#June baby universe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elusivedew · 2 months ago

Text

💌 | Cubitum eamus ?

✧ synopsis ⤐ it takes you 2 years from the minute you meet spencer to confess how much you like him, and it all happens on a random wednesday night.

✧ contains ⤐ friends to lovers but they both know what's up, s3 spencer who's been through a handful of shit, brief mention of alcohol consumption on two occasions!!suggestive themes but no straight up smut, spencer reid experiences happiness for once, reader is his only hope in life, reader wants him real bad and he knows. My spencer reid debut yay! Title translates to "will you go to bed with me?" w.c ~ 9.2k

Working at the BAU is not an easy job. In fact, Spencer thinks, working at any unit in the FBI is the closest thing you'll ever get to hell on earth. This feeling of agitation and exhaustion seems to aggravate every time he's working on a particularly draining case. Not only does the content of the cases get into his head often, and sometimes into his dreams, but he's also been directly harmed by the criminals they’re chasing. How can you remain completely objective about something when you become a victim too?

Over the few years he's worked in the BAU, he's received more harm than he ever expected. Drug addiction was not something he had in his five-year plan when he first joined the FBI. It's not something anyone who works in law enforcement expects, really.

Needless to say, he's tired. The kind of fatigue that makes you bedridden for days.

He also happens to be alone on a Tuesday night in the middle of June.

The latest case he worked on took a little over two weeks to wrap up, an unsub that likes to take his time and has such a disorganized MO that it was almost impossible to see the patterns. All the physical and mental work completely knocked everyone off their feet, except for him. His colleagues all went home and passed out of exhaustion, and he’s still up.

Spencer can't sleep. He's too busy thinking.

It's something he does a lot, for his job, for himself, for the duration of his whole life. The gears have been turning in his head since his very first word, the minute ‘mama’ was out of his baby mouth, he’d been tasked with the weight of the whole fucking universe. The price of knowing so much from a young age has cost him a lot. And tonight, it specifically costs him his peace, his right to pass out after a long day of work.

And he'd love, more than anything, to have an off button somewhere inside. But because that hasn't been invented yet, and his nervous system feels like it's on fire, he's still up by the time it's 10 pm. It’s not late, objectively, but he’s been home for more than three hours now. He tried a lot of sleep remedies— herbal tea, audiobooks, aroma therapy, hell, even exercising to tire himself out, but all of them failed. And now he's just left with sore muscles and an even more tired brain.

By the time it's 11 pm, he's lying on his couch, feeling like death. His head is pounding with the feeling of an oncoming migraine, and he knows that he’s in for a particularly long night.

That's when his phone rings, and because he’s so alert and so sensitive to stimuli at the moment, he almost kicks it off the coffee table. But he doesn’t do that, because he’s still a little sane despite everything.

Instead, he reaches over and checks the contact name, and his whole face lights up. He feels absolutely ridiculous for not making this call first, because his nervous system is now very much alive— and not in a way that makes him feel like an overheating microwave, no, this is a good thing. And good things don’t happen to him often. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous habit, and picks up the call.

Suddenly being awake doesn't feel so bad.

“Agent Reid.”

Your voice comes through the phone like a cool breeze of air during the grueling heat of June. He finds himself relaxing a little, releasing tension he didn't know he had in his muscles when he was so distracted just a few minutes before.

“I'm begging you to stop calling me that.”

“Aww, why not? I like feeling like your boss,” you're smiling on the other end, he can hear it, “what's his name again? Aaron?”

He rubs his temple with a smile he can't fight off, “That's agent Hotchner to you.”

You laugh and he feels proud of himself for eliciting such a pleasant sound out of you. He's immediately thinking of other ways to get that sound out again. If Morgan could see him now, he'd never let him hear the end of it.

The good thing about you and Spencer is that no one knows. Not his colleagues, not your friends, not your families. That's the good thing, you get to keep this precious thing between the two of you. The bad thing is that you're not really together. You're not even romantically involved, you've never uttered the four-letter L-word around each other (like or love, both), and you don't even really flirt with each other.

To put it into simple words, you and Spencer are just friends.

But friends who relieve each other's stress nonetheless, and god knows Spencer needs that right now.

“You're back from your recent trip, right?” You ask, audibly crunching on something. It sounds like you're also lying on your couch, he wonders if you were going through something similar when you decided to pick up the phone and call.

“Yeah, thank god.”

“I take it that it wasn't a very good one then? I mean, none of them are good but, I'm guessing some are worse than others.”

Spencer sighs, “You guess correctly.”

“How are you feeling?” Your voice is softer when you ask, concerned, and even though he doesn't like to make you worry, your well-intended question is a very welcome sentiment. He’s almost relieved knowing that there's someone who'll always ask, someone who'll always notice.

“Not very good. Tired.” It's a short answer, but he knows you understand. You've understood him for a very long time now, nearly two years of knowing each other.

“It sounds like you had a very long day.” A very long month. “Why didn't you try to catch some Zs?”

The way you phrase it makes him snort, and he knows you're proud of yourself for that one. “I can't, me and the Zs never had a very good relationship. Trust me, if I could turn my brain off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

You hum, “Do you wanna talk about it? I could give you some very valuable, life-changing insight, maybe you'll be able to go to sleep after.”

He smiles, “I've actually had enough of this case, I'd like to talk about something else.”

“Oh, I can definitely do that. Tell me, what did you have for breakfast?”

Breakfast is a terrible topic, meals in general, because you know that he misses a lot of his meals when he's on the job. You always lecture him for it, berating him for being so skinny at his big age, but it's always underlined by concern. He knows you worry about him, he wouldn't blame you.

“Not much…” He trails off, knowing you'll catch on.

“Oh honey, I know your eating and sleeping habits are fucked, but can't you at least lie to me?”

The way you call him honey should not be making his stomach turn like that.

“I could never lie to you.”

“You literally just did.”

You both laugh and he's so, so glad you called. If he didn't think you were asleep he'd have called you first.

“Okay well, I didn't ask that question to find out something I already know. I asked because remember that café we were constantly visiting before you went on this trip? They finally brought the chocolate chip cookies back.”

The chocolate chip cookies case (the quadruple c) is a very vital issue in your relationship with Spencer. Because for weeks, the both of you have been visiting that place close to your apartment, hoping to get some chocolate chip cookies, only to be met by raisins. It was a very devastating experience for both of you, having to settle for something else on the menu every time. But now it’s okay! The chocolate chip cookies are back.

Spencer is so glad he's done with his silly criminal case so he can focus on the real problems at hand.

“And I was thinking, if you're not too tired tomorrow, should we have breakfast together?”

It's sweet, it's earnest, it's you.

It's such a characteristic gesture, asking him to have breakfast with you after particularly draining cases, checking on him as soon as you can tell he's home, and sounding so sweet and concerned over the phone when you know he's feeling down. It’s the small, thoughtful actions coming from you that have helped him keep it together so far.

And the feelings that thought brings out in him lead him to realize, in those few seconds, that he liked you much more than he planned on. Not that he ever planned to like you in the first place, but he thought it was a small crush that would eventually go away, it’s happened before with the pretty women he befriends, and he didn’t think this time would be different.

But it was, and now he’s totally screwed because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to say no to you.

“Absolutely, I can't wait to have those chocolate cookies again.”

You're ecstatic over his response, your tone picking up about 3 octaves when you jump to discussing the other plans you have this week. Your favorite artist is releasing an album soon, your favorite game is finally available at the video game store, the finale of that show you've been talking to him about is airing in two days, and it seems like your life is full of positive sequences.

The juxtaposition between what he sees at work and the enthusiasm you bring into his life almost gives him a headache, but it could very well be sleep deprivation. He wonders if all the misfortunes that have happened to him are the evil equivalents of the things you brought into his life.

But if all the bad things that have happened to him and around him got compensated by you, he doesn't find it such a bad tradeoff. Because meeting you on a random Monday night and somehow catching your attention enough for you to leave him your number— even when he was so frazzled by the need for coffee so he could grind out some paperwork before his deadline— it feels like he used up all his luck on that fateful encounter.

And having someone he could always meet up with, outside of work, has been very grounding.

You talk his ears off for the rest of the night, rambling about one thing or the other until his eyelids get heavy again, and he feels tired enough to sleep. You tell him that's been your plan all along and wish him a good night.

Later, when he’s under the covers of his bed, drifting off to sleep, for a few minutes his brain isn't aggravating him with the thoughts that have been haunting him all day. For a few minutes, all he can think about is you.

He is so fucked.

Emily Prentiss is a very smart agent.

She’s been told that ever since she was a little girl, and though it was often complimentary, people sucking up to her mom and whatnot, it was never a complete lie. She grew up thirsty for knowledge, mastering everything she could get her hands on, and even as an adult with a grown up job, she continues to excel at what she does

But then, if she's so smart, why the hell can she not figure out why Spencer Reid is so giddy while doing his paperwork?

It may have to do with the fact that it's Spencer, and that kid has always been a little perplexing to her. He's bright and brilliant, but she could never truly understand how his mind works. But, at the same time, there's such a thing as habits, and Spencer is not typically so smiley while doing paperwork. No one is smiley while doing paperwork in this line of work, because it makes you relive the nightmares. For goodness’s sake, this is the behavioral analysis unit, and Spencer is behaving weirdly.

It seems like she isn’t the only agent at the office who noticed the peculiarity. Agent Morgan stands behind her, his third cup of coffee in his hand, squinting at the young doctor. They observe him like a wild animal in his natural habitat; had they not been so tired from all the work, they would’ve been picking on him by now.

When Emily feels her presence behind him, she turns around, and they exchange a mutual look of understanding. They've never seen Reid act like that in the time that they’ve worked together, and they know one thing that they've never seen him experience during that time either.

They realize it at the same time, and Morgan nearly drops his coffee.

Spencer Reid is in love.

There have been many misfortunes in the 25 years that you've been on this earth, and you're convinced that a lot of them have been aimed at you. You're the only person who has ever suffered that much during your whole life, it's a known fact. It's a fact that you like to remind Spencer of, to make him feel better about his work, and when he laughs at it, you remind him that people called Jesus a liar too.

You've been through a lot of suffering, but the task of getting dressed before Spencer knocks on your door in approximately ten minutes may just be the worst thing that's ever happened to you.

He thinks that just because he has a day off, he could pressure you into a sudden— very much unplanned— date? He thinks that shooting you a text to get dressed so you can go to the record store and then have dinner only twenty minutes before you're supposed to do the aforementioned activities is allowed? He's absolutely right, and you hate him for it.

Not that it's really a date, you know you and Spencer have never crossed that line, but it feels like it. Especially if he's making you feel like a teenage girl high on hormones having her very first crush. Her very first date. The particular action you're thinking about has to be kept to yourself, just so you don't jinx it.

You really shouldn't be thinking about that when you still haven't figured out which outfit to wear. More thinking about clothes, less thinking about boys. Specifically one boy.

It takes all your willpower and energy to finish getting ready in those ten minutes. You settle for your most comfortable pair of jeans and a white button-down with a vest over it, and for good measure, you throw your coat on— the long beige-brown trench coat that makes you feel like you're Sherlock Holmes about to solve a crime. You realize that it's very fitting for an outing with a profiler, he's kind of like Sherlock Holmes if you think about it.

It's fall now, and it's much more chilly. You hope your precious profiler brought his own coat because, as much as you care for him, you won't be lending him yours.

When he rings your doorbell, you're finishing up and tossing the rest of the necessities into your bag. You make him wait for a minute, to avoid seeming eager, and then make your way to the door.

The minute you lay your eyes on him, you feel sick to your stomach.

Spencer Reid is beautiful, this is a fact that you've known ever since you met. He pulls off the dorky yet hot look so well, with that stupid smile of his when he talks like a smartass. And you're reminded of this every time you see him, the fact that he's so adorable that it physically hurts to keep your hands off him all the time. Tonight is no different, he's dressed in a dark button-down with a brown vest over it, covered by a beige coat that contrasts the dark colors beautifully. It takes you a couple seconds to realize you're wearing similar outfits, almost like a matching couple.

“Copycat.” You accuse, fighting off a smile with warm cheeks. He grins in retaliation, “Hello to you too.”

God, he’s beautiful. In the dim light of your apartment's entrance, you catch the gleam of his eyes. They're warm, earthy, and familiar, you don't think you'd ever stop staring at his eyes if you had the chance to do it without looking crazy. His eyelashes are unfairly long, and his light brown hair forms waves around his face like a frame around an artwork. He always tucks a few stray strands behind his ear, and you always mess it up for him– which is something you do for two reasons, you like annoying him, and you desperately want to touch his hair. It’s just simply unfair for him to be born that beautiful.

He seems to notice you staring because his cheeks are a little pink, and he has a little bashful smile on his face. “Ready to go?” He scans your form like the little detective he is, “Looks like you could get ready in 20 minutes after all.”

Now you remember why you were so annoyed at him, good looks be damned.

“Oh shut up, never do that again.”

“Or what? You'll cuss me over text messages again? How will I ever live with that.”

His shy smile is replaced with a smug grin, and you hate to admit it, but it's one of your favorite looks on him. Because Spencer isn't always able to genuinely smile like that, he's usually stressed about one thing or the other; and knowing him, he's always reliving some terrible event that happened in the past two years, and sometimes even further back in time. So while his amusement comes at your expense, you'd rather see him smiling like this all the time.

“God, you're so mean to me.”

Even though you mean to sound stern, you can't hide your smile.

You pick up your keys from the hanger by the door and toss them into your handbag, he follows your movements with his eyes, “that's not true. I'm always so nice to you, sometimes a little too nice.”

You lock your door behind you and give him a fake offended look, “You could never be too nice to me. Let's go, agent Reid. We've got a long night ahead of us.”

Then you're strutting ahead of him, motioning for him to follow you like a helpless little intern. Even though he rolls his eyes and laughs in disbelief, he ends up following you anyway.

‘Albert’s records’ has been your favorite record store since you moved into your apartment in Quantico— and not only because you’ve met Albert, the sweetest little old man to ever exist, but also because Spencer always looks mystified inside the store. It’s like something about vintage things just makes him tick.

You're checking out vinyls that are selling for discounted prices, old pieces of famous artists and commonly known albums, while he's looking at the posters on the walls, admiring the artistic work of the rustic-looking store. He’s always trailing behind you, and you don't mind because it makes you feel safe and cared for. You didn't know being trailed by an FBI agent could feel so comforting.

Your eyes catch on a certain record, and you turn around, “Hey, Spencer.”

He stops eyeing the posters on the wall and turns to you, hair falling over his shoulders adorably.

“What do you think of this?”

You're holding a classic black Billy Joel vinyl in your hand, careful not to hold it too tightly. It's his 1977 release of The Stranger, an album you're not too familiar with. You've only listened to Vienna and a few other songs. Spencer eyes the cover carefully like it triggers a memory deep inside his brain. You're expecting him to go on a tangent about Billy Joel and 70s music, but you're instead met by a very sentimental response.

“My mom loved that one.”

He's quiet, using that careful but lost tone of voice, and you worry that you accidentally triggered something unpleasant. You knew Spencer had a complicated relationship with his parents, namely his mother. On the rare occasion where he had a few too many drinks, he spilled a lot more than he intended to. Drunk Spencer was always so painfully honest and you admired how easily his filter would come off a few drinks in, but you never wanted him to feel embarrassed by it. On those particularly emotional nights— after he calls you to pick him up because he's too drunk to drive— you would listen to him ramble the whole drive to your apartment, force him to stay over so you can take care of his pounding headache in the morning, and hold him until he passes out on your couch like a partying college student.

Something he’s never been before.

Those incidents have led you to know more about Spencer than he ever thought he could share, and one of those sensitive topics just happens to be his mom. It's not an uncomfortable topic, you've talked about it before when he's not too drunk to realize what's going on. Even though it was hard for him at first, talking about it became easier the more he shared, you understood more and more things without him telling you.

And because you’ve talked about it, you're not scared of his response when you ask with a lighthearted smile, “is that a bad thing?”

That seems to bring him back to earth, and he gives you a reassuring smile, “No, not at all, just brought me back to some memories I'd honestly forgotten about.”

You hold the record to your chest, almost certain that you're going to buy it now, “Well would you like to make some new memories in relation to this record?”

Would you like to come to my apartment and listen to it with me?

“Yeah, I'd love to.” He smiles in a way that makes you feel a little lightheaded, knowing he's comfortable sharing this much of himself with you. It's so intimate, knowing that in this public store, you're still sharing private moments that no one else knows about.

You’re about to go back to checking out vinyls, trying to conceal the giddy feeling bubbling in your chest, when a high-pitched voice intrudes on the moment you were having with Spencer.

“Oh my god.”

You both turn to look at the source of the voice and when you look to Spencer to see what this is about, he looks like he recognizes the source. He looks terrified. Your gaze falls on two blonde girls, one gaping at the sight of you, and the other being the source of the dramatic reaction that broke through the silence a few minutes ago.

Her blonde hair is styled in waves and she's wearing such a colorful, creative ensemble that you're mesmerized by the intricate details of her outfit. The hair clips, the makeup, the platforms that she's wearing, you wanted to talk to this girl so bad.

And it seems like you're in luck today, because she's immediately rushing to your side with wide mesmerized eyes.

“Wonderboy, you've been hiding her from us for how long exactly?”

You're guessing “wonderboy” is Spencer since she seems to be his friend and your chest feels warm knowing his friends nickname him such cute things. Spencer deserves to be known for all his good traits after all, and he sure as hell is your boy of wonder.

“Garcia, please, I'm begging you to act normal about this right now.” He mutters, trying his best to keep this conversation quiet.

She shakes her head, “This is the most normal I can act about you hiding a girl from us.” Then she turns to you again, extending her arm for you to shake. You eagerly extend yours back. “Penelope Garcia, tech analyst at the FBI, and genius boy's co-worker. Oh and, your source for any dirt you want on genius Reid over here.”

That explains how someone like her is in Spencer's social circle, but it doesn't explain how someone so bubbly could work at such a gloomy unit. Working for the government when she should be at the club? It's a crime to you.

“They're keeping a gem like you in a dark, creepy room to dig up information for them?”

You honestly didn't know you could commit such flattery and Spencer is looking at you in disbelief, but she giggles at your poorly concealed flirting and you feel proud of yourself.

“Oh, wonder boy, how did you ever snag a wonderful girl like her.”

Spencer is blushing so hard at this point you could probably fry an egg on his face. You're introducing yourself to Penelope, filling her in on your occupation, when the other blonde introduces herself as Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short, and she's even more excited to meet you.

She's also heavily pregnant, and you hope that she's currently on maternity leave.

“We were looking for more records that this little guy here could listen to, it's incredibly engaging to include him in our vinyl pick-out process.” JJ rubs her stomach as she explains and you're so fascinated by the idea of childbearing and birth for a few seconds that you almost forget that it's terrifying.

“What about you guys?” Penelope jumps in, eager to put Spencer on the spot again.

“Oh we, uh,” Spencer's eyes shift between you and the two girls, like he's surrounded and begging you for help, “we're just checking out the vinyls on sale.”

“Yeah, I was honestly waiting for these discounts because I'm not selling a kidney for some records, you know?” You step in, hoping to take some heat off Spencer, because the poor boy looks like he’s about to combust.

You're also well aware that the two girls in front of you think you and Spencer are dating, but they haven't said it out loud and Spencer hasn't attempted to correct their assumptions, so why would you be the one to ruin their fun? You'll let them think you're on a date.

“Oh that's so true,” Penelope nods in understanding, “it's like I just want to listen to music, you know?”

You nod in understanding, you do know.

And you also know that you're absolutely going to adore Penelope Garcia and JJ and everyone that you meet who’s involved in Spencer's life. Even though this meetup is so completely unplanned and coincidental, it makes you excited knowing you can prod Spencer about more details now, talking about work in a way that doesn't concern the cases. You’d kill for some office gossip that doesn’t involve yourself.

“Oh, Morgan is going to lose it when he hears about this,” JJ says, almost talking to herself.

Penelope jumps to add more wood to the forest fire, “Oh my God, remember what he said to Emily? He was right.” That catches Spencer's attention, “what did he say to Emily?”

“He said that you're all giggly at work because you're in love.” Penelope answers without missing a beat, and she says it so casually, as if she didn't basically strip Spencer naked right in front of you.

You’re subtly stealing glances at him from the corner of your eye, suppressing a smile at the way he blushes deeply and looks at the ground as if he wants it to swallow him whole right now. Something tells you you're absolutely going to love Penelope and he's going to pay the price for that relationship.

“Spencer is giggling at work?” You ask, like she just told you he joined a cult.

