#Rib Trailer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cloudtransprncy · 1 month ago

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Tease

Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me

Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?

Jus sumn quick for yall.

Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.

Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈

You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.

Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.

Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.

You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.

It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.

You'd both agreed it would be just once.

That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.

No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.

Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.

And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.

The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.

You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.

None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.

The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.

Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.

You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.

The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.

"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."

"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.

Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.

"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"

Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.

Then it happens.

The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.

Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.

The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.

The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.

You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.

But memories flood your mind anyway:

Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.

Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.

Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.

You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.

"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.

"Fine," you say, the word clipped.

On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.

She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.

But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.

It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.

It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.

The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.

You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.

But when she walks past you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.

You are completely, totally fucked.

You're in hell.

Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.

A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.

The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.

"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.

The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.

You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.

Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.

She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.

"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.

"Can you bring me some water?"

She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.

You know better.

You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.

Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.

"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.

The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.

Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.

You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.

Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."

Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"

She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.

The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.

"Everything good?" the stylist asks.

Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."

The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—

"Woke up so wet this morning."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.

She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.

You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."

She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."

The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.

You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.

For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.

Then she slides into the chair next to you.

"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.

You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.

Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.

That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.

Your entire body goes rigid.

"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.

"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.

You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.

The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.

Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.

"Stop," you hiss.

She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."

Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.

"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"

Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.

Your heart stops.

Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"

Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.

You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.

Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.

She's as desperate as you are.

The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.

"Two minutes!" someone calls.

She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.

"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.

Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."

Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.

The next hour is psychological warfare.

Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.

And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.

This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.

Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.

One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.

She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.

You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.

Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.

During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.

Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.

When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.

In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.

Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.

This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.

Then comes the final blow.

During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.

No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.

She stops, just for a second. Leans in.

"Just fuck me in the changing room already."

The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.

She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.

And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.

You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.

Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.

Professional.

You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.

She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.

"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.

Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.

"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.

"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."

You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.

The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.

Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.

You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.

Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.

You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.

Perfect.

Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.

"What are you—"

You push the door open. Pull her inside The storage room door closes with a soft click.

And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.

One second passes.

Two.

Then Chaewon launches herself at you.

Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.

Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.

"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."

You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.

She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."

"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.

The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.

She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.

You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.

Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.

"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.

You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."

Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.

Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.

"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."

You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."

She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.

Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.

"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."

You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.

"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."

She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.

"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."

"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."

You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.

You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.

Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.

"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.

The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.

You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.

"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.

You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"

"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."

You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"

You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"

"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."

You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."

"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."

She's right, and you both know it.

You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.

The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.

"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"

She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.

"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."

Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.

"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."

Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.

You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.

"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."

"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."

Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.

"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.

"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."

You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.

Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.

"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."

She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."

You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.

"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."

You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.

"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."

Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.

"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."

"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."

The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.

You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."

You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.

"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."

Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.

The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.

"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.

"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."

You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.

"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."

Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.

"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.

You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.

Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.

The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.

Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.

"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"

She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.

You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.

Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.

One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.

You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.

"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."

Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.

The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.

"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.

You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.

You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.

"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.

Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.

She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.

You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.

"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.

She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."

You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.

A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"

You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.

"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.

She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.

As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.

"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."

"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.

After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.

In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.

She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.

"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.

Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.

You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.

She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.

When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.

"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."

She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.

She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.

"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.

Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.

"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.

She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.

Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."

Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.

You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.

By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.

No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.

You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.

She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.

Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—

The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.

And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.

...

AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.

#cloudtrnsprncy #cloudtsmut #malereader #kpop smut #chaewon x reader #kim chaewon #chaewon #chaewon x male reader #lesserafim #chaewon hot

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lovebugism · 3 months ago

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Smut fic where reader and Eddie have been arguing since yesterday and he comes home from band practice and fucks her.

♡ “i was expecting a written apology but this is much better.”

ty for requesting :D — the best part of fighting with eddie, is making up with eddie (established relationship, hurt/comfort, smut 18+ | 1k)

bug's two year celebration ♡

Eddie returns home from band practice to find the trailer brimming with the scent of something sweet. An entire symphony of chocolate and vanilla and caramel — a stark contrast to the stale stench of Gareth’s garage.

He spots you standing in front of the stove, humming mindlessly to yourself as you whisk at a large bowl of miscellaneous ingredients. You’re wearing a too-big sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder, and a pair of fluffy socks sitting unevenly at your ankles. The sight of you is undeniably sweeter than whatever it is you’re baking for him.

Eddie leaves his guitar case by the front door and floats towards the kitchen with a lopsided smile. “Ooh. Smells good in here,” he lilts in place of a real greeting as he drapes himself along your back.

He caresses your arm with one ringed hand while the other reaches around you. He dips his pointer finger into the bowl and brings it up to his mouth, humming at the sugary taste on his tongue. “You know— I was expecting a handwritten apology,” he slurs before swallowing it down. “But this is so muchbetter.”

You dig your elbow into his ribs. Eddie winces and stumbles back.

“It’s not for you,” you correct, gaze averted as you dump a bowl of dry ingredients into the chocolate gold. “It’s for Hopper. For saving your ass.”

The reminder makes Eddie groan. After all, it wasn’t his fault that asshole got too handsy with you at the bar. He didn’t even realize he’d punched the guy until his knuckles collided with his chiseled nose. (He thought for sure his hand was broken then, but the bruises look totally metal now.)

The cookie-cutter douchebag was hellbent on pressing charges. Chief Hopper assured the asshole that the freak would be spending the night in jail, but instead drove Eddie home in the back of his cop car. He got the talking-to of a century then, from Jim and from you — ‘cause apparently some guy flirting with you isn’t grounds for ‘assault.’ Eddie still thinks that may be too harsh a word.

He tosses his head back, wild curls slipping from his shoulders, as the counter digs into his hip. “You’re still upset about that?” he whines boyishly, then cowers at the glare you give him. “I mean… I didn’t know you were still upset about that,” he amends, more sympathetically this time.

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Yeah, you should be the one apologizing to me, Munson,” you tell him, whisking the filling with a bit more aggression than you mean to. “Or better yet, the guy you punched last night—”

“No way.”

“—You almost broke his nose.”

“Oh, please,” Eddie laughs. “He was just being a baby about it.”

“He wasn’t even doing anything to deserve it!”

“He was bothering you!”

“He was talking to me!” you shout, much harsher than he’s used to. Your eyes glitter despite the way they’ve hardened as they dart back and forth between his darker ones. “And if I can’t have a conversation with some stupid guy without you flying off the handle, then I can’t imagine what you’ll do when some idiot buys me a drink.”

Eddie softens immediately. He didn’t know you felt that way.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, gravitating towards you with unsure steps and reaching for you with a hesitant hand. When you don’t pull away from his touch, he embraces you from behind — arms wrapped around your waist, hands resting on your belly, chin bobbing on your shoulder. “Though, I’m pretty sure that’s not what you wanna hear from me right now. ‘Cause I told you I was sorry ’til I was blue in the face last night, and you still made me sleep on the couch, so…”

You can hear the crooked smile in his softly spoken words.

You fight hard to bite back your own.

“Well, maybe I’m tired of hearing how sorry you are. Maybe I just want you to prove it.” You set the bowl on the counter and skim your pointer finger over the freshly mixed concoction. “Here, open—”

His pink mouth parts. You slide your finger over the soft pad of his tongue, giving him a proper taste of the filling now that it’s finished. Eddie hums at the bittersweet taste — the sickly sugar sufficiently balanced with sea salt. He nods in wordless approval while you lick the remnants from your own finger.

“You know what would taste better, though?” he wonders aloud once he’s swallowed it down, tone dripping in mischief as his tongue darts across his lip.

Your eyes narrow. “Eddie…” you deadpan in a preemptive scold.

The boy only smirks as he coaxes you against the counter with a gentle hand on your shoulder. You grip the granite edge as he descends to his knees before you, his chocolate-eyed gaze never once wavering from yours.

“You want me to prove it to you, right?” he asks, bruised knuckles lifting the hem of your shirt. “How sorry I am?��

You nod silently, ‘cause you couldn’t muster a cheeky quip right now if you wanted to.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Eddie tells you, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your thigh. You bite back a shiver when his wild curls brush the insides of them. Chills pebble faintly over the skin there, and he smiles. “I’m sorry,” he says once more, punctuated this time by a kiss to the bow of your underwear.

Your breath catches when his pointer finger dips beneath the panty line. His rings brush your burning skin as he slides the fabric to the side. Eddie smirks when he catches your unwavering gaze, as glassy as the sparkling skin of your wet pussy. You can act all mean when you want to, but your body can never pretend with him.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, just before licking a fat stripe up the length of your cunt.

Your lips fall softly agape at the warm, satin feeling of his mouth pressed against the most sensitive parts of you. Your head tilts back as your airy moan fills the silent kitchen. The pie you were making is now long forgotten. You’re much sweeter in comparison, anyway.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: bug turns two

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backyardbeginnings · 2 years ago

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When it comes to mouthwatering barbecue and deliciously cooked potatoes, the Chicken & Rib Cooker, Potato Cooker, and Holstein Grill in Huntersville, North Carolina, are a gastronomic paradise for food enthusiasts. Located in the heart of this charming town, these culinary hotspots offer an exceptional dining experience that will satisfy even the most discerning palates.

The Chicken & Rib Cooker is a local gem that has been tantalizing taste buds for years. As soon as you step inside, the aroma of smoky meats will whet your appetite. The skilled pitmasters take great pride in their craft, slow-cooking chicken and ribs to perfection. Each bite reveals tender, juicy meat infused with rich, smoky flavors that will have you coming back for more.

Chicken Rib Cooker is not just about meat. Their Potato Cooker is equally impressive. Here, they transform humble potatoes into culinary masterpieces. Baked to perfection, these potatoes are fluffy on the inside and crispy on the outside. Whether you prefer classic toppings like sour cream and chives or indulgent options like bacon and melted cheese, the Potato Cooker offers a range of toppings to satisfy every palate.

The Holstein Grill, located within the same establishment, takes the dining experience to the next level. It's a haven for burger enthusiasts who appreciate a good patty cooked to perfection. The menu boasts a variety of mouthwatering burgers, from classic cheeseburgers to inventive creations that combine unique flavors and textures. Each burger is made with high-quality, locally sourced ingredients, ensuring a fresh and delicious meal every time.

So, if you find yourself in Huntersville, make sure to pay a visit to these delightful establishments. Whether you're craving mouthwatering barbecue, perfectly cooked potatoes, or a gourmet burger, the Chicken & Rib Cooker, Potato Cooker, and Holstein Grill are sure to satisfy your culinary desires. Prepare yourself for a gastronomic adventure that will leave you longing for more, long after you've left their doors.

