#Imagine bleaching curls

[krokaxe]

Yeehawgust 24: Even Cowgirls Get The Blues

[unohanadaydreams]

Notes: I was going to do the entire Captain & Lieutenant roster for this one, but then I decided I didn't want to! So that's why I progressively start skipping entire divisions. There are just a lot of well adjusted 'no's that I didn't think were worth including. I was sniffing out those 'yes's.

This hasn’t been edited in the slightest. Just stream of conciousness, which I think is probably obvious from the premise alone <3 

Would They Murder You For Voting Them Off A Baking Competition:

Genryusai Yamamoto:

No. But he would--"respectfully"--push back in front of national television and God. He's so used to being of upmost authority that he doesn't respond well to being at another's whims. You can try to politely interupt his monologue on why the delicate flavors of the past are under-appreciated by you specifically, but he will not budge until he has finished. The entire crew can only watch and nervously hover around him. His lieutenant tries to walk off the show with him in a show of loyalty.

Chojiro Sasakibe:

No. He would approach the end with a stiff upper lip and tranquil acceptance. It's almost as though he's really walking off to that great goodbye. You're crying as he thanks you for everything and promises to perfect those vital mistakes that brought his downfall. A few months later you recieve a sprawling email with a video attached, detailing a flawless execution. Unfortunately, he is required to also attach a 40 page document from his Captain.

Soi Fon:

No, but only because she will be back next season. And the next. Until she wins. It's not technically allowed, but her lieutenant has the money to pull strings. The cut-throat, flashy competition is something she consistently derides, but why else would she once again be standing in front of you with a terse smile before she walks off to the confessional hallway to talk some evasive shit.

Marechiyo Omaeda:

No. Instead, he comes back next season after bribing the network executives, the producers, and all of your fellow judges. Nothing will cover insecurity and lack of ability more than flush stacks of cash. He has the finesse to pull it off without you knowing until you're invited to his victory party after the next season.

Gin Ichimaru:

Yes. Not only is he the first to be eliminated but he does so awful that it has to be purposeful. He does is right then and there. After initially threatening to, brandishing his sword, and then convincing everyone it was a joke made in poor taste. Everyone and yourself nervously look to one other as he feigns walking away. Then you're dead! They do not cancel the show, but continue "in your honor".

Izuru Kira:

No. The farthest he goes is throwing a parting snark toward the competion he doesn't believe should've advanced beyond him. He leaves you with an air of satisfaction and professionalism that impress you. An enviroment away from his captain and the pressing demands of war brought a long lost vigor. He goes from serving food with an immediate apology to serving cunt!

Retsu Unohana:

No. Her send off is filled with false graciousness. You can feel her rage at having been eliminited the episode before the finale. Especially since she was flagged for overpowering flavors, something she prefers. However, when you DO die, there seems to be a powerful hand guiding you down the path of a shinigami and further, into the 4th division...Surely no revenge will be wrought.

Sosuke Aizen:

Yes. You didn't even vote him off. He's literally won. But he kills you anyway, for constantly nit-picking his food like you were hired to do. You tragically slip and break your neck on your way to congratulate him. Your fellow judges follow in a string of tragic coincidental accidents as the weeks go by.

Byakuya Kuchiki:

Yes. But only because you trample on his pride and by technicality, he must challenge you to a duel to protect the Kuchiki name. You're convinced it's a joke for the cameras and die so, so pathetically, weilding a sharpened carrot. He's beautiful and refined so the public gives him a lot of slack for killing you.

Renji Abarai:

No. He was a surprisingly competant competitor but he understands his limits were bringing him here eventually. He actually gives you his bandana and a big hug that lifts you off the ground. His captain, who has bribed his way back stage, is off to the side giving absolutely nothing which is threat enough.

Sajin Komamura:

Not physically, but emotionally and socially. For some reason, he decided to compete in his dog gigai. The show has prolific views. Scientists are frothing at the mouth to study him. The masses can not and will not get enough of him. He's only gone so far in the competiton because the producers have had a metaphorical gun to your head. You watch his ears pin back and start to choke up, knowing you are never going to be forgiven for this. He whines as you begin to cry and insists on a hug.

Yachiru Kusajishi:

Yes. She throws an absolute fit and tries to treat you like she does all her other underlings who don't play along with what she wants. Too bad you're extremely human and her little fist caves your skull in on impact. Everyone is too stunned to stop her. Her captain pries her off by the scruff of her uniform and says 'what'd you expect? Can't even boil water' before stamping your forehead with the hilt of his sword.

Mayuri Kurotsuchi:

Yes. He's trapped you in a never-ending cooking competition that proliferates in your mind, seamlessly transitioning into another as you fall limp to the floor, your mind forever lost while your body lives on. No matter your efforts, you always lose at the finale. Mayuri is your mind-judge. He is monologuing what he's done as everyone watches with disbelief.

Nemu Kurotsuchi:

No. You're much more valuable to her alive. Uncaring of the show happening around her, she bodily holds you to the floor and begins prying your mouth open so she can get to your taste buds. She begins scraping some off for testing right then and there, insisting that she had formulated her plate to your exact liking, but obviously she will need re-calculate.

Jushiro Ukitake:

No, but you wish he had. You have to vote him off on a technicalilty. There's blood in his food. You can't eat it, so you can't judge it, so he can't go further. He leaves with such effortless humor and charm that you have a break down as soon as he's walked off.

[softgrungeprophet]

the real reason au kaine wears a braid suited up...to keep his hair from fluffing up with static electricity

[pluttskutt]

blond hair is so pretty it's beautiful i want it on my head aaaaa

[luveline]

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks. 

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head. 

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand. 

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once. 

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!" 

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says. 

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink. 

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour. 

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs." 

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up. 

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table. 

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow. 

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference. 

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed. 

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But… 

"Loser," you mutter to yourself. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile. 

You freeze. "Two seconds!" 

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously. 

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy." 

"Come on out." 

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway. 

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly. 

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher. 

"What upset you?" he asks. 

"Nothing your friends did, I promise." 

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces. 

You cringe bodily. "I'm not." 

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated." 

"It's not my necklace, Spence." 

"Then what is it?" 

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better." 

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see. 

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.  

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused. 

"Not like her." Your voice quivers. 

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face. 

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly. 

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction. 

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?" 

"Thousands." 

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do." 

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask. 

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse. 

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you." 

"Spence…" 

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?" 

"I don't know." 

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think." 

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart. 

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly. 

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again. 

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again." 

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that." 

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset." 

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless. 

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad. 

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable. 

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

[pantherxrogers]

saddle up - choi san x fem!reader (18+ only)

🤠 pairings: cowboy!san x spoiled fem!reader (roleplay)

🤠 warnings: smut (18+ only), degradation kink, sir kink, explicit language, roleplay, dom!san, captive!reader (roleplay), technically cnc?, not proofread, established relationship

🤠 summary: a little roleplay action with san 🤠

🤠 a/n: cowboy san has not left my mind. therefore this was born. i'm feral for him and i'm not sorry about it! i know it's late but i had to get this out lmao. enjoy!

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

his looming presence makes your heart beat out of your chest.

you feel so small in front of him, which only adds to your arousal. you wiggle in the restraints, black satin ties acting as makeshift rope. the fabric keeps your wrists in place behind your back. san takes in the sight of front of him. your cute little ass perched up on your heels, totally helpless to defend yourself. it makes his cock jump.

"you little city girls are so bratty," he chides, stepping closer to your form. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you want to lean back into it. but, you know better.

"i'm sorry," you whine, trying to turn your head to get a better look at him. and, he's definitely a sight to behold.

the skimpy black vest looks perfect against his tanned skin. his bare chest is out, each muscle looking solid as ever. in another scenario, you'd run your hands over his abs, admiring the way they shiver beneath your touch. but, you're a little compromised right now.

trailing your eyes down, you let out gasp, his bulge prominent as ever beneath the black fabric. you quickly bite your lip, hoping you didn't do anything to further agitate the rude cowboy.

"didn't anyone ever teach you it isn't polite to stare?" he grunts, firmly gripping your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. the hungry look in his eyes adds to your growing wetness.

"'m sorry, i'm not from here," you mewl, hoping he'll take it easy on you.

"well, i could've guessed that," he smirks, shamelessly checking you out. "we don't get pretty little things like you coming through here very often." you cheeks warm at the praise. you have to bite your lip to stop the bashful smile.

"remember your manners," he commands, raising a bleached eyebrow in your direction.

"thank you, sir."

he lets out a satisfied hum, dropping the hand on your chin.

"looks like i'll have to keep you and teach you some manners."

his warm hand traces along your plump bottom lip. you open your mouth instantly, loving the weight of his thumb on your tongue. you feel hot all over, delighting in the way his eyes dilate as you put on a show for him.

"fuck, such a soft little mouth," he grunts, imagining what it would feel like to slip his cock between those glossy, full lips. you look like a pampered princess on your knees in front of him. expensive lingerie, curls perfectly styled, and flawless makeup. he can't wait to ruin all of it.

he manhandles you, prompting you to let out a surprised squeal. you're facing the headboard again, and you whine before you feel your restraints loosen. with your wrists finally free, you move around to face him fully, excitement spreading over your body.

"unbuckle my belt." your hands are working before he can finish the sentence. he smirks down at your trembling hands, loving your eagerness.

"you gonna be a good girl and suck my dick?" he hums, hard cock springing up when you pull him out of his underwear.

"yes sir," you croon, mouth nearly watering. his cock is perfect. it's thick and hard, and you want nothing more than to feel it stretch your jaw and force down your throat.

"then get to it."

you bring a manicured hand to the base of his cock, guiding it towards your mouth. sticking out your tongue, you look up at him, tapping his tip against it. you finally slide him in, the taste of him making your eyes roll back.

"fuck," he moans, hips messily bucking into your mouth. you gag slightly, not expecting the sudden intrusion. he breaks character for a second, muttering a soft apology. you hum around him, letting him know you're okay. then, he's back in the scene.

"shit, that mouth feels so good." you're taking him in deeper now, still looking up to see the pure ecstasy on his face. his head is thrown back, mouth agape, lost in pleasure.

his cock is so thick your jaw is starting to hurt already. but, it's the best kind of pain. you sink further onto him, eyes burning when your nose touches his neatly trimmed hair.

"oh fuck, keep going," he moans, reaching down to gather your curls in a messy ponytail. you hum your agreement, sending vibrations to his sensitive cock.

"keep still, 'm gonna fuck your mouth," he pants, glancing down at you. he swears his cock gets even harder, obsessed with the way you look with your lips wrapped around him.

his thrusts start out slow, like he wants you to get used to the sensation. you bring a hand up to the back of his thigh, coaxing him to really have his way with you.

"begging for me to fuck your mouth?" he huffs, already picking up the pace. the way you try to nod your head makes him chuckle, the shameless pleasure on your face feeding his ego.

"damn, i didn't know city girls were so fuckin' slutty," he chides, taking in the way your eyes dilate at his words. he picks up the pace again. a shiver runs down his spine, loving the way your throat feels on his tip.

he feels you swallow, fighting your gag reflex. the sensation pushes him over the edge, orgasm washing over him. he pulls back, messily jerking his cock in front of your face. he admires the way his cum paints your face, your surprised little gasp prolonging his orgasm.

"shiiiiiiit, so fuckin' pretty," he moans, stroking himself through the last waves of his orgasm. when he comes down, he smirks at you, still sitting there like his perfect doll. even when you're covered in his cum.

you smirk at him, bringing up a hand to collect his seed. you make a show of sucking it off your fingers, swallowing, and showing him your clean tongue.

"fuck baby, you might actually kill me." you answer him with a giggle, smiling brightly up at him.

"you did such a good job, baby. thank you," you hum, raising up on your heels to drape your arms around his neck.

"is that what you wanted?" he asks you, suddenly feeling shy. when you'd asked him to bring home his performance outfit from the "work" music video, he did it without question. now, he's just hoping he was able to live up to your fantasy.

"yes baby. you were perfect," you coo, pressing a kiss to his nose. "if there's ever a k-drama where they need someone to play the role of 'horny cowboy capturing a spoiled city girl', then i'm making you audition."

his laugh is bashful, cheeks burning with your praise.

"i don't think i can sleep without making you cum though," he grunts, pulling your body closer to his. he's shameless in the way he gropes you, feeling everywhere he can get his hands on.

"b-but, the whole point is for you to use me," you whine, finding it hard to concentrate when he's sucking hickeys into your neck.

"i don't care, baby. need to make you cum," he hums, slowly pushing you towards the center of the bed. you squeal at the sudden movement, a surprised laugh slipping through your lips.

"get ready to saddle up, baby," he smirks, reaching for the black satin ties. you settle into the mattress, ready for the long night ahead of you.

[niki-phoria]

THERE'LL BE NO MORE SORROW / I'LL SEE YOU THERE TOMORROW

pairing: fushiguro megumi x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: hurt comfort word count: 781

notes: very (possibly ooc) megumi heavy, not proofread, mentions of blood/injuries, set immediately after shibuya arc, spoilers for jjk s2 lol, title from txt - i’ll see you there tomorrow

the makeshift hospital in jujutsu high smells like artificial lemons and bleach. the lights above are blindingly bright as FUSHIGURO MEGUMI squints up at the ceiling, patiently awaiting shoko’s return. there’s a dull ache somewhere in his shoulder and his vision is still a little hazy, but his injuries are otherwise superficial. 

unfortunately, the same cannot be said for yours.

megumi bites his tongue. crying will do nothing to help you, but it’s so hard not to. he curls his trembling hands into fists, tightly holding the blue blanket covering most of his body in his grip. his sadness and worry has slowly begun turning to anger. anger towards the higher-ups who sent two teenagers into shibuya with no preparation. anger towards the curse who hurt you so carelessly - leaving your body bloody and broken and bruised. anger towards himself for not being there. not being fast enough. not being strong enough. 

swallowing the lump forming in his throat, megumi stares up at the chipped paint coating the ceiling. it’s a light beige - a colour that reminds him of nanami’s signature suit. nanami. the tears in his eyes slip down his cheeks.

megumi pulls his knees up to his chest, curling his body in on itself. he lets his eyes flutter closed once again, focusing on the slow and steady inhale and exhale of his breathing. 

time passes. hours, maybe? megumi jumps when the door swings open; the once silent room now filled with the familiar clacking of shoko’s heels against the floor. “fushiguro,” shoko’s voice is cold as she enters the room. her piercing glare meets megumi’s gaze, making the boy lower his shoulders slightly in defeat. “i thought i told you to be more careful.”

