Okay…”
“I’m going home with my parents tomorrow for a couple days, Lo.”
Everything in Logan froze. He looked up at Finn, whose eyes told him that this was what he had been about to say.
“Quoi?” Logan breathed. All the tension came right back into him. The fizzy, heavy quiet drained right out of his head.
“Lo,” Finn said, slightly warning.
It knocked him off balance, sitting back on his knees, but Finn reached out and grabbed his hand. His brown eyes were firm, clouded with racing thoughts and emotions. Relax. Think. Wait. Finn’s fingers squeezed around his own. Think. His thumbs made slow tracks across Logan’s knuckles. It’s okay. Think about him. Think about why.
Slowly, slowly, Logan pulled himself back towards Leo, who was watching him with exhausted blue eyes.
Logan let out a breath, he squeezed Finn’s hand then dropped it and combed his fingers through Leo’s hair. “I…okay. Okay. Whatever you need, Soleil.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to see you play—”
“Shh,” Logan whispered. “Le. Leo. It’s not about me. I know I just—um. Freaked out for a second. I’m sorry. We’ve had enough of that this year, ouais?” He leaned down to kiss Leo’s temple. “Home is always good.”
Finn closed his eyes at that, tucking his nose into Leo’s hair. “He’s right, Le. I…he’s right.”
Leo’s first sob was quiet, just a hitch of his chest, but the second came out in a harsh breath. He turned his face towards Finn’s chest, eyes squeezed shut.
Logan felt Leo’s pain right in the center of his chest. “We love you. So much. Le…” Logan wrapped an arm around his back, and Leo reached out a hand to hold his.
“We do,” Finn whispered. “We’re right here.”
“Always,” Logan said. “And—Le, you played so well tonight.” Logan’s throat closed up and he had to pause before he could talk again. “And I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re so talented and this year has been shit. It’s been absolute shit, Le.”
“I really—love you, I just—I need…” Leo gave up trying to talk, just pressed closer to Finn.
“You don’t have to explain,” Finn said soothingly. “We understand.”
“Ouais.” Logan nodded. “I also would—would want Eloise’s chicken soup.” Logan wiped his eyes clear of tears so he could see Leo better. “Even with full spice.”
It startled a laugh out of Leo, crying and blocked-nosed as it was. “Full spice?”
“Ouais, I would. I swear it.”
“Me too,” Finn said. “It’d make me cry but me too.”
Outside it started to rain. A crack of thunder and the force of the drops doubled. Logan didn’t realize he’d hardly looked up until the second clap of thunder.
“The storm,” Leo said.
“Can’t hear it,” Logan replied.
Leo took a few breathes, then picked up his head from Finn’s chest and looked at him.
“Hi, pillow.”
Finn laughed softly. “Very happy to be of service.”
“Didn’t think I was going to be able to sleep at all.” Leo pressed a kiss to Finn’s chin and groaned a little as he pushed himself into a sitting position, like he hadn’t moved in ages. He let out a long breath, rubbing at his eyes.
“I love you guys, too,” Leo said. He reached out for Logan. “The ice…Seeing you on the ice…”
Logan shook his head. “I know.” He pushed himself up onto the couch when Leo made free the space on his other side. Finn sat up and slipped his sling back over his head to cradle his arm. He sat facing them criss-crossed and Leo touched his face. Finn kissed his palm.
“Did you guys eat after the game?” Logan asked.
Leo shook his head. “Finn wanted to get me something but…I really just didn’t want anything.”
“You should have something,” Logan said, then he leaned forward for a quick kiss. “Wait.” This. This was something he could do. “Don’t move, either of you.”
Logan moved around in the yellow light of his kitchen with hard-fought for ease. He cracked eggs into a bowl. He poured a splash of milk in, the way Leo had taught him. In the pan, he kept the heat on low, turning the eggs slowly so their soft curl didn’t break. He turned the heat off while they were still just a little runny, slid them onto the toasts—which he had managed to time perfectly—to let them finish cooking while they melted in butter and a few passes of shaved cheddar. Four shakes of chili flakes. He went to the fridge and found the fresh mint that Leo had bought for him. He waited a moment for his kettle to boil, then clumped the mint into three mugs and poured the hot water over them. A little drizzle of honey in Leo’s, a big drizzle in his, none for Finn.
In the living room, Finn and Leo were dozing together. Outside, the sky lit up with lightning and both of their eyes opened. Leo held out his arm.