#Chicken Rib Cooker #Holstein Grill #Sweet Corn Roaster #Potato Cooker #Stainless Steel Trailer grill #Stainless Steel Rotisseries #Stainless Steel Charcoal

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stylesispunk · 1 month ago

Text

"The one that got away"

outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: the one where you lose joel and must say goodbye.

wc: 4k>

warnings: extreme angst (shocking), mentions of blood, grief.

a/n: since i wasn't able to work on chapter ii of blind faith, here you have this. The trailer (when it got leaked) made me feel things. reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

dividers by @/enchantings-a

A soft, breathy laugh pulled you from sleep.

You stirred, the warmth of the blankets heavy around you, your body resisting to leave the beauty paradise of dreams. But then a rough palm smoothed over your arm, soft lips pressing against your temple, and you let out a slow, contented sigh, as if you had just found pleasure on a tiny action.

“You were whispering my name,” Joel murmured, his voice sounded rough, still thick with the morning sleep. Amusement laced on his words, his chest rumbling softly as he chuckled. “Should I be worried about it?”

Blinking awake, you turned onto your side, eyes adjusting to the grey light of the cold winter slipping through the curtains. He was already looking at you, that boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, the one you had become use to look at, the one you always cherished.

“I was dreaming about you,” you admitted, your voice rasping slightly from sleep.

Joel hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as he always did every morning of the last 6 years, “Good things, I guess.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, your fingers brushing the silver at his temples. “I always dream good things about you,” you murmured between his kisses, “but I love waking up to the real you better.”

Joel stilled for a fraction of a second, his forehead resting against your temple. His hand slid to your waist, holding you just a little closer, like he was trying to imprint this moment to memory. There was something in his eyes, something deep, serious, real.

A man who had never let himself love this way before. A man who had lost too much to believe he could ever deserve something like this. A man who never though he would have had a chance to love someone as much as he loved you.

That’s why he had let himself love you completely. He was devoted to you in body and soul.

“Damn right, you do,” he finally said, smirking as he stole another kiss, trying to mask the weight settled in his chest.

You had become his favorite person, his favorite sight to wake up to.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He kissed you again, slow and lingering, as if he didn’t want to let go, “Love you too, baby.”

The words never lost their meaning. They had never come easy for him, but for you, they always did.

But then the morning caught up to you both.

The sound of hooves outside. The faint voices of patrolmen gathering. Joel sighed, pulling away, but his hand lingered on your waist like he didn’t want to leave.

“I should get going,” he muttered.

You didn’t like it. He wasn’t even supposed to go today. He’d filled in at the last minute, and something about it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Still, you didn’t stop him. You just reached for his wrist, fingers tracing over the rough, scarred skin. “Be careful.”

The moment Joel pulled away, a weight settled deep in your chest, thick and unshakable, like something was pressing down on your ribs. You swallowed against it, willing the feeling away, but it stayed.

Something wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right.

You watched him sit at the edge of the bed, tugging on his boots with slow, movements. You he didn’t want to go, not really. You knew he didn’t want to go, but lately he had feeling he had been making strange choices. Volunteering for extra patrol shifts he didn’t need to take. Fixing up broken fences on the outskirts of Jackson, long past sundown. Riding out to check on the dam when it wasn’t his turn. It was as if he was trying to keep moving, to keep doing something—anything—to drown out the thoughts he wouldn’t say out loud.

You knew why. Ever since that fight with Ellie, he had been different.

He hadn’t said much about it, but he didn’t have to. You had heard enough through the walls of your home, Ellie’s voice, shaking with the hurt of his betrayal, and Joel’s, rough with the kind of pain only a father could know.

Silence had filled the house after that. She hadn’t spoken to him since. Not really.

At least not until last night. Ellie had come to your house and both of them talked. There was something, a flicker of hope on Joel’s eyes the moment he stood back inside the house. Like someone had given him a chance to feel things would be better. He would try to make them better.

After all, Joel had spent so long building something with her, who had softened for her, who had let himself become a father again and the weight of her absence felt like an open wound.

You had seen it in the way he carried himself. In the deepening lines on his face, the nights he sat on the couch, staring at the front door like he was waiting for her to walk in and forgive him. In the way he pulled you closer at night, held you longer, kissed you slower, like he was terrified that if he let go, he’d lose you too.

You tried to remind him, over and over, that he wasn’t alone. That you were here. That you loved him despite all the choices he had made.

But it didn’t stop him from throwing himself into things that didn’t make sense, like taking a patrol shift at the last minute.

You wanted to believe it was just his way of coping. That he would come back, tired but safe, like he always did. That he would walk through the front door, set his rifle against the wall, and pull you into him like he needed to feel something real again.

But the feeling in your chest told you otherwise.

Still, you didn’t say anything as he reached for the doorknob. You just watched him, memorizing the way he looked in the early morning light. The way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. The way his hair fell, a little messy from sleep. The way he turned back at the last second, as if he knew you were still watching.

His gaze softened, and he took one step back toward you, leaning in to kiss you, slow, familiar, warm.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

You exhaled. “I love you too.”

The words left your mouth easily, instinctively. The way they always did. But this time, they felt heavier, like they were holding something bigger than just love.

Maybe he felt it too, because when he pulled away, he hesitated.

Only for a second. Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll be back before sundown.”

It wasn’t a promise. It never was.

You nodded anyway. “Be careful.”

He gave you one last look before stepping out the door.

And as it shut behind him, the weight in your chest didn’t leave.

It only grew.

The fire crackled softly in the quiet night, sending flickers of warm light dancing over Joel’s face. The air smelled like damp earth and wood smoke, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Ellie was curled up in her sleeping bag, her soft breaths steady and even, lost in a sleep neither you nor Joel had the luxury of most nights.

You sat beside him, your knees nearly touching as you both nursed the last bits of coffee he had brewed over the fire. It was bitter, but warm. Comforting.

Joel had been quieter than usual that night.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, voice hushed so as not to wake Ellie.

He glanced at you, then back at the fire. “Not really.”

You hummed, not convinced. “You are though”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Okay, I’ll leave you with it” you continued.

Joel sighed, shifting to lean his forearms on his knees. “I hope so.”

It was the most honest thing he had said all day.

You watched the flames lick at the dry wood, letting his words settle between you. This journey had been wearing him down. You could see it in the lines on his face.

Maybe he was.

“I think about my family.” you admitted.

Joel glanced at you again, something softer in his gaze now. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Not even the big memories, just… little things. Like the way my dad used to hum while he cooked. Or how my mom always burned the toast in the morning” You smiled faintly. “Stupid stuff.”

Joel was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke, voice lower than before. “It isn’t stupid.”

You turned to look at him, and your heart ached a little at what you saw. The man who had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, guarding himself with gruff words and cold distance, was letting you in—just a little.

Something about it made your chest tighten.

Joel held your gaze for a beat longer than he usually would.

Then, before you could think too much about it, before either of you could break whatever this was, he reached up, his rough, calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so gentle, so unlike the hardened man you had come to know.

Your breath hitched.

“Joel—”

And then he kissed you.

Slowly, he hesitated at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. But when you didn’t pull away—when you melted into him, letting your hand rest against his chest—he deepened it. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but they fit against yours like they had always been meant to.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes were still closed, his breath warm against your lips.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you murmured, even though you didn’t mean it.

Joel exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yeah. But I wanted to. For a while, really.”

You swallowed. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else after that.

You just sat there, the fire crackling between you, while the weight of the world felt just a little lighter for once.

You had become each other everything ever since.

Back then, you hadn’t known what the world had in store for you both. You hadn’t known that the man who had kissed you under the flickering light of a campfire would become your home, your heart, the one thing you couldn’t live without.

And now, five years later, that same man had kissed you goodbye in the early morning light, promised to be back before sundown, and left you with a weight in your chest that refused to go away.

You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself, as if that would shake the feeling, but it stayed.

Something wasn’t right.

You went through the motions of the day—feeding the animals, checking in at the dining hall, helping with repairs on the greenhouse—but it all felt distant, like you were moving through water. People spoke to you, and you answered, but your mind was somewhere else.

With him. With Joel.

By the time the sun started sinking below the horizon, a cold knot of dread had settled in your stomach.

Joel wasn’t back.

You paced near the gates, arms crossed tightly over your chest. You told yourself he was fine, that patrols ran late all the time, that he would walk through that gate any second, grumbling about how he was too damn old for this shit.

But as the minutes stretched into an hour, and the other men started trickling in—without him—the weight in your chest grew heavier.

Something was wrong.

The moment you saw Tommy and Ellie passing through the gates, you knew.

The weight in your chest turned to ice, spreading through your veins, numbing you before the truth could even reach your ears.

Tommy’s face was grim, his jaw tight, his usual steady presence shaken. His hands were covered in dried blood. Not his.

Ellie looked worse. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale beneath the dirt smudged along her cheek, adorned by purple bruises. She was stiff, walking like each step was too much, like if she let herself stop moving, she might collapse.

They were alone. Joel wasn’t with them.

Your breath hitched. The world around you blurred, the sounds of Jackson—chatter, hooves, the clang of metal—fading into nothing. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

No.

No, no, no.

Tommy stopped a few feet in front of you, and for the first time in all the years you had known him, he couldn’t meet your eyes.

Ellie, though—Ellie did. And in them, you saw the truth before either of them had the chance to say it.

Joel was gone.

Your knees nearly buckled, but you forced yourself to stay standing.

“What—” Your voice cracked. “Where is he?”

Tommy inhaled sharply, ran a bloody hand down his face. He was struggling to find the words.

Ellie’s lips parted, like she wanted to say something, as if she wanted apologize for what she was about to say but nothing came. Her whole body trembled, and her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.

She was waiting for you to say it. For you to ask the one question you weren’t sure you were strong enough to hear the answer to.

But you already knew. Still, the words clawed out of your throat, raw and broken.

“Is he—?”

Tommy swallowed thickly and Ellie squeezed her eyes shut.

And your whole world shattered with those actions.

The bed was cold when you woke. For a moment, disoriented and lost in the haze of sleep, you reached out, searching for warmth, for him. Your fingers skimmed over empty sheets, and confusion settled in your chest like a fog.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Then you turned your head. And you knew.

News coming back like an ice bucket falling over you.

The hours before came crashing back—the blood on Tommy’s hands, the hollow look in Ellie’s eyes, the weight of his absence innating fire on your heart, threatening to crush you.

He was gone. Joel was gone.

The sob tore out of you before you could stop it, raw and broken, shaking through your entire body. You curled in on yourself, pressing your hands to your face as if that could muffle the sound, as if that could stop the pain from swallowing you whole.

But it was too late. Footsteps. A door opening.

Maria's voice, soft but urgent. "Hey, hey—"

Then Ellie.

You felt her before you saw her, hesitating in the doorway, breath uneven. You knew she was hurting, too, but all you could see was the space where he should be. The bed that was too big without him. The emptiness.

Your grief turned sharp, boiling into something else, angry and fury.

Ellie had been with him. Ellie had come back, but he hadn’t.