“i’m sorry.” her concern isn’t unfounded, but it does little to soothe megumi’s worries. 

shoko notices, and sighs. she steps forward to rest a hand against the wooden bed frame. “your injuries weren’t that severe. i’m giving you a few days to rest, and then you’ll be ready to return to your missions.” she pauses. megumi looks up at her expectantly. “y/n is in the room next to yours. they haven’t woken up yet, but their condition is stable. you can go see them whenever you’d like.”

he swallows the lump in his throat. the tension in his shoulders falters, but only slightly. her sharp gaze lingers on the bandage wrapped tightly around megumi’s head longer than necessary. he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze; his hands play with a loose thread on the blanket. shoko’s fingertips nonchalantly flip through the papers with surgical precision. it’s not like there’s any need to keep a record of his injuries, anyway.

“thank you, ieiri-san,“ megumi murmurs. shoko purses her lips. whatever words she wants to say thankfully remain left in her throat. her heels clink against the cold, tile floor as she turns to exit the room, finally leaving megumi alone in the silence once again.

megumi stares at the wall for too long. time passes without him noticing. he waits until his legs ache from the stillness and his eyes burn. the world around him has fallen into silence once again. finally, he stands up on shaky knees, carefully making his way towards your hospital room. 

you’re exactly where shoko said you would be - in the state she said you would be in. megumi notices the bandages wrapped around your arms and the bruises littering your skin in patches. his breath hitches in his throat. 

your room is colder than his was. or, maybe it’s his imagination? megumi isn’t sure. he moves in a daze as he sits down beside your bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

megumi leans his head against his hands, sending prayers to gods he isn’t sure he even believes in. he waits for what feels like hours, until-

“megumi?” your voice is quiet and cracks, but it’s yours. you blink a few times, squinting up at him. he stares at you in shock; wide eyes bore into your own before he’s scrambling, throwing his arms around your body and pulling you against his chest. you wince slightly but return the hug nonetheless, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders. 

“megumi,” you repeat, breathless.

“i’m here,” he whispers. his voice is muffled against the fabric of your shirt. tears sting against your skin as they roll down his cheeks in waves, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. 

megumi pulls away just enough to look at your face; his teary eyes and flushed cheeks match your own. despite himself, he smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. “i’m here.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[seattlesellie]

not about love. (part 4 & final)

read: part one || part two || part three

pairing: college loser!ellie williams x fem!reader

synopsis: after ellie kisses someone else, you run. then, you run again. at the end? she finally fucking chases you.

warnings: some miscommunication, slight angst, alcohol & weed, mentions of homophobia (d slur), smut (mdni), oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), scissoring, top!ellie, bottom!reader, panties kink (?), mentions of strap, first time w ellie, love love love <3

authors note: i had so much fun writing this. i hope you guys like it. i’m still thinking about a short part five, but well see how it goes ˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴:

"(The Party & The After Party -The Weeknd)"

01:23 ━━━━●───── 03:43

ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ

---˖⁺. ༶ ⋆��⊹❀♡❀˖⁺. ༶ ⋆˙⊹---

it's funny, how guilt begins with a subtle tickle. it's delicate at first, ignited like a gentle caress down her throat. it is not like jealousy, that dawns on you with a thud right inside. for her, for ellie, it's almost like a whisper. it glides down her body, maneuvers its way around, and then it lands inside the pit of her stomach, making it churn, toss and twist from the insides out, like an ever erupting ticking bomb.

she shouldn't have kissed that girl, that, she knew. the answer to why, she truly doesn't know— don't ask her no stupid questions. she knew it was wrong when she slid her tongue down her throat, knew it was wrong when she took the back of her neck into her palm, and felt how wrong it was when she looked deep into her eyes, panting, with a ruby blush creeping up on her cheeks. it wasn't because you left, god knows she would have felt how wrong it was even if you didn't, but alas, you did. you did leave. and that's why right at this second— her brain was fuzzy, knuckles colored white, legs moving faster and faster with no control.

truly, what ellie did wasn't wrong, neither was it selfish. you weren't a couple, she didn't belong to you, and neither you to her. she was a free woman, and so were you. and yet, your imaginations told a completely different tale. the truest colors of your thoughts— ready to erupt and spill out of you as if tomorrow never came.

she must have bumped into at least twenty sweaty, inebriated bodies. the outside world seemed to move and twist in a blur, but her mind moved oh so slowly. it was as if walking to the bathroom, took her over two hours. in reality, it took exactly three minutes, until she bumped into one extraordinarily tall man.

he rocked a bleach blonde buzz cut, a red bandana on his forehead, and ridiculously tiny sunglasses.

"yo— williams!" he declared, stopping her right in her tracks. she looked up to face him, and he was much, much taller.

"dude, look" he said, pointing right at her face, grabbing the attention of his ridiculous looking, slightly shorter pal.

"that's the girl alison likes!" he shouted, and she could feel the beer stench creeping up in her nostrils, making them twist.

"bro, you must be something special, she almost bribed the shit out of kyle just to make you kiss her"

ellie looked around the corridor, her eyes darting from his face to the floor. people... want to kiss her? it made her feel proud, inflating her ego and making it swell hard in her chest. a second later, it completely wore off. she didn't give a fuck about people— not about most of them.

"yeah, hey dude" she huffed, her lips curling up to a shy smile.

"so tell me, williams— did you scissor on the floor?" he interrogated.

"really gotta go to the bathroom" she voiced.

"no dude, wait... let me ask, i’m fucking interested" he uttered, blocking her path and leaning against the cream-colored wall with his arm.

"do lesbians actually fucking scissor?" his shorter friend questioned.

ellie always had a short temper. it would creep up on her when she least expected it, jolting inside of her brain and making the vein on her forehead pop. lately, she's been listening to some guided meditation on youtube. angela, was the name of the lady who's gentle voice she would listen to every once in a while. "deep breath in, and let it out... think of the rain, pouring and pouring, tickling down your window... and let yourself breatheee..." ellie took a deep breath in, and exhaled.

"y'all should send me a video when you're done fucking"

yeah, fuck angela.

"move out of the fucking way man, i gotta piss" she raised her tone slightly. maybe angela's voice still rung in her ears, because she didn't even consider punching him in the face.

"not fucking moving, williams— c'mon, we wanna fucking know all about it"

ellie might have been shorter by several inches, but god knows she was much stronger. with a firm grip on his bicep, she exerted her power and effortlessly tossed him to the side.

"fucking dyke" he snickered.

"die asshole" she uttered, and flipped him off.

the bathroom seemed to be closer, and her pacing was steadier. she was going to talk to you, that's it.

she opened the door, and exhaled. she didn't even know she had been holding her breath. the coppery scent of cigarettes, and overwhelmingly sweet, citrusy bathroom incense tickled at her nose. four women stood in front of the broken mirror. a blonde one, a brunette, one with braids, and one with a big cap on her head. they either giggled at each other, or to themselves, ellie truly didn't care.

"is there anyone in the stalls?" she questioned in a low voice. they clearly couldn't hear, her words barely audible over the overwhelming music that blared from outside.

she cleared her throat, and tried again.

"are the stalls empty?"

the brunette turned around to face her, a radiant smile spreading across her face, revealing a row of gleaming teeth.

"i dunno" she huffed, and turned around to face the friend by her side.

"but you can—" she stifled a giggle, and then it erupted.

"piss on the floor" she quipped, earning herself the symphony of her friend's breathless, intoxicated laughter.

"great" ellie muttered under her breath. just great.

she turned around to face the stalls, and began.

one knock, two knocks— she felt that guilt twisting in her stomach again.

fuck it, she fully banged on the door. those girls left, after they side eyed her shameless, and walked off. if you were anywhere to be found in that bathroom, it was just the two of you now.

she propelled her foot forward at the door, it swung open, propelled by the force, creating a resounding bang against the wall, echoing twice. the air caressed her face, and she shivered. It was not the chill of the room that caused her tremor. what if you weren't there? what if you left?

the third stall's door she kicked as well, and she couldn't hide her disappointment anymore.

"fuck" she hissed.

the fourth one must be empty as well. she didn't exactly believe in luck. she kicked it, the door budged slightly, but it didn't fly open. it was locked.

you lifted your legs up to meet your chin, holding yourself together in a hug. you felt absolutely embarrassed. you knew you didn't have any right to get like this. the tears swelling up in your eyes and the mascara running all over your cheeks, clinging itself to the delicate skin, making it itch and burn had no right to even exist. she didn't belong to you.

she knocked on the door again.

"you in there?" she croaked. did you hear the guilt lacing her words? it was buried inside of her stomach, after all.

"no... i mean— fuck" you sniffled, bumping your palm on your forehead. "no?" really?

"open the door" she uttered.

silence.

"please?"

you wiped the tears from your eyes, and grabbed a piece of toilet paper to wipe the mascara running profusely, leaving dark, messy spots on your cheeks.

"i’m peeing, ellie— go away"

"no you're not, open the door"

she must have heard you sniff away your snot gathering on the tip of your nostrils.

"i just wanna talk" she quietly said, her voice just above a whisper. ellie stood there, her arm steady on the door, waiting for you to let her in.

"dont wanna" *sniff* "talk"

she took a deep breath. "im not moving. i could stay here all night" you knew she could.

"well..." *sniff* "so can i" you hiccuped.

"cool"

"cool" you repeated.

ellie turned her back away from the door, and leaned against it. three whole minutes of absolute silence had passed, neither of you talking, but so much left unsaid. when the image of ellie kissing that girl flashed inside of your brain, hitting you like a lighting bolt, you giggled to yourself.

"what's so funny?" she questioned, crossing her arms.

"shouldn't you be with your new girlfriend?"

that was it for you. no more hiding. if hurt was the main feeling your heart held just five minutes ago, it mixed around with the tangy, salty taste of jealousy now, laced with the spiciness of anger. you twisted the doorknob, and let it fly open, bumping against ellie's back, making her jump to the other side.

you truly couldn't care if she knew you were crying. what's the point of hiding anymore? who gives a fuck. perhaps— it was sudden wind of courage washing over you. most likely— it was the plastic cup filled with cheap vodka cranberry emptying out inside of your stomach. you placed the cup on the sink, and washed your hands. you didn't even glance at ellie, who stared at you in disbelief.

"what the fuck are you talking about?" she probed, her arms slapping down on her thighs.

"alison, duh"

ellie swallowed deeply.

"or arielle or... whatever the hell her name is" you glanced at yourself in the mirror, you looked like a mess. ellie thought you looked beautiful, she wanted to tell you the moment you came out of the building.

she didn't even know what to say, her eyes staring at the floor, attempting to keep it together.

"was the kiss nice?" you wiped your hand on your skirt.

"it looked nice. so hot!" you nudged her shoulder. every single word that came out of your mouth sounded like you had just run a marathon. they flowed out quick, and even the dumbest person alive would know you were talking out of pure jealousy. maybe ellie was even dumber than him.

"what's gotten into you?" she muttered.

"nothing! happy my best friend's gonna get finally ged laid.. god knows you needed it, el" you patted her head. oh, you were done for.

ellie's eyebrows rose. deep, deep breaths. she stood mute, letting you finish your little speech.

it was as if someone pinned up the apple's of your cheeks together and forced you to smile.

"how long has it been since you fucked?" you tilted your head. you didn't make eye contact, you just stared right between her eyebrows. if you looked at her, you'd have probably burst crying.

"let alone... kissed somebody"

ellies tongue brushed the side of her mouth, and her jaw clenched.

"why are you asking me this?"

you averted your gaze to the side, your breath caged in your throat.

"because were best friends, and best friends talk about these thing! and... you really needed to fucking get some pu—"

she moved closer. you couldn't not face her now. you looked into her eyes and god it fucking hurt. there it was again. dont cry, dont fucking cry.

"how long..." it was as if her eyes were chasing yours. look at me, look at me. "has it been for you?"

your entire face felt like it was fucking itching. your nails dug little crescent moons into your palms. her breath tickled your nose and you swore, you've never been this close to her. you tried focusing on her freckles, counting them inside of your mind, pretending to connect the dots in a thin line. it hurt knowing that she must have seen them this close up too.

"this isn't about me, so" you whispered. you wanted to sound assertive, and aggressive, but you failed miserably. you just sounded ridiculous and sad.

"i think it is" she whispered, too. matching you completely. her lips were so plump and they felt so close and—

"why did you cry?"

"i did not cry" is it really a lie, if she knows the truth already?

"tell me" god, she smelled like the most intoxicating thing in the world. your ellie. or not your ellie, just ellie.

"leave me alone" you mumbled.

"no"

"m'not leaving you alone"

you could kiss her now. you could feel her lips brush against yours and you could kiss her, and tell her everything she wants to know, because god knows she needs it.

you were a coward.

you left, and she didn't chase you. she was a coward too.

she needed a fucking blunt.