Penelope nods eagerly, “Oh yeah, I've never seen someone look so cheerful while doing paperwork, every time I'm out of my office for a coffee refill he's just there giggling to himself like he's hearing voices. Except the voices turned out to just be a pretty girl, which I have to say,” she puts her hand over her heart dramatically, “I’m so glad it did.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, the shame overwhelming him, “I'm begging you to stop talking.”

Penelope and JJ are giggling, enjoying torturing him like this for your pleasure, and you’re close to joining them, but you choose to stay loyal to Spencer— if only to make sure he doesn’t get a migraine from all this embarrassment. But you're also just giddy, knowing Spencer cannot conceal his infatuation with you to save his life. Despite all the hints here and there that he definitely likes you, and all the discreet touching and staring at your lips when you talk —something you know he can't tell you noticed— the way he doesn't deny any of what's being said tells you that you're, at the very least, a person of interest.

A person of Spencer's interest. Your smile is getting harder and harder to hide.

“Okay, okay, lovebirds, we'll leave you alone now. But trust me, you haven't heard the end of this, once Derek finds out, oh Spencer Reid, you might never want to step foot in that building ever again.” You nod eagerly, excited to hear more about how they’ll taunt him later on. They give you their rushed goodbyes as Penelope guides JJ outside the store, you can hear her quietly complain about leaving empty-handed when she came all the way, but your mind is someplace else, neurons buzzing with ideas of how to torment Spencer now that you’re alone again.

You turn to look at him, no longer holding back your smile, “so…”

He immediately puts a finger to your lips, “Don't start.”

You reach for his hand to move it away, giggling like a schoolgirl, “you're fawning over me at work? Oh my God, Spence, I didn't know you were that far gone, baby.” You hold onto his hand, as a way to restrain him, but also because you just want to hold his hand.

“I was not fawning, they made it all sound so much worse than it actually was.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he continues, looking more flustered. “I was smiling, can I not smile to myself anymore?”

You absentmindedly lace your fingers with his, bringing your joint hands to your chest like something precious, “You're smiling like a lovesick fool about me at work, Spencer, you're so fucked.”

Your amusement is so palpable, and your cheeks hurt from smiling, but there’s also something else there.

Something you haven’t fully experienced before, not its rawness and neediness. Something that you can tell will grow in your chest until it fully conquers your whole body and claims your mind. You don't know what you'll call it yet, but it's something a lot like love.

“Alright alright, I get it. It's National Embarrassing Spencer day, let's buy this record and get out of here. We have a dinner to get to.”

The weight of his hand in yours almost made you forget you were still holding the record, handling it so carelessly just to bring him closer. You realize you're drunk on affection, and eager to have more of his attention for the rest of the night. When he doesn't make a move to remove his hand from your hold, only dragging you behind him to check out, you feel like there will be a lot of new developments tonight.

The rest of the night goes as well as you would imagine.

Despite your incessant teasing, you have plenty of conversations that aren't centered around embarrassing Spencer and enjoying it. You sip wine together while he tells you about the letters he's been sending his mom; apparently, he's started telling her about you. While you're surprised he's only just doing it now, he confesses that he wanted to wait until he was sure you'd stay before he made such a decision. Unfortunately, with his line of work, he's right to be worried about things like that, but you stayed anyway, and now his mom knows about you.

And you have her favorite record in a plastic bag that you carry on the way home.

When his car pulls up to your building, you're hesitant to get out. You don't feel like the night is over yet. It was lovely and unforgettable, meeting his friends, learning about his mom, and having a very nice dinner together, but you feel like there's still one more topic that needs to be discussed.

When you don't make a move to get out of the car yet, he calls out your name in concern. You turn to look at him and your gaze is so intense he's almost intimidated.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod absentmindedly, too lost in trying to figure out what's missing from such a wonderful night.

“Well, we're here. This is your apartment, you know?” You can tell that's not the sentence he aimed for, but you're aware that Spencer stumbles over his words when he's nervous. You don't fault him for it.

You give him a genuine smile, “Yeah, I know.”

Then you're moving to unlock the car door, the newly bought record in your hand, and you get one leg out of the car before you realize exactly what this night is missing.

“Spencer?” You turn to him, he's already looking at you.

“Yes?”

Slowly, carefully, you ask, “would you like to come upstairs?”

Your apartment is somewhere that he's only seen while extremely drunk, hammered out of his mind. You realize that this is the first time you invite him up when he's actually well enough to walk on his own, and you also realize that it means something to you. You hope it also means something to him.

“Uh, yeah, sure? If you want me to walk you to your door, I'll definitely do that.” He's picking at the leather covering the wheel, cheeks slightly flushed like they’d been earlier. Multiple times during the night, you note how he’s always glowing red around you like a pulsating organ. Is it the slight chill of the weather or the heat behind your eyes? You hope it’s the latter.

“I think you know what you want.”

You weren't sure if he knew, but knowing Spencer, a line like that will trigger him into thinking about it so hard that he'll actually figure it out. You watch the gears turn in his head but he still looks confused, you hope that by the time you get to your door, he'll realize what you're talking about.

“I'm not sure, but I'll figure it out.” You give him one last smile before you exit the car.

True to his word, Spencer walks you up to your door after parking his car somewhere close. When you reach the apartment, as you dig for your keys in your purse, he stands next to you, looking a little lost because he clearly didn’t expect this. He fiddles with the ends of his vest while observing you.

You unlock your door and get inside, leaving it open so he can follow you. You drop your purse on your dining table and lay the record down next to it, watching from the corner of your eye as he steps into your apartment cautiously, like he's stepping over booby traps.

The door locks and you can't escape the conversation any longer. You also can't bear seeing him so lost, because god blessed him with eyes that make him look like a sad baby deer all the time. And every time he uses them on you, you immediately cave, because letting him suffer feels like letting a baby animal die.

“Spence.” You call, sultry and slow.

If you catch the way he slightly jumps at your voice, you don’t react.

“Yes?” He’s quiet, worried.

You lean back against your table, a relaxed smile on your face, “you know why I brought you here, right?”

He swallows, tucking his hair behind his ear. “A woman inviting her date up to her apartment could lead to a variety of things, but most commonly it leads to either sexual intercourse or murder.” His cheeks heat up at the words ‘sexual intercourse’ and you want to eat him alive. “And I'm kind of hoping you didn't invite me up here to kill me.”

You raise an eyebrow, the desire to tease him so strong and unforgiving, “So you hope I'll have sex with you then?”

That really gets him. His whole face goes red— blood rushing down his neck and up to his ears. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't. Instead, he just opens and closes it a couple of times, unable to articulate anything. If you were in a different situation, you'd have called him a fish, but you also realize something very critical: he doesn’t deny your previous statement.

“Spencer,” you call his whole name this time, voice low and heavy with something that alarms him further. “Can you come here, please?”

He hesitantly leaves his spot, taking slow, careful steps to your side. He stands at a considerable distance, making sure he gives you your personal space. If he’d done this at any other time, you’d have been fawning over how considerate he is, but right now you want him as close as possible, personal space be damned.

Feeling particularly brash, you reach out and pull him closer by a fistful of his shirt. He’s startled, but he lets you move him closer as if he were a rag doll, now you're barely a few inches away from him. Your hand moves to his neck, feeling the warmth that spread there a few minutes ago, the warmth that you caused. If it feels like it's getting warmer under your touch, you don't comment on it.

It's the first time you've touched him this much, this intimately, and it feels like you've been missing out for the past two years.

He watches you carefully, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out what you're aiming for. This is probably how he acts at work, you think, staring at something until he’s able to break it open and decipher its message, will he decipher your message too?

You look up at him through long lashes, peering into his eyes, hoping to communicate something with your eyes before you can put it into words. You feel a certain need in your stomach, tying knots and constricting your airways— it's what you guess people would call butterflies. Right now, you'd call it absolutely torture.

“Spencer.”

It's the third time you've called his name so far, and this time your noses are touching and you practically breathe his name onto his lips. This encourages him to put an arm around your waist and raise the other to cup your face affectionately. You lean into his touch, welcoming the reciprocation.

“I'm here,” his voice is low, more certain now, almost like he figured you out, “you can tell me.”

You nearly melt in his hands now that he's using that self-assured voice. You love it when he's shy, but god do you adore it when he talks like he knows exactly what to do with you. The things you'd let him do to you would probably get you placed on a watch list, but you don't mind as long as he's the one watching.

“You know what I want to say, don't you?”

He blinks, the gold flakes in his eyes so striking when you're this close, “maybe I do, but I'd like to hear you say it.”

He's in no place to be making such demands. He should be melting in your hands, not the other way around. You shouldn't be getting this weak at the knees just because he's using that stupid husky tone, sounding like he knows all your secrets. But, fuck, he absolutely knows all your secrets. He could probably read you like an open book— which you actually wouldn't mind at all because you've seen the way his hands stroke the pages when he's reading, and you'd love for those fingers to be all over you like they're all over those stupid books.

Your eyes glaze over with desire and you're getting impatient, while he watches you like he's studying your next move. Goddamn profilers and their dirty work. He should be getting dirty with you.

You mutter a quiet fuck and step back to separate your bodies; even though there's no place to go because the table is right there, you're at least not directly face to face anymore. His warm breath on your lips was driving you insane, and you brought him up here to talk, you needed to have this conversation. For your sanity.

He gives you space, because he's always been so caring and so perceptive about what you need, and the gesture makes you want to bounce on him. You have to remind yourself that if you keep thinking with your lower regions, this will be a counterproductive night.

You realize you can't do this while standing up, so you hoist yourself up on the table, and wiggle around till you get comfortable. Your trench coat isn't bending to your will and it takes you some more shuffling to beat it down. You really should've taken it off when you stepped in through the door.

The sound of Spencer's chuckle makes you realize that he's still here and he's very much observing your embarrassing fight with a trench coat. Your cheeks feel warm, but this is not the most shameful thing you've done tonight, and you're probably aiming to beat that record anyway.

“Don't laugh at me,” you mutter, embarrassed but smiling.

“Okay,” he laughs, “I won't.”

“God, you're such a liar. Is everybody at the FBI full of lies?”

He shrugs, “Depends on who you ask.”

You laugh and you're so in awe at how all the stress leaves your body so easily when he's talking to you, it makes you wonder why the hell you can't just say it. One sentence, something he already knows, something anyone would probably know by observing you for five minutes, it should be easy. But as obvious as it is, you're also well aware that once you say it, it becomes real. And you can't escape It. You can't pretend like it's something casual between you if you get your heart broken, or if he feels like you're moving too fast. The minute those words are out of your mouth, you'll have to confront the reality of your situation.

And you're scared.

You're scared that once you say those words and it becomes a real living thing, you could actually lose Spencer. You could get into an argument later and it ruins everything between you, or he could fall out of love, or you could fall out of love. There are so many bad endings to a relationship and the possibilities make you hesitate.

Spencer must've noticed that you're taking a while to speak, that you're too busy stressing out about it, because he comes close again (leaving enough space for the holy spirit this time) to gently hold your hand. It works like he intends it to. The skin-to-skin contact is grounding and you relax a little, wishing you could just melt into him and never have to go through any uncomfortable conversations.

But when you look up at him, and you're met with the familiar trustworthy eyes of the guy who has been your god-given solace for months now, you wonder how the hell you could ever rethink taking a chance on him.

Even if the risk is terrifying and you're scared of ruining things, you know Spencer would be worth the try. Plus, fantasizing about a reality where it works out and you get married in a few years is actually much more fun than thinking about impending doom.

You don't want the world to end before you tell Spencer the raw truth of your feelings, and not through subtle gestures or sneaky glances, you want him to hear the whole thing.

You squeeze his hand for one final reassurance. He smiles and squeezes your hand back.

“Spencer, I've got something very important to tell you.”

Slow and stead.

“I'm listening.”

You lick your lips.

“Okay well, remember how I told you a few months ago that there were currently no guys who were interested in me?”

He nods.

“Well, I lied.”

He raises his eyebrows, amused at the route you're taking, “oh yeah?”

You nod, swallowing heavily, “Yeah, yes. There was this… guy at my job, he doesn't work there anymore because he got transferred because of ‘new chances’ or whatever, but he was working with me this time last year, you know? Anyways, he'd get really close to me whenever we were handling the same task, not in a sexual harassment way but in an ‘I have a crush on you’ way. And I realized that he was interested in me because he kept dropping hints and I'm, surprisingly, not that oblivious. I can tell when a guy likes me. He actually asked me out once to this new donut place near the office, but I declined because he has really bad table manners to be honest and, god I'm glad he's not working with us anymore because he'd hog all the coffee and we could barely find anything to drink by the end of the day— but that's not the only reason I rejected him, I actually rejected him because… because I couldn't imagine going out with anyone else who wasn't you, and I guess what I'm trying to say is- that's when I realized that I like you, Spencer. And I've liked you for almost a year now.”

You're out of breath by the time it's all out, but incredibly relieved. You look up at Spencer and he has this amused twinkle in his eyes and a very dumb smug smirk on his face. Once you're fully and completely done with your little speech, the first thing he does is laugh.

You're so offended you immediately take your hand away from his and slap his chest, “Don't fucking laugh, I just confessed my feelings for you.” You hit him some more, but he won't stop laughing, “Spencer, this is so fucking rude, oh my god, just reject me like a lady if you're going to mock me like this.”

He catches your hand before you land another weak punch on his arm, and you have very little time to react before he reaches forward, cupping your face with his other hand and joining your lips for a long-awaited kiss.

You've fantasized about the way he kisses for a very long time. After you’d heard about his little make-out session with that actress in the pool, it took everything in your body to resist asking him to take you next. You've thought about kissing him nearly every night when you were falling asleep, he was even haunting some of your dreams like a fiend, kissing you like his life depended on it, only for you to wake up to the cruel, harsh reality of never having kissed Spencer Reid.

But that reality is different now.

He uses both his hands to cup your face and angles your head just right to get as much contact as possible. He tastes like the wine you've been drinking all night and smells like cedar wood and sage. God, even when kissing you he has to smell like a perfect little herbal garden? You'd get mad at him if his lips moving against yours weren't melting away every ounce of sophistication you have in your body.

You use the chance to be greedy and reach your hand into his hair, making sure to mess it up so that there’s proof that you were here, in his arms, kissing him.

He's sweet with his kiss, despite knowing you both waited for it for so long, he doesn't push you to go further even though you'd love for him to. You'd let him take you on this table right now.

But the absolute worst thing about Spencer is that he's so respectful that he pulls away after a few seconds to watch for your reaction. He's flushed with desire and his eyes have gone dark in a way that you've only seen when he was really angry. You can tell that he's restraining himself to not make you uncomfortable. His eyes scan your face eagerly, his hands resting on either side of your face.

“God, you're so… ridiculous.”

The comment is so unexpected that you laugh, and the sexual tension seems to ease into just… sexual existence. “Hey, what's that for? You're going to kiss a girl and then immediately insult her?”

His smile mirrors yours, “my apologies, your highness. I have just never heard such a ridiculous confession in my life before.”

You frown, lips curling into a pout, “not true, that actress in the pool had a ridiculous confession too.” She didn't, but you never fully got over her kissing Spencer before you could.

“Oh yes, I'm sorry, I forget about any other woman when I'm with you.” Then he plants a quick kiss on your lips with a poorly concealed smile, and you can just tell that he's going to be doing that a lot to get away with whatever bullshit he's spewing.

“You’re unbelievable, Spencer Reid.”

Then you’re kissing him again, craving more of what he gave you during the first kiss. The desperation for contact has you pulling him closer by his collar, leaning into the kiss like you were starving before him. When he finally slips his tongue into your mouth, you moan so pathetically it makes his grip around you tighten, body drawing impossibly closer to yours.

You're kissing for such an extended period of time that you're dizzy from the lack of air when he pulls away, and you're greeted by that lovely shade of crimson on his face. You desperately want to find out just how red he can get and in what other places.

You're admiring his face, lost in the haze of the kiss, and chewing absentmindedly on your lips when you suddenly remember something very important. You draw back a little to shoot him a very serious look.

“Hey, you never said you liked me back.”

He laughs in disbelief, “do I have to?”

You nod like a petulant child, seriously alarmed.

He playfully rolls his eyes, “alright, I like you too,” he kisses you, “I like you a lot actually.”

You're satisfied with that answer, melting into his touch again, like a helpless pet. You admire the post-makeout look that adorns his face and makes him more beautiful than you could ever imagine, and he gazes at you with stars in his eyes. For a while, it feels like the universe belongs to the two of you and no one else.

Until you remember how late it is and the fact that Spencer actually works tomorrow, then you're not that happy anymore.

“What's wrong?” He asks, nose rubbing against yours as if you could ever focus on anything when he's that close.

“You have work tomorrow, and it's very late…”

He draws back from you, as if broken out of the trance by your words, “Oh no, you're right.” He's starting to move away when something inside you kicks in and suddenly your legs are flying to lock around his waist to secure him in place. He raises his eyebrows at you, amused and surprised.

“You can't do this.”

You nod your head menacingly, “oh yes I can.” You know he could easily break out of your hold if he really wanted to, but the fact that he's entertaining your antics tells you that he's not very eager to leave either.

“Angel, I have to go to work in the morning. Like an adult with responsibilities, you know?”

If you were in your right mind, you'd be offended at that comment, but he's just kissed you senselessly and then called you ‘angel’ for the very first time. No one could blame you for not being very wise.

“You can still go to work in the morning, you just... don't have to leave right now.”

“You want me to stay? Here?” You nod. “My love, you don't even have a change of clothing that can fit me.”

“Then sleep naked. I won't complain.”

He laughs, “What about a toothbrush? You don't have an extra one for me.”

“I change my toothbrush once every three months and I always buy extra, so I do actually have a completely sealed, never used before brush that you can use. It will be yours from now on.”

He shakes his head in disbelief but you can tell he's starting to budge, your technique is working.

Plus there's the unsaid promise that, if he stays, there will be a lot more kissing going on.

“And you want me to go to work tomorrow in this same outfit?”

“Mhm, we'll hang it and it will be just fine.”

“I don't have my badge with me, I can't go to work without my badge.”

You scoff. “Then wake up early and drive by your place, stop creating irrelevant problems, Spencer.”

He’s in disbelief at your brazenness but seems to cave in anyway. “Fine, yeah, I'll stay.”

You smile, very proud of yourself, “yes you will.”

At this point, you're aware that your leg is still around his waist, and you're holding him in place like you took him hostage, but you honestly don't feel like letting him go just yet. Months of pining for him like a lovesick fool, you think you deserve to relish in the power you exert over him. He seems to notice the hunger for power in your eyes because he's coming closer again, placing his hands on either side of your thighs.

“You have other plans for me tonight, don't you?” He's using that husky tone again and looking at you with glazed-over hazel eyes. Like a predator hunting its prey.

You place your arms around his neck, back where they belong, “and if I do? Will you punish me, officer?”

His warm breath fans over your lips and you're shaking to your core with anticipation, “I don't know, maybe I will.”

Then he puts an end to all your antagonizing conversations that are distracting you from more important matters by bringing you in for another eager kiss. You take all of him in, the stubborn grip he has on your face, the teeth clashing when he shifts your positions, the low moan he releases when you pull on his hair — you take everything he gives you with eagerness and hunger. You could swallow him up whole right now if you could.

When he pulls away to take a breath and you're confronted by his disheveled face once more, you realize that there are a lot of things you're going to do to him tonight. You realize that it’s going to be a good while before either of you goes to sleep.

#this is the longest I've ever written #its so long its slowing my phone down help #anyways i hope it was enjoyable i hope he wasnt ooc and if he was ill do better next time ☝️#and HAPPY BIRTHDAY SPENCER REID BABY BOY!!!#i waited for his birthday to post all of this #my gorgeous gorgeous boy #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader

346 notes · View notes

operationladybug · 2 months ago

Text

What were your favorite wintertime activities as a child? What upcoming holidays do you celebrate? How do you celebrate? ❄️ Reblog and share in the tags.

“Hi. Please take a moment to read this. I am writing a post on behalf of @suad-khaled whose fundraiser has been stagnating and has only reached 50% despite her fundraising for several months. Suad has been verified by @/nabulsi and also by @northgazaupdates, you can read more about her and her struggles in the tag here.

Suad is an engineer who after graduating with top marks was also working as a university lecturer in her university. Just before the October 7th's accelerated genocide, she also found she was pregnant and was ready to also start this new chapter of her life.

Since the genocide, she and her husband have been displaced multiple times, escaping bombing narrowly in the process. In June she gave birth to baby Khaled and then immediately had to move to a tent with him. Suad and her baby both have been sick this year and her infant has suffered from malnutrition and chest infections in the first year of his life. The doctor recommended nebulising sessions for baby Khaled because of his chest infection and allergies which also ate into the family's limited funds.