“You’re back.”
“Of course,” Logan said.
Leo looked over at Finn. “See?”
Finn shuffled Leo closer under his arm. “I do. I do.”
Logan braced himself, setting the tray of Leo’s eggs and the three teas down just in time for the thunder to make him flinch. Leo’s eyes were clearer now. He smiled when they saw the food.
“Aw, Lo…”
“It’s nothing like you can do,” he said. “But I love you.”
I love you, love you, love you.
He settled the plate on Leo’s lap and watched as he took a bite, humming as he chewed. He held out the toast for Finn. Another crack of thunder rang out, but Logan hardly heard. He was warm in one of those softly glowing apartments he’d seen from the street. The sun was going to rise soon and Leo and Finn were tucked close to him. Their faces were tear-streaked, noses still sniffling, and it wasn’t quite their summer. Not yet.
Outside it was raining and thundering, but inside it was beginning to feel to Logan like their storm was passing by.
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matched sexual energy - rindou haitani🩶
🩶relationship drabble collection - valentine event. minors, blank, ageless, dni
🩶that mf be hittin them gd splits don't he LOL. fem reader.
🩶cw: oral (f!receiving), dirty talk, sexual intercourse implied
🩶dividers by @/cafekitsune
🩶wc: 707
You were lying in your bed waiting for Rindou to get out of his meeting since he'd texted you earlier and said that he was coming over.
----
The two of you had met in the most mundane of places - the grocery store.
He had a basket full of liquour and cigarettes, which was odd, but you didn't question it.
You rang him up quickly and he slipped you a black card, making your eyes widen slightly before you took it from his gloved hand and stuck it in the reader.
"Have a wonderful day."
"You too, sweetheart."
You weren't expecting him to say that, and he seemed to notice it since he sent you a smirk from his peripheral before grabbing his bags and exiting the store.
----
You ran into Rindou at that store quite a few times after that, until he finally asked for your number.
It wasn't until later that you found out that he was in a gang, but that didn't deter you from seeing him whenever he called for you.
"What's up, baby?" He called as he stepped inside your apartment. He used his key to get in, which made sense since he was paying for it.
"Hi Rinnie..." You cooed sweetly once his slim figure slipped through your bedroom door. Rindou grinned at you.
"Why are you hiding underneath the covers? Don't tell me you're getting shy on me, baby girl?"
He began unbuttoning his uniform jacket as he strode over to you.
With a small shake of your head, you threw back the covers revealing your nude body, which is exactly how he instructed you to be.
"I never met a girl like you, baby. Always so fucking ready for me to come and ruin you.." He gripped your jaw and tilted your head up to look into his shining, violet eyes.
"Never have to ask you twice, you always know exactly what I need from you." You smiled and seductively bit down on your bottom lip, causing him to lean in and press his lips against yours.
His three-toned hair brushed against your forehead and you brought your hands up to run your fingers through it.
After a few minutes, he pulled away from the kiss with a thick string of saliva connecting your lips and shook your head side to side.
"I know. You want to freak in the morning and freak in the evening; I think I've got the schedule figured out by now, Rinnie. You know you can come see me anytime because you always know just what to do."
"Mhmm, I know what to do, baby?" He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
Rindou then began taking off his watch, glasses, and rings to set them on your bedside table when you grabbed his hand to stop him.
"Leave them on, Rin. Want to feel them wrapped around my neck tonight." He let out a little chuckle and squinted his eyes at you.
"Freaky ass girl."
He grabbed your thighs and dug his fingers in, knowing that the rings would leave indents. That's just how he liked it; they had his initials engraved on them, which meant in turn they'd be engraved on you.
"Oh fuck, Rin!" You moaned as he began licking you in earnest, his face completely buried between your spread thighs.
He stayed down there for a good twenty minutes, just licking you out until you came into his mouth, twice.
"Good thing I took my glasses off." He brought his hand up to wipe his cheeks and nose from from where you had squirted on him.
"God, you're so sexy, Rin." You moaned as you came down from your orgasm. The tattoos on his neck and torso always turned you on so much.
"Yeah, baby? You think I'm sexy?"
"So sexy, Rinnie." You gave him that signature pouty look that you know drives his crazy.
"Fuck, turn over for me. Arch that back, gunna put this dick inside you now."
You and Rindou went well into the night, switching between multiple positions and just fucking each other's brains out.
He'd always keep coming back to you because no one could keep up with his sexual appetite the way that you could.