────────────

the air felt crisp and biting against her skin. the moon, obscured by thick clouds, offered only glimpses of its pale light. shadows danced and flickered, and the distant howl of the wind rung in her ears. the blunt was delicately held between her fingers, and wisps of smoke curled and swirled in the air around her. she took a leisurely drag, and sighed.

she wasn't new to being alone. she liked bathing in solace, surrounded by her thoughts. usually, it felt nice, and it calmed her down. you, you were anything but calming. being alone was like a sunny beach day. being with you was a storm. you made her palms sweat and her heart beat faster. sometimes, she swore she might have a heart attack. you were her best friend, but it never truly felt like it. best friends tell each other everything, best friends hug and they hold each others hands. best friends dont disappear when the sun sets because they are afraid of what might happen in the dark, and they certainly don't feel like there's no more air left to breathe when they're around each other. they dont touch themselves thinking of each other, and their world doesn't crush upon them when they show interest in other people.

she wasn't your best friend, and neither were you her's.

ellie takes another hit. then, she remembers that one day in tenth grade. you both walked home from school, and you stopped right in your tracks. you asked her if she feels weird around you, if this peculiar feeling creeps up on her from time to time as well. when she asked you what you meant, you told her that sometimes it feels like she isn't your friend. that it feels like the universe has glued you two together, but not for the reason she thinks. when she asked you what you thought it was for, you shrugged, and told her that only time will tell. she felt her insides turn and her ears burned bright red. then, you sighed, and said; "maybe were soulmates" she had to stop herself from grinning, or fucking exploding, and her heart missed a beat. "platonic ones, obviously... maybe were not supposed to be best friends, just two souls who float around each other. you got any snacks? m'starving"

she flicks the blunt and the ashes fall down on the grass. she brings it to her lips again, and shuts her eyes close.

"ellie?"

she opens them fast and turns her head around. it takes her a moment to recognize, as the high washes over her body, but she finally sees.

alison.

"can i sit with you?" she asks while moving closer, and gives her a timid smile.

ellie clears her throat, and drags her body over to the side.

"sure"

the ginger sits next to her, and she relaxes her face.

they sit in silence for a moment.

"t'was a nice kiss" she whispers, and ellie looks at her from the corner of her eye. she should feel shy, and nervous being around the girl she had just kissed. for some reason, she doesn't.

"yeah..." ellie affirms.

"t'was"

the girl looks at the ground, and then looks at ellie again. she smiles, and breathes deeply.

"i wasn't the one you wanted to kiss though" she remarks, and lays her back comfortably against the bench.

"mmph— what do you mean?" ellie feels it now. the nervousness. it wasn’t there before.

"your friend" she bites her lip. she's not looking at ellie anymore, she's staring at the ground.

"what... friend?"

"the one who ran off"

ellie doesn't speak, just brings her lips to form a tight line. was it that... obvious?

"i mean... did you at least go after her? she asks, and she says it kindly, like she cares. weird.

ellie takes a second to respond. she considers denying it, running off just like you did. fuck it, she's high enough.

"yes" is all she mutters, and its quiet. she thinks this is the first time she ever talked about it out loud. only her journal knows, her brave soldier holding on to all of her little secrets, and now, alison knows too.

"and... did something happen?"

she wishes something did.

"no she— she ran off. again, so" she takes another drag, and it burns in her throat. she needs a glass of water, a cool one. maybe she needs a bucket to fall on her head too.

"and you didn't chase her?" the girl questions again. ellie feels like she's being interrogated. for some reason she doesn't even begin to understand, she feels relieved in a way, too. who knew talking could be so... nice. maybe its the high, she wonders.

"she clearly... doesn't want me around so— why would i chase her" that sentence carried a sadness to it. her voice broke when she spoke, and she feels like slapping herself across the cheek. she offers alison the blunt, and the girl takes it in between her fingers, and nods.

"so you just... let her go?"

ellie doesn't respond. she wants her blunt back. talking isn't nice, she decides.

"can i ask you a personal question?" alison takes a drag before ellie responds.

"you already sort of did so, be my guest"

"are you in love with her?"

ellie's breath hitches inside her throat, and she feels like digging a hole in the ground and burying herself inside. she knew she was, but it didn't fucking matter. you weren't in love, and that was that.

"people in this college are fucking weird, man" she comments, and in one second she has the blunt right between her fingers again. finally.

"yeah... heard this crazy girl banged up on all of the bathroom doors and started kicking the stalls"

"ah" she huffs.

"touché"

its silent for a second before she asks her again.

"what do you feel when you're around her?"

"are you a psych major by any chance?" she questions, narrowing her eyes.

"yep. so, let me psychoanalyze you. pretend its for my... project or something. i ask you questions, you respond... and then i get a super good grade thanks to you"

she bites her lips, and looks to the side. she considers hiding herself inside of the bush till the girl goes away.

"i'm your therapist, go 'head"

ellie rolls her eyes, and considers. fucking fuck it. maybe writing this shit on paper isn't enough.

"i feel like i can't breathe around her, sometimes. like... there's this fucking thing"

"what thing?"

"fucking... god... thing it’s a fucking thing. i have to stop myself from doing shit... s'fucking stupid."

alison smiles. and she nudges ellie on and on till she speaks again.

"its like— every time i'm fucking around her, it physically hurts me... that I ca— that I can't fucking have her. or that... it like, tingles in my fucking hands. and my fucking heart starts beating and my brain goes all foggy and I feel like I'm going to fucking faint. I want to be around her, I fucking want to— but every time she's next to me I feel like im gonna vomit. and she makes me fucking sick and I just wanna hold her and..."

she's never breathed so deeply in her life.

"that's... a lot" alison mutters.

"yeah..." ellie takes another drag, and barely exhales.

"doesn't fucking matter anyways. she doesn't see me that way."

alison's eyebrows rise up, and she looks at ellie like she's fucking stupid.

"ellie... she saw you kiss me and she fucking ran away. like, she physically ran away. are you blind? or are you stupid?"

"did you just call me stupid?" ellie huffs. was she? was she stupid?

"listen to me" she begins, and forces ellie to look her in the eyes.

"it's like..." the girl takes a peak at her iphone screen.

"1:30am."

"okay?" ellie huffs. her stomach's turning again.

"you're in love with this girl, and if you don't go after her right now it's gonna be too late"

"i can go tomorrow" ellie whispers. she won't. shed go back to her old habits of hiding and pining till her brain burns.

"you won't"

"fuck" she mutters under her breath.

"go!" the girl yells, and nudges ellie's arm.

"okay like— right fucking now?" ellie says loudly, and she feels her feet fucking lifting her up off of the bench, like she again, has no control over her body.

"right now, go!"

she curses herself out under her breath. fuck. it.

ellie starts running, and running, and running, and her shoes are meeting the ground with loud bangs, flopping up and down against her ass. she didn't to track in high school, but if coach charlie saw her now, he'd sign her up and shed get a full fucking athlete's scholarship. she feels her heart thudding in her ears, and she has no time to even think. what the fuck is she doing? where is she going? what if you'll tell her to go the fuck away? what if she's delusional, completely braindead, she wonders to herself for a tiny second, as she catches her breath.

and then— the image of you, mascara running down your cheeks flashes in her brain.

you cried, because she kissed another fucking girl.

"m'not— fucking" she pants,

"delusional"

she's standing right in front of rockefeller housing. brown cobblestone, as if each brick and mortar had witnessed countless stories unfold within its hallowed halls. she gets a hold of herself, before her heart punctuates in her chest, and stands still, chest heaving up and down. she looks up at your room's window, and its standing lit. you're still awake. she feels like she just won the fucking lottery.

she almost whoo hoo's! but she's way too "cool" for that. so she walks slowly, pats herself on the shoulder, and yells a loud;

"fuck yes!"

"shut the fuck up!"

oh shit. she just woke someone up.

────────────

how corny was it to lounge inside of your room, alone, the mellow tunes of lana's "ultraviolence" playing from your antique turntable?

very corny.

but you didn't mind. your tears had dried up already, and you were comfy in pretty white silk pajama's, a bowl of cheddar popcorn and that same goddamn boxed wine.

someone just screamed a terrifyingly loud "shut the fuck up!" from outside of your window. you'd have laughed, usually, but your mind was occupied. you felt tortured, and sickly, and why the fuck did you leave like that? it was embarrassing, truly, she watched you cry, and you interrogated her with bizarre, passive aggressive questions that would make the calmest man alive want to bash his head against the wall.

"breakfast at tiffanys" played on the television, and cat just ran away. you pouted, and sighed deeply. you were too tired now, and your eyelids felt heavy. you lifted yourself off of the bed, and made your way to turn off the lights, and drift away.

knock knock knock.

who the fuck is knocking at your door at 2am? it must be your roommate, jen, returning from the party.

you twist the doorknob, and yawn.

oh god.

"ellie?"

she gulps. she looks down on the floor, and up at you again. she looks absolutely panicked, and her bangs are sticking to her forehead. three of her hair strands formed a sweet little heart shape filled with sweat. her hand is shaking and she would have pounced right on you and fucking kissed you already if she had the fucking courage—

you step back.

"what are you doing here?" you quip, and your voice is so small and sweet that it truly kills her inside.

"i would've—" she takes a small step and enters inside of your room. she looks around, and the candles and the fucking lana playing in the background and she's sure she's gonna be sick because you're so fucking cute and your eyes are puffy and lips all swollen like they had been stung by a bee, and she wants to be your medicine and kiss them so hard you fall on the floor, but all she can mutter is;

"fucking brought you something... but it was all closed— all the fucking stores were closed because its the middle of the fucking night"

"what stores... wha— what are you talking about?" you whisper as you take a step back, you want to offer her a glass of water because she's sweating but you just can't.

"fuck— fucking flower shop or something, or those fucking chocolate covered fruits you like or—“

"what?" you mutter, breathless as if you were the one who just ran a marathon.

"you cried" she points a finger at you. you back away, taking a small step to further yourself away from her.

"you cried because i kissed another girl" she huffs, and her eyebrows scrunch together.

"I didn't—" you try and interrupt, unsuccessfully.

"you cried and that means that you fucking— you dont want me to kiss other girls"

you bite your lip so hard it feels like it might start drawing blood and run all over your chin. oh no.

"you want me to kiss— fuck it"

a supernova. as a dying star unleashes its final act, igniting in like a cosmic firework, it paints the galaxy like a canvas. shades of ruby red, sapphire blue, and shimmering gold intermingle together and create the most beautiful piece of art the universe has ever witnesses.

that's what it felt like when her lips were on yours.

they brushed up against you as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and perhaps it was.

when you imagined your first kiss with ellie, convinced you were indulging yourself in pure delusion, you thought it would be soft, and gentle. it felt as if her lips were running away from yours, and you had to chase them to meet against you again.

this kiss, was anything but. so perhaps you were delusional, but not in the heartbreaking way.

when her tongue first met yours, intertwining itself so perfectly, swirling around fervently inside of your mouth, bumping into your teeth and pulling you in, her lips sucking on it like she'd die if you ever pulled back, gentle was the last word you could use to describe it.

hungry, and ravenous, it was.

her knees felt like the were going to give up beneath her, and leave her a crumpled mess on the floor. if she thought that being around you felt like her heart was thudding out of her chest, kissing you was much, much worse. kissing you made her feel like her heart left her already, and leaped right into your being.

she broke the kiss first, refusing to open her eyes. so did you, you couldn't believe it was actually happening.

"you..." she whispered, and her breath tickled your nose.

"i..." you whispered in response. there were no words you could mutter, they would never come out coherent enough.

"ive..." she huffed.

"wanted to do this for so fucking—"

you brought your lips together to meet again. this time, it was softer, and gentle, but you didn't have to chase her away, because she stayed.

"me too" you whispered, or fully whined, you truly didn't know.

"no you dont..."

"you dont understand" she cupped your cheeks between her palms, she wouldn't even open her eyes, afraid of what she might do if she opened them and realized it was only just a dream.

"i do" you plead. her hands were warm and your cheeks were scorching hot against them.

"i need you"

"you need me?"

"it hurts"

"what hurts?" she whispered as she brushed her finger on your cheek. it was delicate, and soft.

"my heart" you hiccuped, a broken sob escaping your lips. you couldn't hold it in anymore, and a fat tear streamlined down your face, like a little river, rolling down inside of ellie's palm.

she wanted to kiss you again, but she had to hear you say it.

"when i'm... not with you— when i can't... and when you kissed her" you sobbed. "it hurt so bad"

"it hurt me too"

"please kiss me aga—“

so she did. again, and again, and again, till your throat felt dry and you kept seeing stars erupting inside of your brain.

chest against chest, heaving up and down on each other, she caressed your waist, and pulled you closer. when the kissed deepened again, you moaned, and it got swallowed inside of her mouth.

"you can't do that or i won't... fuck— won't be able to fucking stop"

"do what?" you asked, your bottom lip still brushing against her top one.

"can't make those sounds"

"w— why?" your chest caressed her's, and it was ellie's turn to let out a deep grunt.

"because ive thought... ive wa— i think about you all the fucking time like this"

"me too..." you admitted, breathing in her scent.

she wanted to ask you exactly what you thought about. she wanted to hear you say it, in exact, firm sentences. do you touch yourself thinking about her too? that would make her fucking lose her mind. instead, she took you in her arms, and banged you up against the wall.

thud "oh god" you hiccuped.

"yeah?" she teased, breathless. she wanted to do it better, wanted to sound more firm and stern and make you beg and tell her and whine on the floor but she was too fucking desperate for that right now.

"m'gonna— fuck" she hissed, when your tits grazed her's again.

"is this happening?" she whispered, and held your waist so tight in her arms. her body heat against yours made you completely shiver. she traced small circles on your hips but when you bucked forward her hands started shaking. she traced squares, or squiggly lines, or full on octagons.

"it's happening" you whispered back, and every time her lips brushed against yours it reminded you of how real everything was.

"can i touch you?"

"please" you whined, and you felt the saliva gathering and pooling on your bottom lip, mixing with hers.

ellie brushed her forehead against yours. she caressed it up and down, she needed to feel how your skin felt against her's because god knows she's truly spent so much time thinking about it and it didn't feel real, she needed it to feel real, so she begged;

"open your eyes"

you did. they fluttered open as your lashes flickered up and down and she chased you with her eyes again, until they directly met her's.

"tell me how bad you need this"

you gulped harshly, and it made a soft little sound. you felt absolutely limp against her, like you could crush down on the floor at any given moment.

she never thought she'd hear those words, outside of her dreamworld, sound asleep at 4am.