Right now, despite facing constant hunger Suad is deeply worried about being able to afford diapers and formula for Khaled. Prices have quadrupled; a pack of 36 diapers now costs $50, and a can of formula is $13. Buying cheaper formula caused baby Khaled's health to worsen. This is also baby Khaled's first winter and he needs winter clothes.

Please, please support Suad and baby Khaled and help their fundraiser reach completion so that they are able to survive and evacuate from Gaza.”

(Thank you for the help with creating this post! I did not have the brain energy to come up with the right words, so this was written by a friend of a friend.)

💙 Reblog, Queue, Share 💙

Tagging for reach under the cut:

@sliceofdyke @littlegermanboy @g00ngala @grillwizard @graciouswings @sillymeter @palestine-donation-links @palestinegenocide @palestine-info-uncensored @gazavetters @gaza-evacuation-funds @zhuiren @weltenwellen @xinakwans @egberts @kropotkindersurprise @niqabisinparis @pukicho @paper-mario-wiki @queenie-says-free-palestine @tamamita @ultimatedirk @astrolavas @atalienart @bob-belcher @beebeedibapbeediboop @botan @buggachat @bi-trans-alliance @cassandrajean @creativepromptsforwriting @crimson-chains @colormush @drawingden @daily-prompts @design-art-architecture @develop-your-oc @discount-supervillain @evermore-fashion @enenkaydoodles @eliotbaum @elasticitymudflap @fyblackwomenart @fannyrosie @fuckyeahgravityfalls @filmgifs @greelin @gawki @ghiblisdaily • Sorry to be a bother!

Boost On Other Platforms:

Instagram

Threads

Facebook

318 notes · View notes

pixelcatsend · 7 months ago

Text

We are now open for registration until June 16th at 10:00 ET!

Pixel Cat's End is a virtual pet site where you collect and manage a village of cat-like creatures. You can dress them up, give them jobs, build and decorate their homes, and take them on tabletop-rpg-style adventures.

Come down and get yourself some small, round little kitty not-cats! Features:

The tiniest baby kittens you have ever seen in your entire life.

A very slow/casual-paced game that you can easily keep up with even if busy with work or school.

Say goodbye to the gender binary.

Giant (friendly) magical moose with hundreds of eyes, if that sweetens the deal for you.

*NEW* There are now TWO magical mooses! Two of them!

Some future features:

Ascend your cats to their final form and give them antlers, wings, and spare eyes.

*Coming Next Week* Mercats. Yes, you heard me. Mermaid kitties with little fishie tails and fluffy kitty pawsies. They will be yours.

Magical kitty cat powers (and terrible consequences for unlocking the secrets of the universe).

Find us at pixelcatsend dot com

#pixelcatsend #pixel cats end #virtual petsite #not-cats #and of course today we get the bonus feature: lag #the lag being the reason this was posted so far behind

586 notes · View notes

simplydnp · 8 months ago

Note

be honest with me. what are the chances of a hard launch in june

anon this question goes back years. and the thing is. we have been right once before.

you ask me this this time last year? fuck no. i might even quip that dapg would come back before dnp would hard launch. well. look at us now.

and even then, you look back on the content they started with in the revival--it honestly kind of felt exactly like where we left off, only a lot more explicitly queer (we stan). and then... trying to see without my glasses 2. and bang, spooky week happened. and that shifted the balance. we suddenly got slo-mo replays of handholds. day, after day, after day, finishing with the absolute masterpiece of halloween baking cinnamon rolls. in all honesty it was so much more than i'd've ever expected from them. truly another post-baking universe.

and it never really slowed down. suddenly we had cat prom photos, catboy butlers, catboy dan w/ phil photography credit, theyre 'wrestling' --running us full throttle into gamingmas, the first since 2017. and every day we had a new thing to freak out over: standing close. golf jokes. and then... pinof reacts. i don't know what compelled them to do it but i do have speculations. genuinely, i think they wanted to defang a lot of their history. we treated pinof 1, especially, with this... reverance. and it wasn't talked about too publicly--and dnp didnt do it either. so if they really wanted to move on, to bring down the walls, open the floodgates, define this new era: they had to throw the first stone. and they did. quite heartily too. suddenly this almost taboo part of their history--almost too intimate to be perceived--was on the table. and we were talking about it. joking about it. giving clear signals of 'we see it, it's okay.' and suddenly we existed in a post-pinof reacts world. of anything, i would've never predicted they would've done that. absolutely wild. follow that with it takes two being so chill and fond. incohearant being so blatant and heartfelt. trombone champ being unhinged and chaotic. the genuine and sweet complimenting of each other in the red carpet video. devan wedding... happilyphoreverafter... we crashed forward in time. never knowing what would be next. where is the line? how far will they go.

they teased us with japhan honeymoon and we knew 2024 would be wild. but we didn't know how much. from wdapteo 2023, to specific reminiscing about japan w/ devan, WAD happening, and phil playing a huge role in it all--from the orange carpet hosting, to 'ive been in *sex noises* with phil from the start!', to 'remote crisis manager phil lester', to dan saying he can stay during the thank you.

one of the biggest videos so far this year was the tiktok likes one. i will be forever haunted by the dog eating cheeseburger and willy wonka tiktoks--theres some things i was never meant to know. and yet. they tell us. explicitly.

every single video on amazingphil since the return of dapg has mentioned or featured dan. there's been a palpable shift in the way they interact. have you seen the way phil has been glowing in videos lately? this guy is on cloud nine all the time. it's really not hard to see why.

the energy of keep or yeet w/ dan... the absolute Lack of pretense of it all. phan twitter... watch your step baby girl...

dan and phil fucking crafts. talk about an unexpected return. legacy defining, one might even say. we're still in this tailspin of what everything means and they drop this insanely iconic video on us. from the storytelling to the production to the aesthetic--and its all capped off by explicit handholding. yes, it was part of the sacrifice. but hand in hand, the heart dan ripped from phils chest in one, and the knife that did it in the other... oh boy. we're really in it now. and then they put it on fucking merch. genius. truly no one does it like them.

and the foot has been on the accelerator since. dan and phil connections, shuffleboard & mocktails, getting deep slumber party, acknowledgement & approval of fics (yes previously given but never like this)--hell, even the sims today was wild for 'is their love language horrible banter 👀'.

you didn't ask for an essay but i gave you one. all of this to say, they've been moving the line. quite intentionally so. they intentionally revived their joint branding. they are 'dan and phil' again, and seem happier than ever about it, and i think that means something. they're saying things they never would have before--out of the closet or not.

as for june... 5 years since coming out is a big deal. so is this year being 15 years of dnp. hell, so is this year for being the first out pride month where they're explicitly a duo and regularly making content together. they're sentimental, there will be something.

my craziest idea is reacting to their coming out videos ✌️😔 --but i don't think it'll actually happen. as for more realistic, i could see pride merch. and however that goes will be significant, in my opinion. i'm excited and curious.

i don't know if they'll hard launch. it's hard to put all of the implications, complications, and speculations back into the box once it's opened. dan's talked about it before--wanting to be able to fuck up and not be publically executed, instead, being able to learn and grow and work it out. i think that's a very understandable stance to have. very grounded. we'd have to ask him if tour/dapg has changed that now. i do think he's had some sort of life epiphany--whether it's about that specifically, only he can say. but i think it's there.

even if i portray a lot of level-headedness, i wear my clown nose with pride. sometimes the only option is to go with whatever is funniest at the time. they're both jokesters, so they could commit to a bit like that. but it's also like, it can be too serious for them to want to joke about. i don't know. i think we're in this almost beautiful state right now--the we know you know of it all. there's no expectations, no demands to be met, no obligations of types of content. they're happy. we're happy. it depends on if they feel ready. if they want to. we'll be here, always.

#that is to say. marraige hill is starting to get crowded boys. so if you could. do something about that. thatd be great #im sure there's things ive missed but basically it comes down to this: realistically? maybe. & thats a lot fucking closer than its ever been #theyre having fun. and that means im having fun #dnp #c.text #dan and phil #phan #<- for the fandometrics #answered

508 notes · View notes

eccentricallygothic · 9 months ago

Text

|| The Farmer's Way ||

Description: With the gang gone for good, Arthur had retired and you were his reward. Or so he believed.

Pairing: Dark!Arthur Morgan | Gender-Neutral Spouse!You.

Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own Arthur Morgan or the RDR universe. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, gross stuff because that's all I think about while playing the game, age gap, groping, dirty talk, degradation, doggy style, penetration, spanking, biting/marking, sexism, wife kink but it doesn't matter what you identify as because he's gross like that so tw for sure.

Note: Fair warning, he's a bit of a sicko and I am a mental slut. Also this is kinda my first time with gender neutral smut so I am very sorry if I got something wrong. I am willing to rectify if I did make any such mistake.

The hot June air blew past you and pricked at your rather pampered skin. You felt a droplet of sweat trickle down your temple as you winced and shielded your face from the sun, the rays now attacking the skin of your arm instead. A grunt escaped you when you willed your feet, which were clad in some glittery pumps, to push on towards the huge barn of your family farm. A string of disgusted curses foxed their way out of your mouth when the smell of dung and hay wafted into your nostrils from the giant red wooden box that was literally radiating stinky heat.

Your feet halted right outside the heavy double doors and you had to take a long breath to brace yourself before you entered. Your features scrunched in disdain as you tried to hold your breath, clutching the cool jug and glass that you were holding tighter as you slipped inside before the weight of the door caused it to close by itself. Clenching your jaw to focus on the task at hand, you slowly walked forwards and concentrated on your breathing to ensure you didn't inhale any of the barn filth.

It was a fairly easy piece of work.

Give the lemonade to your husband and leave.

Simple, right?

No.

Not when said husband is Arthur Morgan.

As his fingers wrapped around your wrists to keep you from leaving after you had placed the jug and glass down, your breath hitched as you felt a bile rise in your throat from pure disgust. The dust and sweat on his fingers was gut wrenching.

"Fixin' to leave already?" His other hand came up to tangle in one of the two silky ribbons you wore on both sides of your head in half ponytails after he had pulled you against his hard chest, the coarse hairs on his chest scratching the skin of your back. "I was missin' you so much, baby" you uneasily shifted in his hold, goosebumps rising on your skin when you felt his fingers trail up from your wrist to your forearm. "It's almost like you showed up 'cause you read my mind" you could barely suppress your gasp as your body jumped in reaction to his stubbly lips suddenly finding your ear.

"I��" Your voice was a mere squeak and you had to concentrate to make yourself sound a bit less pathetic. "I left the food on the stove" your eyes fluttered shut before clenching as you suppressed the urge to retch at both the feeling and smell, arm folding to let your elbow press into the side of his torso. The man only hummed as his browned and dirty hands felt you up, basically frisking your barely clad body as his lips pressed rushed kisses against your neck. "A- Arthur!" You flinched when he bit down on a hickey on the junction of your neck, fingers finding your nipples through the sheer fabric of one of the many silk dresses he made you wear.

The older man did not budge, only grunting when you probed his chest harder, hips trying to wriggle free. "The grub can wait, hush now" your limbs screamed at you to fight. Try and push him away. Hit him with something. Make a run for it. Never look back. "Mmm, baby" your eyes teared up when his other hand slipped from the ribbon to trail down your abdomen and to your nether regions. "If it was up to me, I'd keep ya bare as a jaybird 'round the clock" your jaw clenched at his words but you knew better than to hurl the heavy jug that was in front of you against his head.

Because you had done stuff like that countless times in the beginning of your forced marriage seven months ago.

Except, you had no idea how but your husband had somehow trained and kept a number of wolves to guard the property only God knew how.

No one could come in and you could never leave.

The punishments that you had been subjected to upon trying to do so were more than enough to keep you on your best behavior.

"Oh, darlin', you taste mighty fine" you were flipped and easily backed into one of the many stables. "Now, let me try out that pretty little mouth" your eyebrows scrunched as you craned your neck backwards to get away from him. The reverberations of Arthur's chuckle buzzed through your chest as he pressed into you and left you trapped and helpless. "Ain't ya just a foolish little thing? Thinkin' you can get away from your old man?" His rough palms cupped your face as he dipped his head in, chasing your lips with his own and snickering when you tried to move.

When you had seen this mysterious cowboy turn up to buy your family farm off of your useless brother seven months ago, you had not thought much of it. Sure, you were angry that his gambling had ended him up in so much debt that he had no choice but to sell off your family legacy, but you had bright plans with your scholarship program at a prestigious college, and you had been so ready to leave this life that you had never liked much in the first place behind for one of revolution and modernity.

Only, when all of your documentation as well as your brother and his family disappeared the night before your final departure, the then stranger and now your husband revealed that you had been part of the deal.

As Arthur fucked into you on your wedding night -as he had promised your brother that he would not take you before that-, the man had confessed how lovely you had looked resting on a tree branch as you chewed on your lip, completely engrossed in your book.

You knew alcohol and the colorful powders that your brother loved to use had done his mind in, but handing you off like merchandise to a man with no regard for your orientation or taste was something you had never expected from him. Not after he had been your legal guardian for so long.

But then again, he never understood your ways and thought revolution was a blasphemy.

In your brother's world, you either did the hard work on the field or became a field worker's home runner.

And your open disdain for the farm work had earned you the latter.

The irony was laughable, because he probably thought he was protecting you by choosing a secure future for his baby sibling. The right thing.

Your spark had always scared him, and so he suppressed it once and for all under the mundaneness of the farm by locking you up in his own kind of a gilded cage and handing the keys to the man who was all over you at the moment.

'Excitement is a double edged sword. It is thrilling and promising but it can also be dangerous.' That you couldn't deny.

The thrumming in your nether regions was proof.

Frightening, shameful, repulsive proof.

"Arthur…" You whimpered as your vision zeroed in on his rough lips that brushed against yours soon before pressing into them.

The man moaned, rubbing his crotch against yours as he deepened the kiss by tilting his head to the side and forcing his tongue in your mouth, the taste of cigarettes and coffee making you cringe and try to move away but a tight squeeze to your ass with his coarse hand made you gasp and hence open your mouth. Then his tongue was down your throat.

Everything was rough and dirty about him.

You hated it.

Sometimes he purposely rubbed his filth against your clean clothes and body to add insult to injury. He would laugh as you would hold your breath and try to get away only to be trapped between his strong body and some surface. Arthur would then watch you squirm and struggle until you ran out of breath and had no choice but to inhale his scent.

"Dang it, I can't hold back no more" Arthur was panting when he finally broke off to let you both breathe, one of his hands bolting down to his belt while the other one held you steady. "I need ya right now…" The kiss had flushed your lips and you could feel the change in size as you ran your tongue over them to accumulate some moisture. "You gonna be good and take it for me, darlin', won't ya?" And while your brain screamed at you to know better, you squeezed your legs and whined, taking deep breaths as one of your fists bunched some of his sweaty shirt in it.

"Arthur…" A small smirk made its way on his face while he hurriedly relieved himself of all decency. He recognized that tone.

"Now ya know better than to call me that, baby" heat spread across your cheeks as you whimpered, biting your lip before you lowered your head and reached for his hand that was pinching one of your nipples through your sheer dress. "Go on now, you know my preference" your eyes fluttered shut as you took a shaky breath, massaging the hand that was toying with your chest and arching your back.

"... H- Hubby…" Arthur cursed under his breath like he always did whenever he got you to call him that. Then he reached out for your other hand and brought it to his erect cock, the feeling of its thick veins against your soft fingertips causing your hole to clench around air.

"Aw, shit, darlin'" he guided your hand up and down his twitching cock. "Can ya feel it?" His body pressed against yours. "This here is what ya do to me" the tip of his organ released some hot precum and you couldn't help but shudder at the memories it triggered.

Memories of how it felt inside you.

Before you knew it, as always, reason was out the window before you could grab onto it and your mind had decided shame could come later. Who knew when or if you would ever make it out of here and Arthur was way too good at making you feel strange things that kept you giving into him for more.

"Please, hubby" you whispered, unable to hold back anymore as you worked your wrist to please him. "Please…"

"Please, what, baby?" He pecked your lips over and over before moving down to the corner of your mouth and then further along your jaw. "Use your words for me" his lips locked around a patch of your delicate skin as he sucked, causing you to bend your back outwards. "Get, now."

"P- Please take me…" You shuddered as the sound of his lips forming yet another bruise along the expanse of your neck grew louder and louder in the air. "Please… please…" You couldn't get yourself to utter any more obscenity than that.

"You mean you want me to fuck you?" Your heart dropped at the bluntness of his words, the feeling of his stubbly lips curling against your skin almost making you want to retreat, but only almost.

Besides, you couldn't leave on your accord even if you wanted to.

Though you really didn't want to leave this barn anymore.

Not before the ache between your legs was relieved.

When you didn't respond verbally, Arthur clicked his tongue as he came back up to face you and reached for his hat before placing it on your head. He loved to take you like that. "Come on, darlin'. You know I ain't gon' do nothin' 'til you say it for me" but then one of his hands creeped between your legs to caress your intimate part and your legs trembled in reaction; body submitting at once.

Taking in a deep and shaky breath, you braced yourself before mumbling out your words, hoping and praying they were enough for him because you knew as well as you knew it was day that you didn't have any more indecency in you to talk the kind of filth he could with a straight face.

"P- Please fuck me, hubby…" One of his eyebrows raised as he leaned in closer.

"I'm sorry, what was that there?" You almost choked his cock between your fingers but you knew better than hostility.

"I- I said…"

"You said?"

Your jaw clenched in annoyance because you were so needy all thanks to his dirty hands and now he was not helping.

"I said p- please fuck me, hubby" you said as clearly as you possibly could, tone almost blunt.

He finally seemed intent. "Your wish is my command, darlin'" the man had you flipped and bent over the stable before you could even register it.

Your gaze settled on the little pony in front of you as you felt his stiff tip prod your entrance, the foreplay having lubed his cock more than enough. Since you weren't allowed to wear underwear, the lack of it granted him easier access to you and Arthur was sliding in with a grunt a moment later, squeezing both your ass cheeks at the same time as he cursed.

"Fuck, baby. You're the tightest little thing I've ever laid down with" your fingers gripped the stable as you jumped when he landed a spank to one of your cheeks, slowly moving through you to get you to adjust. "Shit, look at you. Such a pretty little farm wife, baby" your face scrunched up in both discomfort and sensory overload due to how sensitive you felt down there.

"Please…" Your mouth always betrayed you in moments like these despite your best efforts to stay as quiet as possible.

But it felt even better when you let it get the best of you and drown you completely, the vile words coming out of your own mouth adding to the pressure between your hips before stars exploded in your vision.

"Please what, sweet little thing?" You felt his chest drape over your back as he rubbed his stubbly cheek against yours, hips starting to find a rhythm as the speed of his thrusts increased.

"Please… more" you couldn't help but lean your face against his to withstand the sensitivity, eyes fluttering as you chewed on your bottom lip in concentration, your velvety walls sheathing his veiny cock with every push.

Arthur's chest reverberated against your back. "Ya act like you're too good for all this, but deep down you're just a horny little hussy, ain't ya darlin'?" You whined loudly as you clenched around him, starting to move your own hips against his now. "Jus' look at you, whinin' and squeezin' 'round me in front of li'l Sally like a silly 'lil jezebel" that was what you had named the pony that stared at you with her curious eyes. "But ya love that deep down, don't ya?" Your eyebrows furrowed when his words started to crack the haze that had formed in your mind, making you lower your head to cancel him out and focus on your relief.

But you could never win with Arthur.

"You can go on ahead and deny it all you want. But this trashy li'l hole of yours tells me all I need to know everytime, honey" his lips bluntly moved against the shell of your ear as he gathered one of your knees in his hands and pushed it up against the frame of the stable before finding its way to your nipples again, other hand gliding down to the quivering organ between your legs.

As Arthur's hips sped up and your body started to rock back and forth against the wooden frame with each powerful thrust, the sound of skin clapping against its like filled up the smelly barn. His hat fell over your eyes and you knew you were in for a long day.

750 notes · View notes

luveline · 3 months ago

Note

jade!! can we please get something with junie’s mom and eddie? <3 missing them today

thank you for requesting! 1.3k

Eddie met you two weeks after you moved into the park, he’s pretty sure. Your baby ran out down the road because you didn’t know that all the trailers have the same bum lock, and she ended up on the Munson porch trying to get back home.

He still remembers how she could barely talk. He had no idea how quickly babies explode with words.

“Love you.” Junie smiles up at him, her waiting for a reciprocation all the more impressive. She’s just turned three, and Eddie would argue she doesn’t look it. She’s still a baby in his head.

“I love you,” he says, leaning down to tap their noses together.

“Can I have a hug?”

Just a few short months ago she would’ve shouted “Hug!” and dove into his neck, or said nothing at all. He doesn’t see why that should change.