----
If you know exactly what I wanna do, then Imma give the business to you
0:00•---------------4:13
🔀 ⏭️ ▶️ ⏮️ 🔁
the business - yung berg ft. casha
💗💗🍡°taglist: @enchantedforest-network @prncessrindou @prettybraat @darkstarlight82 @chifuyuskoneko @honeybleed @sin-and-punishment
©bleach-your-panties 2024. do NOT steal, repost, copy, alter, or upload any of my works onto other sites.
#enchantedforestnetwork#rindou x reader#rindou haitani x reader#tokyo revengers rindou#rindou smut#tokyorev rindou#haitani rindou#rindou haitani#tr rindou#tokyo revengers#tokyorev#tokyo rev x reader#💗💗🍡°tr drabbles#💗💗🍡°tr masterlist#💋💋.relationship drabbles.#byp🌹
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Paramour
Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader
Synopsis: Y/N is stuck in the middle of who really has her heart….she knows she’s hurting Chris and herself. And Chris knows this too, but why can’t she stop?🫂
Warnings⚠️: There’s smut in this! My bestie @slumpedvioooo came up with this idea, and I just ate it up; so I had to do it! This is part one of a three part series. I hope you enjoy it because I loved it 🤞🏽
Song for the imagine: #icanteven- The Neighborhood, French Montana
⚠️This is an 18+ story, so minors do not interact, or do??⚠️
Paramour
Noun
A lover, especially the illicit partner of a married person.
This was wrong on so many levels. I was hurting myself, but I was especially hurting Chris. I know he knew how I felt, and I knew it bothered him deep down, but he would never admit it.
When I was laying in his bed my legs wrapped around his torso and my hands in his hair those thoughts vanished. This is where I wanted to be, and I hated myself for it. But at the same time it felt so right….
Currently I was laying in my boyfriend's bed watching a movie with him as I ran my fingers through his hair. Occasionally talking with him as the movie played.
“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?” He asked me
“No I don’t think so” I said looking down at him
“I want to take you on a date” he said smiling at me
“Aww I’d love that” I said smiling at him
“I’m thinking a candle lit dinner, then we take a walk on the beach and then yeah” he said getting shy
“That sounds perfect” I told him
“I’m glad” he said
I went to respond, but my phone started ringing making us both jump at the loud ringtone. I looked down at the contact and immediately got nervous. Why was he calling me when he knew I was with my boyfriend. I grabbed my phone and picked up
“Hello” I said more in a question tone
“Hey Y/N” I heard him say
“What’s up? Are you okay?” I asked him
“Yeah I’m okay, I just miss you” he told me
“Oh…umm that’s nice” I said really hoping he’d change the topic
“Come over?” He asked
“Oh I’m not sure I’m busy right now” I said back
“Pleaseeee” he said on the other line
“Umm alright give me 40 minutes” I told him
We hung up, and I looked down to see him already looking up at me
“Everything okay?” He asked me his blue eyes piercing into mine
“Yeah, my friend just wants me to help her set up for her sisters birthday” I told him lying straight through my teeth
“Oh so then go” he said smiling at me
“But we’re hanging out together” I said
“It’s fine! I’ll see you tomorrow anyways. Go have fun” he said sitting up
“Are you sure?” I asked him
“I’m positive baby” he said leaning in and giving me a kiss
I got up and put my shoes on and grabbed my purse and keys. I looked over at him giving him a kiss. His eyes were saddened by me leaving. I had a feeling he knew what was going on deep down, but didn’t want to believe it. His eyes always told the truth, but I couldn’t bare to look at him this way, so I turned and left
I got in my car and drove to his house, it was about a 30 minute drive. It went by quickly because I was thinking in my head the whole time. Should I be doing this? I mean I’ve been doing this for a while, but should I stop it? This was wrong. I was hurting all three of us, and I knew Chris knew this. I have to stop this, but I couldn’t
I parked my car, and went up to the door ringing the bell, and waited for the door to open. Once it opened and I saw him my throat ran dry….