"i need— ellie i need it so bad" you whimpered, and she felt it twitch inside her fucking boxers, but felt it tug at her heart even more. how could have she been so fucking blind?

she opened her mouth, and she almost kept her eyes open whilst she kissed you because she needed to fucking see everything. she needed to see your eyebrows squint and your eyes close shut, your breath hitch and your hand drop from her shoulder, and then go up to grab her shoulder again and squeeze.

ellie, ellie couldn't help it anymore.

she caressed her hand up from the navel of your stomach, slowly grazing her finger up and up and up, till they met your breast and fuck she wanted to ask you if it was okay but the way you moaned inside of her mouth when she gave the cup a little squeeze, signaled her that she could do whatever the hell she wanted because you've always. been. her's.

as her tongue swirled with yours, warm saliva practically running out and streamlining from the corner of her mouth, she grazed her finger on top of your clothed nipple.

she separated her lips from yours, and moved her head back to look at you.

"you know how fucking crazy you drive me?" she pecked your lips forcefully and they made a smacking sound. you smirked, your eyes still glossy from the previous tear that escaped, and she nearly lost her damn mind.

"dont fucking smirk at me like that..." she kissed your jaw, making your entire body clench. "always fucking teasing me" kiss "always making me think..." kiss "i'll never fucking get it" kiss "driving me fucking crazy with those little fucking tops" kiss "those short fucking skirts" kiss

fuck.

"just wanted you to s— see, ellie..."

she tilted her head, and smiled so big and blushed so hard you nearly cried again.

"can i... can i take your shirt off?

you nodded up and down and fervently, like if you didn't show her exactly how bad you needed her she'll never fucking get it. old habits die hard.

she pulled the strap of your tank top off, and it slid down your shoulder. she let out a shaky breath. she's thought of seeing you bare in front of her way too many times than she'd like to admit. she saw the tip of your hard nipples poking out of the material and her breath hitched, borderline on wheezing. she delicately grazed her finger on it, stopping herself from pinching it and twisting and pulling like she always fucking wanted to. she had to go slow, she had to savor this moment.

you couldn't go slow.

you lifted your top off and ditched it on the floor. she was faced with your tits and she nearly damn went cross eyed. holy fucking shit.

"holy fuck" she hissed, her chest heaving up and down. her boxers were entierly drenched by now and she hasn't even touched them, until now.

she grabbed them with her calloused hands and squeezed them together, making them meet and form a natural cleavage. when she exhaled, a soft sound escaped her throat. it sounded like a quiet howl, or a harsh whimper.

"need to fucking taste" she growled, and your panties felt warm inside, and it tingled, that familiar yet completely different feeling washed over your cunt, as soon as her drooling, wet mouth was on your nipples, twisting and swirling her tongue against the sensitive buds, sucking and taking them out of her mouth with plop sounds, and every time she felt you squirm she moaned against them, her mouth fully vibrating on your nipples.

she detached her lips, just to look up at you with a lovedrunk smile adorning her face. she looked absolutely high on your body and you didn't even notice... that you started grinding up against her, bucking your hips inwards and backwards every time her head bobbed up and down on your tits.

"what am i..." she pulled your nipple in her finger, twisting it from side to side, making you nearly scream. you slapped your hand on your mouth, because if you didn’t— you’d fully get a stern note from the other residents tomorrow morning. "going to fucking do with you?"

"i think you know... ellie" you hiccuped.

"say my name again" she groaned, forcefully grabbing your tits now. she shook them up and down, and parted your thighs with her leg.

"ellie..." you whimpered, completely gasping for air.

"again"

"ellie!"

"fuck yes..."

her ongoing imaginations of you whimpering her name had absolutely nothing on the real deal. she picked you up, her hands grasping your thighs, and laid you on the bed. laid, would be a gentle way to say it. she practically tossed you on it, making the mattress jump up and down and creak slightly. she laid her body on top of yours, and her chest felt strong and steady, except for two perky mounds that connected directly with yours.

"please take your shirt off" you pled.

"take it off of me" she hissed, planting another sweet, sweet kiss on your breasts. she was fucking obsessed with them, and she wasn't afraid to show it now. it’s funny, how a only a week ago, she had to contemplate having her eyeballs surgically removed because she couldn’t stop her eyes from darting up and down. she could actually adore them now, and she felt it deep in her lower abdomen.

you tugged at the bottom of her top, hastily attempting to take it off fast because you yearned to see her so bad it almost hurt, but she palmed your hands and stopped you fully.

"nuh uh" she warned.

"slowly..."

you look up at her, doe eyed and begging. your breath caged in your throat, because this is real. it fucking hit you again.

when she saw you look up, it tugged at the strings of her heart.

she kisses you, and it feels like something you've never felt before. it feels warm, and it feels like fucking love. it was as if you became liquid, what was once solid, and hard, melted into a sweet puddle of warm honey.

she wants to take your shorts off already, but she stops herself. she looks you deep in the eyes, and her cheeks bloom red. she's in love.

and she knows you are too.

would it be awfully corny if she told you she wanted to make love to you? it probably would. for some reason, she didn’t need to vocalize it.

now, it was her eyes who turned glassy, making the emerald green glisten and twinkle.

"i need to..." you dont respond, you just do what she needs you to do.

you take your shorts off, and ellie simply stares down, panting, as her heart thuds inside of her chest. the way she looks, like she's absolutely famished, makes your clit pump inside of your panties that it terrifies you if she actually sees.

you shyly cover up, and she smiles gently as she grabs your wrists to peel them off of the soft, now sticky fabric.

"dont be shy..." she whispers, and when she see's the wet patch that formed, that pooled down just where your tight hole is, her face twists and she bites her lips. when she looked up at you, you turned your head to the side.

"look at that..." she chuckles, and it's fucking hypoctirical, the way she's mocking— because she has a spot even bigger on the bottom of her boxers, except she's fucking dressed and youre not.

"need to kiss it..." she desperately says, her voice low and raspy.

"need you to tell me..." she kisses your tummy, softly, as it heaves up and down. "to kiss it..." with every breath that leaves her, she kisses it again, her tongue now poking out of her mouth.

"mm— cant" you whimper. when did you become so shy?

"please" she begs, as her kisses become more wet, leaving little trails and puddles of saliva on your stomach.

"ellie..." you hiccup, feeling as if you could cum just by grinding your crotch back and forth against the air. her words are more than enough.

"say it..." she pleads, and it gets absolutely ridicilous— who's begging who now?

"please kiss— god" she simply palms your cunt, right on your panties, her warmth mixing with yours, and an incredibly loud, high pitched moan, closer to a screech leaves your mouth. the sound makes her groan into your stomach, moving her kisses further and further down. with each kiss, your body grows warmer, a certain tremor adding to your sudden jolts.

when she's face to face with your cunt, directly gazing at the wet spot, she closes her eyes shut, and plants a soft kiss upon the wet material. she's thought about doing this so many times, she has to stop herself from sneaking her hand down her boxers and start grinding up and down on it, and cum simply from just smelling you, as her nose bumps directly on your clit.

she wants to see it bad, those slick beautiful folds she had imagine so many times, the little bud poking on top, but she can't help but notice how greedy and eager you get when she teases you. she can't help but notice those cute little sounds that escape your throat, the way your eyebrows squint together and a small v shaped line forms on your forehead.

she gives a soft, kitten lick over the material, and you completely jump upwards. "ellie! fuck!" you moan, and she swears its the most heavenly sound she's ever heard. "that's it... grind yourself up against me... just like that"

you grind against her eager mouth, her tongue making the fabric transform into almost full sheerness, clinging and sticking to your cunt, every time ellie drools on it a little more.

"fuck m'gonna!— cum... ellie!" you hiccup and wheeze, and she can't help but pull your hips, move you closer to her mouth, as your thighs completely close and clench around her neck. but she doesn't fucking care.

she's going to make you cum all over your fucking panties.

she needs it. she yearns for it.

she bumps her tongue harder and flattens it against your clit, grinding you down, completely controlled by the very movements of her hands, guiding your through it and forcing you to keep moving against her.

it's closer, and closer, the white pleasure taking over your entire body, and you start shaking against her—

"cum for me... that's it" she whimpers, "cum hard all over my— fuck, my fucking face"

you barely even have time to recover, still completely sensitive, your entire body shaking when she takes off your panties, sniffs them shamelessly, and shoves them in her pocket.

"what are you d— doing?" you hiccup.

"dont worry about it" she mutters, and her entire face flushes red.

you dont, so instead, you beg for her to let you come again. she doesn’t, for now, and it was pure evil.

ellie's jaw clenches when she's face to face with your weeping pussy. her breath caged in her throat, and she lets out a high pitched, animalistic moan, followed by an adorable twist to her face. she's imagined it too many fucking times.

she'd tell you, but she's afraid to come off as pathetic.

slowly, agonizingly slow, with the intention to savor this moment, she places a soft, sweet little kiss on your cunt. you jump, and call out her name. she places another one, and another one, right on your achy clit. before she indulges herself in the first taste, she looks up at you.

"you're so beautiful" she whispers. and you know how bad she means it, because it comes out shaky, and you can taste how sweet those words are and really they’re just words.

you nearly die.

"and so fucking wet"

you nearly cum.

"mmph— ellie, please" you breathe. "pleasepleaseplease"

she doesn't need to hear any more of it, before her tongue laps up the sweet nectar of your pussy, starting with your hole, collecting the juice with the bottom of her tongue, curling it, and swallowing. "taste so fucking good"... she mutters. "knew you would"

she truly, truly did.

ellie slowly begins circling your clit with her tongue, in soft, little motions that focus right on your aching bud. one of her hands is squeezing your thigh, as the other creeps up slowly to grab your breast and toy with the nipple. its so fucking soft inside of her mouth that she can't help but grind herself down on the bed, the cream that formed inside of her boxers making it easy to slide backwards and inwards, and she releases sweet, desperate moans inside of your pussy every time it hits her clit.

when ellie feels you clench your hole in and out, she spreads your pussy lips apart, spits a big glob of saliva on top of your clit, making it slide all the way down to your hole.

"need to fill you up, fuck" she growls, and before you know it, her tongue is on you again, and her finger is teasing and begging your hole to let her in.

"baby" she coos, "let go for me"

"c— cant!" you cry out. its all too much, and you feel so embarrassed that you won't stop clenching, till she looks up at you again.

"breathe... it's okay" she whispers, "i'll be gentle, i fucking promise"

when you breathe in for her, she grits her teeth. fucking finally. she slides her finger inside, so slow you regret ever making her think you'd want it gentle, so you grind up on it, bringing your body forward so it swallows her finger whole.

"god damn" she hisses, and her voice is higher pitched because she can't fucking believe it.

she wants to whore you the fuck out, but she needs to be gentle for now. she considers… for just a mere second, to sprint to her room, grab her strap and split you whole, but she stops herself. she genuinely needs to grab her fucking knee so she doesn’t move away and lose control entirely.

she pumps it inside, lost in the feeling of your gummy walls squeezing her in, over and over again, lapping up on your clit, and when she feels you clench again, coming closer and closer to the edge, she adds a second finger.

"so fucking tight... you're so fucking tight" she says, and pushes your thighs up to your chest, your entire body shaking against her. you whimper and squeak and cry, babbling incoherently while she's scissoring them inside of you, grunting deep inside of your pussy every time your moans grow louder and louder.

the mattress seems to bump on her clit harder now, and ellie completely stops.

she hastily pulls her pants down, alongside with her boxers, and before you even have time to react to the sight of her cunt or her thighs or the abs that you're now exposed to (you honest to god, have no idea when she even managed to take her shirt off), she pulls your thigh high up, and places your leg on her shoulder.

"you're gonna cum on me— you hear that?" she hisses, when her weeping pussy meets yours. "yes ellie!" you hiccup, "louder"

"mmm—ellie— can'— need to cum on you"

"you wanna fucking cum on me?" she babbles back, and it comes out so messy and pussydrunk that she doesn't even reply back when you cry out with your forehead against her shoulder, biting on it hard, too intoxicated by your little moans and the feeling of your weeping, sticky pussy against hers, bumping her clit and it almost fucking burns inside of her.

she separates your legs further apart, and her gaze burns through you. her eyes are still green, and its still fucking ellie— but they turn a shade darker. she grinds against you forcefully, making your clit bump on her’s, your love-fluids mixing together and creating the most absolutely obscene noises that little dorm room has ever heard. when you close your eyes, because it’s all too much and she’s grunting and whimpering against you, she takes your cheeks in her hands and squeezes.

“look at me. look at me” she begs, and you keep blurting out tiny little squeals of pleasure that she cant help but let out a breathy laugh, and she wants to slap you and hear you squirm even harder but fuck— she’s gonna cum and she can’t even make her hands fucking work, so she just grabs your tits together as she grinds harder and harder, her ass jiggling up and down as she takes you.

“you’re so fucking— goddamn— so fucking cute you’re so fucking pretty”

"m'gonna cum!" you blabber, you brain entirely empty, only filled with the image of ellie's mouth hung completely open, letting out a beautiful symphony of moans, screaming and grunting your name and begging you to fucking take her, and when the tears stream down your face she can't help but wonder... how needy you'd look with her strap buried deep and when the thought hits her— when she imagined the way your hole would take her right inside, the way it would gape after she'd take it out, makes her cum so hard against your pussy that she almost, almost passes out.

when you cum, a second after she does, you tell her that you love her.

when she hears it, a small whimper escapes her lips, and it sounds almost like a sob.

"ive always fucking loved you"

[mediumgayitalian]

In his head he is brave enough to say it: gods, you are beautiful in the moonlight. He is. He has made Nico weak in the knees since they were fifteen and new and fragile as spun glass, and he does now. In the moonlight his radiance is much subtler; he is opal and pearl and quartz, he is shining and multifaceted.