“Babe, you don’t have to ask,” he says, wrapping his arms around her.

She sighs in contentment, relaxing under his hand where he pulls it up and down her back. She’s getting bigger. Eddie can’t believe she’s already three. Where the hell does the time go? Days, weeks slip away.

But at least they’re with you. God, he can’t believe they’re with you.

“I’m feeling left out,” you say, laying on the floor of the trailer with your hands held over your chest. You’d been colouring with June a half hour ago, but she got bored fast and left you there. You’ve yet to get up.

Eddie twists June in his lap so she can see you. He hugs her, and he presses his face to the top of her head, one eye open to see you and the other screwed closed. “You want us to come over?” he asks.

You think about it. “No. I’m too tired to hug.”

You’re always tired. Eddie knows that there’s a life he could give you one day where you don’t have to work. He’s not sure you’d let him, but he’d like to get promoted and move you out. He’d like to ask you properly to be his forever, to be permanent, and to live together as a family. Wayne’s telling him not to rush into things, but he really didn’t. You and Eddie were friends for half a year before he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and he doesn’t see that time as wasted, but he knows now that getting to kiss you is something he missed out on.

Plus, being your boyfriend means he’s actually allowed to take care of you without dousing you in shame. You like being looked after. It’s why Eddie works a ten hour shift and comes straight home to you, so he can fold your laundry and you can get some rest.

Every time you yawn, it’s a reminder for Eddie that he’s not making your life as easy as he could. (It’s not a healthy way to think about it. It’s not your fault or his that life is hard. But he thinks about it anyway.)

Eddie gives June a kiss behind the ear and sets her down in the corner of the couch. He grins at her as he does, hoping for a detachment without tears, popping his head into his hand in mock nonchalance. “Babe, I’m gonna go hug your mom back to life. I’ll be right back. Cool?”

“Cool.”

Eddie pats her knee and she sits back to watch as he drops to the floor on his knees, crawling around crayons and gel pens and markers to your side. You laugh, flinching as his hand lands on your stomach, but he’s not there to tickle you. He holds your face in the other hand, really holds it, bending time. The mental snapshot he takes of you tired and lovely regardless can join an endless gallery.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

“So are you.”

“You want some help getting up?” he asks.

You nod your affirmation. Eddie slides his hands under your arms, murmurs a too tender, “I got you,” as you sit up. He stands and pulls you with him, half drags your tired limbs to the couch where your girl is still sitting patiently.

He puts you down. Kisses your cheek, throws a blanket across your knees. He picks Junie up to sit where she’d been in the corner and promptly settles with her on his thigh, the other arm open.

“We’re napping?” Junie asks.

“Would that be okay?” Eddie asks. “Mom’s tired.”

“I’m not tired,” Junie says.

“I know, baby, me neither. I was thinking we’d just lay here and hug mommy for a while, and then we’d have lunch.”

“I don’t need a nap,” you say, though your eyes are heavy, darting to the empty place in his arms carved out especially for you.

“Then just hug me,” Eddie whispers. Commanding, disbelieving, he knows you’ll be dozing in five minutes or less. All you need is a little light goading.

You lay against his side. Junie wiggles to be on her front, chest to chest with Eddie as he sinks down. He kicks up his legs beside you, the three of you collapsing inward, his favourite girls in the world.

There’s argument on if you can choose your family or not. Eddie doesn’t remember choosing you, just suddenly knowing you, and ever so slowly loving. He loves your face, your arms, the way you breathe. He loves how you turn into his chest and how you seem thrilled to be there, your hand coasting a loving line across him, fingers pressing into his stomach. It’s like you’re waving on his skin. He has no idea where you learned how to touch someone with that much love, but he leans down to kiss the skin just shy of your hairline so you know he feels it.

Junie’s all little legs and sweetness as she yawns on his shoulder. “Mom, can I have some… some blanky?”

You pull it off your legs to cover hers. Eddie squares it up. Everyone covered, he lets his head tip back against the couch.

He’s not tired. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep. You fall asleep first in a slow series of exhales he knows well, that deepening, your fingers growing still against his t-shirt.

Junie goes second. She squirms at first, not wanting to give in, but Eddie’s getting better at his dad-pats. He finds the space on her lower back, her off button ever since he’s known her, and he taps his hand against it until she’s breathing heavily against his neck.

“Eddie?” she asks tiredly.

“What, rockstar?”

“Goodnight.”

He scratches her back lightly. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Do you need me to take you to bed?”

“No. We can sleep on you.”

“Who should I sleep on?” he whispers.

She shakes her head. Unhappy with his question, or maybe her nose is itchy. She falls asleep with her face pressed to his chest a few seconds later, leaving Eddie awake and unsure of what to do now. He trapped himself.

He can’t find it in himself to mind, worried first about boredom, and then struck with a realisation. How could he ever be bored with you under his arm?

He has time now to trace your nose, count your eyelashes, whatever he likes.

“Love you,” he says, pressing his nose to your head.

It takes a few seconds. “Love you,” you murmur.

He rubs your arm until you’re sleeping again. It was selfish of him to wake you, but he’d wanted to hear it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #June baby universe

639 notes · View notes

munson-blurbs · 1 year ago

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Summary: June brings the end of Harris's preschool career and the official beginning of your new life as a family of three--with a little help from your friends, of course.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), p in v, mentions of phone sex, grief and loss

WC: 7.8k

Chapter 20/20

A/N: With the official end of Trapped Under Ice, I am now opening up requests in the TUI universe. Thank you all for taking this journey with me as I processed my own grief. As long as you keep requesting, I will continue writing for our little family 💚

Thank you to @rip-quizilla for making that scene stronger. Ily, bb.

Divider credit to @saradika

The diner is bustling with customers, happily chatting over stacks of pancakes and overstuffed omelets. Coffee carafes clink against chipped mugs as the waitstaff pours refill after refill.

You weave through the rows of tables, careful not to bump into servers balancing trays of food or busboys carrying the used dishes and silverware. A small yellow gift bag is clutched in your hand, and you hold it to your chest to protect its fragile contents.

Harris spots you before you can see him; his little arm shoots up from where he’s tucked into the booth next to Wayne.

“Ms. Sweetheart!” he frantically waves, his grin wide enough to stretch off of his cheeks. “Over here!”

You laugh, watching as Eddie scoots from the middle of the seat to the end, making room for you to sit down. There are two steaming cups on his side of the table, centered on little saucers that are likely older than you are.

“Morning, baby,” he greets you with a smile, leaning in to give you a small kiss—no tongue, of course—as you slide in next to him. “You sleep okay last night?”

You nod sheepishly, remembering the phone conversation the two of you had had, well after Harris fell asleep. Eddie’s sultry voice had guided you through touching yourself; the next-best thing to having his own fingers inside you.

“Wish I could be there right now,” he’d murmured into the receiver, so low that you could barely hear him. The faint sound of his own fly being lowered punctuated his words. “Wanna make you feel so good, Sweetheart, but I know you’re being a good girl f’me tonight, aren’t you?”

You bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping to blame the heat creeping up your face on the drink, and take a hearty sip. It’s a little sweet, but mostly bitter. Just how you like it.

The crinkling tissue paper as you lean back in the booth draws your attention to your company and away from your indulgent memories. “Happy Father’s Day, Eddie,” you kiss him on the cheek, your lipstick tinting his stubble pink. “This is from me and Harris. Be careful with it.” There’s a deliberate vagueness in your warning, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

Eddie cocks his brow, clearly not expecting any sort of present from you. Shocking, considering you’d taken Harris to the Paint-n-Play on Wednesday during your usual tutoring session time, and you’d figured he would have spilled the beans as soon as he and his dad had a moment alone. He rustles around the bag with dramatic flourish, trying to build anticipation but only succeeding in testing Harris’s patience.

“Open it, Daddy! Open it!” Harris bounces up and down in his seat, mouth sticky and teeth tinted purple with grape juice as he urges Eddie to stop dragging out the process. Wayne discreetly places his palm behind his grandson’s scalp, protecting his head in case he rocks too far back. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart did it together!”

“You did, huh?” Eddie chuckles, pulling out a ceramic mug. It’s painted sky blue, and Harris had insisted on making purple polka dots, splotchy as he’d haphazardly dunked the brush in paint and pressed it to the plaster. Written in bright orange blocky letters is DAD; you’d helped him sound out duhh-ahhh-duhh, his little tongue poking out in complete concentration. Your only visible contribution is the tiny green 1997 painted along the handle, marking the first year you’d celebrated Father’s Day together.

The multitude of complementary colors and mismatched designs should clash. The dots look more like disfigured spiders than circles. The 7 you’d carefully written with a fine-tipped brush is slightly smudged from where Harris had picked up the mug before it had fully dried, and there’s an extra curving line extending from the first D in DAD after he’d started writing the letter backwards.

To Eddie, it’s perfect.

“I love it.” Brown eyes find his son’s hopeful gaze that eagerly awaits his father’s reaction. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten.” He places the mug on the table next to the coffee-filled one in front of him, tipping its contents into his gift. A few drops dribble down the side, but most of it ends up where it should. A success, in his opinion. He takes a hearty gulp, not caring that the hot liquid singes his taste buds. “Is this magic?” He holds the mug up to his face, studying it like it’s a precious stone. “Because, I swear, it makes this coffee taste better.”

The little boy beams, exchanging an elated glance with you. “Ms. Sweetheart, did you put magic in it?”

Eddie chimes in before you can respond. “I bet she did. She’s sneaky with it; always sprinkling it where you least expect.” His empty hand finds your thigh underneath the table, silently claiming it as his own. “I don’t know how she does it,” he muses wistfully, adding another sugar packet to the mug and swirling it with a spoon until it’s dissolved. Like it was always part of the coffee from the jump.

“Speaking of presents,” Wayne chimes in, unearthing a tiny, newspaper-wrapped package from his jacket pocket and handing it to his nephew. “‘S, not much, but it’s a Father’s-Day-slash-housewarming gift for ya.”

“I thought we agreed on no gifts,” Eddie shakes his head, suddenly self-conscious about arriving empty-handed.

“Well, I lied.”

Wayne watches as Eddie tears into the paper. Whatever home run or double-header had made the front page of the sports section is irrelevant compared to the mystery item that is snugly tucked between baseball stats and the upcoming game schedule.

A small gasp leaves his mouth as he unwraps a wallet-sized picture frame; the word family is etched into the wood right above the plastic-protected photo.

It’s from Harris’s bowling party; the one Wayne had taken of you and Eddie on either side of the birthday boy. Happiness radiates off of the three of you with such intensity that it seems impossible for it to be captured in a still frame. He’d forgotten that Wayne had even snapped it.

“Wayne, I…” Eddie struggles to find the words he needs to properly convey his feelings. The tip of his nose burns with the anticipated influx of emotions. “I’m gonna put it right next to my alarm clock, so it’s the first thing I see every morning.”

You lay your head on his shoulder, the edge of his lips finding your forehead in a half-kiss. He soaks in the comfort you bring, absorbing it through every pore as he exhales and feels himself relax.

The waitress comes over with a notepad and a smile. “You folks ready to order?” She clicks her pen, poised to jot down what the four of you want to eat.

“Chicken fingers, please!” Harris announces, perching up on his knees and leaning his elbows on the table. “With French fries!”

The waitress, whose name tag reads Bee, offers a sympathetic smile and a soft click of her tongue. “I’m sorry, buddy. We don’t start serving lunch until 11:30.”

The boy’s lower lip quivers at the news, having his heart set on eating his favorite food. You can see his perfectly curated routine begin to crumble, taking his excitement with it. “But…but I even said ‘please!’” he insists, voice cracking.

You step in quickly, wanting to salvage the Father’s Day celebration before Hurricane Harris can brew up a storm. “Hey, Har, I know you’re disappointed about the chicken fingers, but I have a super special idea.”

“Wh-What?” Misty eyes indicate that tears still threaten to spill over his lashes.

“When Grandma used to take me to the diner, we used to split silver dollars. They’re pancakes, just smaller.” You take a deep breath and smile, hoping and praying that your plan works. “Would you like to share some silver dollars with me? And we can come back and get chicken fingers another time.”

Harris considers your proposition, rubbing his hands together along his knuckles to soothe himself. Finally, he says, “Can we eat them with syrup?”

“That sounds delicious.” You lean over and ruffle his hair, careful not to let any loose strands land on the table. “You wanna tell the waitress?”

“Mmkay,” he nods, turning to Bee and smiling. “Me an’ Ms. Sweetheart are gonna have the, um, little pancakes.” He frowns, unable to remember the dish’s name. “The dollars?”

Bee laughs and nods, jotting it on her notepad. “An order of silver dollar pancakes, coming right up. And for you gentlemen?” She brings her attention to Eddie and Wayne.

The older man clears his throat, ordering a Western omelet with home fries and rye toast. Eddie asks for the same but with white bread. “And a refill on the coffee,” he adds.

Bee promises to be back shortly with the food, and the four of you resume your conversation.

“We’ll get to take a new picture next week at someone’s graduation,” you say with a smile, looking in Harris’s direction. “Are you excited, Har Bear?”

Harris takes another messy sip of grape juice. “Uh-huh. I’m gonna go to kindergarten soon! But first is summer.”

“Summer first, then kindergarten,” you agree, sipping your coffee before it gets cold. You’re no stranger to it, often setting down your to-go cup at work and forgetting about it until well after morning circle time, but you relish any chance you get to enjoy it while it’s still warm. “I was thinking: once you and Daddy are all moved in, we should make plans for this summer. Like the zoo, or the pool…”

“Yeah!” Harris claps his hands together and grins. “Or Disney World!”

Eddie’s ears perk up at his son’s suggestion. “Not this year, but maybe soon.” If he can continue moving up the ranks at the record store, coupled with the two of you splitting rent, it might even happen next year, but he doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t guarantee he’ll keep. “And we’ll drag Grampa Wayne with us.”

Wayne responds with a shake of his head. “You’re outta your mind if you think I’m goin’ on any of those roller coasters.”

“You’re gonna sit and ride It’s a Small World the whole day?” Eddie teases, leaning back in his seat.

“Damn straight.”

The food comes out ten minutes later, steaming plates carefully placed on the table. You cut the silver dollar pancakes into bite-size pieces, pushing half to the side nearest Harris and the other half closest to you. A glass syrup carafe waits to be used, its handle sticky with residue.

“Say when,” you tell Harris, drizzling it back and forth across the plate. He waits until the pancakes are drenched before stopping you.

You watch as he uses his fork to spear some pancake, pops it in his mouth, and chews thoughtfully. “It’s yummy!” he declares triumphantly, already scanning the plate for his next piece. “This is my favorite food ever!”

You, Eddie, and Wayne share smiles; none of you take his declaration too seriously, knowing he changes his favorite anythings on an hourly basis. Still, a win is a win, and avoiding a chicken finger-induced tantrum is no small feat.

Eddie spreads a pat of butter over his toast, but his eyes never shift from you and Harris sharing breakfast. You’d asked him whether he prefers blueberries or chocolate chips in his pancakes, and the discussion quickly devolved into a competition to see who could come up with the grossest pancake addition.

“How about…” Harris wiggles his nose, “broccoli pancakes?”

“Ew!” You stick out your tongue in disgust. “That was a good one, but I think I can top it. Would you eat…” you tap your chin in contemplation, “fish stick pancakes!”

Harris squeals, far from an inside voice, but no one wants to correct him. “That’s super yucky! Fish stick pancakes?!”

Eddie smiles, tucking into his own food. He wants to savor the joy, the warmth. The twinkle in Wayne’s eyes, the upturned corners of Harris’s lips, the trill of your laugh. He wishes he could capture the feeling, but a mental image will have to do.

He inhales and allows himself to be wrapped in the unconditional love he had once convinced himself he didn’t want nor deserve.

The Hawkins Preschool cafeteria has once again been transformed. The custodians folded the long tables, propping them against the wall, and set up rows of folding chairs, leaving a small aisle for the graduates’ families to find their seats.

Other parents stare as Eddie walks in, perspiration prickling under his arms as he hears them whispering about the kid who ran away. It’s audible enough for Wayne to hear; he rests his hand on his nephew’s shoulder and gives it a small squeeze before they take their seats.

Jeff and Dustin arrive a few moments later, noticing Eddie and Wayne in the small crowd and shuffling over. Eddie pulls them each in for a quick hug, and Wayne does the same.

“Glad we made it,” Dustin says with a sigh of relief. “My flight got delayed half an hour, but we made up the time in the air.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “It didn’t help that we had to stop at a payphone so you could call your precious Suzie-Poo,” he huffs, but there’s a glimmer of a smile on his lips, proud of the way his friend cares so deeply for his partner. “Anyway, we’re here now.” He takes a seat next to Wayne, shifting so he can speak to Eddie. “Is Harris excited to graduate?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie laughs, shaking his head at the recent memory of his son prancing around the apartment that morning in his cap and gown, small body drowning in the flowing green fabric. In that instant, Eddie could picture him as a young man, crossing a much larger stage to receive his diploma from Hawkins High. If Higgins is still the principal, Eddie might have to teach Harris the family tradition of flipping him off.

Sue Sinclair makes her way up the small staircase to the podium, adjusting the microphone so she speaks into it easily. “Good morning, parents, siblings, and other special guests. Welcome to Hawkins Preschool’s Moving Up ceremony.” She beams, holding for applause. Eddie eases back into his seat; he’s known Principal Sinclair for years, since Lucas had joined Hellfire, and she’d recently stepped up to take over teaching Harris’s class for the remaining weeks of the school year. After the little boy had given his statement to the police, Marion and Paula’s teaching licenses had been immediately terminated, and negligence charges were currently pending.

“Before we get started, I’d just like to make an announcement.” Sue Sinclair looks over to where your class is standing, patiently waiting their turn to receive their sticker-laden diplomas. “I am pleased to announce that our very own Mr. Will Byers,” she extends her hand in Will’s direction, “will be our newest head teacher starting this fall.”

Though everyone in attendance is clapping, it’s obvious that Eddie, Wayne, Jeff, and Dustin cheer the loudest. Will blushes red, unused to being the center of attention, but the smile on his face shows how excited he is to take on this new role. You wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind and pull him in for a proud hug.

“Our students have worked incredibly hard this year, learning their letters, numbers, and how to be a good friend,” the principal continues. “And though we will miss them dearly, we are thrilled to send them off to kindergarten with these new skills. So, without further ado, let’s bring out our graduates!”

The ceremony begins, starting with your class. You stand at one end of the stage, sending each student off to where Will is waiting at the other end as Principal Sinclair reads out each of their names. They take their certificates and pose with baby teeth on full display while their parents snap photos from disposable Kodaks and bulky Nikons. All the seemingly endless days, the menial fights over sharing toys; every moment was worth it if it led to this.

You usher the kids to their seats in the front row after your final student’s name is called, spotting Eddie in the crowd as you sit down. He winks, the corner of his eye mischievously crinkling. You smile, taking full advantage of the other parents’ distractedness and give him a little wave; the exchange a private love letter.

Both of you bring your attention back to the stage when Sue Sinclair calls up the next class. Harris stands towards the center of the line, excitement buzzing through him at a rate that cannot be contained. He rocks from the balls of his feet to his heels, back and forth as he awaits his turn. His brown ringlets poke out from underneath his cap, grazing just above his eyebrows.

Principal Sinclair pauses, looking directly at Eddie when she speaks. She understands the gravity of this accomplishment, her lipsticked smile reaching her eyes as she leans in towards the microphone.

“Harris Munson!”

Eddie jumps up, hollering as loud as his vocal cords will allow. Harris accepts his diploma and smiles wide, both at his accomplishment and at the sound of his dad cheering him on. His expression further brightens when he sees Wayne, Dustin, and Jeff beside him, and he waves while jumping up and down.

He’s supposed to walk from stage left to stage right, just as all the students before him have done; in typical Harris fashion, he takes the road less traveled. With a mighty leap, he catapults himself off of the stage and makes a beeline straight for you.

Two little arms wrap themselves around you, squeezing you as tight as they can. The brim of his cap is flush against your cheek. “I did it, Ms. Sweetheart!” His words carry a lightheartedness that only a child’s joy can bring. “Did you see?” He picks his head up from where it was nestled against you and giggles, dimpled chin brushing your bicep.

You tilt the mortarboard slightly upward and press a kiss to his forehead. “I saw, Har,” you tell him, using your thumb to wipe away your lipstick print, “and I am so, so proud of you.” Readjusting his cap, you usher him over to where the rest of his class is standing, a garden of happiness blooming within you.

You look back at where Eddie is sitting, wishing you could sit next to him, fingers laced together while his thumb caresses the side of your hand and grasping your hand tighter when Harris’s name is called. For now, it’s enough to know that you’ll be by his side throughout all of Harris’s future endeavors and accomplishments. A team.