“You can’t call me when I’m with my man” I said to him as he let me walk in
“Hello to you too” he said shutting the door and locking it
“Sorry” I said shaking my head
“I didn’t know you were with him” he responded pulling me in for a hug
“Chris I’m with him like every other day” I said pulling away
“Sorry baby, it just slipped my mind I supposed” he said with a smug expression
“Of course it did” I said rolling my eyes and walking up the stairs
“I missed your attitude” he said smacking my ass
“Chris enough” I said smacking his hands away
“Wait mama? You didn’t miss me?” He said pouting
“Of course I did” I said turning around and giving him a sly smile
Chris pulled me in by my shirt and crashed his lips into mine. I let my arms wrap around his neck as I melted into his touch. His lips….I could never forget how perfectly they molded to mine. I could stay like this forever
Our kiss began to get deeper, our teeth clashing together as our tongues fought for dominance. It was such a needy sloppy kiss, but I missed him and this felt like heaven.
Chris pulled away and licked his lips looking at me with hooded eyes.
“You’re so gorgeous” he said
“Shut up” I said avoiding eye contact
“You’re my pretty baby” he said rubbing his thumb over my cheek
That phrase sent me back….it was something he used to say all the time, and it made my heart heavy…always calling me his pretty baby…
About 3 years ago Chris and I were messing around for about a year. We weren’t dating but I suppose we were friends with benefits. It was good while it lasted, but when it ended it broke my heart.
Flashback
“Chris if you don’t want to be with me officially that’s fine, but please just let me know” I pleaded to Chris
“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you it’s just…..I don’t know” he said looking down
“Don’t know about what?” I asked him
“I just….im scared” he said
“Scared of what Chris?” I asked him looking down at him
“I’m just scared of commitment I guess” he said
“Oh?” I said
“It’s not you I promise, it’s not you it’s me” he said looking at me
“That’s fine, I guess….I guess I’m gonna head out” I said to him
“You don’t have to go” he said
“No it’s fine Chris don’t worry” I said backing up
That day hurt me the most, breaking things off with Chris really set me back. His fear of commitment and my want for him really made us clash.
Once I got in my relationship with Dominic, Chris started to act weird. He wasn’t happy for us, but he wasn’t an asshole to us. That hurt me because that was supposed to be Chris and I, and it wasn’t.
About a year ago is when Chris started having me come over to “hangout”. Those hangouts became cuddles, and then those cuddles became forehead kisses, and then it became kisses, and then that turned into making out, and then that turned into touches and those touches turned into me laying on his bed as he whispered sweet nothings into my ear as he thrusted into me.
At first I felt disgusted and hurt, but I found myself going back to his house. Hoping it would turn into more, and that made me hate myself more. No matter how much I loved Dominic, my heart was with Chris.
I couldn’t hurt Dominic, but also Chris didn’t actually want a relationship and that hurt me more. I used Chris for his body when he offered it, and then went home to sleep next to Dom…..this was such a burden. I couldn’t leave him for Chris, but what I was doing was horrible. However I couldn’t stop because Chris had a hold on me.
Flashback Over
“You haven’t called me that in ages” I said pulling away from Chris as he moved his lips to my neck
“I figured I’d bring it back” he said leaving sloppy kisses along my neck
“Why now?” I said shutting my eyes at the feeling
“Why not?” He said pulling back to look at me
“I don’t know” I said looking away
“Afraid your boyfriend is going to find out?” He said smugly
“Don’t be a dick” I said rolling my eyes at him
“Never baby” he said winking at me
“Let’s go to your room” I said
“Don’t have to ask me twice” he said
We walked down to his room, and when I stepped in my stomach fluttered with butterflies. This was so fucking wrong, but to know the events that would happen next sent me spiraling. In the moments of Chris worshiping my body, kissing every ounce of skin and taking his time with me, any thought of Dominic fled my mind. I wanted Chris as mine….forever
Like I said I love Dominic, but I think it was more of a friendship type of love. I think I fell in love with his actions, and not him as a person. The long walks, the dates, the cute messages, the flowers, the cards, the candies. I mean all of it. I fell in love with the way he acted and not him.
At first I hadn’t realized this, but as time went on and I prayed everyday that Chris would beg me to be his I realized something was wrong.
Not to mention Dominic and I weren’t compatible in bed. He didn’t know my body the way Chris did, and no matter how many times I tried to explain to Dominic what I liked he just didn’t get it; because he wasn’t Chris.
What was really fucked up was that the more I had sex with Chris the easier I found it to go back to Dominic. Chris made me so happy, and Dominic was there to fill the void of not having Chris in my everyday life. Dominic was simply…..my friend.