Instead he traces the bob of Will’s throat, his long, freckly neck, cratered with burn scars and cupped with a raised white scar from years of endless picking; follows the wild winding wisps of his hair, barely held back by his old sunglasses, compressed in coils around his head like a pen spring squished to the size of its threads, creaking with the weight of its own potential energy, brimming with the imagined burst of its future; memorizes the fluttering flap of his feathering eyelashes, the delicate dips of his deepened Cupid’s bow, the roughened raze of his wide rowdy hands. All of him is in motion, always, but now especially, hands twitching on the wheel, head thrown back, mouth wide and shaking along with his shoulders.

“I really like your laugh,” and it’s quick, vowels tumbling over each other and tripping the consonants, a queue of clumsy hopefuls scrambling over shoulders and clasping hands. The pretty laughter fades and arched eyebrows replace it, poorly hidden surprise, twitching smile lines, and Nico looks deliberately forward, mortification cackling along each of his wire-tense muscles, dancing along the shimmering heat of his face. “It’s. Wide.”

“Wide?” asks Will carefully, craning his neck to glance in his blind spot, whispering chuckles dancing along to the beat of the blinker.

“Wide,” Nico confirms, flicking out his hands. His fingers are not nearly as long, nor as wiry or corded, but the scarring is mirrored. Nicks and scratches and burn marks and calluses, topographic maps of time spent.

Will’s turn is successful — the strawberry baskets dip dangerously from their precarious perch on backseats, but don’t fall, shifting over and around each other to burst tiny globules of stretched taut flesh, rubbing against rough reed ribbons. Nico inhales deeply, and the sweet is almost nauseating, summer fruit twisting in the air along with lavender body wash and Blistex and Texas summer sun.

“You take up space.”

“My laugh?”

Laughter in his words in his hands in his skin, in his eyes, in the coils of his hair, in his grass-stained heels, in the bends of his scar-bleached knees. In the dancing dots of his face arms chest legs. In the dip of his bottom lip, crater under his too-big front teeth. In the jut of his crooked spine and wide hips.

“What about my laugh?”

It is in his words more often than not and in Nico’s dreams even more so. It curls around the blurry edges of his dreams and weaves into daisy-strong chains, dangling from the too-high ceilings of his nightmares, coiling around his arms and chest and back and yanking with the force of breaking ribs, the force of bellows, the force of clasped bloodless hands. Dragging him across trench gouged ground to bright light and clear air and the distant memory of summer rain.

“That you like, I mean.”

“It’s snorting,” Nico confesses. Will reddens, and Nico smiles, under the heat of it grows sunflower and dandelion and tinted brown-eyes Susans. “Um. Loud.”

“Geez,” Will grumbles, “tell a guy the truth, why don’t you.”

Nico has never seen gold under silver nightlight and it fascinates him, how Will sparks and shimmers, how when the sun sets it does not fade away. How the tiny specks of precious metal weave through him like tinsel and glow in veins of sweet summer memory; how the warm night billows and blows around him lovingly, how the breeze from the open window greets him like a precious grandchild, a beloved nephew. Seedchild; beloved of the earth and sun, performer under the moon, the stars.

Will’s wide hands inch across the dash, brushing over the ancient radio dials and dipping over the skipping cassette, pausing by the base of the gearshift and resting, limply, palm open, fingers cracked and spread. Knuckles popping and chittering amongst themselves, hiding in the bent hoods of wrinkled skin. Nico lowers his heavy hands on the heated hopeful hesitance, curling his cool fingers around much longer ones, and squeezing, once, twice, thrice.

“I like your laugh,” he repeats. He rolls his shoulders, hands flexing, twitching, pulling.

Will’s hand tightens. The road opens up and the Atlantic glimmers beside them, moon whispering to its rippling waves, and he smiles, grins, wider than before, and he is laughing, again, and it is wider even this time, as wide as the sparkling silver water.

“I hear you.”

He squeezes.

You are beautiful in the moonlight. You are beautiful all the time.

Nico squeezes back.

[loveinhawkins]

The Reid family live in the trailer opposite Eddie and Wayne’s. They’re a pleasant bunch, sure, but more importantly, they always give Eddie a freshly cooked burger on the Fourth of July, which he readily accepts—why would he waste his time on overpriced fair food when he could get it on his own doorstep for free?

Tonight’s burger is more than a little on the charred side.

It’s no big deal to Eddie (that’s how he prefers it, really), and he gets that you really have to keep an eye on some of those portable grills—otherwise you’ll end up with incinerated chunks of meat in the blink of an eye. But even so, it’s not like Matthew Reid to be so distracted.

“Wayne got the night off?” Matthew asks.

He keeps glancing over his shoulder towards his home, almost misses Eddie nodding. He puts another singed burger on a bun, then places it on Eddie’s plate.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. “Uh, I’ve got some sparklers kicking around, y’know, if the kid wants to…”

He makes it sound more of a happenstance than it had been: yes, he’s had a decent run of orders from seniors and recent graduates, all wanting to let off some steam at the county fair; money is a damn sight better than it had been.

But the truth is that Eddie had been saving up anyway, would’ve bought the sparklers even if funds were tight.

It’s become a little tradition at this point: making his own annual ‘firework show’ with the Reid’s son.

Eddie’s known Daniel since the kid was six years old—he’s fourteen now, still has a bright-eyed naivety that Eddie hopes Hawkins High doesn’t completely stamp out.

He’s got a shock of blonde curls and a gap tooth, loves swimming so much there’s a running joke in the town that he’s part dolphin, what with the amount of time he spends at the community pool.

When his parents had heard that Eddie was repeating senior year yet again, instead of going for the usual commiserations or ‘helpful advice’ angle, they just quipped that it would be good for their son to see a familiar face at high school.

To be honest, Eddie can’t see Daniel needing a familiar face all that much; he imagines that after the typical first year nerves have come and gone, the kid will settle in quite comfortably, that he’ll be on the swim team by October.

At the mention of sparklers, Matthew’s face falls. He looks back to his trailer again and says, “Ah, m’sorry Eddie, couldn’t get him outta bed. Maybe later?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Eddie leaves him to it—if they were closer, perhaps he could’ve encouraged Daniel outside, made a difference somehow. But he just knows the family with a distant kind of friendliness—a shouted, “Morning!” when he’s running late, or a wave at the end of a long school day, their lives only overlapping briefly.

He goes inside to give Wayne his burger, so when it happens, he almost misses it.

He’s pouring himself a glass of water when he hears Louise Reid shouting indistinctly. She’s not usually one to argue, although Eddie’s noticed that she’s seemed tetchy lately—only yesterday, he’d been woken up by the sound of an almighty row that, as far as he could tell, was just about misplacing a bottle of bleach.

By the time he’s out on his porch, he’s just in time to see the back of Daniel as he heads out of the trailer park. It doesn’t exactly look like he’ll stop for anyone.

Louise is watching him go, her lips a thin line.

“Just let him cool off, darlin’,” Matthew says.

She shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do with him. That’s—that’s not normal, I don’t know what the hell’s going on in his head—”

”He’s a kid, Lou, he’s just acting up, that’s all. He’ll grow out of it.”

Louise sighs exasperatedly. When she shuts the front door, she does it with such force that it just bounces back open again. Neither she nor her husband fix it.

Eddie reckons that he’ll time it: fifteen minutes, give or take, and Daniel will be back. Ten minutes more, and he’ll have made up with his mom, before sheepishly asking Eddie for a sparkler.

Eddie’s left counting for much longer than fifteen minutes.

Matthew walks down the road leading up to the park’s entrance, over and over again. Comes back and shouts into his trailer, maybe a little frantically, that he can’t find Daniel, that maybe he’s gone to one of his friend’s places.

Eddie hears Louise start up a round of phone calls. A knot forms in his stomach as each one ends the same way. Call me if you hear anything.

It gets darker. Wayne heads out to the woods with Matthew, flashlights in hand, and it reminds Eddie of when they’d done the same not all that long ago, when Will Byers went missing.

The knot in his stomach grows. Tightens.

Wayne returns with a shake of the head. Eddie makes coffee just for something to do.

“They reckon he hitched a ride somewhere.”

Eddie scoffs. “Where the hell’s he gonna go, Wayne? Chicago?”

They drink their coffee on the porch. The Reid’s door is still left open, so when the phone rings again, it sounds as loud as a gunshot.

Someone picks up.

A scream.

“Wayne,” Eddie whispers. He feels suddenly desperate.

Wayne’s face is white. “Stay here, Ed.”

And then he’s running over to the Reid’s.

Eddie shouldn’t get closer. Shouldn’t look. But he does.

He tiptoes across the grass, just close enough so he can see…

Louise is on the floor. She’s clinging onto the wall phone, the cord stretched to breaking point, and Wayne’s talking to her, too softly for Eddie to make out; he gets down on his knees and puts an arm around her.

Her scream turns into wailing, then guttural sobs.

Eddie staggers backwards.

A flashlight being dropped on concrete. Matthew running inside.

“Lou? Lou! Jesus, what’s—”

Eddie looks away.

He goes back home, tries to shut out the noise. No matter how loudly he plays music, he can still hear them.

Eventually Wayne returns; he doesn’t say anything, just switches Eddie’s music off and puts on the radio.

There’s names being read out. Daniel is one of them.

Eddie sits out on the roof that night. He lights a sparkler, thinks about writing Daniel’s name in the sky, and then is immediately furious at himself for the thought. The kid should be here to do it himself.

When he eventually falls asleep, it’s to the memory of a sparkler burning the back of his eyelids.

A few days pass in what feels like one slow blink.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with himself. He ends up just wandering down town—it’s ghostly quiet here, has been so ever since the mall opened.

It’s overcast, as if the tragedy has made summer die quicker. That doesn’t stop Eddie’s skin from itching.

There’s a small diner near where Radio Shack once existed; it’s a hole in the wall, still somehow in business.

Eddie doesn’t know why he goes in. He hasn’t even brought his wallet.

All he knows is that he’s suddenly inside, and the place is absolutely dead, and the only person sat at a booth is—

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes. “What happened to your face?”

Steve Harrington stares back at him, looks decidedly unimpressed. There’s a basket of fries in front of him, and he’s presumably going for the ‘stoic silence’ route, because he picks up a fry, goes to eat it, and immediately winces. No fucking wonder, too; it’s a miracle he can even try and eat anything through that busted lip.

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, doubt something hot with salt was the best choice, Harrington, considering uh,” he waves a hand in front of his face, “everything.”

Steve frowns. “I just wanted them,” he says, on the edge of petulant, and Eddie wonders if he also ended up here by chance; if his skin is itching, too.

“Hang on,” Eddie says.

At least he has something to do now.

He asks for a cup of ice at the counter, wraps up some cubes inside a bunch of paper towels. He brings it back to Steve, who’s watching him in faint surprise.

“Uh. Thanks, Munson.”

Eddie shrugs.

Steve takes the bundle of towels, pressing them to his lips with a small hiss. He nods for Eddie to sit opposite him.

It’s a whole lot, up close: one of Steve’s eyes is heavily swollen, and along with the busted lip, his face is a mess of fresh bruises that must ache something fierce.

“You can ask,” Steve says, mumbled from talking behind the ice. He sounds resigned, like he’s one step away from adding everyone else does.

“All right.” Eddie crosses his arms. “What happened?”

“I worked at the mall. Broken down elevator.” Steve slams his hand down on the table. “It dropped.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie mutters.

But his mind is already elsewhere.

Steve’s unaffected eye narrows. Shit. He’s on to him.

“What’s eating you, Munson?”

“It’s just…” Eddie sighs, leans forward. “So a fire broke out. Like, after closing? But people were still inside.”

Steve doesn’t blink. “You ever worked in retail? People just hang around for no reason.”

“Sure, but—but—” Eddie feels a sudden urge to tug on his hair in frustration. “But he wouldn’t do that, he’d…”

Steve sets down the paper towels. “Who wouldn’t?” he says quietly.

Eddie tells him.

Steve listens in silence. He shifts in his seat when Eddie’s done and says, almost gently, “It sounds like he went to—”

“No, he hated the mall,” Eddie says vehemently. “Dragged his feet when his folks took him to the opening. He wouldn’t—he’d—I don’t know! All of it, it’s—”

“Crazy,” Steve finishes. He looks down. “Yeah. I know.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it, man. And, like, that family never fought, but the day before it—his mom was biting his head off over, like, losing some bleach or something stupid like—woah, Jesus, you okay?”

Because Steve suddenly looks like he might be sick. He swallows, breathes in and out cautiously.

“I’m fine.”

Eddie pauses. “Okay,” he says, uncertain. When Steve looks a little less pale, he goes on; he can’t stop himself. “I just—what if—did you, um. Did you see him?”

“No,” Steve says slowly. “But Eddie,” he says, and for some reason, he almost sounds like he’s pleading, “he was there.”

“How do you know? How does anyone—you know, like Will Byers, everyone thought… And then he…”

“It’s not always like that,” Steve says, sounds both sad and bitter. “Some people just stay dead.”

It’s a lousy rebuttal, in Eddie’s opinion, but for some reason it hits him anyway, leaves him abruptly exhausted. He runs a hand over his face.

“Yeah.” He steps out of the booth. “See you around, Harrington.”

“Wait.” Steve gets up too, with slow ginger movements. His fries remain untouched. “If I brought my car, I’d have given you a ride home, but…”

“Don’t think you’re in any condition to be driving,” Eddie says.

Steve gives a tiny shrug with one shoulder. “You wanna get the bus?”

“I didn’t bring any money.”

“It’s fine, I’ll get your ticket. I’m just gonna ride all the stops anyway.”

And it’s an unexpectedly comforting thought, that Steve is also at a loss for what to do.

They go to the back of the bus, sit in silence for the first couple of stops. Steve turns from where he’s been looking out the window and says, “Are you still, y’know, doing your thing?”

Eddie’s used to that being a euphemism for “Are you still selling?” But then he sees that Steve is miming a dice being thrown, and he’s momentarily surprised into a half-smile.

“Yeah. Will be, when school starts up again.”

He’d typically be using the summer as time to work on a new campaign, but that had gone out of his head with… everything.