Eddie’s palms press into his slack-covered thighs as he peers over at you and grins. Bright, adoring eyes meet yours, speaking every thought that his mouth can’t say right now. I love you. Thank you. We couldn’t have done this without you.

You accept the wordless praise with a smile, one that reaches beyond its usual confines.

Dustin notices the small exchange, and he nudges Eddie’s ribs with his elbow. “She’s the one, huh?” He cocks his eyebrow knowingly.

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie murmurs, no longer paying any attention to the remaining names being read aloud. “You ever think you’d see the day I settle down?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an ounce of insecurity behind them.

To Eddie’s surprise, Dustin nods without hesitation. “Always knew you would.” Carol Perkins shushes him from the row ahead, but he just flips her off and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t you remember that time in high school when we got sloshed—sorry, Wayne,” Jeff cuts in sheepishly, “and you went on a rant about how you secretly wanted the whole wife, kids, picket fence deal?”

“And I believe I threatened to kick your ass if you told anyone,” Eddie points out, embarrassment turning his face red, apparent even under the light stubble covering his cheeks.

Wayne chuckles softly. “I already knew. About the dream and the booze.” He laughs a bit harder at Jeff and Eddie’s shocked expressions. “If you keep replacing vodka with water, eventually, it’s all just water.”

“Ya don’t say.” Dustin’s sarcasm bleeds through his whisper.

Principal Sinclair reads the last student’s name with the same enthusiasm she’s given all of the other kids. “I now present to you, the Hawkins Preschool class of 1997!” She mimes tossing a cap in the air, the students’ cue to do the same.

The fervor of the cheers and applause could shake the cafeteria. Whistles pierce the air and reverberate off of the walls, none louder than Wayne Munson’s. You stand up, smoothing the pleats of your dress to soak in the achievement of completing another academic year; for you, this one in a brand new school with more challenges than you’d cared to endure.

You and Will take in the sight of nine cherubic faces looking up at you in admiration, though they’re beginning to shed their baby fat. This was certainly a journey, and you couldn’t have asked for a better teaching assistant to walk beside you through it all.

“I’m gonna miss you next year,” you say, squeezing him in a tight hug.

“I’ll be right down the hall!”

Begrudgingly, you let go of him, not losing the pout on your lips. “That’s way too far for me.” The two of you both know that you’re serious; it won’t be the same without having him in the classroom with you. “Can we try to match up our breaks and eat lunch together?”

“It’s a date,” Will laughs, then juts out his chin to motion behind you, “but it looks like I might have some competition.”

Before you can turn around, Eddie’s arms wrap around your waist. He tugs you in close so your back is flush against his chest, the buttons from his shirt pressing into your spine. “There’s my girl,” he murmurs in your ear, lips so close that they brush the lobe. “Are you ready to start your summer?”

You kiss his cheek, adjusting your stance so you can walk hand in hand to get Harris. He torpedoes himself into Eddie’s stomach, shrieking with laughter as he’s lifted into the air.

“Har Bear, you’re a preschool graduate!” Eddie smacks a kiss to his son’s temple. “How should we celebrate, hmm? Ice cream? Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Ice cream!” Harris decides easily. “I’m gonna get cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles and—Uncle Dusty!” He squirms out of Eddie’s grasp and races over to Dustin.

“What? I’m not an ice cream topping!” Dustin teases, crouching down to ruffle Harris’s curls, matted to his scalp from being hidden underneath the cap.

Harris giggles. “You’re so silly!” He glances back and forth from him to you, and you realize he doesn’t know that you’d met in March at Will’s birthday party. “Uncle Dusty, this is Ms. Sweetheart. She’s my almost-mommy.”

“Ohh,” Dustin replies with a smirk, raising his eyebrows and nodding. “I think she needs to be your dad’s almost-wife first–”

“All right! Ice cream time!” Eddie hurries to cut him off, glaring at Dustin for bringing the idea to Harris’s attention again; he has constantly been hounding him about marriage ever since he found out about his newest living arrangements. The idea of marrying you, however, eases his tension and has a smile tugging on his lips; a slight switch in expression that his uncle spots easily.

Wayne’s gruff whisper is in Eddie’s ear. “Sounds like it’s time for an almost-proposal.”

“Shut up!”

“I think that’s the last of them!” Jeff calls out, lugging the final cardboard box from his car into your apartment. He wipes his hands on his jeans and closes the door behind him, careful not to wake up his sleeping daughter in Viv’s arms. He looks over at where you, Robin, and Jess have begun unpacking, laying Eddie’s clothes in one pile and Harris’s much smaller clothes in another.

Jeff places a kiss on the crown of Viv’s head, then plants an identical one on Ettie’s. “Where are the guys?”

“Harris’s room,” you say; bittersweet taste tinging the new label. It feels better than Grandma’s old room, but part of it will always belong to her. You hear Harris giggle as Eddie and Dustin re-assemble his racecar bed, spreading warmth that gently softens the sadness until it resembles sentimentality. “I’ll come with you; I have to put this away, anyway.” You grab the pile of Harris’s clothes and tuck it under your arm.

Eddie and Dustin sit on the floor, rogue screws spread around them as they intently study their project.

“I think this piece,” Dustin muses, picking up one of the sides of the frame, “connects with this one like that…”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, it’s the other way around.” He takes the screwdriver and twists the metal into the slot triumphantly. Your breath catches in your throat as his bicep flexes with the motion, perfectly displayed where his t-shirt sleeve had been cut into a makeshift tank top. “There we go.” He looks up and realizes you’re there, perfectly still as you watch him. “Hey, Sweetheart. Y’good?” There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye; though it was inadvertent, he knows what he’s doing to you.

You only nod, the movement dragging you out of your momentary stupor. He chuckles as you place Harris’s shirts and pants in the dresser, fingers clumsily slipping over the knobs. It’s the same unicorn-covered dresser that had sent Harris into hysterics a few weeks ago, but you’d painted over it before he could see. It’s now a dark navy blue, no evidence of what once lay beneath.

Eddie’s amused by your reaction and subsequent embarrassment, running his tongue over his teeth and chuckling to himself, but his victory is short-lived.

“Hey, Casanova,” Dustin’s exasperated voice cuts in, pointing to the section Eddie just assembled, “you put the piece on upside down.”

Harris crinkles his nose. “What’s Casanova?”

Eddie buries his head in his hands as Dustin scrambles to explain. “It means your dad is trying to show off his handyman skills for your almost-mommy.” He winks in Eddie’s direction before leaning in and exaggeratedly whispering in Harris’s ear, “but he’s not doing a very good job.”

As soon as Harris distracts himself with setting up his toys, Eddie is saluting his friend with a quick flip of his middle finger.

You crouch down, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry; I’m very impressed.” He blushes when you kiss his cheek. “Your uncle’s going to be here with dinner in a few minutes, if you burly men want to wash up.”

Eddie nods, turning to his friends and his son and speaking in a deep baritone. “You heard the woman! Let us refuel so we may regain our strength for hunting and other masculine activities.”

Harris’s brows pinch together in further confusion while you and Dustin share an eyeroll, but the three of you follow your fearless leader out of the room. Eddie lets the two of them pass and waits for you, sliding a coy hand in your back pocket and murmuring against your hair. “Man and woman make fire in bedroom later?” He continues using the deepened voice.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s…that’s not a no, though, right?”

The summer sun is still high in the sky when Wayne arrives at the apartment, three pizza boxes still warm in his palms. He’s barely able to put them on the table before Harris is racing towards him, ready to give a full report of the goings-on of his day.

Jess sits at the table, baby Ettie laying in her arms while she gives Viv a break and feeds her from a bottle. You place a piece of pizza on the paper plate in front of her, and one in front of Robin, who adoringly watches her girlfriend dote on a baby. Wayne sits in the third seat, thanking you with his kind smile as you pass him a slice.

You join Eddie and Harris on the couch; Jeff plops down in the La-Z-Boy on the other side of the coffee table, motioning for Viv to sit atop his legs, while Dustin has seemingly been relegated to sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“Uncle Dusty, come sit next to me!” Harris chirps, nearly knocking your plate out of your hand as he bounces onto your lap. His curls tickle your chin as he leans over to take a bite of his dinner, dragging the cheese halfway off of the crust before Eddie holds it in place.

Dustin obliges, squishing in next to you with an apologetic laugh, but you don’t mind. Dialogue melds together, with people seamlessly leaping from one conversation to another. Robin poses the question of what everyone thinks Ettie’s first word will be, which prompts Wayne to tell the story about how Eddie tried so hard to get Harris to say dada, only for the boy to scream out “SHIT!” in the middle of Bradley’s Big Buy.

Jeff looks across the room at his tiny daughter. “Please don’t let that be your first word,” he jokingly begs her, picking a greasy pepperoni piece from his slice and dropping it in his mouth. While he’s preoccupied, Viv steals a bite of the crust.

“Are you all going to the July 4th carnival next week?” Eddie asks through a cheesy mouthful.

Everyone except Dustin answers in the affirmative. “Flying back home tomorrow,” he says, a round of booing from the group forcing him to pause mid-statement, “but Suzie and I are—hey, not cool!” He swats at a crumpled napkin that Eddie lobs at his head. “Suzie and I are going to try and visit for my mom’s birthday in August,” he finishes with a pointed look.

Harris tilts his head back so you can see straight into his flared nostrils. “Ms. Sweetheart, you’re coming to the carnival with us, right?”

“Of course! What rides are we gonna go on?” you ask, his little feet kicking at your calves as joy flows through his body.

“The Ferris Wheel! Me an’ Daddy always go on that, an’ now you can come with us!”

He and Eddie always go on the Ferris Wheel. It’s a tradition that they share, and now they’re allowing you in. Now you’re part of it.

You smile, kissing his forehead in a celebration of belonging and delight. “That sounds like a lot of fun,” you agree. “Do you think Daddy will play the games and win a prize for us?”

Eddie groans at your suggestion. “Those booths are all rigged. Every last one of ‘em.”

“I dunno,” Jess says teasingly, wiping Ettie’s chin with a cloth bib, “I won a stuffed animal from the whack-a-mole last year—”

“Oh, yeah! And I beat the Test Your Strength one,” Jeff adds slyly, getting a rise out of proving Eddie wrong.

Eddie throws his voice to a falsetto, mocking his friend’s words. “I beat the Test Your Strength one,” he echoes nasally, chuckling when Jeff scoops up the napkin previously thrown at Dustin and hurls it towards Eddie.

The rest of the evening continues like this, silly banter and recalled stories that end up being cut short or watered down for the impressionable ears listening in. It’s love in its many forms: between partners, between parents and their children, between friends. Each peal of laughter, each shared smile, each memory made adds to its foundation; brick by brick, layer by layer.

The pink hues of sunset darken to indigo and eventually settle into a night sky, the moon shining brightly and unobscured by clouds. Eddie, Jeff, and Dustin finally manage to put the race car bed back together—and just in time. Harris’s yawns become more frequent until he can no longer fight sleep, dozing off with his cheek pressed against your chest. Soft snores leave his slightly agape mouth.

“I feel the same way,” Wayne jokes, standing up from his chair and stretching his back with a grimace. “It’s been a long day.”

The group nods in agreement, quietly gathering their belongings and saying good-bye.

“Thank you all for helping today,” you say, handing out hugs while keeping Harris sound asleep. He stirs but doesn’t fully wake up, even with all of the commotion. “We really appreciate it.”

Eddie seconds your sentiment. “It means a lot to us. We know we owe you a lot more than just dinner—”

“You guys are family,” Viv interrupts with a smile, gently rocking a sleeping Ettie in her arms. “This is what family does.”

A calloused hand rests on your shoulder from behind the couch; you lean your head on Eddie’s forearm and give it a small kiss. The delicate hairs brush against your lips, and you relax into his touch.

Your guests file out, already making plans to meet up at the carnival. Eddie closes the door behind them, insisting that he can beat Jeff at the Test Your Strength and demanding that his friend buy him a funnel cake when he does.

There’s a soft murmuring coming from Harris’s room, and Eddie walks as quietly as he can. He watches silently, shoulder pressed against the doorframe, as you place his son’s head onto the pillow. The crisp sheet is draped over his sleeping body, followed by the Buzz Lightyear comforter you’d bought at Kmart especially for him. Harris stirs for a moment to grab onto the blankets, tugging them to his chin and scrunching up his legs to assume a cozier position. He lets out a content sigh and slips back into his dream.

“Good night, kiddo,” you whisper, kissing his mop of curls. You look around the room, so different from when it belonged to Grandma. It seems larger, his race car bed taking up much less space than her queen-size bed did. A Lego set lies where her shoe rack once stood. The top of his dresser is covered in Hot Wheels, rather than the makeup and jewelry that Grandma had on hers.

But it’s a good kind of different, one that comes with the natural ebb and flow of life. It brings inevitable change, and it’s your choice whether to embrace it or run away.

“You’re a natural at this bedtime thing, y’know.” Eddie’s voice, low and soft, places you back in the moment. He holds his arms out for you to nestle into them, holding you as close as he can. His thumb caresses your shoulder blade. “It normally takes a couple of stories, half a dozen pee breaks, and a horse tranquilizer to get him down.”

“I think being completely exhausted from moving helped,” you laugh into his chest. “And I’m right there with him. Man and woman might have to postpone their fire-making.”

Eddie’s chuckle vibrates against you. “Yeah, it wouldn’t be my best performance. Wanna make this one really good, since it’s a special occasion and everything.” He closes Harris’s door and leads you to the bedroom you two now share. “We gotta christen this bad boy.”

“We’ve had sex on this bed a million times.” You recall the ways his lips traced over your body, eager to memorize every inch of skin.

“But that’s when it was only your bed,” he points out. “Now it’s ours.”

Ours. Our bed, our home, our family. Ours.

You can barely change into pajamas before you’re falling asleep; Eddie manages to slip off his jeans and shirt, clad in plaid boxers and nothing else, before crashing down into the bed you now share. His arm slips around your waist, fingers reflexively dancing up your shirt, while he buries his head in the nape of your neck.

When daylight breaks and the sun streams through the gaps in the blinds, Eddie has assumed a starfish position, blankets flung to the edge of the bed in what must have been a middle-of-the-night move. You’re still dozing, but he knows he has to wake you if he wants to sneak in some alone time before his son wakes up.

“Morning, gorgeous.” His breath tickles under your earlobe, pulling you close to him. You hum, not quite awake but no longer dreaming. “C’mon, wake up, pretty thing.” He licks his lips before kissing the exposed skin of your shoulder blades.

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you turn over and face him. Your mouth lazily finds his, the cotton fabric of your pajama top fisted in his grasp. The outline of his morning wood is visible through his boxer shorts; it presses into your thigh as though greedily searching for your warmth. “You always wake up this hard?” you tease, fingertips already fiddling with the worn elastic waistband and dipping towards the treasure beneath. The scruff of his pubic hair grazes your knuckles.

“Only when I dream of you,” he mumbles with a cheeky grin, climbing on top of you while shedding his only clothing article. The boxers fall to the floor unceremoniously.

“Smooth.”

“I thought so.” Both hands cup your cheeks; you expect him to kiss you again, but he just gazes into your eyes. “Love waking up next to you.”

It draws a memory of the first morning you’d spent together; an inadvertent sleepover that culminated in one poorly-crafted lie and two broken hearts. He looks at you now, tired and yet still beautiful. How could I have let her slip by? How did I almost miss all of this?

You take the lead this time, arching your back so your torso melds into his, connected by desire. Eddie has your tank top off in a heartbeat, tongue swiping over your nipples the instant they’re visible.

“Perfect,” Eddie groans, making his way down your abdomen. He places your legs on top of his shoulders, lips delicately fluttering over your clit so he can lick a broad stripe up your labia. “I know we should be having a quickie, but I can’t turn down breakfast in bed.” His face is buried in your pussy, inhaling your scent and committing it to memory.

You giggle at his phrasing. If you question it, you know he’ll make a comment about you being good enough to eat. You give in instead, letting him ravish you just the way you both crave.

One finger, then two, slip into your waiting cunt while his mouth focuses on your clit. You’re dripping with your arousal and his saliva; you bite your lower lip to stifle the noises begging to be heard.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you croak, trying to keep your voice down. “I’m so close, s-so close…”

Eddie says nothing, continuing to worship the taste of you. You can feel his victorious smile as you cry out his name in orgasmic bliss, toes flexing just as he brings you down from the high.

“Need you, fuckin’ Christ,” he breathes, tempering the stimulation pulsing through his cock with a few short tugs.

You nod, already electrified at the prospect of being split open on him. He sinks into you with a muted moan, savoring the way you envelop him within your warmth. “All mine, Sweetheart; you’re all mine.”

“Mhm,” you manage. Your fingernails dig into his upper back with a force that will surely leave crescent indents in his skin. “I’m all yours. Always will be.”

His thumb runs along your jaw and he smiles. She’s all mine.

The ridges of his dick form a delectable friction along your walls. Each thrust is a mutual give and take, an exchanging of selves with every breath.

“I love you.” Eddie’s impossibly beautiful like this, hands holding your hips steady while sweat drips from his forehead onto yours. He brings your fourth finger between his lips; you can feel his tongue claiming it as his own. “And I’m gonna put a ring on this pretty little finger of yours, okay? Just want it to be perfect for you.”

You weave your fingers into his sleep-mussed curls and kiss him. “Don’t need perfect. I’ll marry you without a ring.” Whatever elaborate fairytale wedding you’d been crafting in your head is suddenly wholly unnecessary; all that matters is that you and Eddie commit to one another. But you know him well enough to not question his devotion to you. If Eddie Munson wants to give you the proposal of a lifetime, then that’s what he’s going to do.

There will be no unkept promises this morning, no shattered hearts to mend.

He can’t hold back any longer, spilling into you with punctuating grunts. You receive every last drop gratefully, a part of him within you, and you finish for the second time today.

“I meant it.” He gently withdraws from inside you, both of you mourning the loss of the other’s body. “When I said I’m gonna marry you, I meant it.”

“I know.”

“Good.” Eddie grins, laying on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. Sweat glistens along the sparse hairs curling over his bare chest. “Are you hungry? I know I worked up an appetite.”

You kiss his nose, biting the end teasingly. He yelps in mock pain, so you kiss it again. “I am, but I have to be honest—between all the unpacking and sex, I don’t have the energy to make breakfast.”

“Me neither,” he admits with a laugh. “Why don’t we shower, wake up Sleeping Beauty,” he nudges his head towards Harris’s room, “and go to the diner.” He stretches and stands, eyes drawn to the nightstand, where the framed photo from Wayne leans against a porcelain lamp. Happiness captured with the click of a Kodak.

You’re smiling, thinking about sharing silver dollar pancakes with Harris again just like you used to do with Grandma. Somewhere along the way, you grew from the child to the adult in that scenario, passing on a tradition you never even knew had been started.

“That sounds amazing.” As you say it aloud, something in addition to hunger gnaws at your stomach. You’ve been putting it off, hiding from the truth, but you want to stop pretending. You want to feel everything that comes with accepting reality. Without sorrow, you would never recognize joy. Without grief, you won’t understand the depths of our love beyond the physical plain.

“Could we make a quick pit stop first?”

Though it’s still morning, the late June humidity has your shirt clinging to you, sweat beading along the collar and around your bra clasp. You close the car door behind you; Eddie shuffles to open the back door for Harris. The little boy unbuckles his seatbelt and hops out of the booster seat, glancing between you and his dad. You take his left hand and Eddie takes his right as you walk over to the stone.

“Hi, Grandma,” you whisper, crouching down to better see the engraving. Gently, your fingers dance over the etched words: Beloved wife, mother, grandmother, and friend. “I know I haven’t been by to visit you yet, but I’m here now.” You muster up a small smile. “And I brought Eddie and Harris with me. They…they loved you, too.”

You falter for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Eddie’s hand rubs your upper back, not caring about how perspiration-soaked it is.

“Do you want some privacy?” he murmurs. “Harris and I can wait by the car. You take as long as you need.”

You nod, watching them walk hand in hand to give you your space to grieve. Filling your lungs with a deep breath, you speak what’s been in your heart.

“I need to thank you,” you start, talking directly to where her name is engraved, “for a lot of things. But I guess, um, the most important is how you taught me to forgive without taking shit—can I swear in a cemetery?—from people.” Your laugh is heavy with the weight of remembrance.

“I miss you. A lot,” you continue, tears now spilling freely from your eyes. “I miss doing puzzles together. I miss cooking together. I’m going to try and make your applesauce for Thanksgiving this year. I think Harris will really like it.” You swallow thickly. “If you’d met him before you got sick, you would’ve adored him. He’s got the biggest heart of any kid I’ve ever met.”