“I’ve missed this so much” Chris said coming up behind me and hugging me
“Chris I saw you like two weeks ago” I said laughing
“No…that’s not what I meant” he said spinning me around to look at him
“Well then what do you mean?” I asked him genuinely confused
“I mean-“ before he could finish his sentence my phone started to ring….Dominic was calling me
“Hi baby” he said once I pick up
“Hi” I said looking at Chris
“Did you make it there safe?” He asked me
“I did, sorry I was just about to text you” I said
“Oh okay! We’ll have fun” he responded
“Thank you I will, and Courtney said hi” I just blurted out
“Oh tell her I said hi back” he said laughing
“I will, bye baby” I said
And with that we hung up
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I said to Chris
“Uh nothing, I’m Courtney now?” He asked laughing
“Sorry I don’t know what came over me” I said shaking my head
“It’s fine” he said pulling me in and connecting our lips
I melted into his touch once again, all my thoughts leaving my brain. This is where I wanted to be always
Chris back tracked us to his bed, and pulled away. He removed his shirt and I removed mine. Connecting our lips again and letting myself fall back onto his bed as he landed on me.
“I can’t get over how badly I missed you” he said in between kisses
“I missed you too Chris” I said moving my head back
Chris smiled before kissing down my neck and to the skin of my breasts that spilled out of my bra. He lifted me up and took my bra off
Kissing from the valley of my breasts to my left breast and then to my right one. He slid his tongue over my left nipple, and looked up at me causing me to bite my bottom lip and let out a whimper.
He then did the same to my right breast as his hands ran up my torso. Goosebumps following every inch of his fingers.
Chris began to kiss down my stomach causing me to squirm, and he stopped at my jeans. Unbuttoning them and slowly sliding them down
“Chris please” I whispered out
“I know baby, I know” he said pulling my jeans off and tossing them behind his head
He began to kiss down my legs and to my thighs whispering against my skin. He slid his pointer and ring finger against my cloth pussy
“Chris” I moaned out and licked my dry lips
He hooked his fingers in my underwear and slid them down. Spreading my legs wider and kissing my inner thighs.
He leaned down towards my pussy and spat causing my toes to curl and my hips to come off the bed.
Chris attached his mouth to my clit swirling his tongue around before sucking on the sensitive bud.
“Oh my god” I moaned out gripping onto his hair
His tongue moving in every direction against my clit causing me to close my thighs around his head. Lapping at me like a starved man
“I need more” I panted out
Chris pulled away, his mouth covered in my arousal. He looked so hot like this I swear I could cum from the sight of it.
He slid off the bed to remove his pants and underwear. His dick springing free and my knees going weak. He came back over and lined himself up with my entrance
Slowly sinking into me, both of us letting out a gasp at the feeling. No matter how many times we fucked this feeling sent me spiraling every time.
He leaned forward holding himself up by his forearms as he bottomed out. He grabbed my left thigh and helps me wrap my legs around his torso
He left his hand on my thigh as he began to thrust into me. My hands ran over his back as my nails gently glided against his skin.
“Fuck Chris just like that” I moaned out snaking my hand up to the back of his head as I pulled at his roots.
“You’re meant for me, you take me so well” he said moaning out as he kissed my temple. My stomach flirting at this intimate action.
Chris began to kiss my neck as he thrusted into me, my body falling deeper into the mattress as his name fell from my lips like a mantra. I never wanted this to end….he was my kryptonite
“Come on baby” Chris said as he pounded into me as I clenched around him
“Fuck baby I’m going to cum” I moaned out. The pet name slipping my lips went unnoticed by me, but not by Chris. His stomach coiled at this and his ears perked up. He loved it so much.
“I know mama” he croaked out into my ear
Chris’ hips snapped into me at a faster and deeper rate causing my breath to hitch in my throat. His hands running all over my legs and torso as his lips ghosted against my neck.
His hips relentlessly pounding into me as I cried out in ecstasy. I was so glad no one was home because this was the loudest I’ve ever been with him.
“Keep going…fuck just like that” I moaned out my legs wrapping around him tighter as I pulled him as close as humanly possible
“You’re driving me crazy” he said in a gruff tone as he used his left hand to push some hair out of my face.
Chris used his left thumb to run it over my cheek where the tears had now dried. Looking into my eyes as his mouth fell open and he pounded into me.
My thighs becoming shaky as my orgasm neared. My nails scratching as his back and his name falling constantly from my mouth in loud cries of pure joy.
In this moment it was just Chris and I, and I swore I was in pure ecstasy. All my thoughts were gone with the wind and I loved it.