And suddenly, you were screaming.

"Where is he?!"

Maria tried to reach for you, but you shoved her away.

"Where is he?! I need to see him!"

Ellie flinched. Her silence was an answer in itself.

"No," you choked out, shaking your head, refusing it, rejecting it. "No, he—he's out there, he—he wouldn't just—"

But your voice broke before you could finish.

Ellie's face crumpled. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Sorry wasn't enough. Sorry wouldn't bring him back.

The room blurred, the walls closing in, your breath coming in gasps, but the one thing you knew, the one thing you couldn't ignore, was this—

“You hurt him” you told Ellie, you knew those words would kill her but you still told them because you wanted to make the pain go away because you didn’t know how to live in a world without him.

Ellie flinched like you’d struck her. Her breath hitched, her already red-rimmed eyes widening, and for a split second, she looked like she might shatter right there in front of you.

But you didn’t care.

You wanted her to feel it. The same gut-wrenching, all-consuming pain that was eating you alive. You wanted to rip it from your chest and shove it into hers, make her carry it, make her understand what it had been taken from you.

Because the truth was, she had hurt him.

You’d seen it in the way he carried himself, in the haunted look in his eyes every time she walked past him like he was nothing. He had given everything for her, died for her in every way but the physical—until now.

And she hadn’t forgiven him. And now, she never would.

Ellie’s mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head, taking an unsteady step back. “I—” She swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t—”

But you didn’t let her finish.

“You did,” you seethed, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. "He loved you more than anything, Ellie. And you both broke each other’s hearts.”

Ellie sucked in a sharp breath like she’d been stabbed.

Maria reached for you again, her grip firm on your shoulder, trying to ground you. “Enough,” she murmured. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. It would never be enough.

Ellie stood there, her body trembling, her face twisted with sorrow and guilt. She was broken in a way you didn’t know how to fix, but right now, you didn’t care. The anger that had built up inside you seemed to melt into something else—something softer, more fragile. The fury drained away, leaving only a hollow emptiness that ached.

You stepped toward her, your breath ragged, hands shaking as you reached for her.

For a long moment, Ellie didn’t move. She just stared at you, eyes filled with pain, but then, slowly, she let herself collapse into your arms.

The two of you stood there, clinging to each other, silent but for the quiet sobs that wracked your bodies. The pain was raw, unbearable, but somehow, holding Ellie in that moment made the crushing weight of your grief feel a little more bearable.

You kissed her hair, your lips trembling as you whispered, “I need to see him, Ellie. Please… take me to him.”

Ellie’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, you thought she might pull away, refuse. But she didn’t. She just buried her face in your chest, her breath uneven, the tears soaking through your shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and you felt the sincerity in her voice, the regret. But it was too late for apologies.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, and then, with a shaky breath, Ellie finally pulled back, looking up at you. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes swollen and red, but there was something softer there now, something vulnerable.

“I’ll take you to him,” she said quietly. “But... it won’t bring him back.” Her voice cracked as she spoke the words.

You nodded, wiping your own tears, your heart pounding in your chest. She was right—it wouldn’t bring him back. But you needed to see him. You needed to feel him, even if it was just for one last moment.

Ellie took a deep breath, then nodded, turning toward the door. “Come on,” she said softly, her voice raw but determined.

You followed her out, feeling the weight of every step, each one pulling you further away from the life you had known, but also one step closer to what you had lost.

As you and Ellie made your way toward the small area behind the main house, the world seemed to grow quieter with every step. Your mind was a blur, a chaotic mess of fragmented thoughts, but the one thing that remained clear was the need to get to Joel, to see him. To make sure he was real, that you hadn't imagined all of this—that the man you loved wasn’t really gone.

Ellie stayed by your side, her hand occasionally brushing against yours, but you were too consumed to notice. The air felt thick with tension as you reached the clearing, and there, standing beside Joel's body, was Tommy.

He was kneeling on the ground, his hands trembling as he gently wiped away the dried blood from Joel’s face. The sight of him—Joel, unmoving, cold—tore at something deep inside you. Your chest tightened, your legs almost giving out beneath you as the weight of it settled in.

Tommy's back was to you, but when he heard your footsteps, he froze. His shoulders shook with a quiet sob, and for a moment, you thought he might not turn around at all. But then he did, and the look on his face... It was like a mirror of the agony you felt, raw and unfiltered.

"He's gone," Tommy's voice cracked, but he didn't need to say the words. You already knew. You had known the moment you had seen Ellie’s face, the moment you had heard the silence in the house. It seemed like you both needed to face the truth.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced them back, holding yourself together. "Tommy," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "Can I… can I do it? Can I... clean him?"

Tommy looked at you, his eyes swollen, bloodshot, and broken. He hesitated for a long moment, as if he couldn’t bear to hand that responsibility over to you. But then he nodded slowly, his gaze falling to the blood-stained cloth in his hands.

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "He loved you. He’d want you to do it."

With a shaking hand, Tommy placed the rag in your palm. It felt foreign, unnatural—like you didn’t deserve to touch him this way, to be the one cleaning him up when you had never even gotten to say goodbye. But you did. You knelt beside him, the dirt under your knees digging into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not now.

The first stroke of the cloth against his skin felt wrong, felt like a sin. The blood had dried, dark and thick, clinging to his skin like it didn’t want to let him go. You carefully wiped it away, your hands trembling with every movement, each one another painful reminder that this was real. He was gone. The man you had loved, the man who had held you, kissed you, lived with you, was gone.

You couldn’t stop the tears. They fell, hot and fast, mixing with the blood on his face, and all you could do was whisper his name over and over.

"Joel... Joel, please..." But there was no answer.

You cleaned him, as carefully as you could, your fingers gentle against his skin, wishing you could bring him back. Wishing you could do anything—anything at all—to make this all go away.

But nothing worked.

When you were done, your hands were covered in blood. You felt numb, empty. There was no relief, no closure in what you had done. It hadn’t brought him back. He was still gone.

Tommy was still beside you, watching, his face contorted with grief. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His presence was enough.

You leaned over Joel, pressing your forehead against his, as if by doing so, you could feel the last remnants of him. The weight of your loss felt unbearable, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to say something. Anything.

“I want you to know, that it doesn’t matter you broke your promise.” You paused, taking a shaky breath, your chest tight with the weight of the truth, with the weight of saying goodbye. “I... I’m angry, Joel. I’m angry because we didn’t get enough time.” Your hand shook as it rested on his chest, your fingers brushing over the faint rise and fall of his breathless body. “You gave me the best five years of my life with you”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your breath, trying to find the strength to say the words that had been haunting you ever since you found out he was gone. Every part of you screamed to turn back, to beg for him to wake up, but you knew. Deep down, you knew this was the final goodbye.

You placed your hand gently over his heart, as though you could still feel him there, still feel the rhythm of the man you loved.

“Have a good journey, my love,” you whispered, voice barely audible, but filled with every ounce of love, sorrow, and regret you could muster.

You kissed him once more, softly, as if the kiss could carry the words, you couldn’t speak aloud, the message that even in death, he had a piece of you, just as you had a piece of him.

"Thank you... for everything," you added, your voice trembling. "I’ll never forget you. I will never stop loving you, even if you're not here."

Your tears fell freely now, streaming down your face as you slowly pulled back. It felt like a physical ache, this separation, but you knew it was something you had to do, for both of you.

Tommy was still there, his face an unreadable mask of grief, but his eyes held something else—something softer. He nodded at you, a silent acknowledgment of what you had said, of the love you had for Joel. Without a word, he stepped forward, putting a hand on your shoulder as you looked down at the man you had loved so deeply.

“Have a good rest, my beautiful old man.”

622 notes · View notes

flowersforbucky · 10 months ago

Text

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.”

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees.

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all.

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.”

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.”

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?”

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.”

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.”

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.”

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding.

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape.

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning.

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee.

“Thanks, but I think I can–”

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?”

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun.

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC.

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride.

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch.

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can.

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.”

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour.

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–”

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth.

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel.

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision.

“Never because of me.”

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line.

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly.

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?”

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.”

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you.

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind.

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion.

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it.

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it.

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up.

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced.

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee.

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain.

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you.

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them.

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake.

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–”

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!”

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.”

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down.

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.”

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him.

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.”

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity.

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.”

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee.

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver.

— — — — —

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite.

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts.

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month.

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room.

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing.

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit.

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons.

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?”

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.”

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?”

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.”

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues.

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.”

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?”

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.”

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender.

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.”

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?”

— — — — —

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table.

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are.

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here.

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago.

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you.

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening.

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself.

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.”

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?”

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit.

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath.

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night.

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky.

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.”

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion.

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening.

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.”

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour.

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position.

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying.

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.”

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?”

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — —

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound.

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.”

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin.

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room.

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you.

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win.

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long —

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box.

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–”

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more.

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans.

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?”

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave.

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.”

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you.

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile.

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare.

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission.

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.”

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.”

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly.

Truth.

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?”

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands.

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–”

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly.

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try?

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.”

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity?

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly.

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.”

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?”

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer.

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked.

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.”

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before.

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline.

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point.

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.”

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him.

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards.

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison.

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans.

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line–

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings.

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing.

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.”

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it.

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants.

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles.

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest.

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–”

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center.

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit.

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed.

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center.

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax.

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris.

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth.

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him.

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices.

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter.

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck.

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue.

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants.

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.”

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest.

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked.

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them.

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts.

"You're goddamn stunning.”

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering.

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance.

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already.

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head.

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?”

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back.

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.”

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you.

With you still panting and limp beneath him, his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you.

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you.

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened.

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before.

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.”

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #pvris #oil & water #oil & water by pvris #song fic

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dem0batz · 3 months ago

Text

Apple Spice and Oaths

Caleb x MC // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I've been plagued by thoughts of Caleb. My brain has been rotting and frothing since his trailer release. Not as edited as I would have liked but I needed to get this out into the world.

Summary: After years of forbidden moments with Caleb, it all finally comes to a head when he is about to leave for pilot training. 🔞Content Warnings: (adopted) brother/sister kink, virgin MC, yandere Caleb, dubcon, sexual coercion but MC wants it, references to Dawnbreaker Zayne, Dacryphilia, implied oral (—>f), PIV, cum eating, small blood reference Word Count: ~2400 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

The bed dips behind you, a soft creak echoing through your room. A chill hits your spine, making your bones tremble before warmth presses into your back and the blanket seals the two of you in.

“Caleb…”

“Shhh, you’ll wake Gran.”

Your half-hearted protest dies on your lips when your brother’s arm falls across your waist, pulling you closer to his chest. A strong forearm slides under your neck, searching for a comfortable position for the both of you. His familiar scent of apples and spice hit your nostrils as he snuggles in closer, entwining your limbs together like so many times before.