They’re nearly at Forest Hills when Steve speaks again.

“I… I knew him. Not like you did, but I—I used to be a lifeguard, and his butterfly was phenomenal, I’d get the stopwatch out sometimes. There was a group of us, we worked on rotation, we’d call him part—”

“Dolphin,” Eddie says. “Yeah. That’s right.”

He feels his bottom lip threaten to go. Stupid. He rubs the feeling out with the tips of his fingers, digging in harshly.

It’ll be his stop soon. He stands up to make his way to the front, doesn’t expect Steve to rise with him, but he does. His breathing is suspiciously light; Eddie suspects he’s got some broken ribs to go with the pummelled face.

“Eddie,” he says, and even though he’s keeping his balance perfectly well, his hand brushes Eddie’s wrist anyway.

It’s not enough to chase away the itch in Eddie’s skin. But for a fleeting second, it helps. It helps.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “It sucks to lose someone.”

It’s a platitude, but there’s feeling behind it. Weight.

Eddie wants to say that he didn’t lose anyone, that the thought would be a disservice to Daniel’s parents, but…

It’s like Steve’s words give him permission to feel it. Just for now.

“Thanks,” he says tightly. On the last step before he exits, he turns and says, “Rest up, Harrington.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve says. “I’ll be here for hours.”

It’s said like it’s a joke, but Eddie thinks he means it.

Steve’s halfway back to his seat when the bus turns back onto the road, but he manages to wave just before he disappears from view.

Eddie starts the short walk home.

The Reid’s trailer is dark, a For Sale sign placed in front of it. Eddie hadn’t even known they were leaving, must have missed it in the haze of the last few days.

He gets it; if he were in their shoes, he doesn’t know if he could have stayed either. Everything would be a reminder of their son—the places he’d go, where he should be.

But he almost wishes that they were still here, so he could try and stumble his way through telling them Steve Harrington knew your son. He’ll remember him, too.

He doesn’t know if that would’ve been a comfort or not. He doesn’t know.

People come and go. Steve won’t be on that bus forever—he’ll go home eventually. July will become August will become…

Eddie lets himself in and collapses onto his bed. There’s still a prickle of wrongness in his skin, but he can’t untangle it. There’s nothing to make sense of.

He finds one of his journals. There’s some notes he made for a future campaign only last month. Feels like a lifetime ago.

He ignores the remaining unlit sparklers left in a corner of his room. Starts to write.

He can control this world, at least.

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: Kindergarten

————————————————————————-

summary: after your daughters 4th birthday, her first day of kindergarten hits your husband joe like a brick wall. you seem to be the only person that can make him feel remotely any better about his first born growing up.

warnings: none, fluff

pairing: joe burrow x reader

————————————————————————-

shortly after savanna’s 4th birthday the realization that she'd be off to kindergarten soon hit joe like a brick.

joe was so nervous about the whole thing, even though he was gone a lot because of football he always knew that his little girl was safe with his wife or other family members. the thought of his first born being in a building with complete strangers freaked him out. y/n tried her best to calm her husband down, reassuring him that sav would do great because of her social personality.

"what is she misses us?" - joe

"listen, she's going to be too distracted with making friends and learning to even think about us joe." - you

y/n hoped that attending the open house would ease some of joes worries because he'd be able to meet the woman that would be sav's teacher along with being able to explore the place his daughter would be 4 hours a day and 4 days a week.

while there, sav was shown her cubby, her assigned seat, and she met her teacher Mrs. Martin. after sav talked to her teacher for a little bit, you suggested she go play with some of her classmates while you and joe talked to Mrs. Martin.

you asked questions, and observed that Mrs. Martin had a passion for teaching by how she talked about it.

due to the fact it was a private school, sav had to take tests to get in. there were just a couple things that they had as requirements for the kids to know before hand. joe was the one that taught her everything, there were many nights that you two would be sitting in bed and joe would be making flashcards to test sav on the next morning. you found it cute. joes nerdy side had been one of your favorite things about him since you were introduced to it in the beginning of your relationship.

Mrs. Martin quickly noticed how joe kept nervously looking at sav playing with the other kids instead of intently listening to what she was saying like you were.

"she's going to do great Mr. Burrow, her test scores have been astounding and she has exceptional social skills for her age. you've prepared her well." - Mrs. Martin

"i know she will. it's just hard, she's my first born and she's growing up so fast.." - joe

Mrs. Martin nodded before she moved on to talk to other parents.

that night after tucking sav in, joe cuddled up to you in bed.

"you okay?" - you laced your fingers into his hair, knowing it comforted him

"no." - joe sniffled

"she's gonna do great joey.." - you kissed his forehead

"i just can't believe she's old enough to be in school. i know it's just kindergarten but then comes 8th grade graduation.. and the next thing you know she's off to college." - joe cried

"baby..." - you held joe in your chest

"i know you're probably thinking i'm just being overdramatic.." - joe

"no, not at all joe. how about we get some sleep though, okay?" - you

"okay. can you hold me?" - joe

"of course" - you wrapped your arms around him and entangled your legs with his

(y/n's pov)

the next morning was even more rough. joe tried to busy himself by getting up super early and making pancakes for sav, along with checking her backpack three times to make sure she had everything and packing her lunch.

when i woke sav up to start getting her ready for her first day, she seemed excited to go to school.

after i got her in her first day dress, she told me about everything she was looking forward to as i curled her bleach blonde hair.

once she was completely ready i told her that breakfast was waiting for her downstairs.

"morning dada!!" - savanna yelled when she saw joe sitting at the kitchen counter

"mornin princess! you excited for school?" - joe

"yup! i like school." - savanna

"you need to eat your pancakes real quick so we can get going." - joe

in the time span of sav eating her pancakes, joe and i had gotten dressed and were ready to go.

as i was getting all of sav’s extra stuff put in the backseat, along with a gift basket for her teacher, in the corner of my eye i saw the sweetest sight. sav had her backpack on, lunchbox in hand and joe had her posed in front of the front door as he took pictures of her.

when joe told her that he was done she ran over to the car and climbed in, leaving joe and i alone for a second.

"i wish we would've picked the homeschooling option." - joe

"well with how much you're away because of football it would be more me then we.” - you

"exactly why we didn't pick the homeschooling option." - joe kissed your cheek

"i love you." - you smiled

"love you too, babe." - joe

you held joes hand the entire way to the school and you felt his grip get tighter as you guys pulled into the parking lot.

"i'm gonna stay in the car, you okay to walk her up there?" - you

"yeah, i'd prefer it actually. i’ll be right back, momma." - joe kissed you before he got out of the car

"bye savvy! have a good day!" - you watched joe get her out of her car seat

"bye momma!" - savanna replied before joe shut the door

joe held sav tightly as he walked up to the door.

"good morning miss savanna! morning Mr. Burrow!" - Mrs. Martin

"mornin!" - savanna

joe put sav down and crouched down. he had to grab her hands before she could run away.

"you're gonna do great sweetheart. remember everything i taught you?" - joe

"yup!" - savanna

"you're so smart princess, just like your momma." - joe smiled

"can i go? i wanna play!" - savanna

"yup, here give me a hug before you go." - joe

sav wrapped her small arms around joes neck as he hugged her tight. he really didn't want to let go.

"have a good day okay? you can tell me all about it when i pick you up." - joe

"i will daddy!" - savanna

joe hugged her one last time and placed a kiss on her cheek.

once he stood up, sav was ready to take off into the school.

"bye, sweetie." - joe attempted to smile

"bye dada!" - savanna turned around and ran into the building

joe stood there for a few seconds and watched her walk up to a couple other girls her age and then put her backpack in her cubby that was in the hallway in front of the classroom.

"you need a tissue?" - Mrs. Martin

joe didn't even realize he was crying till she said that.

"nah i'm good... i'm gonna get going." - joe

your heart broke when you saw joe slowly walking back to the car. he was visibly upset. that was a rare case when it came to joe.

once you guys got to the house and the twins were occupied in their room, you attempted to console joe.

"you need to relax a bit baby.." - you hugged him

"i know.. i really don't know why this is so hard for me." - joe

"your first born starting school is a big deal, most parents have the same reaction." - you

"mhm. i cant wait to pick her up." - joe laid his head on your shoulder as you rubbed his back

"you need to distract yourself. don't you have some film to watch?" - you

"yeah, i do actually. i'll be in the office if you need me, okay?" - joe

"okay." - you smiled and pecked his lips

the remainder of the day at home, joe tried to distract himself by watching film and occasionally playing around with the you.

but, with all the time you'd spent being with joe you could easily read him. you could tell he was counting down the hours till it would be time to pick sav up from school.

you were washing dishes with your airpods in when all of a sudden joe rushed into the kitchen and grabbed his car keys off the key hanger.

you paused your music and stopped your husband before he ran out of the kitchen and into the garage.

"joe.. baby where are you going?" - you

"the school." - joe

"school doesn't end for another 45 minutes.. we live 15 minutes away." - you

"i know. i want to go early and wait in the parking lot." - joe

you couldn't help but smile; this overprotective dad side of joe was so lovable.

joe still stood there, waiting to hear what you were going to reply with. almost as if he was asking for approval.

"okay, i'll see you in a bit then?" - you

"yeah. bye, i love you!" - joe turned and walked into the garage

"bye, love you!" - you

joe sat in the parking lot of the school for over 30 minutes. he sat scrolling on his phone, kid cudi playing lowly through the cars speakers.

as soon as the clock hit 1:30, joe got out of the car and hurried up to the door. he was the first person in line.

his anxiety levels shot up when a minute had passed and the doors hadn't opened yet.

at 1:32 there was still no sign of the doors opening so he texted you to verify the time sav was dismissed.

hubby💕 - school ends at 1:30 right? it's almost been three minutes and the doors haven't opened  yet

before you could even answer, the doors opened and Mrs. Martin wasn't at all surprised to see that joe was the first parent in line.

"savanna burrow!" - Mrs. Martin called out

sav ran outside and up to her dad, joes face lit up as he reached down to grab her hand before walking back to the car.

"how was your day?" - joe

"awesome! i love school. i made a friend! her name is summer!" - sam

"thats greet sweetie. so you're excited to go back tomorrow?" - joe

"yup!" - sam

“i’m so glad you had fun, princess. wanna go to the store with me to get momma some flowers? she needs something after putting up with me today.” - joe mumbled the last part

“sure, daddy!” - sam giggled

god, joe loved his girls.

————————————————————————-

authors note: fluffy dad joe is my favorite ❤️

hope you enjoyed! ❤️

[user211201]

Chet

--- Originally posted on 2023-05-24 by shapedbydesire ---

--- Images have been removed since they are too explicit ---

--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---

When openly gay, neat freak charles wished he could “know what goes on in that brain” of his older brother, chet, he had never thought that someone would be listening to him — let alone that they’d be willing to grant his ill-fated wish.

he awoke from his midday nap in a rush of heat, pale cheeks flushed, bleached hair wet with sweat against his forehead, curls of armpit hair poking out from beneath his sore, swelling arms and starting to reek. wait… but he shaves daily? doesn’t he?

he blinks, a little disoriented, eyes trying to focus on the dim light in the room. the last thing he remembers is saying those words, and feeing tired out of nowhere, but now he just feels a little nauseous. it only becomes more worse as he looks around his private space to see everything has changed around him.

his gaming setup has become a workout bench littered with dirty socks and compression shorts, his bookshelf replaced with a cheap xbox and a stack of fifa & madden games. he sneers at this, wondering for a moment if he somehow crashed inside chet’s room by accident, but no. as familiar as it all feels, this is his first time ever being inside this particular room. he sits up, eyes glancing to the wall and noticing a woman in a tight bikini squeezing her large breasts on a poster. he wants to think that it’s degrading and awfully toxic, but he’s alarmed when the only voice that speaks inside his head is chet’s. or at least it sounds just like him, low and bovine and with a hint of stupidity. “shittt, i wanna motorboat those puppies.”

never in his life had charles ever thought something so disrespectful about a woman, and yet hard as he tried, he couldn’t conjure any other comment inside his head. he saw boobs and his brain wanted him to stick his face into right them, and that was it. no “i wonder what her personality is like,” not even a “she has kind eyes.” he looks again at the poster and tries to ignore the throbbing in his dick, the pulse like a heartbeat. “fuck,” he gasps, not sure what has caused him to become so aroused. no girl had ever made his sick erect before. his wet dream was to end up with a beefy bear.

“shit, bro. imagine that tight cunt on your rod, milking the seed out of you. fuckkk, imagine that slim belly swollen with your future son inside. breed that fuckin’ pussy!”

charles places his hands over his ears, trying and failing to block out the new narrator inside his mind. He thinks about getting up, running to the shower and taking a long, cold one, but he can only gaze down at his engorged cock bobbing up and down beneath his cheap boxers, an athletic pair not at all close to the designer jockstrap he had fallen asleep in. He can smell the stale scent of sweat in the room, and then it’s only intensified the longer he holds up his arms, looking to see more curls of damp, sweaty hair peeking out. Just like his brother, never bothering to groom or practice good hygiene, he opens his lips to whimper and make a frightened sound, but all that comes out is a deep and gruff moan.

The hand that grips his thick cock through the boxer fabric is rough and calloused, as if he had spent his childhood tossing around footballs just like his jock older brother. “I love football. Football and tits and cunt are the only three things a man needs in life,” his inner monologue continues, his head arching back and his Adam’s apple thickening, protruding from his widening neck. “And a nice cold beer. A bimbo with lip fillers choking on your cock.” His eyes are alight with panic and confusion, his biceps swelling up with every stroke of his hand against his shaft, his hair darkening from its dyed shade to a more natural, casual, lazy style.

He falls back against the bed, hips buckling against the air, watching as tendrils of wiry, dark, sweaty hair erupts across his chest and down to his toning stomach, abdominal muscles popping into existence. “Holy shit,” he grunts, working himself to climax, all the while all the traces of the old Charles have collected inside a swollen pair of bull nuts. Churning with his inferior, wimpy genes, being consumed and replaced by that of an alpha just like his best bro. All Charles wants to do is scream, ask for help, beg for a take back on his wish, but his jaw cracks into a sharp, defined chin, his smirk cocky and handsome and stupid.