Chris snaked his hand down in between us as he began to rub my clit, sending shockwaves throughout my body.
“Oh. My god oh my god” I moaned out my eyes shutting as my brows furrowed
“Look at me baby, look at me when you cum” he said in a whisper
I opened my eyes as he continued to thrust into me, he began to rub my clit faster
“I’m gonna cum” I yelled out clenching down on him
“Give it to me” he said biting his lip as his chest rose faster
These words alone sent me into orbit, I pulled Chris in closer as I clenched down on him. My thighs were shaking as my lower abdomen contracted. Cumming all over Chris’ dick as my breathing was shaky. Fuck and his name the only two things able to spill from my mouth in this moment.
Chris helped me ride out my high before I let my legs down and released him. He pulled out of me as he began to stroke his cock
“You’re so fucking beautiful, you do things to me I can’t even explain” he said in a low tone
He stroked harder before his own thighs began to shake, and his mouth fell open. He painted my lower stomach with his seed as he moaned out my name.
He allowed himself to calm down to control his breathing. He got up and brought a rag back to wipe me down before tossing it in his laundry basket.
We slid under his sheets and I faced him. Taking in his beauty. His freckles, his rosy cheeks, his plump lips. My finger traced his jawline as I looked at him
He looked back examining my face and brushing my hair away before opening his mouth to speak
“I meant it when I said you're gorgeous” he said in a whisper
“Thank you Chris” I said with a small smile
“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N” he said turning his head into my touch as he kissed my hand
It was in these moments that I saw a small glimpse of us being together. Of us being more than just fuck buddies. Chris has a nurturing soul, and I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to share that with someone else. Unless he did, and that someone else just wasn’t me….
“We’re throwing a birthday party for Madi next week you should come” he said looking at me again
“Yeah I’d love to” I responded smiling at him
“And you can bring…what’s his face” he said chuckling
“Dominic” I said with a blunt expression
“Yeah him” he said rolling his eyes
“I’ll run it by him” I said laughing
Before we could speak my phone started to ring
“Speak of the devil” Chris said looking at my phone as I turned over
I picked it up on the third ring
“Hello?” I said
“Hi baby, why do you sound so out of breath?” He said laughing
“Oh uhhh I was running up Courtney’s stairs” I said laughing and looking at Chris with wide eyes
“She doesn’t have stairs” he said confused
“Ohh uhh the stairs outside her house we were taking trash out” I said lying straight out of my ass
“Ohhh uh well okay, I’m glad you had fun” he said
“Yup lots of fun” I said looking at Chris and he just smirked at me
“Alright baby I’m going to let you go, I’ll see you tomorrow” he said
“Okay love you” I said cringing to myself because I didn’t even mean it
We hung up and I let out a sigh
“Stressed?” Chris asked me
“You could say something like that” I said looking at him
“Come in closer talk to me about it, spend the night” he said
This was uncharted territory. Chris never asked me to spend the night, and I assumed it was only because his brothers weren’t home.
“Stay? With you?” I asked him
“No stay with the Holy Ghost, duhhh stay with me” he said laughing
“Okay….yeah I’ll stay” I said smiling at him
Chris shut the light off and pulled me in closer my back to him.
This was wrong, but it felt so right. To be able to lay in his arms as we fell asleep was something I’ve always wanted.
This made my heart warm, but what kept my mind racing was that this was a one time thing and only for tonight. Our next encounters would not be like this.
I’d be in my own bed the following morning alone and saddened that I could not keep the only man I’ve ever wanted to myself.
I was the paramour.
The End
Alright guys this is part 1, and I truly hope you enjoyed it. I genuinely loved writing this and it like had me giggling and kicking my feet, but also lowkey sad😭😭 I wonder what will happen in part 2 and 3??? Stay tuned for more LMFAOAOA! I love yall so much 🤭🖤🖤 also sorry it took so long to get done I got busy
-J💅🏽
@rac00ns-are-c00l4
#sturniolo triplet smut#sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo x reader smut#chris sturniolo smut#Christopher Sturniolo smut#smut#Spotify
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The Interview
Word Count: 2k
Warnings: cussing, it got angsty for a millisecond, talking about throwing up, doesn’t actually happen, slight mention of panic attacks
Summary: She is an actor who is embarrassingly and openly obsessed with Pedro Pascal, but when she gets invited to be a guest on the same talk show as him, it doesn’t go the way she planned.