You’re finding it easier to talk; everything you need to say is coming naturally and without hesitation.

“He’s…he’s living in your room. I guess, technically, it’s his room now. But a little part of me will always consider it your room, too. And I think that’s okay.” You nod, confirming to yourself that it’s all part of the process. “He keeps asking me and Eddie when we’re going to get married. To be honest, I’m kind of wondering the same thing.” You smile at the thought of marrying Eddie, maybe even legally adopting Harris, if that’s something they also want. “I’m not in a rush, though, but I really do believe that Eddie’s the one. He’s my person, and I’m his. So, yeah, I’m definitely hoping that he proposes sooner rather than later.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to visit. I always thought losing you wouldn’t be as hard as it was, because it felt like I had already lost you to dementia.” It feels silly to admit aloud, but it’s the truth. “I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be easy. But I promise, I’ll stop by more often, and I’ll have plenty of cute Harris stories to tell you.”

There’s just a bit more that you need to share before you can go. “I love you, Grandma. And…thank you for loving me, too.”

You stand up, pressing on your knees to ensure your balance. Taking one last look at the stone, you run your fingers over the jagged marble and turn back towards Eddie and Harris.

The little boy is perched on his father’s hip, squinting into the sunlight to make out your form. “You ready, Ms. Sweetheart?”

You blink through misty eyes, staring at the two people in front of you. Ten months ago, if someone had told you that your one-night stand at a dive bar would end up being the love of your life, you would have laughed in their face. But the universe does what it must to remain in balance, and it doesn’t humor any arguments.

Inhale, exhale, repeat. This is where you’re meant to be. This is who you’re meant to be: a partner, a friend, an almost-mommy.

“Yeah,” you say finally, the tears clearing from your vision and a genuine smile forming on your lips. “I’m ready.”

💚

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

1K notes · View notes

kjdkive · 1 year ago

Text

couple questions with vogue — jjk.

summary: yn, world-famous model and jungkook world-famous artist are invited as a couple to answer some questions for vogue on a video. both known to be a chaotic couple are expected to show their competitive side.

pairing: idol! jungkook and model! yn (afab)

warnings: cursing, some dirty jokes? jungkook being the best boyfriend ever i want him so bad, third person narration

a/n: thinking about doing this for some other bts members but not really sure lol let's see how this one goes and go from there. also i used to be a wattpad writer and there we use — not " and i actually hate writing dialogues with " oh and also i mention a few things that are not true about jungkook but this is my universe and in this universe that happened yn happened

— hello, vogue! i’m yn and it’s so nice to be back here — yn says to the camera.

— hello, i’m yn’s boyfriend, jungkook — jungkook says, smiling to the camera — i am also in a band but not that that matters.

— i’m your fianceé, babe, remember? — yn lifts her left hand to show her engagement ring.

— she’s my soon-to-be wife, guys — jungkook giggles and stands up from his seat a little to give her a short kiss on her cheek.

— okay, my boyfriend’s humble as you can see but we’ll see if he’s a good boyfriend/fiancé because we’re gonna do the couple questions challenge! — an assistant hands her some cards with the questions on them — are you nervous, babe?

— not at all, i actually think i’m gonna crush you — jungkook responds.

— confident much? — yn asks.

— dude, come on, let’s go, i’m ready.

video cuts abruptly to the intro, showing a few pictures of the couple and jungkook’s seven playing in the back.

question no.1 for jungkook: how did you first meet?

— it was at a party in L.A. — jungkook replies — june 28th, 2017. she was wearing a black dress and her favorite manolo heels because she told me that the same night, also her purse from a special chanel collection because she told me it gave her luck.

— it definitely did, baby — yn couldn’t stop smiling — it made me met you, so bless the chanel bag. so, answer’s correct!

— ever since that night i fell in love and my band members were sick of me talking about her.

— just want to say that it took him two months to ask me on a date — yn laughs — like i literally said no to a few guys in those two months because i was waiting for him to ask me out and when he did i just told him “finally, bro.”

— you guys don’t understand, she was and still is too pretty for me — jungkook whined, making yn laugh — i thought she was gonna say no and also tell me that she doesn’t date ugly guys?

— weren’t you literally like on the top 5 of the hottest guys of the world? — yn asks him and he stops.

— i think i was? i don’t remember.

— of course you don’t, darling. next question.

jungkook: 1

yn: 0

question no.2 for yn: who initiated the first kiss?

— oh! oh! this one’s good — yn says — i did! and it was a mess.

— no, you didn’t — jungkook tells her.

— oh, yes, i did because you were shaking when you grabbed my face and you literally froze so i was like “well, let ME do this” and then i was the one to grab your face and kiss you — yn points at him.

— okay, fine, i did froze but you tasted like fish — jungkook starts — and although i love fish, tasting it from someone else’s mouth isn’t that delicious.

— you had just taken me out to eat sushi! what were you expecting? — yn asks him — besides, you tasted like banana because you had to eat your banana dessert of course.

— guys, if you ever go out on a date and you think you’re gonna kiss — jungkook looks at the camera — do not take them to eat fish or pasta because else they’ll get pesto on their teeth or their breath will smell like fish.

— oh, right — yn laughs — in one of our dates you got pesto on your teeth.

— stop, i don’t wanna remember how you had to get me a tooth pick cause i couldn’t get it out — jungkook rolls his eyes and yn keeps on laughing at him — if your girl gets you a tooth pick, marry her, that’s what i’m gonna do in a few months — he winks at the camera and laughs at yn blushing.

jungkook: 1

yn: 1

question no.3: which songs did jungkook write about yn?

— now this is a good one because you always get confused — jungkook laughs — which songs did i write about you?

— still with you, dimple, love maze, home, seven the explicit and clean version — yn winks at the camera.

— babe! — jungkook blushes and giggles.

— oh, so you can be no.1 on billboard, mind you the explicit version but your girlfriend can’t talk about it?

— don’t get off topic, finish the list — jungkook laughs again — and you’re my fiancée, not girlfriend.

— okay, fine — yn moves on her seat — your part in my universe, dna, paradise, best of me, my you and that’s it.

— WRONG! — jungkook yells at her and stands up from his seat to jump and laugh at her — you’re a loser!

— jungkook, what? i got them all correct! shut up!

— you forgot the one i have performed the most! — jungkook stands in front of the camera �� vogue subscribers, my wife doesn’t love me.

— oh my god! — yn yells — i forgot euphoria and jesus christ, jungkook, sit down now, stop being dramatic.

— how dare you forget the amazing and unforgettable euphoria?

— i’m sorry, my love, please forgive me for i have made an awful mistake — yn holds his hand.

— i shall forgive you.

— thank you, my king.

— i love you — jungkook kisses her hand and doesn’t let go of it — but i’ll never forget this.

jungkook: 1

yn: 1

question no.4: what are the top 3 celeb crushes of yn?

— this one’s so easy — jungkook says — it’s matthew mcconaughey, chris evans and bradley cooper but as his character in the hangover.

— wrong — yn laughs.

— yn, you know i’m not wrong, those are your top 3.

— babe, you’re a celebrity too, you’re my no.1.

— don’t lie, yn, i’m not your celeb crush.

— yup, you’re right — yn gives up — he got the answer right, whatever, next question.

jungkook: 2

yn: 1

question no.5: when jungkook first started as an artist, what did he do to calm his nerves when he performed?

— I PRAYED — jungkook yells before yn can say her answer — I PRAYED AND I PRAYED.

— he didn’t — yn looks at the camera with a serious expression.

— YES, I DID — jungkook sits back on his seat — I DID. i did.

— can you shut up now? — yn asks him — he used to- — yn gets cut off.

— PRAY. HE USED TO PRAY. — jungkook yells again and all yn does is stand up from her seat and put her hand on jungkook’s mouth.

— he’s licking my hand right now but i couldn’t care less — yn still had a serious expression — he used to touch his bandmates’ butts and when they would question him he’d say “nothing better than your butts, you guys!”

— she’s wrong — jungkook says.

— jungkook, ew, you left my hand freaking wet — yn wipes her hand on jungkook’s shirt — and yes, i’m right, you can call up jimin and he’ll tell you i’m right.

jungkook: 2

yn: 2

question no.6: yn has a scar and has had a broken arm, how did both happen?

— on her chin — jungkook replies fastly. yn nods and lifts her head to show up her chin. — that’s like the only one from an ugly accident the other ones are just her being silly cause she has some scars, blame of our cats when she tries to shower them and another one from when she was trying to make some chicken nuggets on the air fryer last month and she burned herself.

— he’s correct.

— the broken arm… she told me she was playing outside when she was in kindergarten and she fell and broke her arm, she also told me the school didn’t call her parents right away and waited until her grandma picked her up from school but she took her to the hospital right away. sadly, they didn’t sue the school because they’re good people, the teachers weren’t.

— that story is also correct.

— ugh, so tiring being the best boyfriend/future husband out there — jungkook sighs.

jungkook: 3

yn: 2

question no.7: how many tattoos does jungkook have? which one was for yn?

— jesus christ — yn says — i kid you not, jungkook doesn’t even know how many he has himself.

— i don’t know the total number but i do have a close number, if she reaches it she’ll get the answer right.

— fine, uhm, the eye he had before was my eye but i told him to cover it because it was done really bad like the eyelashes and the color were a mess but there are other ones about me, the thunderbolts and the flower on your elbow, right?

— yes — he nods with a smile.

— and i think, you have a total of 21? 22? with the new seven tattoo behind your ear i think so, yeah.

— she’s not close in the number but she’s right about the tattoos about her — he smiles at her.

jungkook: 3

yn: 3

question no.8: what are yn’s favorite hobbies?

— reading, learning languages and trying out new restaurants everywhere she goes.

— that is correct.

— she’s currently reading beach read but her favorite book is the portrait of dorian gray because my girl is into classics but they have to be a little gay; she speaks 4 languages those being english, italian, korean of course and french. the latest new restaurant she went was momofuko ko here in new york and she loved it.

— i love you — yn couldn’t stop smiling as she got close to jungkook to give him a little kiss.

— i love you more — he said, after kissing her back.

jungkook: 4

yn: 3

question no. 9: what is jungkook’s pet peeve?

— damn, he has a lot — yn laughs — but i can name a few.

— i don’t have a lot!

— oh yeah? — yn asks and then turns at the camera — jungkook can’t eat if he notices people being loud while chewing but he is the loudest chew-er ever, he gets mad if whoever is driving doesn’t know how to park and oh! he despises when people walk slow but he had to be patient with me because i am a slow walker.

— she’s really slow but since i love her i can be patient with her.

— thank you, means a lot.

jungkook: 4

yn: 4

question no.10 (final question, decides the winner): if yn hadn’t been a model, what would’ve she been?

— oh, my girl’s born to shine — jungkook holds her hand — because she wanted to be a UN ambassador when she was young because she loved learning languages.

— oh my god, i did! — yn intertwines her fingers with jungkook’s — but i don’t even remember telling him about this.

— you said that on an interview but you also said that to me when we were on one of our first dates — he smiles at her.

— i did?

— you said you saw it on tv — jungkook nods — and that you wanted to travel the world like them. but now you travel around the world as a model, either way you were gonna be successful.

— reached full success now that i’m marrying you. — yn kisses him — i guess you won.

the interviewer behind the camera asked them if they wanted to say anything else before finishing the video.

— my soon-to-be husband has released a song called seven, not that it needs promotion because the song's killing it but if you haven't listened to it you should, the song saves lives.

— yeah, i released a song, i wrote it and it was just for her — jungkook smiles — my girl is also releasing her own clothing line so make sure to check that out too — jungkook points at the camera — and before we finish i want to say i won, yn lost — jungkook looks at the camera with a serious expression — vogue subscribers, i am here to tell you again that yn is a loser and i will write on my wedding vows to always call her a loser until death do us apart.

yn hits him on his arm and jungkook giggles.

— i hate you, jungkook.

— i love you too, my sweetie cutie pie, come here.

jungkook brings her in for another kiss.

— thank you, vogue! see you next time — jungkook says while squishing yn's cheek with his own cheek.

— save me — yn mouths.

and the video finishes.

#jungkook #bts #bts fluff #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook seven #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #i love jungkook #i need to finish another story but i avoided it so i wrote this instead #i need to give jungkook a hug

2K notes · View notes

semperamans · 5 months ago

Text

benny is back home n'he's missed you so much he may just have to fuck you over it!!!

warnings!!!!

benny is toxic! unprotected sex! benny is toxic! i didn't proof read it!!!! so there are probably so many mistakes!!!! n' this is LONG, so read at your own risk <3

despite its stillness, there is something deafening about the july air. there's nothing more to hear than night bird song as it falls over the slumbering city. gone are the rumbling engines on i-90 n'the chatter of women parading down the sidewalks. there are no babies gigglin', no ice cream trucks wailing, no sirens squwakin'. there's nothin' stirrin' in this humid night besides the rapid beat of your heart because, well, you shouldn't be here. you know that jus' as well as i do. you should be at home, sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, eyes closed, blissfully disconnected from the world, n'you're a good girl, so i'm sure that's what you would be doing had the shrill urgency of benny's call not woken you.

"hi baby," is what he breathed over the line, and despite the distance you could smell the jack daniels on his breath. "m'home." he had been home for a few days now. johnny had called you n'made you aware the second benny's wheels crossed the county line. and then you waited. and waited. and waited. and were your feelings hurt when benny didn't call? absolutely. by day three you were going insane. like mosquito-bitten legs, it was painfully hard to ignore the absence of his voice through the receiver. every purring engine had your head whipping 'round. every blonde head had your heart hammering, but it was never the right engine. never the right head. never benny. johnny'd tried to get you to come down to the clubhouse, but you didn't wanna look desperate (even though you were). it was just so hard to think about. all you could see in your mind's eye was benny splayed across a bar stool, lap empty, hand wrapped around a whiskey glass when it should've been around your throat.

"m'missin' you so much." you wouldn't have assumed he missed you much at all with how radio silent he'd been since leavin' over a month ago. your girls told you that if benny really cared he would make more of an effort - wouldn't run off whenever things other than his dick got hard - an' yeah, you knew this was likely true, but he was enigmatic and enticing and everything.

"wan' you to come see me."

you should've hung up the phone right then, but you didn't. and you definitely shouldn't've pulled a sleep shirt over your nightgown n'sneakers on your bare feet, but you did. now here you stand - peerin' up at benny's front door - tryin' to tell yourself it's all right. nothin' to be nervous over. but you were nervous, so you counted the steppin' stones - 14 - and then there he was.

he looked good, there was simply no denying it. when it was particularly hot, benny wore nothing beneath his colors n'tonight you could see his bare chest glistening with sweat from the glow of the porch light. moths and june bugs spun themselves dizzy 'round him, but he didn't flinch. his sights were set, smile wan and excited and focused on you.

"c'mere." benny's voice had a medicinal quality about it - you figured that out some time ago. his voice was a salve on sunburned skin. it was a cool mid-day rainstorm. it was enough to have your eyes flicking upward, your body moving forward, your mouth forming the shape of his name. "look at you," he practically purred. he seemed more coherent, which was great. you didn't like fuckin' benny when he was drunk - always fearin' it never meant the same as when he pressed himself into you sober. he held you at arms length, eyes traipsing the familiar paths his fingers and tongue had mapped repeatedly. "y'know, i could travel from here to fuckin' the ends of the universe n'never find a girl s'pretty as you."

"s'that what you're lookin' for when you leave?" the words escape your mouth before your brain can register the impact they will have, but benny doesn't seem all that deterred. he just shakes his head; half-hearted guilt tugging at the corner of his mouth as he lets ya go n'invites you inside. benny would never apologize for leavin'. that just wasn't his forte, but he'd make up for it. he always did.

the interior of benny's place is nicer than you'd expect n'it's all because johnny outright fuckin' refused to step foot in the place when benny'd first moved in. it was terrible, but now the trailer actually looks decent. s'not much: a small livin' space with a couch, a tiny kitchen, an even smaller bathroom, and a bedroom big enough for a few pieces of furniture, but it smells like benny: like motor oil and sandalwood and smoke and body wash and you wish they sold the scent in department stores because you'd buy up every bottle. it's the aroma you miss terribly when he runs. it's the scent you wish lasted just a bit longer on your bedsheets. it's now overwhelming as benny plods over, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray. hands unoccupied, he has nothing better to do with them than wrap 'em 'round your waist, tuggin' you into his slick embrace. his chin fits so nicely atop your head n'he's always told you that you were meant to be. "fuck soulmates. i think god s'got a big ass puzzle n'he just, tears it up. throws the pieces here n'there. but me'n'you, baby? we're always gonna fit together. m'always gonna find you." he wouldn't need to find you if he didn't run but when you're pressed so snugly together like you are now - well - he could say anything and you'd agree.

"look at me, darlin'. wanna see those eyes again. missed 'em so much." n'when you do look at him, you wish you hadn't. he looks better (somehow) than the last time you saw him: skin so clear, eyes so bright, smile taken from a fuckin' toothpaste commercial. it's unfair how good god made such a bad boy look. "there's my girl." and damn if his voice doesn't sound even better.

a half-hearted hum rolls from the back of your throat. you want nothing more than to be his girl, but he'd never really allow that. never really allow you to get close enough and the hurt must register on your face because benny's takin' your cheeks between his palms, eyebrows furrowing.

"what's goin' on, baby?"

baby. the word sounds so good rolling off his tongue. you wanna be his baby more than anything, but you say "nothin'" cuz that's all this will ever be.

"doesn't seem like nothin'. tell me." you think about it. could you, rather, should you tell him? the words are there, right there. right on the tip of your tongue; i miss you. i've missed you. i so badly wanted to see you. i want to be more than the girl you call when you want to fuck. the words are so hot you want to spit them out, but you can't say those things n'likely will never be able to. the words are toxic. poison. those words would assassinate this arrangement n'as much as it hurts, you know deep down you'd rather have pieces of benny than none at all so instead of speaking you rise on your tip toes and press your lips against his.

kissing benny is something you could never tire of. it's the delicate bite of his perfect teeth on your pillowy lip that has you opening your mouth - inviting him in - begging him to take. it's the taste of mint and cigarettes and liquor that lingers on your tongue that makes you long for more. but benny pulls away first - always does - n'that's when you notice the wrinkle in his brow is gone because he is no longer concerned about what's racketing around your brain. no. he's had a sample, and now he wants the whole thing.

"c'mere." it's an impossible command. you're already so close - any closer and you would - benny dips slightly, circling your thighs with his arms, pushin' you atop the high-backed couch where you wobble and clutch onto him which makes him smile but then everything changes because "want another kiss. missed that mouth so much." and you collide in a spit-soaked show of affection sure to bruise the flesh now scraping so deliciously against his beard.

this is familiar to benny. he knows where to touch you. knows how to caress your skin as he peels the shirt from your flushed torso and pushes the thin straps of your nightgown down. you're soft. he's always loved that about you. your voice. your hair. your skin. so supple. and there are times benny's gotta stop himself. he's gotta repress that primal urge to take, to claim, to mark but it's hard so hard because you are so soft. his agile fingers float down your neck, relishing in the plume of perfume that billows out as your body contorts closer and closer and closer. you're so responsive: gasping in the right places, arching into his hands so perfectly. your dainty inhales fuel him. he wants to do more. wants to hear more.

"you're gonna let me fuck you right here, aren't ya?" benny asks, pulling back to gauge your reaction. "missed me so much you're gonna let me fuck you on this couch, eh?"

"you're the one who called me." you say, smile wide and knowing as you feel benny's cock twitch. his eyes turn molten lapis. he had called you. he had missed you. but he wouldn't say it. couldn't.

"awfully mouthy," he clucks, pressing his mouth into yours for another taste. "why don't y'use it for somethin' else?"

before you, benny'd never been a fan of oral sex. i mean, he'd come around to enjoyin' it thanks to johnny but, it wasn't high on his list 'til you started suckin' him off any and every chance you got. for a mouth belonging to such a precious gal, he never would have expected the sinful things you could make him feel. n'now, knelt before him, he can barely fight the urge to shove his dick in your mouth.

"s'pretty. always so pretty." you hum. you got him out of his jeans in record time and thank god because it's probably a million degrees in the goddamn trailer. now he's free; cock out, dripping precum and he can see the pride puffin' up your chest. no other girl could get 'em like this - could rile him up 'til his cock was thick and heavy and veiny and hot to the touch - no one but you n'at the first whisper of your fingers, his head rolls back. his precum is good lubrication, but you need more. could always use more, so up you come, crossing your cute little feet under your bum, and then - fuck - you lean forward and spit on his heated skin. yeah, benny thinks he may cum from that alone.

"touch me, doll. c'mon."

"shh," your fingers form a loose circle 'round the base of his cock. "i've got you."