“Fuck yeah, I’m the alpha.” The last thing Charles sees before the new man inside him takes over is a barrage of vaginas squirting, boobs bouncing, bubble butts twerking in tight little stripper uniforms. There’s drool trickling down his chin, an ape-like dumbness in his eyes. “I’m fuckin’ bustin’ a nut, bro!!”

Chad expels his former self all over his hairy, firm muscle tits. He thinks about how he and his bro need to get ready for the gym, and how he needs to find a bimbo to face fuck before he has to jack himself off again. He’s still so damn horny!

“Haha, good for you, little bro!” Chet calls from the next room over. His voice no longer lives inside Chad’s head — but it’s not like they don’t think the same shit, anyway.

[impala-dreamer]

Just Wrong

A Supernatural Story

~John Winchester has a hard life and an even harder time keeping his mind off of young Y/N.~

John Winchester x Fem!Reader, Dean Winchester

1,998 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Age Gap, Masturbation, Longing

A/N: Set pre-series somewhere between Sam going to college and the start of the show. Reader is a little younger than Dean, but still of legal age. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He was always watching. He told himself it was out of concern. He was teaching them how to hunt, how to walk away from a fight without too much mess, how to stay the fuck alive. But that wasn’t all it was.

Ever since they’d picked Y/N up after the case in Buckeye, he’d been enamored with her. She was quick witted and clever, eager to learn, even more so to please. She was beautiful, too, in that way he wasn’t supposed to linger over too long anymore. Not at his age. Not at hers. Hell, she was tucked right in between his boys in age, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t spend his days eyeing the curves of her jeans, his nights dreaming of tossing her in the back of the Impala and having himself a taste of her sweet young body.

It was just wrong.

Besides, Dean seemed to be just as in love. He was all puppy eyes and cocky smirks around Y/N, and she seemed just as interested. They were forever joking around, bumping shoulders, playfully slapping, generally acting like young adults in the first stages of love.

He couldn’t do that to his son, no matter how much he wanted to take her stupid little ponytail in his fist and yank until she cried, until she was whimpering and staring up at him with those pouty lips all hungry and wet.

It was just wrong.

So he watched. Kept a parental eye on her, on them both. He eyed her in the rearview mirror, distracted from the road by her gentle humming and the way the sun bouncing off the chrome struck her face. He stared over books while they trudged through long research sessions, one eye on the text, the other on the tip of the pen that was forever tucked between her delicious lips, taunting him. He counted her smiles, her laughs, her annoyed grunts; every furious shout, each heart-stopping moan. He took snapshots with his mind, tucking little moments away forever.

At night, he would lie awake and watch her sleep, imagining she was in his arms and not sleeping butt-to-butt with his son, a pillow jammed between them like a wall.

There were times when she caught him staring. A few too many times he didn’t turn away fast enough and she found his gaze locked on her, hazel eyes lingering a little too long on the dip between her tits, the curve of her middle, the tip of her tongue. She never shied away, instead, she met his eye with a confidence beyond her years as if she held some secret she was daring him to dig up. That was a grave he’d be happy to excavate.

But no. It was just wrong.

Still, he couldn’t help but dream. Dream of her soft young body melting for his touch. Dream of her sweet voice growing louder as he claimed her virgin cunt.

Somewhere outside of Beaumont, Texas, they holed up in a crappy motel for a few days' rest before heading to the west coast. The room was cramped and old and smelled like bleach.

They ate pizza for dinner and downed a few beers each. Y/N was curled up on one of the beds, Dean at her side as always. John sat across from them, keeping an eye on his treasure and his pirate son.

More than once, he could have sworn she was looking at him. Her ears were with Dean, but her mind, her gaze, was on John. She drank her beer in tiny sips, with the rim of the brown bottle seated perfectly in the middle of her bottom lip. She curled her mouth around the glass and stared at him, teasing perhaps, but probably just oblivious to her charms. She couldn’t be flirting with him. There was no way.

Still, he let that glimmer of a thought grow in the back of his head; let the dream take over. He allowed himself to imagine her lips trailing down his body and wrapping around his cock until he was aching and had to excuse himself.

He left them there and slammed the bathroom door, near to panting. He pressed his palm against the wood and closed his eyes.

She was there on her knees at his feet, batting her painted lashes up at him, begging silently for his cock. She whimpered and opened her mouth, a bit of drool spilling down her chin.

John sucked in a heavy breath and beat his fist against the door.

“You OK, Dad?”

Dean’s voice broke through his imagination and John cleared his throat.

“Yeah. All good.” He shook his head and scrubbed his hands down his face, turning away.

“We’re gonna go grab more beer. OK?”

John exhaled hard and turned on the sink faucet. “Yeah. Good. Just leave me alone.”

He splashed water on his face and stared into the mirror. He was fucking old. How’d he get so old? He tugged at his cheeks, tried to smooth out the lines around his eyes. He squinted at himself, trying to find the young man he used to be.

Would she ever look at him the way she looked at Dean? All innocent smiles and awkward giggles. Or was he too old for that crap? Were the days of women giggling in his direction a thing of the past?

Well, fuck them. He didn’t need to chase young things anyway. He got what he needed when he needed it.

And still-

Y/N with that beer… with her mouth so plump and juicy like a plum…

His cock strained against his jeans again and he huffed. Fuck it.

John stepped into the tub and settled down on the cold porcelain as he unbuttoned his pants. He pushed his head back against the edge and yanked his jeans down just enough to free his dick. He was throbbing already and the cool air was a bit of a jolting shock.

He hissed and wrapped his hand around the base, closed his eyes and saw her face.

Would she call him Daddy? Dare he ask her to? Would she let him strip her slowly, take his time unwrapping her like a gift until every inch was exposed and shivering under his touch? Would she moan his name as he sunk his cock into her, scream when she came? Would they wake the dead together?

“John?”

The door creaked open and he froze, eyes snapping open and heart skipping. He sat up and tried to cover himself, but she was already peeking inside, her tiny hand curled around the door.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him. Her jaw dropped and lips curled. “Oh! I’m… sorry. I just- I heard something, wanted to check on you.”

John cleared his throat but his mouth was bone dry. “I’m fine.” He shifted in the tub, tried to look normal even though his skin was burning and his balls were aching. “Thought you and Dean were going out to-”

Y/N shook her head gently. Her eyes were falling from his face downwards, following the line of his arm. “No. He went by himself. I wanted to… stay here with you.” Stepping fully into the bathroom, she shut the door behind her and threw the lock. Coyly, she pressed her back to the door and bowed her head, chewed her lip nervously.

He swallowed hard. “You did?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Is that- OK?”

Blood pounded in his ears. “Y-yeah. That’s fine.”

Y/N pushed away from the door and locked her arms behind her back. She took a step closer and peered into the tub. “You sure?” She licked her lips slowly. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

He should kick her out. Shouldn’t let her stay.

“Not disturbing me… Not at all.”

Another step and she was at the edge of the tub. Eyes lidded with a sultry gaze, she started at his face and swept down over his entire body and then back up, settling on his cock. She tongued her cheek and let out a slow breath.

“It’s just that… I heard you call my name before and…” Gently, she sank to her knees on the cold tile and placed her hands on the rim of the tub. “Well, I thought if you needed some help…” Eyes on his face, she let her right hand slide from porcelain to denim and she curled her fingers into his thigh. “I could… be of service.” She moved a little higher, going slow lest he protest.

His jaw hung open, his brain sizzled. He should tell her to get lost, throw some kind of fit and make her leave, but fuck, her hand was so light yet pressed so heavy on his leg. His head was swimming, heart racing.

“You should go,” he whispered, barely any conviction behind it.

A little higher, her thumb brushed against the top of his sack.

He shuddered, stomach tensing hard.

“Are you sure?” she asked, pushing his hand away to take the base of his cock in the tight ring of her fist.

John hissed and grabbed her wrist, locking his long fingers all the way around. She startled, but held his gaze, daring him to tell her to go.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, suddenly older than her years, seemingly far from the innocent little doll in his fantasies. Better, sexier. “I want to.”

His grip loosened and she snagged her lip between her teeth, clearly hot and excited herself.

She stroked him slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his. Her touch was like silk, her movements expert. John held his breath when she picked up the pace, groaned when she sat higher up on her knees to reach him better.

She was rolling against nothing as she worked his cock and John snuck a hand over the ledge, plucked at her tits through her shirt. She whined beautifully and tipped her head back; throat long and exposed, begging to be bitten.

“So wrong,” he moaned, reaching up to grab a fistful of her hair. She whimpered just like he imagined and her eyes rolled back to pure white.

“Not wrong,” she said with a grin. “You and me could never be wrong…” She swirled her palm over his leaking tip. “Never.”

“God, I want you so bad.” He grit his teeth, jerked his hips up into her hand.

Y/N paused for a moment and then pulled away. She stood up and John watched in shock as she tugged the jeans from her hips. Her panties were thin and damp and she tossed them aside as well.

“Want you too, John…”  Lifting her right leg, she set her heel on the tub and spread her pussy for him. “Want you to fuck me, John. Please… Please… Please… Please…”

Jaw clenched tight, he grunted loudly as he came, spilling into his own hand. Y/N vanished in a cloud of imagination and he sighed, relaxing in the empty tub.

“Fucking hell…”

Dean’s fist pounded on the door and John jumped.

“We’re back!”

John huffed and pushed himself up from the tub. “Thought I told you to leave me alone, damnit!”

There was no response, he was sure he heard Y/N laugh through the door. The bedsprings squeaked, the television snapped on.

John washed his hands and tucked himself away. Eyes back in the mirror, he shook his head.

“Keep dreaming, asshole,” he growled, hating himself for wanting her.

There was no way she would ever act like that, no way she’d ever want him the way he wanted her.

And yet, he was almost certain she gave him a teasing smile when he stepped back into the room. Sure she was eyeing him a little more than usual as they sat and watched t.v.; positive she was licking that bottle into her mouth just for him.

But fuck, it was just wrong…

[boydepartment]

enhypen as things from 2014 tumblr

a/n: i am literally frothing at the mouth that 2014 tumblr is coming back. around 2016-2018 this aesthetic and mentality was my EVERYTHING. now in 2024 the mentality and aesthetic is still there just a lil more.... um flavorful for me 😋😋 but it’s okay! i also had to go on my LAPTOP to lay this out so please like this post... my ass worked hard on this- i also dont know if heeseung's aesthetic photo for his headcanons is messed up?? if it is i am so sorry

warnings- 2014 tumblr was a lil cray cray, but i worked my hardest to make sure none of the photos or themes would be triggering :) if you felt anything negative during reading these headcanons- tell me and i will add it to the warnings. but as far as i know and with my own experiences/disorder everything is pretty good and non triggering! :)

MASTERLIST

🕰️jungwon- specifically that one brand of music

okay let me elaborate: out of my league by the fitz and the tantrums

tongue tied by grouplove

electric love by børns

the really like happy yet sad songs??? he’s very like HES SO TONGUE TIED BY GROUPLOVE IM SORRY???? listen to the song that is jungwon he is that song. he is def like that summer romance who you never speak to again and it’s so sad because you loved him so much but now you’re like strangers. just wait till next summer tho, he’ll make you fall in love with him all over again. it’s bittersweet

⚰️heeseung- knee socks

okay me being out of pocket for a sec

heeseung is absolutely fucking insane and drives me nuts. and so do knee socks. any socks that go above the shin drive me fucking insane because they don’t sit properly ever, no matter the size the sock or the size i am they FALL. but i own like 4-6 pairs, because they look nice and make me feel pretty when they sit properly. heeseung drives me insane but i want to be his gf ☹️☹️

he’s def the type of guy to fix your socks too when he notices they’re shifting

🎥jay- the wallpaper quotes

like the sad ones everyone had EVERYWHERE. i was on quotev during this time around 2015?? and they were EVERYWHERE. bangchans wallpaper from 2018 core

these aesthetic quotes just remind me of jay. music is everything to him so he’s the mf to reblog this being like

“this resonates with me.”

he’s also very arctic monkeys coded but do what you will with that 😋😋HE WOULD SO POST HIS OWN WRITINGS AND AESTHETIC GUITAR PHOTOS. HES LIKE THE TUMBLR HOT GUY. imagine while he’s like super popular on tumblr ur like the actual “rockstar’s gf” aesthetic. LIKE THAT ONE FUCKING PHOTO OF THE 1975 ROBBERS MUSIC VIDEO??? I THINK IT WAS THAT ONE RIGHT??? i’m attaching it rn

💋jake- the bold lip makeup + messy photos

dayum let me get out of pocket rq again

that really specific dark aesthetic where it’s in parking lots and blurry and you can make out the dark lip makeup, bleached damaged platinum blonde hair, and the makeup is messy. everything is messy

HEUWBDJBFJAVSHDBBD that is jake :) he’s def the type of guy to be like “wait let’s take a cool photo.” then kisses you to smudge your lipstick then snaps a photo with the flash so when you’re alarmed by the flash you move and it makes the photo all cool looking bc it’s blurry.

👓sunghoon- the john green obsession

i’ve read every john green book pre 2016

i hated looking for alaska it was fucking insane. however sunghoon is like the good part about the paper towns book. like the fun road trip part. that happened right? or did i imagine that? NO IT DID. sunghoon very like curl up bbg im gonna read this book to you and make little stupid comments during it. def the type to have you in his arms while he reads, you hold the book and he has his hands over yours, softly rubbing circles.