A/N: holy moly, I haven’t written in FOREVER so I apologize now if this is absolutely horrible. And this is also the first time I have ever written anything for Pedro Pascal so go easy on me!
This was not the first time she was asked to be on a late night talk show; she had been on a couple for her smaller roles. But this was the first time that she knew absolutely nothing about what was going on. No one was telling her who the other guests were, when she was to go onto the stage, where she was supposed to sit, what they were going to talk to her about, nothing. It was all kept a secret from her. So when she showed up to the studio, she felt like she was running blind.
“They’re just going to ask me about my movie that is coming out soon, right?” She asked her brother, Jeremy, who was standing behind her through the mirror.
He was the one who set this whole thing up, and he was being the most secretive. “Yeah, sure, something like that.” His phone started to ring and he left the room while putting it to his ear.
“What the hell does that even mean?” She mumbled to herself while she finished the final touches on her makeup.
Jeremy didn’t come back any time soon, in fact, no one had come and talked to her since the moment she arrived. Out of boredom, she pulled her phone out and started to scroll through her twitter. She read her latest tweet to herself: “Watched the most recent episode of #TheLastOfUs; is anyone else obsessed with Pedro Pascal? Just me? Okay.” The tweet had thousands of likes and retweets, and so did the other handful of tweets where she gushed about how obsessed with Pedro Pascal she was.
It was true, he was, IS, a brilliant actor, funny, the most respectful and charismatic man in Hollywood, and absolutely drop dead gorgeous. She was wrapped around his finger, embarrassingly so, and, as far as she could tell, he had absolutely no idea who she was. And she was absolutely fine with that, especially with her tweets about him. “I need to stop tweeting my innermost thoughts.” She said to herself before tossing her phone to the side.
It was a couple minutes later when there was a knock at the door and one of the stage crew members stuck their head through the door, “They’re about ready for you on stage, are you ready?” She nodded as she stood up, running her hands down the skirt of her dress to flatten it out.
No one talked to her as she followed behind the crew member to the stage. This was getting weird, and it made her stomach sink into her ass. What the hell was she about to walk into?
Her hands shook slightly as she waited for the host to finish introducing her, talking about her new movie and the release date. She relaxed a bit, maybe they were just talking about the movie, and this show just happens to not communicate with anyone. The door opened up for her to walk through and she waved at the cheering crowd and made her way to the couches next to the host. The second she caught sight of the other guests, her heart stopped.
Holy shit, he’s right there.
She continued to smile and make her way to the couch, Pedro Pascal and Helen Mirren standing and clapping for her.
You’re a fucking actor, ACT like you’re not having a panic attack.
Helen gave her a tender hug, and a soft kiss to the cheek. Pedro pulled her in for a hug as well, could he tell how badly she was trembling? She moved to sit on the other side of Helen, away from Pedro, when the host stopped her, “Oh no, no, there’s a spot and a drink for you right in between Pedro and Helen there.”
Dear god, this is why it was all a secret. I’ve been set up.
She smiled and switched to sit in between them, but she leaned towards Helen.
Can they tell I’m about to vomit? Holy shit, DO NOT vomit.
They started off by asking her about her new movie. It was her first big role and she was more than happy to talk about it and answer the few questions they did ask her. When they switched the focus to Pedro and his absolutely bombshell success of his shows, she tried her hardest to keep a happy face, but oh god did she want to run screaming.
The host began talking about the attention Pedro has been getting from the success of his shows and if he liked it or not. He bashfully answered that he did. “The internet sure loves you.” The host said, and she felt her heart fall into the empty pit of her stomach. “This tweet here says ‘I need to stop referring to Pedro Pascal as daddy, it’s becoming a problem.’” Everyone laughed, including her, trying to act like she wasn’t about to pass out.
But then she saw it on the screen, the username was blurred out, but it was absolutely her tweet. She knew it was based on the emoji’s she put at the end; and even though the username was blurred, it wasn’t blurred that well. She took a staggered breath that hopefully no one noticed. “This one here says ‘Just caught up on The Last of Us…should I be concerned that watching Pedro Pascal kill that many people turned me on?’”
Please don’t reveal who tweeted that. Maybe I’ll make it off this stage alive.
Pedro laughed, and before he got a chance to comment on it, the host directed his attention back to her, “Are you alright there? You look a little flustered?” The smirk on his face told her everything. They were absolutely going to reveal who tweeted that.