"jesus christ," its the feel of your lips on his thighs and your fingers on his dick that makes him squeeze his eyes shut. he's got one fist balled at his side, the other tucks its way into your hair because he's gotta do something. anything.

"y've still got your christmas tree up, so, y'know, could be insensitive what with the holidays n'all. chirstimas in july." and despite the fact that you've got his pulsing length so wet and hard in your hand - benny fucking laughs.

"you're so -" but whatever adjective he had planned to use flies from his mind the moment your mouth covers him. all he can think about now is not cumming. you don't need to know that he hasn't fucked another woman since the last time he was balls deep in you. you don't need to know that he hasn't jerked off in god knows how long in preparation for this night. the only thing that you need to know is that he fuckin' loves this. he just lets you work. just relishes in the feeling of having you there. of having your mouth on him. it's so heavenly. cavernous yet tight. wet and warm and "fuck - oh fuck - stop."

and you do with no hesitation. you pull away so quickly that strands of saliva trickle down onto your tits. okay. maybe not jerking off wasn't the best idea, benny determines.

"did i do something wrong?" your voice is husky, eyes wide and slightly frightened and benny thinks he may love you.

"no." he shakes his head, grabs your arms, pulls you up. "no. fuck - i wanna fuck you." he brushes his palm across your cheek, wiping the spit and precum away. "want to fuck you right here. on the couch. c'mon," he maneuvers you around, makin' it to where his bare ass is on the couch and you're hoverin' above him, smiling so cutely at him he's sure he's gonna explode. you're so fucking cute that it nearly suffocates him.

"gimmie another kiss." he breathes, cupping your cheek once more. your lips meet in a cacophony of sighs. relief slackens your shoulders and now anticipation builds because you know what's coming.

"benny,"

"mm?"

"unless you have rubbers tucked in the cushions," you have to fight through his kisses. "you can't fuck me here."

the words marinate. the ceiling fan bats them around like a cat does to yarn and then benny finally responds.

"let me fuck you raw."

there are a hundred good reasons why it's a horrible idea, but you can't conjure a single fucking one as your head bobs in agreement.

"yeah?" perhaps christmas miracles are still valid in july because holy shit. "yeah?"

"please."

"come 'ere then."

you're obedient. benny loves that about you. seconds later you're spreading your legs, shimmering with sweat as you fight to maintain your balance n'you look so hungry - so eager to please - so pretty n'he can feel your wetness seeping onto his bare thigh as you pepper tender kisses along his chest. you want this. you want it just as badly as he does. he can tell. those preening noises comin' from the back of your throat and the bite of your nails into his shoulder are the only things grounding him to this moment. he feels so light - like he could fuckin' float if you weren't sat atop him - but there is work to do. a certain set of things that need to be done before he can spear you on his cock.

"gonna stretch you open first," he tells you, pushing your hip back but you don't budge. your head shakes, lower lip juts out. no.

"i wanna feel it." you say, voice almost a whine. you're tired of waiting. tired of playing this game so you propel yourself onto your feet, nearly toppling as the cushion gives under your weight, but you've got this. you sweet capable being. "wanna feel you now." your right hand circles his cock. "just want you to be in me benny. jus' you." it's a confession spoken like gospel. n'with your help, his gushing head probes your wetness and benny's thoughts spiral recklessly. "ready?"

it's cute. the way you ask him. the way your pretty little head cocks to the side. it's even cuter the way your pussy so greedily takes his cock once benny gives you an answer. yes. a singular nod. then everything is hot. he's too close to the sun, but the burn is delicious.

every bump. every vein. every groove on his cock awakens something within you. your eyes are closed so tightly - you may rupture a vessel - but you don't care. you're full. so full n'he's only halfway in. it's never felt like this before. you're in uncharted territory so the first roll of your hips is exploratory. the second is more confident. the third is a plunge and benny is drowning.

"god. fuck." words to form coherent sentences have long since vanished from benny's vocabulary. and you? usually so deft with language, you're somewhat embarrassed at the foolishness of your grunts, but benny loves it. he watches you move from squinted eyes. you're fascinating; body shifting with ease up and down up and down up and down. the muscles in your stomach tighten and wan as his cock disappears deep in your cunt only to reappear seconds later dripping and glistening with remnants of your wet. it's hypnotic n'benny thinks you're magic and sweet and good but dirty - oh so dirty. his balls and heart squeeze simultaneously n'it only gets worse when you toss your arms around his neck. benny can feel your cool breath on his throat - it adheres to the damp indications you lips left behind - and your tits, god your tits press against the material of his colors and rub and rub and rub. it's intimate. it's too much. too long like this and benny knows he'll be spillin' his secrets and his seed and that's not how he wants this to go, not yet anyway.

the change in position catches you by surprise, he can see it on your face. those puffy lips part in confusion, but he silences your questions with a shattering kiss. your teeth gnash and spit slips down your chin as he bites your inhibitions away. he's got you beneath him now. missionary. his favorite because he just likes lookin' at you. likes being close, so close. he's in his element; forehead pressed against yours, mouth open, grunting obscenities as he pushes harder and harder and harder into your sobbing pussy. you're slowly disintegrating. the way your ankles lock around his spine perfectly aligns your clit with his pelvic bone and my god nothing has ever felt quite so good.

"benny," your voice is a dark whisper that grows brighter brighter brighter as he thrusts into oblivion. you want more. want it harder. and benny is happy to oblige. the sound of his nuts slapping against your soaked center reminds him of a fuckin' metronome. your pitiful little moans could put pornstars to shame.

"you're so fuckin' tight." and it's true. he's said it to other girls before out of courtesy, but he means it with you. "when i cum you're gonna take every drop, mm?" benny's ability to say such delivish things so close to your face drives you insane. it's as though he's tellin' you what the weather is gonna be tomorrow, or sayin' his favorite color. "s'my favorite pussy to fuck. no one feels like you." he should stop, but he can't. it's too good. you're so good. "only girl i wanna fill. only girl i wanna give my cum to."

if pride were a flower you'd be a fuckin' garden. confidence flourishes like ivy as he keeps. going. it's in this moment you know it's worth it. the hours waiting for him. the lonely nights. it's all worth it. benny is worth it.

"are y'gonna cum in me?" at the sound of your voice, benny's forehead crashes down on yours. his eyelashes are so long they kiss the tops of his round cheeks.

"fuck - yeah."

"yeah?" you angle your pelvis, gasping at the new sensation. n'benny knows what to do. knows how to send you over. snaking a hand down, his index finger rubs circles around your clit, dipping down, pullin' your shared juices up. you're not gonna last much longer n'as much as he wishes he could keep you here forever his fucking nuts are so tight. he's so close.

"fuck - baby. shit."

"do it deep. wanna have you leakin' out of me for days. want somethin' to remember you by." you've never spoken like this before - his sweet darling - where did this mouth come from? one hand squeezes your jaw. something to remember him by? he'll give you something. he pushes your head to the side, latching his teeth into the side of your neck. the rough yet delicate suck and soothing stroke of his tongue add another element to the amalgamation of pleasure, and now you feel like you're drowning.

"m'gonna cum." benny’s choked voice rasps in your ear.

"cum in me."

"fuck im gonna cum in you."

he couldn't pull out even if he wanted to. there's no willpower strong enough to allow him to extract his cock from your pussy. he's sure of it.

"need you to cum with me." his index finger circles around and around and around. "gotta cum when i tell you. yeah? gonna be a good girl n'listen to daddy?" your toes fuckin' curl, digging into the cushion. "use your words." he doesn't know - doesn't care - that your words have magically turned into alphabet soup; there are letters and sounds but no coherence, but it's no excuse. benny, devilishly, begins to slow. "use. your. words." each syllable is punctuated with a sharp thrust n'the head of his cock is wedging so deliciously against your spongy center that you nearly cum, but you don't. you're good. so good.

"m'gonna listen." you wail. "gonna be good." your reward is a kiss and the continuation of benny's deliriously fast pace.

"knew you would." it becomes hard to speak with you squeezing round him like that. his pleasure is melting into an unidentifiable mass. he knows nothing of isolation. his body no longer belongs to him. he can't tell where you start and he ends but he knows where you will finish. "gonna need you to cum, pretty baby." he's unable to do much more than whisper. "ready?" you nod. "ready?"

"please."

"now."

you couldn't hold back even if you tried. the first spurt of benny's cum is so warm you make a surprised little gasp. he's so deep, pumping his load so deep that the lower part of your abdomen has stretched in accommodation. your bodies flounder together; fingers pressing, lips melting, legs tangling. benny thrusts once, twice, three times more before he's spent. his body begins to still - his weight slowly pressing upon you before collapsing. your thundering heart could lull him to sleep if he'd allow it, but he can't allow it because unlike with other women; the lustful haze refuses to dissipate. post-nut clarity doesn't exist when the woman you fucked looks and feels the way you do and it scares benny so much that he collects you in his arms n'moves you off of him.

"i'll bring you somethin' to wipe off with." he doesn't look at you as he rises. instead he chooses to focus on how his legs don't feel like his legs. how the hot water won't warm up n'he can't give you a cold rag. his disappointment grows when he returns to find you already shrugging back into your nightgown. the pair of you tend to yourselves. you wipe benny's cum off your thighs and toss the rag into the dirty clothes pile on the floor. you try not to linger. you know it only makes things harder, but benny's gazin' at you with those eyes. he's fixin' your necklace and opening the door for you.

"gimmie a hug?" his bravado is gone. his voice is quiet, his arms are welcoming. you fool yourself into thinking he's gonna miss you too. you've got his cum dripping down your leg and he's got your heart in his hands but nothing has changed. things would never change. n'you wanna stay here - wanna stay with him for eternity - but if history repeats itself you will only have another minute in his embrace. he who holds your pieces together is the one responsible for their fractured state n'maybe you're a masochist. maybe you're in love with the wrong person. maybe none of it is supposed to make sense anyway.

when you part, you want to cry. benny kisses you. it's soft, a delicate kiss you wanna bottle and keep forever next to his scent. you worry that one day you will unknowingly have a last kiss with benny, but for now you allow yourself this moment. he won't promise to call n'you won't say goodbye. you'll just slip out into the night - probably call johnny usin' the payphone down the street and spend the rest of the night sobbin' into his neck.

but it's worth it. somehow even after it all, benny cross is still worth it.

#clo really doesn’t know how to write smut #i really ran with this #it's so long and it feels so bad because i have been staring at it all day #but enjoy!#nsfw!#benny cross smut #austin butler #benny cross #the bikeriders #austin butler x reader #benny cross x reader #the bikeriders x reader #the bikeriders smut #austin butler smut #benny boy :')#✍🏼#toxic!benny

381 notes · View notes

angelnthsnow · 11 months ago

Text

All Too Well

pairing: joe burrow x fem!reader (+18)

summary: enemies since childhood, y/n and joe burrow meet again in LSU, joe to play for the university's team while studying consumer and family financial services and y/n to study mechanical engineering, while also being a cheerleader for the team. what happens when they encounter each other after a fateful night?

word count: 7.1k

warnings: cursing, implied smut, fratboy!joe, asshole!joe, reader skinpicks, angst, use of y/n, author not knowing how an american uni works.

author's note: first published fanfic! i hope you enjoy! keep in mind english isn't my first language, so i'm sorry in advance for any mistakes, also this wasn't proofread bc it's too long and i'm lazy lmaoo.

Sat in the airport, legs over your luggage, you started to question the decision you had made a month ago. It all started in June, when an old colleague from LSU reached out to you via email with a simple, yet — to you — terrifying invitation.

Your colleagues from university were planning a Fourth Of July party in Baton Rouge, the one place in earth you swore to never step foot on again. Well, it's not like the city itself had done anything to you, more like the college life did. Your college years were a part of your life you desperately wanted to forget, partly because going to LSU meant giving up on your dream of studying abroad, and partly, well, let's just say a certain blonde with a degree on consumer and family financial services was to blame.

With an acute voice echoing through the airport gates, you sighed, getting up to get on the plane.

As the aircraft was in the air, you get your playlist blasting on the headphones and not long after that, you drift off to sleep.

You wake up when there's 20 minutes left to land on the city, and as you get your phone to send a message to your friend, Emily, the device decides to make this trip a little harder than it should have ever been. On that bright screen, on a small box with "Years ago on this week.." written over it, was the picture.

It was night when you woke up, tangled on the white strawberry sheets of your own dorm bed. Opening your eyes quietly, you saw the one man that had put you on that position earlier. Sat with his back to you, there was Joe. He had only his sweatpants on, and you could see the reddish marks, the ones caused by you, were starting to fade on his skin. His hair was messy and he breathed slowly, seeming oddly calm giving what had just happened.

Joe and you had been, well.. enemies? since you could remember. It all started in school, you had a dream of becoming a world famous dancer, a cheerleader in college, and Joe just thought it was stupid, all of it. He was quite shy, but you knew he had a dream as well. Joe wanted to be a football star, but nobody knew that. He'd just let it slide once when you two were fighting on the school's playground. When you two got to the age in which people go to university, you thought you had finally seen the last of him. How foolish, truly. After two years of studying engineering at Louisiana State University and being in the cheerleading team, there he was, ready to make your life miserable for another few years.

That was, of course, until now. You'd never imagine you see him like this; half naked, messy hair and your cat on his lap as he caressed her head, whispering in a baby voice to her as she purred softly.

You smiled, because why wouldn't you? Shifting quietly on your bed, as if he was a scaredy animal you could scare away with any abrupt movements, you get your phone, taking a picture of him. It was dark, blurred, but you didn't mind, you could tell it was Joe, his big silhouette right in the center of the photograph. In your head, you knew you wouldn't need to keep this blurry memento, you were certain the amount of opportunities to take pictures of him now were infinite, or so you thought, drifting to sleep again.

The pilot's voice pulls you out of your little daydream, announcing the plane had arrived in Louisiana.

"I shouldn't have come." You chant in your head as you exit the plane, heading over to the landing area to wait for Emily.

You and Emily had met in LSU, and became inseparable since then. She was your roommate and, despite being highly introverted, you managed to develop your longest friendship ever with her.

When Anna, the colleague that invited you to the party, emailed you, Emily was the first person to text you, begging you to come and enjoy a night with the people you hadn't seen in so long. She also missed you a lot since both of you hadn't seen each other much after college, of course, you somehow managed to see each other every year and talk almost everyday, but it wasn't as close as you wished.

Emily lived in Louisiana with her husband, Dave, who had also gone to LSU with you, and of all the times you had seen each other, she had gone to your home, so you technically kind of owed this to her.

Waving in a frantic manner, there she was. Slightly different from last time, but still your best friend. You smile, walking towards her.

"I'm so glad you're here!" she says once she gets a hold of you, hugging you as if you could run away at any moment. You kind of wished you could, but she made everything better. She had that superpower.

"I'm glad I could come, Ems. I've missed you so much." You smile, looking at her as she helps you with your heavy bags.

The two of you start walking towards the exit to her car, catching up after a long time. Emily put you to date on what every single old colleague was up to now, and you laughed at the amount of gossip she was able to retain.

"Where's Dave?" You furrow your brows, just realizing someone was missing.

Emily opens the trunk and you help her put your bags on it. Panting after carrying so much weight, she replies "Home. He was working so he couldn't come, but he's super excited to see you." as you two get into the vehicle.

And with that, the engine starts and soon you're on the highway, on the way to her house.

The week in Emily and David's house had passed very quickly, and you throughly regretted ever wishing you hadn't came. She had shown you every bit of the city, and things had changed a lot. Now, you were in their guest room, getting ready to the reason that had you coming all the way from New York to Louisiana.

It was fourth of July, and you had heard fireworks all day around the neighborhood, even stopping to watch them for a bit before going for a shower.

"They're pretty, aren't they?" Emily said through the kitchen window as she saw you looking up outside.

"Very much." You turned around, smiling at her.

"Anna told me they're having fireworks tonight, I think you'll like it."

You got a bit excited, you've always loved fireworks, they were like drawings in the biggest canvas you could ever get, the sky.

"Looking forward to it!" You said, going up the stairs to get ready.

Looking in the mirror, you sigh. You wore an USA flag bodysuit and jean shorts. This whole patriotism seemed stupid, but Emily dragged you into it, alleging you were allergic to fun. Nonetheless, you looked good.

"Y/N! Let's go, we're gonna be late!"

Breathing in deeply, you close your eyes and stare at yourself one last time. You knew Joe would probably attend the party, he loved parties, and still, you came. You couldn't give up now, you couldn't get this stupid thing get to you. He probably doesn't even remembers everything that happened that day.

You shake your head, moving those thoughts away as you go downstairs, seeing Emily and Dave ready sitting on the couch.

"You look amazing! I told you you'd rock this fit." she gets up, hugging you.

"You too, Ems." you laugh, fixing your hair after she lets you go. "Shall we?"

"After you, Miss United States!" David jokes, signaling for you to get out of the house first. You laugh, rolling your eyes.

The three of you get in the car, and the drive to the party is filled with singing and more of Emily informing you of your colleague's current lives.

When Dave finally pulls over to the party, you can already hear the loud music in the car. Looking out the window, you see the last thing you'd expect to see today: Joe's parents house.

When Robin and Jim were away, Joe would always throw parties in his house instead of in the frat house. It made sense, giving the fact his house was a bit bigger. Snapping back to reality, you froze, but still had hopes of not seeing him tonight, after all, the amount of people that would come to the party was huge.

Entering the house, you were struck by fairy lights hanging on the roof, from a wall to another, and USA flags all over the house. There was a big wood table in a corner with punch and other drinks, but other than that, the place looked pretty much the same. It was weird coming back after all these years, but it still had a familiar air to it.

After almost 50 minutes, Emily was already drunk and fooling around somewhere with her fiancé. You were finally alone, and by now you had roamed the entire house, gladly not meeting Joe not even once. You thought about leaving, but not before going to your favorite spot in the house, the only one you hadn't explored today yet.

Joe's house had a small attic, which you adored. When he threw parties in high school and you couldn't get away from your friend's pleas to come, this was the place you found yourself in. So, after 6 years, there were you again. On that narrow wooden space that had a somewhat medium window with a view to the back of the house, where the party was most wild. You were surprised to see they hadn't moved a thing, it felt like you had time-traveled to your school years.

In front of the window, there was an old blue armchair, the one you would sometimes sleep on waiting for Emily and the others to want to go home. The rest of the attic was filled with boxes, some with trophies and pictures of Joe, with his family, his team, and his coach.

You sat on the armchair, arms hugging your knees as you looked at the window, the music that once made your head hurt because of the volume was long gone, sounding now like white noise.

Entering the football team frat house, you could see neon lights and hear music blasting through the speakers. Soon enough, all the other cheerleaders and Emily were dancing and having fun, after all the team had won the game, there was no reason not to celebrate. Except for you, because a win for LSU immediately meant running into Joe Burrow, or seeing his face all over the university for a week or so.

Sitting on a couch in the living room, you had a privileged view to the enormous door that swung open, revealing a sweaty but smiley Joe. He walks in as he normally does, exhaling an air of cockiness around him. He has a bottle of beer in hand, and already looks drunk as he laughs to his teammates. After being showered in praises and congratulations, he's free to walk a bit further, which is when he sees you. His eyes immediately glance at your jersey, and you immediately regret having done what you did.

Earlier that day, before you left for the party, it started to snow, and you realized you hadn't brought a single coat to the game. The girls were about to leave and they didn't want any delays, so you looked around for anything that could cover your body and protect you from freezing.

The only thing you could find was an old LSU football team jersey with the name "BURROW" stitched on the back. You sighed, but tried to confort yourself by thinking nobody would see it, after all, the lights at the party were pretty low.

All of it cumulated to this moment. This disgusting look he gives you as he looks down, glaring at his jersey. "What the hell are you wearing?”

Of course he would recognize it, it was his, after all. You cursed yourself mentally in all the languages you know, and prayed that Emily would come to you out of the blue to take you home. She didn't.

"Please, don't start, Joseph." You say, trying to ignore him. "I was cold and this was the only thing I could find."

“Yeah, right. Just say you were trying to piss me off, like always.” he scowls.

"Not everything is about you, QB." You get up, furrowing your brows at the audacity, annoyance dripping in your voice.

“Everything is most definitely not about you either, cheerleader.” he scoffs, and his teammates laugh. “You're still not even good at that.”

"And you're still not even good at your little games, idiot." I scoff. "Let me remind you, I'm the one going to the national competition while you're still playing football in college."

This time, his friends mutter a low "oooh".

He's stunned for a moment, then he scowls and gets closer to your face. “Watch your mouth. This is my last season here anyway, then i’m going straight to the NFL and everyone's gonna know my name, who knows what you’ll be doing.”

You just still didn't know he actually meant it.