You really should send him back to his own room. This thing between the two of you has gotten out of hand. It wasn’t normal for siblings to do the things the two of you have and someone needs to put a stop to it before it’s too late. Before you both cross that line neither of you can ever return from. But you can’t bring yourself to tell him to leave when the warmth of his breath hits your ear with a relieved sigh, his body relaxing into yours.

“You know I can’t sleep without you, pipsqueak.”

Caleb buries his nose in your neck, inhaling your scent with a light groan. Warm lips press against the sensitive skin as a large hand slides under your sleep shirt. His fingers are chilly as they dance across your abdomen, teasing around your navel on their path upward. Just as they reach the swell of your breasts, you press down on his hand to keep it from going higher though your nipples were tingling with desperation.

“That’s not sleeping,” you whisper.

“Can’t help it,” Caleb whispers back, his lips continuing to brush your neck even as he speaks. “You smell so good. So pretty. Feel so good in my arms. I need you, pip. Always need you. You plague my every thought ‘til there’s no space for anything else. ’m fucking crazy for you, pretty girl.”

A lump tightens in your throat. Though he doesn’t try to force his way to your chest, you can feel his fingers twitching against your ribs with the need to move. You would be lying to yourself (which you do often) by saying that you didn’t want it to. That you didn’t crave him the way he craves you. After you lost Zayne, Caleb was the only you had left and you had clung to him like a life line. The only reason he felt so comfortable crawling into your bed in the middle of the night is because you didn’t tell him to leave the first night he did it.

Agonizing dreams of an adult Zayne, bitter and lonely, kept infiltrating your peaceful sleep, morphing into nightmares that left you whimpering and trembling with overwhelming grief. It took a week of suffering these dreams before you were brave enough to tell someone. Dismissing it as exam exhaustion was enough to Gran worked well enough and she didn’t question you much after, but Caleb didn’t buy it. His thumbs had swept over the circles under your eyes, a frown on his face telling you without a single word that he didn’t believe you. Though he didn’t say anything in front of Gran, Caleb wasn’t one to let things go.

He crept into your room that night to find you tangled and sweaty in your sheets, crying in your sleep as visions invaded your dreams of sharp black ice piercing through Zayne’s body while you were frozen in place and unable to go to him. Caleb shook you awake and held you while you cried, babbling incoherently until you fell back into a deep, calm sleep in his arms.

So while Caleb claims to be unable to sleep without you, it was the opposite. Any night you had to sleep alone was spent tossing and turning until you gave up all together, the insomnia taking it’s place. You had no idea what you would do once he leaves next week for pilot training, something you were both dreading but didn’t speak of. This is why you had to learn to be without him and why this needed to end.

As much as it pained you to, you begin to pry his arm from your torso.

“Please don’t. Don’t push me away.” His voice cracks on your name, cracking your heart with it.

Caleb was your rock, so strong and sturdy to lean on. It wasn’t often he showed vulnerability, typically only in these quiet moments you shared in the dark. It was enough to make your resolve waver. Sensing your hesitation, he presses up against you, his erection digging into your lower back.

“But you’re leaving me,” your own voice trembles with the sting of tears on your lashes.

His other hand grips your jaw from it’s position, twisting your neck toward him until your breathing mingles, lips grazing one another. It’s hard to see in the dark, but there’s just enough light emitting from a soft night light nearby to see the hardening in his eyes.

“It’s not my choice!” he hisses. Your eyes widen at his outburst, so unlike the calm, loving brother you had come to known. Realizing himself, his eyes soften. “I’m sorry, pipsqueak. I just… can’t have you thinking I’m leaving because I want to. There are things I can’t explain to you right now but I promise, one day it will all make sense. Forgive me?”

With only a moment of hesitation, you nod. You would always forgive him. There was nothing he could do to make you hate him when he looked at you like this. His lips brush over each of your eyes, collecting the tears that had began to build on your lashes. They move down to press against your own, softly at first, then more insistent as his tongue prods at the crease until the salty flavor of your tears bursts on your tongue.

Your grip no longer tight around his wrist, his fingers begin to trail lightly upward once more until his now warm palm grazes your nipple with a light squeeze of your breast. A soft sigh escapes your lips at the sensation and you find yourself moving against his tented sleep pants. Taking that as permission, Caleb moves you to your back without breaking the kiss, locking your ankles together at his lower back as he settles between your thighs.

His kisses turn more aggressive, nipping at your lips and inhaling every little moan and sigh, imprinting them in his memory to use when things inevitably got difficult at the base. It would have to be enough to keep him sane until he was able to come back home to you.

Before long, Caleb’s lips make their way down your body, tugging and pulling at your clothing until you’re naked and writhing beneath his tongue, not for the first time.

“Caleb!” You whisper-hiss. “Caleb, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he whispers against your clit while his fingers work against the soft spot inside that makes you see stars. With his encouragement, you fall apart on his smooth face, body trembling from the effort as you bite the corner of your pillow in an effort to suppress the shaking moans wanting to burst free. Caleb works you through it, licking and nipping until overstimulation has you pushing his head away.

He crawls his way back up your body with eyes dark and hungry, your essence glistening on his chin. Your body quakes with the intensity of the look on his face and when he settles above you once more as his lips devour yours, a combination of his taste and your own mingling on your tongue. Now naked from the waist down, himself, Caleb’s stiff cock presses against your inner thigh, the tip swollen and sticky with pre-cum.

Reaching down between the two of you, he firmly graps himself in his hand to slide between your drenched folds. In a panic, your palm finds his chest, pushing against your brother though his weight doesn’t budge.

“What are you doing?”

“What we should have done a long time ago.”

The tip presses inside, making the both of you groan probably a little too loudly as your slick insides clench around him, inviting him in against your will. He slides in a little further but you press against his chest again.

“Wait, wait. This is going too fast.”

His head falls to your shoulder in frustration, the soft tendrils of his dark hair tickling your sensitive skin.

“Where did you think all these years were leading to, pip?” his muffled voice sounds in your ear.

Though he stopped moving, the first couple inches of his cock rest inside of you still.

“We’re siblings, Caleb,” you say, trying to be the reasonable one though you want nothing more than for him to finish what he started.

“Not by blood. Besides,” he pauses, one hand wedging between your bodies to allow his thumb to start circling your clit, renewing the delicious feeling in your abdomen. “It’s kind of hot, right? Doing something forbidden.”

Your insides quiver and you clench around him with a slick gush at the dirty words.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, pipsqueak?” he chuckles darkly in your ear, beginning shallow thrusts. Not enough to be all the way in, but enough for the anticipation to start building again. “Is my little sister gonna let me fuck her, hmm? Has anyone else ever been inside of you before?”

Face growing hot, you shake your head in denial, unable to say the words out loud.

Caleb’s body trembles above you as he presses in a little further. You can feel him right there.

“Good,” he growls in your ear. “I probably would have had to kill anyone else who touched you first and the only blood I want right now is this.”

In one thrust, Caleb pushes past your barrier, swallowing your cries with a possessive kiss as he tears through your hymen. It hurts at first, but not in a way you would have expected. It was more of a quick pinch, and while the first few thrusts were a little uncomfortable as you adjusted to the intrusion, your slick walls begin to welcome him.

“Knew you would feel good, fuck. That’s my cunt, isn’t it, pip?” Caleb moans, holding one of your legs at the knee and keeping you open for him as he grinds roughly into you.

“Caleb…” you whine, arms tightening around him while your nails find purchase on his bare back.

He hisses through the sting your nails cause, hoping like hell that you’re leaving marks behind that will take weeks to disappear. He wanted to feel you on him weeks from now, back sore with every movement during drill training. His thumb never let up from your clit, sending you higher and higher with every thrust. His cock twitches inside with the need to release inside of you, to claim you, but he won’t allow himself to let go until he gets one more from you.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Hold onto me. I’ve got you. Come for me. Come all over your brother’s cock.”

You can’t bring yourself to admit that his dirty words aided in getting you there, but before you can stop it, a tightness pulls in your lower stomach almost painfully before releasing. Spots dance behind your eyes in blinding flash of light. For a moment, you fear your heart might give out and that you’ll have to be rushed to the hospital, left to explain why you a cardiac event while naked with your brother. But the feeling passes as you start to float down, still half-blind with your ears ringing. Caleb ruts into you a few more times with curses on his tongue as you clamp down around him, ropes of hot cum splashing around your inner walls and painting them with him.

He collapses on top of you, his weight heavy and making it difficult to breathe, but you just pull him closer while your heart rates sync to a steady pace. You lay there together for several quiet moments, each of you soaking in what just happened and how this changes everything and nothing at the same time with him leaving soon.

Those thoughts are pushed away as he lifts up his head, dark hair laying on his brow as a boyish smile peeks out from beneath. His lips find yours, more bold now than ever before, like it’s his right to do so, but you don’t push him away, instead meeting him halfway. You feel his length twitch inside and he pulls away, shaking his head and mumbling against your lips.

“Don’t get me going again, pretty girl. You’re going to be sore enough as it is.”

With a final peck, he rises to his knees, pulling out of you slowly as you both watch. His flushed cock is shiny with both of your fluids, the sight making your heart stutter back to life. Caleb looks entirely too smug as he swipes through your folds, gathering some cum tinged pink with the loss of your virginity on his fingers. He brings them to his mouth, sucking them in and humming with satisfaction as the taste of both of you fills his mouth. With another swipe of your pussy, he does it again, this time bringing his fingers to your mouth. When you don’t immediately open for him, he traces his wet fingers across your lips.

“Come on, pipsqueak. Memorialize this moment with me. It will be just like when we were kids. Remember? When your hurt yourself because we were messing around, showing off our Evols.” You nod hesitantly.

“I remember ending up with a wound on my hand from the blast of our Resonance sending us both flying. I cut my hand when I landed on the pavement.”

Caleb nods too, confirming your story.

“Right. Then I cut my hand with a rock and we made an Oath to never tell Gran what we were doing because she would have kicked our asses. This will be like that, except now we’ll swear to never forget one another.”

“I could never forget you, Caleb. I don’t need an Oath to know that.”

Something painful, yet unreadable flickers across his face before the playful smile returns, making you wonder if you imagined it.

“Yeah, well how about you just entertain me for a while longer? What do you say, pretty girl?”

He offers his fingers again and this time you open your mouth to accept them.

Taglist: @comatosebunny09

#love and deepspace #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #caleb x you #lads caleb

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dearest-nell · 9 months ago

Text

charmed

e. munson x reader, 3k

summary: eddie comes home from a long day at work to discover wayne has a pretty surprise for him includes: established!eddie x reader, wayne being the sweetest paternal figure, mumblings of a found family, wayne manifesting a daughter in law by years end warnings: afab reader, non descript

a/n: writing from the boys perspective is always way more fun. i have so many thoughts about wayne and eddie's relationship.