“I’m great.” She said with a smile, but as sarcastically as she possibly could. She was sweating profusely.
“Good! Because, I felt like I recognized the username on this tweet,” The screen with the screenshot of the tweet suddenly unblurred the username and revealed her twitter handle, “Oh my god, that was your tweet!” That was it, she was going in hiding after this interview.
Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end. They showed three more of her thirst tweets for the man sitting right next to her. After the second she leaned forward and placed her hands on her face just so that her fingers were covering her mouth as she told herself over and over to not cry.
Perhaps Pedro could tell how uncomfortable she was starting to feel because he quickly spoke up with a chuckle, “I mean, you should see some of the things I’ve tweeted. I barely even know how to work twitter.”
She felt a wave of relief when the attention was finally not on her and her absolutely embarrassing obsession with Pedro. However, the feeling of wanting to simultaneously vomit and cry still lingered. But, she put on a brave face and acted as if the entire interview didn’t even faze her.
Once the show ended and she politely said goodbye to everyone around her, she made her way to her dressing room. It wasn’t until she heard the click of the door shutting that she finally broke into tears. She ended up in a squatting position while trying to pull herself together, but the tears just kept coming. Jeremy walked through the door with a huge shit eating grin on his face until he saw his sister nearly in the fetal position on the ground. Before he got a chance to say a single word, she stood up and poked a finger in his direction, “You did this, didn’t you? You were the one who set up this interview, you were the one who told me over and over again how good it would be for my career for me to come on the show. You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?”
“Why are you upset with me? If you didn’t want something like this to happen, maybe keep your thirst in a diary, not on the internet where everyone can see it.” Jeremy pointed a finger back at her.
The worst part was that he was right. She couldn’t even argue his point, because he was fucking right. Maybe it was time to delete her twitter and go into hiding after her movie came out. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around herself and let out a sigh, “Can you just go out there and tell me when everyone is gone? I want to be the last one to leave.”
Jeremy huffed as he walked out the door. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and started to clean the makeup that had run down her face. It was as she threw the final makeup wipe into the trash when she heard the knock on her door. It couldn’t be Jeremy, the dude never knocked once in his life. The feeling of wanting to throw up suddenly came rushing back.
When she opened the door, she had to swallow her heart. Pedro was standing there, a soft smile on his lips. “May I come in?” He asked softly.
As badly as she wanted to tell him no and slam the door in his face, she didn’t. Instead, she nodded and silently opened the door further to allow him to walk past her. She shut the door behind him and before he got a chance to say anything, she started spewing her thoughts, “Pedro, I’m so sorry if I embarrassed you. I promise I am going to delete all of the tweets, probably even my entire twitter account. I didn’t know any of this was going to happen, I didn’t even know you were a guest. Literally the entire thing had been kept a secret to me and I am so, so sorry if this damages or, or puts a hiccup, or whatever in your career. You are entirely an amazing actor and you deserve to be treated better than that, and-”
“No, no, no,” he softly cut her off and stepped closer to her, putting his hands on her arms. “I came here to ask if you were okay; to tell you that you deserve to be treated better.” She didn’t even know how to respond to that, so she just stared at him. “Interviewers can be brutal and I, even though I promise I had nothing to do with this, wanted to apologize to you.” He looked deep into her eyes and slightly shook his head, “I’m sorry they upset you enough to make you cry.” Dear god, was it that obvious? She looked away from him and he dropped his arms back to his sides. “I’d like to make it up to you by taking you to dinner tomorrow night”
Excuse me, what?
“What?” She whispered the question.
A small smile graced his lips as he looked down at the ground, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. ”I should’ve said something a while ago,” He started before looking back up at her, “I’ve been following your career for a few years now. All the tweets they showed today? I’ve already seen them. I’ve followed you on twitter for at least a year now.”
EXCUSE ME, WHAT?
How had she never noticed he followed her? She was too stunned to speak, so Pedro continued, “I feel like if I had had the guts to talk to you sooner, then none of this would’ve happened. Which is why I would like to take you out to dinner tomorrow, I’m just sorry that I’m asking you after what just happened.”
Her heart was beating so hard she was sure it was about to jump out of her chest. The blood was rushing through her ears so fiercely, she wasn’t even sure she heard him correctly. Her mind was reeling and it took him letting out a soft chuckle for her to realize she was staring at him like a deer in the headlights. She shook her head to stop her mind from spinning and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Yes, yes, I’d like that.”
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