"The NFL?" You laugh, hands on your chest. "You know, Joey.." You say, calling him by the nickname his friends had given him, in an attempt to piss him off. "To be on the NFL, you gotta be one of the greats." You stare at him, getting closer. "Something you.. are not."

He scowls, and his friends are surprised, the nickname really got to him. Before you can get another word in, he grabs you and pulls you close, his voice is low and cold. “Who the fuck are you calling Joey? You don’t get on the nickname level with me, Y/N."

Your squirm under his touch, trying to get off of him. A bit of fear seems to be creeping up in your eyes, and you try your best to not let it show.

"Don't fucking touch me!" You slap him, getting some inches away and staring at him in awe.

He recoils a bit, then glares. His lips are trembling, and you’ve never seen him angry like this, even his breath is shaky. He doesn't look like the Joe you once fed turtles in kindergarten with. He clenches his fist and looks around, he’s got the attention of everyone at the party “Are you seriously gonna slap the quarterback?”

"Fuck you! You're a horrible person that thinks that because you're a star you can do whatever the fuck you want, well, breaking news, YOU CAN'T." You scoff, angrier than ever, while removing the jersey off of you, throwing it at him, eyes swelling with tears.

"You're a fucking parasite, a manwhore who thinks everything's about you. I hope you never get to the NFL." This time it comes out lower, like a personal threat. You desperately crave to hurt him in a way he won't be able to laugh at or make jokes. Turning around, you walk out of the house, everything seemed to suffocate you.

He's stunned, no ones ever talked to him like that, specially you, the one person he was so used to getting shit from. He just stares at your back, the BURROW that was once hidden by your messy hair now gone, in his shaky hands. A range of emotions go through him. He's mad, but then there’s a sadness, he feels unwanted, as if the only reason people talk to him is because he is the quarterback. He doesn’t want you to leave like this, but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just yells “Where are you even gonna go?!”

"Somewhere you're not!" You scream, not even bothering to turn around to face it, crossing the door and walking through the garden in front of the house.

At this point, the party had gone back to what it once was, a loud, fun mess.

He sighs, then chases after you. When he catches up, he grabs your arm and forces you to turn around to face him. “Where the hell do you think you're going? You're not safe, there's a bunch of drunkards out there today."

"Like you give a fuck." You shrug, shaking your arm to get away from his grip. You turn around and start walking, the cold getting to you again. The snow fell mercilessly and all you had was the thin sweater that covered your cheerleading clothes.

He sighs, then realizes you’ll freeze outside. He puts his arm around you and pulls you in. You're so incredibly small compared to him you can feel his heart beating fast and his muscles tense from anger. “I do care. Just… come back inside, you're gonna freeze out here."

"Leave me alone! I fucking hate you!" The tears start falling as you punch his chest in a frantic way. It didn't hurt him, of course, but you didn't know that.

He scowls when you do so, gritting his teeth, then just watches you cry. He sighs and pulls you in tight, his body heats yours up. He rocks you like a baby, and whispers “Let me explain. I didn't meant for things to be like this.”

"Like what? Like living hell?" You away from his embrace, but part of you wishes you hadn't. Joe was so big and warm you didn't even needed a coat. "You hate me. Why are you even doing this?" you yell, the loud blasting music from the party muffling your screams. "Go back to your stupid party with your friends and your girls. I'm going home."

He grabs your arms and makes you turn to him. “I don’t.. hate you. I just get mad and take it out on you. I know that’s not right, i’m trying to fix it. Let me take you home.”

"Oh please." You scoff, tears still falling. "No need. I'll walk." You say, shivering due to the cold.

He sighs again. “You're not going home alone, it's not safe. I don’t care if you hate my guts, i’m not letting you walk alone.”

Joe's words and actions pierce you like a bullet. Never, in a million years, you had imagined you'd hear him talk to you like this. Of course, it was still rude, but there was a sweetness to it. You say nothing, as you couldn't bring yourself to. As he puts the jersey you once threw in his face back on your shoulders, the shivering reduces a bit, and your lips stop trembling, their reddish color that was once white from the cold, reappearing. His big hands stroking your back felt so gentle, and helped you get rid of the cold as he gently and quietly led you to his car. He opens the door to the passenger seat and waits for you to get in. You do so, surprisingly, and he closes it, turning around to get into the driver's seat.

He climbs in the drivers seat and starts the engine. The warm air that comes out of the vents warming you up as he looks over at you. You watch him drive, he seems so focused, and when he speaks, it’s in a quiet voice “I'll walk you to your door, then you should probably take a hot shower to warm up, your gonna get sick like this.”

"There's no need. I'll survive." you say, pulling the jersey closer and breathing in the warmth.

“I'm not gonna risk you getting sick just because you decided to be stubborn now.” You can’t help but notice how gentle his voice is, a nice contrast to how cold he seemed towards you at the party.

"Fine." You whisper, and after a few moments in silence, he finally pulls up to the dorms. You open the door of the car and get out, the cold getting to you again. You sigh.

Joe does the same and the two of you walk in silence towards the entrance of the building. Once you reach the door, you turn around, "You've done enough, Burrow. I mean it. Go back to your party, you have a win to celebrate." You say, grabbing your keys and unlocking the door.

“I wanna see you safe in your house before i go, I feel responsible for you getting cold out here.” he doesn’t want you to think he doesn’t care about you, when it’s clear from the way he’s acting he only thinks of you and your safety right now.

You nod, his gentle words feeling like daggers in your heart, making you almost regret the way went a few rounds with him earlier.

Getting into your aparment, you take off your shoes, holding the door for him to do the same, and when he does, you lock it again, before making your way to the small kitchen.

"Can I get you anything? Water, tea..?" You ask, trying to be a good host. You and Emily never expected no one to come to the apartment, so there was never many food or drink options.

He follows you to the kitchen, shrugs and looks around. The apartment is not very big, but it’s homely. From the kitchen, you can see the entire living room, including the door, and then there's a small hallway that leads to the rooms and bathroom.

He looks at you when you offer him something and smiles, it breaks his scowl, it looks good on him. He looks at you for a moment, then says “Can i get a glass of water?”

You nod and get on your tip toes to open the cabinet, getting a glass and then filling it with water, handing it to Joe as you take a seat on one of the stools in front of the kitchen's island.

He takes the glass and drinks from it, still holding on to his scowl, but it slowly drops off as he begins to relax. He sits down beside you, close enough that his knees are touching yours “Your apartment is so different from mine.”

You sigh, making small talk with him was the last thing on your list for today, but still, you gave it a shot.

"How so..?" You say, not even bothering to look at him. Instead, the cup of water you had poured to yourself in front of you was the one getting all of the attention. The fact that the only person in the entire campus that hated you was the one to bring you home was already embarrassing enough, so you were still to wrap your mind around the fact he was still here.

He watches you and looks around the kitchen, not sure how to explain it to you. For a few moments he just looks at you, trying to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know how to explain it, it’s just different from anything i’m used to.”

"Calling me poor now, are we, Burrow?" You shrug, letting a small laugh fall from your lips.

He glares, then realizes you were joking and laughs a little bit. You can notice he still smiles when he looks at you, which is surprising considering how he always scowled at you. “I'd never call you poor, especially not after seeing your outfit tonight.” he looks you up and down.

"Mr. Joseph Burrow's a fashionista?" You chuckle, this wasn't something you'd ever expect from him. There wasn't any monograms or brand names on the sweater you wore, but if you were a someone into good clothing, you'd recognize it.

He laughs and shakes his head, he can’t help but notice your curves and he looks down, trying not to stare. “I wouldn’t consider myself a fashion guy, i just know something looks nice when i see it.. and your outfit looks very nice on you."

"Yeah, sure.." You nod, standing up and grabbing both of the glasses. You take them to the sink, putting your hair up in a bun and washing them. "I'm okay now, Burrow, really. I don't know why you did what you did tonight, but thank you." The thank you comes out like a whisper, but you pray he does notice. "Come back to your party, enjoy your teammates and your girls. There's still time."

He shifts in his seat and watches you as you wash the glass, his mind is conflicted. Part of him wants to follow his teammates back to the party, the other part wants to stay with you, see how long the small talk can go before it turns into a fight again. His eyes watch you as his breathing starts to pick up a bit. When you thank him, he realizes you don’t want to talk about the fight or why he did what he did at all.

He shakes his head and stands up. “I guess I better get going then."

"Yeah.. of course." You flash him a shy smile, and the awkward silence sets in again.

He notices your smile and smiles back, not knowing how to express himself right now, although he doesn’t know how to leave either. He just awkwardly stands there, staring at you, his eyes are locked on yours, he can’t help but notice how beautiful they are. The two of you lost in your own thoughts, the silence filled with tension. Then he speaks “Can i ask something before I go?”

"Yes."

“Why'd you wear that jersey? You knew it would piss me off, so why’d you wear it?”

You sigh, you had already explained that, but Joe seemed so drunk you thought maybe he had forgotten. "I told you, I was cold and I had forgotten my hoodie." you point to the couch, where the green hoodie rested on. "I knew it would piss you off, and trust me when I say I wasn't going for that today, but it happened. I'm sorry for it, you can have it back now." You say, taking the jersey off for the second time that night, except this time you don't throw it on his face. Instead, you just gently hand it to him, like a peace offering.

He takes it, looking down at it in his hands, then he looks back up at you. He sighs and is suddenly filled with mixed feelings, anger, sadness, his emotions feel overwhelming. He doesn’t want to yell and argue with you again, but he also doesn’t want to leave. He can’t stop looking at you and your eyes, he can’t help but love how pretty they are. "Can I please keep this? Please..?" he whispers.

"Why are you asking me that? It's yours, it has your name on it." You say matter-of-factly, fidgeting with your hands, something you do when you're nervous.

You can tell he’s trying really hard not to smile at you, his voice is soft when he says “Yeah… but it’s got your sweat on it… your smell… I want something to remind me of you… even though, you know… we always seem to get each other mad.”

You don't understand, after all, you see each other every single day. The best "something to remind me of you" he could ever ask for was standing right in front of him everyday.

You furrow your eyebrows. Years of fighting, screaming and pissing each other off leading to this moment was something you couldn't wrap your mind around. "Do I need to remind you we hate each other? Until this morning, you'd get me suspended from LSU if you could."

He laughs, and you’ve never seen him in such a vulnerable and soft state. "We both know I don’t wanna get you suspended from LSU, I mean, come on.. just look at you.” he stares at you, you see his eyes roaming your body like he always does, but there’s a different look about them. "You deserve this scholarship more than I do, you've always have."

"Yeah.." You scoff, not believing a word, looking at the jersey on his hands and then at his eyes. His big, blue eyes that you got lost in countless times before.

He smiles at you, realizing the snarkiness he just heard. He doesn’t mind the teasing, in fact, he kinda likes it. He stares at you for a minute, then he looks back down at the jersey “I like how it fits tight on you.” he says without realizing it.

"Tight? You're big as hell, it looks huge on me." You laugh, remembering how the jersey looked on you when you put it on earlier today.

He laughs silently to himself, a big smirk appears on his face. He looks at your body, then smiles. “You're just too small, but I do like how it fits on you."

You feel goosebumps throughout your entire body and your cheeks heat up. You curse yourself mentally for letting it all show so easily.

He's still staring at you, but doesn’t realize just how much he’s making you blush. He continues to speak in a low voice "I can see your belly button when you dance for us on the field.." He pauses, but decides to go on, and it's like you can hear the engines turning in his head. "I can see your bra strap when you go so high in the sky I feel my hands covered in cold sweat in fear that you'll fall and I won't be there to catch you. I can see your collarbones when you get so close to me when we're fighting that I wish I would just lean in and shut you the fuck up. I can see how you blush when I sweep you off your feet and leave you speechless, like i'm doing now." He steps closer. "I can see all of you. Matter of fact, Y/N, I think you're all I have ever wanted to see." He states, like it's a fact, like he has always known that. You feel your eyes starting to water and you feel stupid. "Every inch of you looks amazing in that jersey, it fits you like nothing else i’ve ever seen."

You sigh, it's almost like you can feel your skin being touched by him just by the way he’s looking at you. You feel like a forest fire, and his voice tone doesn't help. "Stop.."

His voice is so low when he talks, you want him to keep speaking. You want to hear his voice go on and on, to get you worked up, but also to lull you into the most peaceful sleep you've had in years. He keeps staring at you as he speaks “Just look at your shoulders, the fabric wraps all around them so perfectly, they’re such beautiful curves, just like the rest of you. Just look at you.. Jesus." He sighs.

You squirm under his gaze, but in a split second you're reminded of everything that happened before this moment. Before being here, in your small dorm, talking to the man you earlier thought to be the meanest person you knew. "I won't fall for it. I'm not the girls you get after winning games."

He chuckles and looks away, clearing this throat before going on "Those girls are just something to make me feel good, they don’t even mean anything to me. But you.. even when you make me angry, I want nothing but to feel you in my arms. You make me feel so good, even when you piss me off.”

"You don't mean that." You mutter, trying to stay calm. You pick the skin on your arms while staring at him.

His eyes shift back to yours when you speak, he sighs and you can tell for a minute he’s conflicted on what to say. "I know you don’t believe I mean all those words, but honestly, I mean every word. You are the only girl who's ever made me feel something, even if we’re arguing, that means we at least have some emotion we want to put towards each other. I'd rather have you making me mad than have someone making me feel nothing at all."

A single tear slides down your cheek. "You're drunk, that's what it is. You're drunk and this.." You point to yourself, and then to him, "..must be a prank."

“I know that’s all we’ve known for years, but maybe the reason you make me so mad is because I have feelings for you. You are the only girl I have ever wanted to talk to like this. You're the only girl that makes me feel this way. I never want to stop talking to you, I just want to tell you how beautiful you are, even when you make me mad, or when you push me so far it makes me want to push you towards the wall and kiss you."

You stare at him like everything you've ever known has finally made sense. A few more tears drip from your eyes and you sigh. "You promise?" it comes out in a whisper.

He smiles and you can tell it's not a fake drunk smile. This is the smile he flashes at someone when he's letting down his guard and being completely honest and vulnerable. "I promise. I don't want anyone else, I want you. I wanna be the guy who makes you happy like no one else could. I want you to be there when I get into the NFL and I want to be able to look for you on every game, waving at you when I see you're wearing my jersey because you finally want to, because it means something."

You look up, melting over his voice, your eyes meeting his like never before. His eye color seemed different now, a more vivid blue. His eyes seemed more relaxed, a nice contrast to the ones full of rage that always came with a furrowed brow. "I want you, too." You whisper.

He smiles, a real and sweet smile. This time when his eyes roam your body, you feel like he isn't looking at you in a nasty way like always, he's just looking at you because he thinks he's the luckiest boy in the world.

You smile, "Do I need to call you some names to have you kissing me now?" It makes him laugh, and your eyes lock on his. There isn't any words, just feelings, and you can see it in him when the realization sets in that you want him too.

You get on your tip toes as Joe pulls you towards him, your lips finally touching each other. Your belly feels as if you just rode a rollercoaster, as if the LSU football team had won, as if there was fireworks inside of you like there's in the sky on the fourth of July. But instead it was all him, the same boy that you once hated so much, doing all of this to you without even trying.

Immersed in your thoughts, you didn't notice when someone opened the door and came in, what gave it away was the smell, and you wondered if it would ever change.

"Joseph..?" you froze, again, but still managed to turn around on the armchair, feet now touching the ground.

His eyes meet yours for the first time in.. well, years, since that fateful night. He looked.. the same. Although his hair was shorter now and he looked bigger than ever, his face was the same. The same mesmerizing ocean blue eyes, pointy nose, and rosy cheeks, which you always found funny, because it looked like he had blush on. He wore a threadbare white shirt, shorts, and a tennis shoe, but they weren't the same as years ago, and you thought to yourself how an outfit of his now would cost probably more than your monthly earnings. He also wore a USA flag headband, which you had seen earlier laying on the wood table for everyone to get one. You thought it looked.. funny.

"Y/N." He nods. It felt like forever since your name had left his lips for the last time.

"Sorry, I-" You start, getting up from the chair as you wrote a full apology in your head for being in a private part of his home. "I thought nobody would need the room, I'll leave now."

"Nobody does." He takes a sip of his drink, his hands looking huge as he holds the red cup. "Dave told me you came with him and Emily, had to see it for myself."

He says, getting closer and finally leaning onto the window, arms resting just above it. Another sip, and you find yourself sitting again.

"How'd you know I was here?" You furrow your eyebrows, not understanding a thing. His eyes don't wander from the view. You're stiff, and you think you've probably never felt so nervous.

"You always are."

If you thought your eyebrows couldn't furrow any more, you were wrong. As soon as the words fell from his lips, you were in complete shock. Does that mean he knew that, all this time, you spent the parties in his attic, alone, dying to go home? That he knew you slept here, not once, not twice, but several times before?

"What?" Is all you manage to say, embarrassment taking over you.

"I mean, when I threw parties in high school you were always here. I know you don't like parties but you would always come because of Emily, and somehow your nights always ended here."

Your eyes widened, and you swore that if your mom could see you now, she would say something along the lines of You look like you've seen a ghost.

You kind of felt like you had.

"I'm surprised you like the place, it's kinda small." He finally shifts, taking his arms off the window and setting his now empty cup on the small wood piece that rested under the window. You blush, after all this time.

When you woke up in the morning, Joe was no longer there. You didn't panic, just thought of it as typical him. Getting up from the bed, you saw Emily on her chair, watching something on her computer.

"Morning, sleeping beauty." she says as she hears you yawn.

"Morning, Ems." You smile, sitting up straight. "D'you have a good night?"

"Obviously, duh. Dave's a gentleman." she states, bragging, and you laugh. "He also told me you and Joe left together last night.. what was that about?"

You sigh, flashes from the night before coming back to haunt you. "We.. uh.." you start, but words can't really explain what went down in this apartment yesterday. "We kissed, and had sex.. and, uh.. he might've said he likes me.." you whisper, like it was a crime.

"WHAT?!" Emily jumps from the chair, startled. "Y/N.. Oh my God.." she gets closer to you, getting on her knees in front of you. "How was that? And, most importantly, how's that gonna work now?" she states, as if something had changed overnight.

"What do you mean?" you furrow your eyebrows, confused.

"Well, you know he's been drafted to the NFL, don't you?" she says as if it was something everyone knew, incluiding you.

You felt your heart sink.

So it was a prank, after all. The worst one he could ever pull on you.

He left, and he wasn't coming back.

You knew he meant every word he had said last night, but he also had really left. Joe had confessed his love to you the night before just to leave in the morning, leaving you mercilessly stranded.

You don't say anything, because how could you find the words to? Emily immediately understands and hugs you, but the only embrace you could possibly want at the time was miles away now.

You were surprised at his ability to pretend like nothing had happened, like the last few years hadn't been torture to you, wondering where did it go wrong. Years of blaming yourself, of recalling the night over and over and-

"No need to be ashamed, Y/N." he chuckles, the sound of it filling the quiet room.

"I'm not ashamed." you lie. Letting him see through you was the last thing you needed today. "Just thought nobody knew."

"Well, if it helps, I'm the only one who does." he finally sits on the ground, back glued to the wall where the window was. A beat, and then he was back with the personal questionnaire. "How are you?"

"I should be the one asking that question. Huge team, getting all the girls, abnormal paycheck.. Superbowl." your words dripping with disgust as you stare out the window, hoping for something, anything, anyone, a divine intervention to get you out of there.

"I don't really get that many girls," he says as he stares at you. One of the things about him that bothered you so much was his courage. You could never, ever, not a million years, bring yourself to stare at him the way he'd do to you. It was intimidating, raw, and worst of all, familiar. He'd always do this when the two of you fought in high school, that's how he'd always win the arguments, not by words, by having the courage to look you in the face and leaving you feeling vulnerable and naked under his gaze. That's also the same way he stared at you that night, after saying all those nice words that made you melt under his touch.

"Mhm.." You nod, not knowing what to say.

"Aren't you going to answer me?" he questions, again.

"I'm fine, finishing my doctorate now."

You don't know why you told him that, but it felt right.

He lets out a breath, "Fuck, Y/N.. That's huge." he congratulates you, and although he couldn't see it due to the poor lighting, it makes you blush. You had never seen it as that big of a deal, it was just the thirst for knowledge you always had, but it was nice knowing someone Joe thought about it as something nice.

"Thank you"

"Thank you coming today," he finally says, awkwardly, as he gets up, grabbing his cup as he does so. "tell your folks I said hi."

"Will do."

He opens the door and gets lost in the crowd, leaving quietly and sneakily like he did that night, and you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding.

#joe burrow x reader #joe burrow #nfl #cincinnati bengals #bengals #reader insert #joe burrow x oc #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #y/n

423 notes · View notes