Eddie had intended to be home earlier, a far cry earlier than the 9:30 that blinked hazily on his vans dashboard as he pulled in before the trailer. He was meant to be home hours ago, hoping to enjoy a Friday night the way that a young person ought to – out with the people he loved. Instead he sat in his driver's seat, covered in oil and grime and god knows what else from under the hood of some deadbeat richman from the other side of town. The apprentice had fucked the repair of a rather pricey car, one that was to be picked up first thing monday, and Eddie didn’t have it in him to let the little guy drown under the barrage of abuse from an intimidating customer.

So he stayed back, and now he was paying the price. Dinner would have been long over by now, and it was unlikely that Wayne was still home at such an hour. He usually had the night shift on this pay cycle, but Eddie couldn’t tell one from another these days. The lights were still on, his indication that he’d gotten his weeks wrong.

Worn leather boots beat against the gravel as he trekked towards the door, hand running through the curls that hung low on his forehead; wild, in desperate need of a trim. He was spent, body weary and limp from the extra strain. He wanted to call his friends, to call you, to ask for good company, but he knew even now he was too tired to go anywhere.

The door was unlocked, so he slipped into the warmth of the trailer with an involuntary shiver, eyes blinking tiredly to spot the figure propped up on the couch. Wayne. Beer in hand, chin shadowed with stubble; Eddie’s hero, if anyone were to ever ask. The old man was his favourite person, whether he knew it or not.

Wayne gave a gruff smile, tilting his chin up at his nephew. “Long day, boy?”

“Yeah.” Eddie breathed, voice more gravelly than he’d realised. “Got stuck back, sorry I didn’t call.”

Wayne shrugged. “I figured, though there’s a surprise in your room f’you.”

A surprise? Eddie couldn’t possibly guess what. “You’re joking.”

Wayne simply smiled in response, shaking his head. “You go have a look ‘n tell me if I’m joking. Just be quiet about it.”

Eddie gave a quizzical sort of look, boots resounding against the floorboards as he moved towards the room, a quick mumble from Wayne catching his attention again.

“Quieter than that.”

Eddie scoffed, his demeanour still playful despite his disbelief. He took more careful steps this time, readjusting the band wrapped clumsily around his bound tresses, trying to alleviate the steadily subsiding headache from two hours ago. Wayne had never been much of a secret keeper, nor was he one for dramatics. He was a pragmatic, realistic, nonfrivolous sort of man, which made that excitable little sparkle in his uncle’s eyes all the more amusing. Wayne didn’t play tricks, but Eddie couldn’t help but feel he was walking into one.

With a slow turn of his door handle, Eddie eased the gap open, his eyes scanning the silent dark until his gaze settled upon the mountain of blankets upon his bed. There, buried under three blankets of comfort, was you. It might have been hard to tell under any other circumstances, but even half asleep and exhausted out of his mind, Eddie knew he could recognise your silhouette anywhere. He softened instantaneously, body slackening slightly under the slow wave of adoration that overcame him. You were here to see him. Talk about a surprise, he hadn’t expected to see you today, and now he felt his ribs pressing in tightly together, chest constricting with a glad sort of giddiness.

He was gentle in closing the door again, his smile bemused at his now grinning uncle. “And how’d my girl end up in there, hm?”

He toed off his boots, movements suddenly precise and careful under the presence of your company. Even through the closed door, he had no desire to rouse you just yet. Not until he was ready, clean and showered and shed of all other obligations, able to dedicate himself to your company.

“She came by at 5,” Wayne explained, turning down the quiet shout of the television set with a well worn remote, “thought you’d be home soon, wanted to surprise you. I told her she was welcome t��wait, thinkin’ you’d be round earlier. But y’weren’t, so we had some dinner.”

Wayne paused, nudging his chin towards the fridge, which Eddie took to mean there was leftovers waiting for him inside. He began rustling through, finding what was left of a roast and vegetables wrapped up neatly in foil. It was a little more extravagant than he had expected, and Eddie chalked that up to your aid in the kitchen. He could see the container of biscuits on the counter, too, with little hearts and flowers piped onto the tops. Pinks and blues and reds and whites, this wasn’t a house for sweets and softness, though Eddie welcomed your charms in any way he could get them. He sat at the table to feast, unbothered to even reheat the feast.

Wayne continued on. “Thought she might go lookin’ for y’, but we got a’talking. She’s a real sweet thing, y’know, made a real effort to chat. Even offered to sit down ‘n watch a game with me, thought I didn’t have the heart t’put her through it. Ended up watchin’ some Antiques Roadshow thinkin’ she’d like it better; you ever seen me watchin’ that before? I ain’t never had much care, but we had good fun.”

“No shit!” Eddie piped up, astounded by the softened edges of his Uncle. You’d charmed him, he thought, with your curious questions and kind smiles. For Wayne to sit down and talk to anyone was a miracle, one that only an angel could perform. His Angel.

“We got guessin’ and everythin’.” Wayne added, wiping roughly at his smile. “Seemed tired, though, so I told her to crash in your room. She’s been out maybe half an hour.”

Astounded was an understatement. Eddie had brought girls home before he met you, though none had bothered to exchange more than polite pleasantries with his Uncle. He’d never been serious about them, so he’d never thought much of it, and then came you. Three months into this new connection, a relationship born of spring flowers and whisky nights and loud music and soft touches. Eddie had never been serious until now, until you, and now he couldn’t picture being anything else but.

He was glowing, beaming from ear to ear. “So you like her, then?” He was so hopeful in his question, a sincerity Wayne only ever saw reserved for the most heartfelt of Eddie’s dreamings.

“I do.” Wayne announced, washing down his contentment with another swig of his beer. “I hope y’re serious ‘bout her, she’s real soft on you, and I think she’s a good one. Seems to make you happy enough, you ain’t mopin’ nearly so much these days.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, groaning with faux annoyance, rolling foil into a tiny ball to toss across the room, missing Wayne by a good foot of space. “I don’t mope.”

“I don’t mope my ass, kid, you mope plenty. Just not anymore.” He was laughing now, worn lines creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I said she should come back f’dinner another night, we can all eat together. She was tellin’ me ‘bout this story she was readin’, and I’ll be damned if I don’t know how it ends.”

Eddie knew how this story ended; it ended with you. It began with you, too. It was all you, he couldn’t see any other ending for him.

“Yeah, that sounds good, old man.” He was doing his best to stomach the meal, but his words were caught around hastily eaten mouthfuls half chewed and uneasy to swallow. He’d give himself heartburn if he wasn’t careful, and it would have been worth it.

Eddie took a moment to pause, swallowing thickly, belching unceremoniously in a way he was glad you weren't there to witness. “I am serious, y’know, about her. Real serious. I got a good feeling.”

“Yeah?” Wayne questioned, sinking back into the sofa.

“Yeah. She could be the one; ain’t that somethin’? I always thought it was bull when people said you just know, but…” he laughed with astonishment, “I think I just know.”

“Well shit,” Wayne exclaimed, clearing his throat, “that’s real good, Ed’s. You just be good and treat her nice. Be a gentleman.”

Eddie wasn’t too sure he knew how to be a gentleman, but somehow, he knew you liked him all the same. He didn’t need to be anything but himself around you, and that was a one in a billion kind of feeling,

He was quick in his cleaning, fumbling around the kitchen to pack away a still soaking plate, his mind skating over the plastic drying rack by the sink entirely. “I’m bein’ good, I swear.”

“Bullshit.” Wayne teased, shaking his head. He braced himself on his knees, slowly rising to his feet with a groan. “I’m goin’ to bed. Tell her she’s welcome to stay whenever she likes, okay? Show her where the spare key is.”

“I will.” Eddie nodded, barely able to fight his slow building excitement. He could feel himself getting restless, hands flexing just at the thought of holding you. “G’night, Wayne.”

“G’night son.” He echoed back, disappearing into the quiet of his own room.

Eddie made sure to lock up on his way, switching off the tv and lights as his own sort of wind down ritual. They’d be on all night if he wasn’t careful, and he’d spied the last bill long enough to have a mind for the electricity now. Besides, he needed to be calm when he woke you. He’d half frightened you to death last time he came barrelling in.

Once again, he retreated towards his room, slipping into the dark like a shadow of the night, slowly shucking his way out of his overalls to kick to the side of the room. He didn’t mind staining his sheets with oil, but not you; you were something worth caring for. He knew he should have showered, but the sweat on his skin could hardly deter him from the need he had to be close to you, to ease away the troubles of his way with the balm of your skin against his, your whispers ringing in his head.

He fumbled his way to the edge of the mattress, your sleeping body facing away from him to the back wall of the room. He peered a little closer into the darkness, a sliver of moonlight cascading across the bare curve of your shoulder, arm wrapped around something small, something fuzzy…

“Well shit, Ted, what’re you doing in here?” Eddie hadn’t thought to consider where the ragdoll cat had scampered off to. Teddy had been adopted only a few weeks after Eddie came to live with Wayne, his Uncle’s way of easing the boy into this entirely new world together. Teddy had been his childhood companion, and by the way he was burrowed into the pudge of your stomach, purring louder than a car engine, Eddie could see you’d won him over too.

The cat barely stirred, rather giving him a grumbled sort of chirp at being disturbed, before wriggling his way further under the blankets. You, however, made the softest of whining noises that left Eddie’s heart near strangling in his chest. He lifted a ring clad hand to that moonlight shoulder, brushing callouses across the line of freckles that dusted your skin, watching as your eyes began to flutter open, head turning slightly to face him.

“Eddie!” No one in the world had ever been so enthusiastic to see him before, not one. His name wasn’t the kind to roll off the tongue, to be begged for or shouted out or held tenderly on someone's lips. Never before, but the way your mouth wrapped around the letters seemed to change the word entirely. Nothing had ever sounded so tender, so wanting, so pleased. You were always pleased to see him, a feeling he never had to doubt when he could see it so plainly reflected in your irises.

“Honey.” He cooed back, tugging up the corner of the bedsheets to slip beneath them, curving his body to fit the shape of your own, nudging his knee between your two just to feel your skin pressed against his own in every possible way. The hair on his body was just as wild as the hair on his head, but nothing felt like home to him more than the brush of your skin to the mess of his. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You exhaled a lengthy yawn, muffling the sound into his pillow with a hum. Your hair, once styled, now seemed mussed and flattened under the weight of your head. His bed linens were already tattooing precious creases into sleep warmed skin. You were too beautiful for him to even comprehend.

You turned in his arms, careful not to disrupt the grumbling cat beside you despite your eagerness. He felt arms press their way around him, your nose nuzzling at his chin. “Wayne let me in. I hope that’s okay.”

Literally nothing else could have been more okay in his mind. It was perfect. This was perfect; coming home to you. “Come by anytime, baby. I’m just sorry I wasn’t back sooner. I made you wait.”