💍sunoo- the victorias secret aesthetic

this is actually me rn sorry, all my clothes come from there pretty much. if it’s not thrifted it’s from victoria’s secret. it’s not just lingerie, they have like everything there. NONETHELESS it also screams sunoo. a lot of it is very like chic in a way and it just fits him perfectly. the black and pink colors, the small pops. it just really fits him. the aesthetic is just chefs kiss. especially since i feel like he’d be obsessed with the lotions (i own the mint chocolate lotion and wear it)

def the type of bf to come home with new body sprays for both of you. probably mixing scents too. MATCHING JACKETS AS WELL

📸riki- the electra heart album

MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS. god everything abt this album screams riki.

me relistening to this album and realizing how much it did effect me😨😨😨😨 maybe i’m just projecting now but besides the point

that album is so like riki coded let me get quotes

“I think I want your, your American tan- I think you're gonna be my biggest fan”

“The pretty lies, the ugly truth”

“All I ever wanted was the world- I can't help that I need it all”

“Rule number three, wear your heart on your cheek- But never on your sleeve, unless you wanna taste defeat”

“You're never gonna love me, so what's the use?”

“you don’t love me- big fucking deal”

"question good and question bad."

okay i’m GONNA BE WRITING A BOOK I HAVE TO STOP. he’s def the type of bf where if he hears you listening to this album he’s like “wtf…” then finds himself humming to it. he’d be like that with all your music taste too. riki with black chipped nailpolish OKAY I WILL SHUT UP ABT HIM NOW

[konigbabe]

keep it quiet

Pairing: ID!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader | single dad AU

Word count: 2.2k

Tags/warnings: no y/n; smut; single dad Leon; breath play; p-in-v sex; praise kink; top!leon; blowjobs; slight face-fucking; female gendered anatomy

Summary: Just single dad Leon fucking you in the janitor's closet during class.

a/n: Canon ID!Leon is around 29 but Leon in this '"universe" is aged up to be in his 30s (age won't be specified but I imagine him to be in his mid-to-late 30s).

Written as part of my A to Z kinks game. Q is for a quickie.

series masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

The pungent smell of bleach hangs heavy in the air, biting your nose with every breath you take; tangling with the bright citrus notes of Leon's cologne, a potent blend of bergamot and lemon. The two scents mingle and dance, a waltz of sharp and sweet.

It’s an unexpected combination. One that should’ve clashed, yet somehow they complement each other.

Your mind tries to process the conflicting sensations, but it’s a futile effort when every sense is consumed by the man behind you and the way his hips keep pistoning into you.

Sharp, short thrusts.

Each one driving his cock deeper into your body.

Angled so that the head of his cock kisses your cervix every time. With a fervor that steals your breath. Baths you in liquid fire.

Each thrust like a battering ram, slamming into you with a force that threatens to tear you apart.

Somehow, you find yourself holding on, clinging to the nearby shelf, like it’s the only thing keeping you anchored to this world. Knuckles straining, fingers curling over the smooth surface, a rush of heat courses through your veins as Leon's grip tightens ever so slightly.

"Fuck, Leon–"

Your whine tapers off, replaced by a deep, purring hum of satisfaction as Leon’s hand encircles your throat; exerting a gentle but firm grip that pulls you closer to him. Chin nestled on the base of your shoulder, his teeth glide across the tender underside of your ear.

A tingle starts at the nape of your neck and courses through your body, like a sparkling river of sensation.

The fluorescent light above flickers intermittently, casting a ghostly and eerie glow over the confined space. The hum of the light like a faint melody.

The grip on your hips dissipates; Leon’s other arm moves upwards. His palm hovers before your lips, the tip of his middle finger tracing the underside of your lip; heartbeat picking up.

"Open up fo’ me."

And you oblige. Without a second wasted, two of his fingers find their way into your mouth. Pressing against the wet muscle, teasing your tongue and coaxing it into action; hooking behind your teeth, you manage to swirl your tongue around the fingertips.

"That’s it–jus’ like that," his words come in a low, gravelly murmur. Dripping in satisfaction. Followed by a brush of his lips against the delicate shell of your ear. "Good girl."

His words flood your body with heat; every nerve alights. His voice a velvet caress. A balm to your soul. A sweet validation.

Nudging your legs further apart with his boot, you suck at his fingers one by one; giving each a secluded attention. Leon’s breath hitches when your tongue laps at the tip of his index finger; the weight of his forehead rests on the crown of your shoulder, lips parting in a gasp of pleasure.

It makes you moan, makes you quiver around him, akin to the flutter of a butterfly's wings.

Pushing your hips backwards, you meet the sharp plane of his pelvis as his fingers withdraw; a wet string smudged over your lower lip. Slickness coats your tongue, leaving a tangy taste in your mouth.

Leon's fingers sneak under the hunched material of your skirt, tracing a wet path over the exposed flesh of your thighs. His thumb lingers at the apex, applying just enough pressure to make you shiver, attempting to bite back a moan.

Lost in the sea of sensations that threaten to consume you.

The rough pads of his fingers find your clit; the pulsating nub throbs beneath his touch. It's as if a live wire is coursing through your body, electrifying every nerve ending. Leon’s fingers move in rhythm with his thrusts–

"Leon–fuck, don’t stop–Leon–"

Words mingle together. Mind too foggy. Too fucked up to comprehend a single sentence.

-the pressure enough to send you spiralling; making your breath come in ragged gasps, quiet mewls as his fingers dance over your sensitive flesh, drawing out every last drop of pleasure.

A sweet ache coils in your belly, radiating outwards.

Both hands gripping a shelf on each side of the narrow closet, you feel like a marionette. Completely at his mercy. The wood creaks under your grasp, protesting the force of your grip. But you can't help it; the pleasure’s too intense, too all-consuming.

Leon's fingers work their magic; teasing and coaxing your body to the brink of orgasm. Each stroke and brush causing your walls to flutter, squeeze him delightfully; making his hips quake with every movement.

The heat between your legs intensifies, the wetness pooling and spilling over onto his cock. His thumb circles your clit, drawing it out and flicking it back in a rhythmic motion that has you on the edge.

Body like a coiled spring, wound tight and ready to snap, your hips push back.

Until the squeeze of his fingers on the side of your throat fades while leaving behind a warmth that lingers on your skin–

Every touch, every stroke, every kiss a building block, adding to the fire that’s burning inside you.

–and is replaced by a hand covering your mouth, stifling a sound that begins to surge from the depths of your being.

In a natural reaction, one of your hands shoots towards the intrusion, fingers wrapping around Leon’s wrist, feeling the cool material of his watch.

You moan when Leon’s hips still. Pelvis flush against the curve of your ass, buried to the brim, as if he's trying to meld his body with yours. His breath ghosts over your nape.

Footsteps echo through the door. Two sets of heels clicking against the polished concrete floor. You both freeze, bodies still tangled together in the cramped space.

You should be panicking, being seen like that. But the fire in your belly refuses to be quenched; your body a bundle of nerves, the thrill of excitement at the thought of being caught mingling with the heady rush of pleasure that Leon is coaxing from you. It's a dangerous game, one that sets your heart racing and your skin ablaze with need.

You’re sure they’ll hear the frantic thumping of your heart, the ragged gasps of breath that escape your lips.

Leon's grip on your jaw tightens, grounding you in the moment, urging you to focus only on the pleasure that he's giving you.

Instead, a whimper slips from your mouth, muffled by Leon’s hand when you feel the slow, deliberate slide of his cock out of your dripping wetness. Moving in slow motion as he withdraws, teasing you with just the tip of his throbbing cock still nestled inside you.

Every nerve in your body alive with anticipation, yearning for the moment when he will plunge back inside you, filling you up completely. You can feel the wetness coating his cock, and the slickness of your own desire as it clings to him, urging him to come back to you.

Your body’s a symphony of sensations, each note building on the last until it crescendos into a symphony of pleasure.

"Shhh," the short stubble grazes your cheek as he murmurs, leisurely drawing his cock back inside your slick heat; the footsteps grow louder, "wouldn’t want your fellow teachers seein’ you gettin’ stuffed by my cock in the janitor’s closet, would you?"

As Leon's hand exerts a gentle force on your parted lips, your head falls back, coming to rest on the sharp, angular edge of his clavicle. Capable of feeling every inch of him as he moves languidly within you, each thrust slow and deliberate, savoring the squeeze of your cunt on him.

Leon’s words, accompanied by a steady slide of his cock, capable of feeling every inch of him; it makes your core throb; your walls to tighten, emitting a gentle moan from the man behind you.

"You’re making noises too," you mumble, the words barely coherent in the midst of your ecstasy. Consumed by the heat of his body against yours, the scent of his mixed with the musky aroma of sex. The sound of his ragged breaths, guttural grunts and gentle moans of your name.

The rhythmic motion of his thrusts lulling you into a state of pure bliss.

"Can’t help it," his teeth graze your shoulder blade, "you just feel too good.." Emphasizing his words; Leon’s fingers pull from your aching nub before giving it a gentle slap. With a sudden shift, his hips deliver a sharp, forceful thrust, shattering the lazy rhythm he’d established earlier.

You inhale sharply at the unexpected sensation, but the burn of desire only intensifies.

Senses on overdrive, the footsteps pass. Leaving you and Leon alone again. It seems to drive him back deeper into you, his thrusts becoming more frenzied and urgent.

Leon’s fingers curl and stroke your clit, slow and steady, then faster, rougher, until—

Heat; A tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you, consuming every inch of your being. Your mind dissolves into a haze of pleasure, every nerve ending alight with ecstasy.

–a cry rips from your throat, echoing through the room. The tension snaps, leaving you panting, trembling, and utterly spent.

Cunt fluttering around Leon’s cock, his hands snap to grip your waist. His breathing’s heavy and ragged, matching the pace of his thrusts. He holds you close, his body flush against yours, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

"Fuck–’m gonna cum," his lips latch onto your pulsating jugular, feeling your violent heartbeat, "be good to me, get on your knees," he rasps, having a hard time formulating full sentences as the coil in his body tightens, threatening to unravel at any moment.

Hips snapping forward one last time, burying himself deep inside your leaking cunt, his breath hot against your skin before you obey.

A pathetic whine leaves your lips at the sudden emptiness when he pulls away, hands guiding you to turn around, putting pressure on your shoulders to make you sink down to your knees in front of him.

Jeans pushed down just enough to free himself, heat flushes your face at the sight of his cock, glistening with your cum. Not wasting time, your lips wrap around the spongy tip, tasting the salty tang of your own release mixed with the slightly sweet taste of his skin. Swirling around the sensitive head.

The taste floods your mouth. A heady mixture of musk and lust.

And you savor it. Like a rare delicacy.

"Fuck–look at you," Leon growls.

His eyes smolder with desire as he looks down at you, watching the way your lips stretch to accommodate him. A low, throaty moan of appreciation slips past his lips, his hand tightening in your hair as he urges you to take him deeper.

Eyes moving upwards, his chin is all you can see as he throws his head back, hand gripping the same shelf you were moments ago, knuckles white. The leather of his jacket creaks with the movement.

Coaxing out every drop of pleasure from his throbbing cock. The taste of him lingers in your mouth, a potent reminder of the pleasure you're bringing him.

Breathing becoming ragged, his body tenses under your hands.

Suddenly, his hips thrust forward with a sudden urgency that takes you by surprise. The head of his cock kisses the back of your throat for a second, causing you to lose your breath and withdraw as your gag reflex kicks in, eyes watering.

You can feel the wetness of your own saliva and his precum dribbling down your chin.

"Shit, sorry," he rumbles, eyes back on your kneeling form.

His gaze is glazed over with desire, and his hand moves from your hair to cup your cheek. He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, smearing the slickness across your skin.

"S’okay," you reassure him with a soft smile, "you can do that; just tell me next time."

He nods as your fingers wrap around his base, taking him back in eagerly, taking him as deep as you can, feeling his thick length stretching your mouth to its limits.

This time, you’re ready; relaxing your throat, you let him set the pace. Feeling the pressure at the back of your head as he guides your face towards his cock.

With each drive, he plunges deeper into your mouth. His body taut like a bowstring, every muscle coiled tight. You can feel the tension emanating from him in waves, his arousal thick in the air between you.

His cock swells inside of your mouth, pulsing with each beat of his heart. You can taste his desire, a heady mix of salt and musk that fills your senses.

Tapping his thigh, he stops his movements as you glide your lips along his cock, hand moving in the same rhythm.

You pick up the pace, tongue and lips working in perfect unison to coax out every last drop of his pleasure.

With a deep grunt of your name, he convulses, his body wracked with spasms of ecstasy. Fingernails scratch your scalp as he spills into your mouth, and you savor the taste of him, swallowing each salty, hot drop eagerly.

As he comes down from his high, he looks down at you with a mixture of awe and gratitude in his eyes.

"That’s A plus, miss teacher," he whispers, voice husky, pulling you up to stand in front of him.

[donotlookatmepleaseandthankyou]

thinking about Little Shop of Horrors. specifically "Somewhere That's Green Reprise". I know Audrey only likens herself to the plant - and suggests that she may become it - in a bought of shock-induced metaphor, but I can't help finding the concept intriguing. what if Audrey II actually did take on the traits of those that it killed? imagine Seymour, after murdering Orin, waking up to blood scattered across the floor and a plant that didn't look the same as when he went to sleep. its skin roughens, becoming almost akin to the texture of leather. teeth, broken and half yellowed, poke out from between the lips of its pod. dark flowers blossom along its newly grown tendrils that make a giddy smile break out across his face when he leans down to take a whiff. after Mushnik dies it morphs again. its leaves bleach and become sun-spotted even though the conditions it's been kept in haven't changed a bit. whispy white hairs push out of the top of it, splaying out and into the air like sets of feelers (almost reminiscent of a deepsea anglerfish). a metallic sheen overtakes it so that when the sun strikes it just right it glows like a freshly polished coin. then it kills Audrey, and it changes in ways so horrible that Seymour can't even bring himself to look at the thing anymore. it blushes a soft rosy pink that grows steadily darker the further down it goes. its vines coil into delicate curls that mimic that of her hair. every time its sickening maw opens her sweet perfume pours forth from it. Seymour, no matter how much he may try and ignore what he's done, will be forever tormented with a physicalized embodiment of all that he's lost, and it drives him mad.