You shook your head. “I didn’t mind. Wayne’s really cool. He kept me company.”

“So I heard.” His voice was edged with an air of amusement, his hand lifting to brush back the strands of hair falling across your face, leaving his palm to cup at the plush of your cheek, his eyes admiring even in the dark. “Antiques Roadshow?”

You let out a giggle. “We panicked! I was trying to make a good impression, and he suggested it so I thought why not. Honestly it was pretty fun, I could totally watch another episode.”

“Mm.” His lips met the button of your nose dotingly, his voice slackening to a syrupy smoothness. “He’s impressed, I’m impressed; you’ve got us Munson men wrapped around your pretty little finger. Even Teddy’s on your side.”

“I do not!” You chided, helpless against his onslaught of affection. He left you preening and giddy, a little lightheaded when he loved on you like this, and Eddie never had any intention of stopping. “Teddy just wanted a cuddle.”

“Him and me both.” Eddie asserted, snaking his other arm beneath the arch of your waist, wrapping around the small of your back to tug you in further, his smile resoundingly bright at the way you hummed happily. “We’re not too young to be asleep by 10, are we?”

The way you eased into the very fabric of him, your bodies so close and so connected, wrapped tightly in the warmth of his room, was enough assurance to him that you were just as content here as he was. “No. I’m not leaving this spot. You just got home, and I’m all sleepy, and Ted’s gonna get mad if we move.”

Ted chirped an affirmative sound, leaving Eddie to rasp a laugh. “Well we can’t make Teddy mad, can we. Gotta stay here all night with my girl.”

You chuckled softly in turn, your voice quieting under the weight of exhaustion. “I was meant to keep you company, but I’m so sleepy.” Another yawn parted your plush lips, leaving Eddie with no choice but to press his own to the corner once they came back together again.

“You are keepin’ me company. Think I’ll sleep a bunch better with you keepin’ me warm. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, hm? After a big sleep in?”

“You’re so sexy when you talk like that.” You mumbled, your lashes fluttering shut to rest against your cheeks. “I’d kiss you stupid if I could move.”

Besotted was not a strong enough word for what Eddie felt in that moment, but he was overwhelmed with the urge to litter a smattering of kisses from the edge of your cheekbone to the corners of your forehead, each one softer than the last, lulling you into that sweet place of slumber you were already drifting towards.

“Kiss me stupid tomorrow. Sleep, sweetheart.” You didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, Eddie watched the light in your flicker to a dim, pale glow, your breathing evening out to something unhurried. Peaceful. It didn’t matter to him that he had only had those brief moments with you tonight. Five minutes with you was enough to chase away all the strife of a day otherwise written off in his mind. And that was what his life had been missing, after all. Someone who made going to sleep at 10pm look like the greatest moment of his life. He wanted to keep you to himself, a greedy kind of possessiveness stirring in his gut, for as long as he was able, knowing full well that less than twelve hours from now, Wayne would without a doubt be waiting to make you both breakfast on his morning off.

Like he said, you had all the Munson boys charmed.

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dtaylor67 · 10 months ago

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xh3llfir3x · 1 month ago

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𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

“𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘩”

𝘕𝘴𝘧𝘸 18+

Living in a trailer park was not what you pictured life would be like after high school. It was the same exact trailer park your old friends would mock. Calling everyone who lived in mobile homes

“Trailer park trash.”

Being a stupid teenager you would laugh at their stupidity but now you were happy those friendships faded.

People who mocked others living situations left a bad taste in your mouth. Especially when you found yourself buying a mobile home yourself. It was cheap,cozy, and quiet and that made you happy.

Besides you also got to live next door to the hottest man you had ever seen.

Eddie Munson.

Eddie was older by a few years but you still had heard about him. In high school he was known as the older guy to get weed or any other illegal substance from. Now you knew him as the guy who lived next door who would blast Iron Maiden as he cursed out his van that he religiously worked on.

You were sat outside on your lawn chair having a smoke and enjoying the now 70 degree weather,something that hadn’t happened in a few months thanks to Indiana’s bipolar weather. You wanted to enjoy the feeling of the sun warming your skin but you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight in front of you instead.

Eddie was working on his van of course but today it was different. His dark curls were tied back in a messy pony and his clearly dirty white ribbed beater clung to his skin from sweat, showing off muscles you didn’t expect your neighbor to have.

You took one last drag of your cigarette before tossing it down next to you and standing up from the lawn chair.

“Having any luck with it today?” You called out to Eddie as you watched him clearly struggling

“Mm no this van is a piece of shit,” he huffed “what do I expect I’ve had it since high school that’s been 10 years and it was already old before that.”

Eddie went on to ramble about how much he hated the van and you couldn’t help but giggle at how worked up it was making him.

“Would you like a beer? I have some cold ones in the fridge maybe you need to take a break or it’ll drive you insane.”

Eddie looked up at you and now it was his turn to eye you down.

The way your denim shorts clung to your hips and how your cropped shirt showed just enough to keep him guessing almost had him weak at the knees.

This was the first time he ever got the chance to look and admire you and now he regretted not doing it sooner.

“Are you just trying to invite me in your place?” He teased and you couldn’t help but laugh “I wouldn’t mind the company.” You winked turning on your heels and towards your trailer.

Eddie bit down on his lower lip and followed behind you. The worries of fixing up his van quickly evaporated.

Once inside he was greeted by the sight of a clean trailer and the smell of cherry pie. He was taken back from how nice it looked inside compared to the condition of it from the outside.

“You got a nice little place here,” he complimented “a whole lot cleaner than mine. That’s for sure.”

You opened up your icebox and chuckled. You grabbed a cold beer and tossed it at Eddie who caught it swiftly.

“You’re not drinking one?” He asked popping his open. You shook your head and grabbed your glass coke that was on the kitchen table “I rather drink my soda right now. If that’s okay with you,love?”

The little nickname you called everyone made his heart skip a beat. He could get use to the sound of that for sure.

“Yeah yeah,” he finally answered “it’s totally cool.” You gave him a smile and sat down on your couch. Looking up at him as he stood there awkwardly sipping on his beer “care to join me?” You asked rubbing the empty spot next to you.

Eddie obliged and sat down. He looked massive sitting on your small pink sectional. It was definitely goofy to see but you enjoyed having someone other than just yourself sitting on it for once.

“You’re welcome to come by anytime you like,” you finally spoke up “I know ever since your uncle left you’ve been seeming a little lonely. But trust me I get it.”

“It’s that noticeable I’m lonely? Geez that’s depressing.” Eddie laughed and you couldn’t help but laugh too

“No I just think when you’re lonely yourself you can sense it from other people.” You explained in between laughs. Eddie nodded not saying it out loud but agreeing with you. He knew exactly what you meant.

He let out a relaxed sigh and sat his beer can down on your glass living room table.

“Can I tell you something y/n?” He asked smiling at you as you nodded “I think you might just be the prettiest neighbor anyone could have.”

You felt your cheeks get warm as the boy next door flirted with you. Eddie could see how flustered you were and took that as a sign to keep going.

“I’m serious,” he said resting his massive hand on your knee “I’ve never really took the time to notice and now that I have I can tell any man would be lucky to be sitting next to you.”

Eddie gave you his signature “shit eating grin” as he would call it and moved his hand to your thigh now. He hadn’t noticed he did so from it being out of habit or maybe he did because he could tell by the way you looked at him that you didn’t mind. Besides you didn’t move his hand away but instead spread your legs just a bit more so his hand could fit completely on your thigh.

“If I’m not mistaken it sounds like you’re flirting with me Eddie?”

“I’m sure you’re use to all the men flirting with you,doll. Just dying to get to know you.”

Your breathing hitched as he gave your thigh a squeeze. You cleared your throat trying to find your confidence that you somehow lost in that moment.

With a small laugh,you placed your hand on top of Eddie’s. He looked down and smiled,admiring how small your hand was on his. He also enjoyed the way the red nail polish complemented your skin tone. He found himself biting his bottom lip again as the thought of your hands wrapped around him filled his mind.

“You’re the first guy I’ve talked to in a while,” you admitted “I hope my nervousness isn’t showing too much.”

Eddie smirked and without replying he leaned in. His lips were soft and seemed to fit on yours like a missing puzzle piece. You kissed back enjoying the feeling you hadn’t felt in a long while.

It wasn’t like you to just kiss on the first hangout but you couldn’t help yourself. You would be lying if you said dirty thoughts about Eddie Munson had never crossed your mind. In fact just the other night before you got in the tub you peaked out your blinds and seen Eddie walking into his place. You imagined yourself going in with him and riding his dick like no other girl had before.

The memory of that thought made you kiss him harder. Eddie took this as a sign to keep going and now he moved his hand from your thigh to go under your cropped shirt.

Your soft skin on his calloused hands made him moan between kisses and he almost yanked his hand back when he felt you weren’t wearing a bra. But you again didn’t stop him so he cupped your breast in his hand. Massaging it before working his fingers towards your nipple and pinching it causing you to jump from the pain and pleasure combination. You then couldn’t help but moan from how good it suddenly felt. You pulled back from his kiss just to take your shirt off,tossing it in a random direction.

“God,” Eddie moaned out “your body is so gorgeous.”

He was in awe from the sight,almost in a daze. Eddie was so caught up in the moment of admiring your body that he almost completely forgot what was going on.

It took a second but he was back to giving you the attention you had been craving. He kissed on your neck,definitely leaving marks as he sucked and nibbled on the tender flesh.

You moaned out as his kisses went lower until his lips were wrapped around your nipple. Sucking on each like his life had depended on it in that moment.

The feeling was euphoric and you whimpered when his lips trailed down. As he got just above your denim shorts, you intertwined your fingers in his dark curls that had fallen from his messy pony.

With one hand and a quick raise of your hips,Eddie had your shorts off in no time.

He smiled proudly as he seen the slick wet spot on your white underwear.

“I barely touched you and look how wet you are.” He cooed,rubbing his fingers over the wet spot making you moan out.

“I could get use to this for sure,” he spoke as he slid them off for you “how much I can get you going.”

He slid his index finger over your folds and up to your sensitive clit. He teased you for a second by slowly moving his finger along it,enjoying how your body trembled and your hips bucked up wanting more of him.

He replaced his finger with his mouth. His tounge ran figure 8s on your swollen clit before going along your slit. He took his time eating you out. the whimpers and the moans that escaped your mouth because of him made him grow increasingly more excited. He also enjoyed the taste of you. In that moment he could have sworn he could sit there forever,lapping up your juices and tasting just how sweet and wet you were.

And you could have let him eat you out forever too. No one has ever made you feel this good from head. You felt your eyes begin to roll in the back of your head but you didn’t want to finish just yet. You wanted him to fuck your brains out and make the trailer rock. So you cupped his face between your hands and pulled him upwards,latching your lips onto his.

Eddie thought it was the hottest thing in the world that you didn’t care about kissing him after he had just had his mouth all over your pussy. He kissed back hungrily and smirked between the kisses as he felt your hands begin to unzip his jeans and attempt to slid them down. He helped you,leaving his pants around his ankles and pulling himself from the hole of his boxers.

Your eyes widened at the sight of his hard cock. Eddie was definitely above average and you bit your lip from the nervousness. He wasn’t too girthy but the length of him is what made you nervous. You could have sworn by the sight of him that you would be able to feel him in your stomach but that nervousness was soon replaced by excitement when your felt the tip of his dick rub against your entrance.

You gasped out loud as he pushed himself into you gently. He was barely in but yet felt so deep. Eddie had his head back from the feeling

“You’re so tight baby girl.”

That was all he could manage to get out as he began to rock his hips. He had never fucked someone that made him want to cum just by the way you were wrapped around him.

His breathing had began to hitch and he wanted to go slow but the tightness of you and the cries of pleasure that left your lips made it so hard for him. He knew he would cum fast and he wanted nothing more but for you to release over his dick instead.

He nestled his face in the crook of your neck as he fucked you. Your red finger nails dug into his back as you moaned

“Fuck Eddie you’re gonna make me cum.” You cried out.

The way you moaned his name had him shaking from pleasure. He loved the way your moans sounded and it was even better when it was his name. His thoughts were cut short when you tightened around him even more, crying out as your orgasm shook your body like an earthquake.

The feeling of you cumming on his dick was enough to send Eddie to the edge as well. With one quick deep thrust, he filled you up until he could feel his seed spilling out. His hands gripped the armrest on your couch so hard his knuckles were white.

Eddie didn’t move until the shaking had stopped and he could finally catch his breath. You buried your face against his chest,fingers trailing along his back as you both laid there coming down from the highs.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking about this since I first seen you working on your van.” You admitted with a giggle. Eddie smiled down at you and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face so he could get a better look at you under him.

“I should have worked on my van more often if it meant I could have been doing this the whole time.”

#smut #spicy imagines #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #imagines #stranger things

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aceday · 4 months ago

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Agatha Harkness x Reader and Rio Vidal x Reader

summary: you’re but an innocent young actor slightly in over your head filming a movie opposite rio vidal, directed by milf extraordinaire agatha harkness. what could possibly go wrong and what could possibly go right?

warnings: age gap, slight dub/non!con themes, fingering, oral, slight exhibitionist themes, public sex

*afab gender neutral reader

@covenofagatha @d-z20

i guess i straight fucking lied when i said i don’t do this last time bc here we are again whoop de fucking doo

The Director’s Cut

With a satisfying pop, Rio Vidal’s fingers slip out of your mouth. The fingers of her other hand tighten around your throat, wrangling a strangled moan from your lips, and she pushes you back onto the mattress. Your fingertips scratch desperately at her forearm, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you fight for breath, and Rio’s knee shoves your legs open.

“Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head fervently, a plea in your eyes. Rio releases your throat and you gasp, only for her mouth to be on yours immediately, smothering you, her hands greedily grabbing at your hips, sides, ribs. Her mouth detaches from yours only to find itself immediately at your neck, her hands now attempting to tear your shirt off of you.

“Professor,” you gasp out, voice strained with blissed pain, with velvet panic. With some frantic struggle the shirt is wrenched off of you and the air nips at your skin. The hair on the back of your neck lifts. Rio finally stills for one cold, heavy moment, to stare at you under her, her face contorted in a cool sort of snarl, her eyes sharp.

“You act up, you play by my rules.” Her hand grabs your face, squeezing your jaw painfully. “Understood?”

“I-”

“CUT.”

A scatter of voices and murmurs arise immediately. Rio lets you go and heaves a barely-restrained sigh.

“Cut!” The voice of the director demands again, and both you and your co-star sit up on the mattress. You scratch awkwardly at your throat and look around for your costume shirt somewhere in the sheets.

“It’s wrong, really. Wrong. Fuck.” Agatha Harkness steps onto the set. You squint against the spotlights, feeling your face burn. You and Rio exchange a glance. “The energy, the dynamics. We’re going to have to totally rework this.” She paces furiously. Rio stands from the bed and grabs your shirt, which had apparently been tossed off in the heat of the scene. She hands it to you and you nod gratefully, pulling it back over your head. Agatha has been in an awful mood all day. “We’re going to take twenty. I want everybody to go splash cold water on themselves and get their heads out of their asses.”

You can’t conceal your exhausted sigh as you wriggle awkwardly off the bed. You’re about to go get some water when Agatha snaps her fingers at you, freezing you in your place. With an inward groan and your heart going a million miles a minute, you turn dejectedly to your director.

“Not you. You’re going to meet me in my trailer, asap.” You stare at her for a moment with bald-faced shock, but she’s already turned to her assistant director and is complaining her ear off. You swallow your… so many things, your pride, shame, embarrassment, fury, and stomp off set to the trailer lot.

You don’t bother waiting for Agatha to catch up to throw open the door and walk inside, toeing off your shoes. You’ve never been in her trailer before. It’s not as sterile as you would have imagined; there’s stacks of books and papers and binders and folders and a whole bunch of other boring shit on every flat surface, along with more than a few half-full mugs of what seems to be black coffee.

You slouch doggedly onto her couch, rubbing your eyes. It hasn’t been your best work, you know, but you’re certain you haven’t been bad enough to quite warrant getting chewed out in private. You stare out the small square window. It could be worse, you suppose, she could be chewing you out in public. This is easier to manage, even though you hate the thought of your director being unimpressed with you, but you might as well cut your losses now and move on.

As you sit and stew, the door flies open. Agatha marches in, doused in all black, the sleeves of her button up pushed up to her elbows and her hair tied up into a messy ponytail. She seems to have calmed down a little, a very little amount, well, maybe not at all, actually, maybe she looks angrier than she did before-

The door slams shut and knocks you out of your thoughts. There’s a sizzling silence. A huge knot forms in your throat.

“What was that back there, hmm?”

You don’t know what to say. You cried that take. “I cried that take.” It’s impossible to hide the desperate edge to your voice.

Agatha holds out a finger and your mouth snaps shut. “No excuses,” she hisses, “your face is fine, more than fine, but you act like you’ve never been fucked before.” A huge, violent, and deep blush spreads immediately from your collarbones up. You look away quickly. “You’re simultaneously stiff as a board and loose like a slinky. You wanna look like a slinky out there?”

Agatha has such a way with words. You shake your head. “No, I do not want to look like a slinky out there.”

Agatha doesn’t seem to notice nor care that you’ve spoken. The heat in your face burns brighter as she paces exasperatedly in front of you. Your fingers begin to scratch anxiously at your jeans. “Rio Vidal is a hot young woman. I can’t imagine that she’s not your type. And yet- hours of intimacy coordination later and we’re still at square one.” That’s firstly not true and secondly a bewilderingly unfair thing to say. The rejection stings. Tears well in your eyes and you blink them away furiously, adamant on keeping a tough front for your director. She paces furiously, dizzyingly, back and forth and back and forth. “Seriously, kid. Hours of intimacy coordination and talking and talking and going over the movements step by step. I could do your part in my sleep by now. And maybe I will!” She whirls on you, then pauses. You can’t imagine what you look like right now, your body unnaturally still to keep your leg from bouncing, feeling neon you’re blushing so hard, your jaw clenched, your eyes narrowed and wet.

Agatha has always had a way of being four steps ahead of you, always in the know before there’s even anything to know, so you shouldn’t be surprised when she takes one look at you and suddenly declares, “You’re a virgin,” as if it is the most obvious truth in the world. You look away, trying hard, desperately hard, to maintain your composure. But what can you do? She’s right, for the most part.

Agatha’s eyes narrow when you don’t reply. The manic air about her stills, and you’re suddenly wishing for her fiery temper instead of the cold, calculating dread that suddenly sits heavy between you two. She crosses her arms and continues pacing, but slowly this time, less like she’s being whipped around by her own anger and more like she’s a shark circling something tender and bloody.

“Well,” she says, gesturing lazily in the air, “do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“It’s not a bad thing.” You sound defensive. It’s because you are.

Agatha appears to be lost in thought, “No, no,” she hums. “Nothing bad about a little prude ruining my film, hmm?”

Well. That shuts you up. Your mouth is closed, your eyes are a little wide in disbelief, you’re pretty sure this kind of talk violates some sort of workers rights something, and upon seeing your speechless state, the ghost of a smirk tugs at Agatha’s lips. A shiver runs down your spine.

In stunned silence you flounder, opening and closing your mouth like a fish, while Agatha waits, leveling you with her knowing stare, sizing you up, her eyes tracing up and down your frigid form, for you to say something.

“I’m sorry?”

Are you apologizing or asking “Excuse me?” - you hardly know. Agatha steps in closer to you, your knees almost touching her legs, what is she thinking? Really, what could she possibly be thinking?

“Are you?” Maybe? Agatha sighs and sits next to you on the couch, an arm slung behind you. “How about I propose something for you, for us, hmm?” She turns to look at you, and you’re suddenly caught in the narrowed ice of her eyes as if under a blinding spotlight. She’s always had one of those absolutely shriveling stares that you can’t tear away from. You nod for her to continue, and a smile crawls on her lips. Something brushes your arm and you flinch, only to realize that her fingertips are floating lightly up and down your bicep.

“Tell you what, kid. I’m having a shit day, I’m definitely making it your shit day, and you’re a little prig that needs to loosen up.” She leans in closer to you, far enough away, but you can feel the heat of her breath, can see each delicate flick of her eyes around your face. Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why don’t I fuck you silly here in my trailer, blow a little steam, and teach you what it looks like to feel so, so, impossibly good?”

You blanch. A terrifying expanse of heat sears down your stomach, not out of embarrassment this time. “E-Excuse me?”

“Tell me, kid. What do you think about when you touch yourself?”

“Agatha, I-”

“And don’t pretend like you don’t sneak glances down my shirt every chance you get. I see the way you look at me. The way you’ve been looking at me.”

“No, no, I-”

“Then I’m wrong?”

She’s so close to you now, her mouth hovering just above yours, eyes drifting lazily across your face. The worst part, the worst part about it, is that she’s not wrong, she’s not, you do stare, you do imagine, and even now you can feel sharp tendrils of lust unfurling inside of you, dampening your underwear.

“Come on, kid,” a low whisper, her voice like the trembling string dangling the carrot of her offer in front of your face. “Tell me what you want.”

Breathless: “I…” you shake your head, “I want-” to your infinite surprise, you cut yourself off, pushing your mouth against Agatha’s, your body propelling forward almost as if of its own accord. Agatha hums in delight. She wastes no time.

She climbs on top of you, pushing you back down onto the couch and straddling your hips. Her tongue slides between your lips and, hesitant, your mouth opens, and the kiss grows sloppy, wet, Agatha’s tongue and teeth and lips on and against and in you. You whimper, your hands finding her ribs, your hips bucking involuntarily as her knee slides between your thighs. Your muted breaths melt into a high pitched moan as her knee presses against your cunt.

“I knew it,” Agatha whispers when her mouth breaks from yours, and her head dips down to the soft space between your neck and shoulder. She bites, hard and fast, not enough to leave a mark but enough to send a pained spasm through your body. You tense and dig your fingertips into her sides, and Agatha chuckles.

“Come on, kid,” Agatha says, pushing up on her palms to look down at you. Your lips sting, your chest rising and falling heavily, your breathing audible, not quite gasping, but stuttering. “Pay attention, okay?”

You nod, and Agatha pushes your shirt to your collarbones. She kisses down your naval, down your stomach, her thumbs brushing your nipples and mouth hot beneath your belly button. She looks up at you, eyelashes dark, eyes pale and sharp.

“Are you watching?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Agatha’s fingers undo your jeans. Your heart clenches at the soft snap of the button being released from its denim hold, a cold sweat at the back of your neck as you hear the zipper being pulled down. Agatha looks slowly up and down, between your eyes and each new inch of skin revealed underneath your clothes.

She tugs your jeans off of you, your underwear going with it, the bits of your costume being shed from your body. Agatha sighs, relieved, the way a dog does curling up in a warm patch of sunlight, and your skin dances at the gust of breath crawling up your body.

“I needed this, kid. Let me tell you.” She leans close to your cunt, you already know you’re dripping, you’ve been dripping, but Agatha doesn’t remark on your pathetic state. Instead she hovers close and inhales deeply. “Fuck,” she whispers, barely audible, and your head falls back, a whimper dislodging from your throat.

Her tensed tongue licks slowly through your folds, the tip circling carefully around your clit, and the shudder you release grips your entire body. Your hands, which had, up until this point, been white knuckling the cushions of the couch, fly to your mouth, and Agatha is suddenly on you, lips and tongue breathing pleasure into you like a gust of wind, like fire from a dragon’s belly, and it’s intense, intense. You’ve been fingered a few lackluster times by lackluster people, but Agatha runs hot, runs feverish, and everything feels scalding, your pleasure, your — Agatha scratches down your sides — your pain, and you want more and more and more.

“Agatha,” you mutter. Your voice sounds like it’s being forcefully pulled from your throat. “Agatha.”

Agatha’s fingers play against your folds, joined with her tongue, and your hands thread through her hair. She lifts her head to look at you, and you can see the glisten of yourself on her chin. Her fingers work you, slowly, in tidal beckoning motions. Your pleasure, vague, dazzling waves, suddenly straightens, taut and defined, and you can feel your orgasm inching into you. Your breath becomes shallow.

“Let’s see,” Agatha murmurs, “how did the coordinator do this? Rio has you pinned, she’s being a little violent, there are tears in your eyes, and when she fucks you, she fucks you rough.” Agatha stuffs three fingers into you, setting a brutally slow and violently deep pace. Your yelp sounds more like a cry and Agatha narrows a cold glare at you. “Shut it, kid, I don’t want to have to do it myself.” You bring a hand to your mouth, stifling each staccato whimper to the tune of Agatha’s thrusts. “And I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

Strung with pain, your skin shivering, your heels digging into the cushions, Agatha’s pace finally relents, slows, and she studies you maliciously. “In the next sex scene, our Professor acquiesces, takes pity on her disobedient but young student,” she pulls your thighs over her shoulders. Her fingers slip out of you, and though your body aches with relief, the wavering string of your pleasure keens for more. Agatha chuckles. “This is my favorite part.” She licks a broad stripe against you. You shiver. “You should see the way Rio looks at you when we film this part. It’s perfect every time.”

Agatha crawls up, your knees still hooked around her shoulders, and you whimper, feeling impossibly small as two of her fingers bury gently into you, stroking gently against your walls, her thumb brushing a light touch against your clit. The beaten, puppeted orgasm you’ve been chasing swells once more against you, rearing, an animal about to pounce.

Agatha kisses you, and you’re ready, your lips parted and waiting for her tongue, which slips eagerly between your teeth. You taste yourself. You think of Rio, stripping you on that damn bed, all hard touches and stinging words and dark, velvet eyes, and Agatha behind the camera, in her all black outfit, blending into the shadows behind the key light like a predator, biting the knuckle of her pointer finger, watching and watching. Fuck. It’s hot. It’s so hot. Agatha’s fingertips curl against what you can only imagine is your g-spot and you gasp against her mouth, earning a quick nip of your bottom lip in response.

“You gonna come for me, kid? It’s about time. Just like you do for Rio right about now, hmm?” Your body teeters slowly, achingly slowly, into an orgasm, its golden edges fizzing like a pot about to boil over. You thrash against Agatha, your hands clawing desperately at her back but your body still trapped in the curled contortion she has you pinned in. “Good, good. Much better, right? You’ll be perfect in front of that camera. Just like that, kid. Perfect.”

The thread snaps. Your orgasm douses you. You throw your head back, the cry in your throat wrangled out of you, unbidden, until Agatha slaps a hand over your mouth. “Don’t ruin your pretty voice, kid,” she purrs wickedly, “Save it for the camera.”

Agatha holds you while you shudder through your orgasm, your vision blurred at the edges, eyes unfocused, and she gently frees your legs from her shoulders, kissing you softly. Your hard panting mellows, evening out steadily. Agatha checks her watch and clucks her tongue.

“You made good time, kid. Are you going to remember this?” You nod, running your fingers through your hair. Agatha rights your jeans and helps straighten your shirt, pressing a kiss to your head as you wriggle into your costume.

“Good, because we’re getting right in it. Be ready to run the scene in ten.” A knot of shock flashes through you. Director Agatha is still director Agatha.

“But don’t I…”

“Don’t you what? Smell like sex? Still sensitive in your cunt and legs? That’s the goal, kid. Now get out of my trailer.” She waves you off. You gulp, cursing silently in your head but undeniably relishing in the hot flush at your cheeks. You stuff your feet into your shoes and let the door swing shut loudly behind you.

The team is in motion, cameras adjusting, the boom guy talking with Rio, who has her arms crossed. She casts her gaze briefly to the side and catches sight of you. She pauses. Her eyes narrow. Your stomach flips, but before you can think of what that look could possibly mean, someone grabs your arm. You whip around and face your makeup designer.

“I’ve been looking all over for you! I-” she cuts herself off. You must look a little like a mess, flushed, wet-eyed. If you had to guess, you probably look like Agatha spent the entire break chewing you out. Chewing, no. Eating, on the other hand…

You chuckle dryly, and your designer takes a step back. “Nevermind,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You look perfect. Break a leg.”

“Alright everybody. Places.” Agatha’s voice cuts like a knife over the noisy bustle. There’s immediate quiet as everyone hustles to their designated spots. “We’re starting from ‘Got something to say now’.”

You situate yourself on the bed. Rio climbs on top of you. A shudder runs unprompted down your spine. With horror, you realize that you are still sensitive. Violently sensitive. Above you, Rio’s eyes narrow. She inhales deeply. You think she’s sighing, but a treacherous thought flickers through your mind that maybe she smells you, smells Agatha, smells you on Agatha on you. Rio’s eyes trace down your body, seeming to clock every unfortunate and incriminating detail. Your messed up hair, your hot skin, your shaking legs.

You’re not sure if it’s to your relief or distress, but Rio chuckles lowly. “Extra lesson, hmm?”

You swallow. “S-Sorry?”

She leans down close to your ear. Her hands wrap slowly around your wrists, pressing them above your head. This wasn’t in the intimacy coordination. “That’s fine. If you’re going to get a little extra help, maybe we can have a little fun, right?”

A knot forms in your throat. Your ears feel hot. “I think-”

Agatha’s voice, booming, as if from heaven. “Scene 30. Take 7. And… action!”

Rio grabs quickly at your throat. You feel dazed, but vaguely remember your blocking and shakily hold onto her forearm. Rio flashes you a toothy smile, a creepy, toothy smile that hollows out your chest. “Got something to say now, hmm?”

You shake your head quickly, and to your surprise, instead of releasing your throat, Rio shoves a knee between your legs, knocking against your clit. You gasp out your next line, “Professor-” and Rio’s fingertips dig harder into the sides of your throat. Her other hand finds your wrist, slamming it above your head, her grip tight. “Professor,” you choke out again, finding Rio’s gaze, the wild, manic look in her eyes shooting guilty sparks of pleasure down your spine. “Please,” you beg, off-script, and this time, Rio relents.

She releases your neck. Your hand flies up to it, your breath scraping down your throat, heavy, but Rio catches your other wrist and shoves it down with the other. “You act up,” she hisses, “you play by my rules.” She gathers both wrists with one hand and strokes a manicured nail down your jaw. You strain your face away, breath light and fluttering.

“Understood?”

At the word, she grabs your jaw sharply, forcing you to meet her eyes. There’s something of a challenge in her gaze. You’d probably break if you weren’t so fucking turned on, but your own arousal dampens your underwear. You feel hot everywhere.

“I understand, Professor,” you whisper. A well timed tear traces from the corner of your eye down your temple. “Please, don’t go too hard.” You blink pathetically up at her. “I didn’t mean to.”

The double meaning is more than received. Rio laughs loudly. “Didn’t mean to? Yeah right.” Her knee pushes up into your hot cunt and you whimper loudly, your eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your jaw drops down between your legs. You whine and buck your hips. Rio scoffs, shaking her head. It’s miserably clear to her that you’re not acting anymore.

“Pathetic,” she sneers. Her hand quickly unbuttons your jeans and sinks beneath your waistband. Usually, she doesn’t come close to touching you. The jeans are low-rise and loose, but this time, Rio has no qualms about pressing her fingertips against your underwear, no doubt feeling the hot, soaked cloth. She groans and curses.

“Professor,” you gasp, choked. Your tears flow freely now. Her fingertips dig blindly against your cunt, feeling through the fabric your folds, your clit, warm and sensitive. You feel raw from the orgasm you just had, so violently raw, and even the lightest touch sends a dark pleasure scattering through you. You jerk uncontrollably, writhing beneath Rio, feeling an orgasm, a fucking orgasm, climbing panicked below your stomach.

Rio’s mouth crashes down onto yours, as if trying, and failing, to mute each desperate noise that crawls from your throat. The result is you moaning wildly into the kiss, choking around her tongue, her fingers kneading into the cloth and sending you sputtering into a lingering orgasm that you’re not sure ever fully evaporated - a fact Rio seems to be well aware of.

Your body tenses and you careen through the waves of pleasure splashing in you, swallowing you whole. Rio pulls her mouth off of yours to watch the bliss bloom across your face and the cry that erupts from your throat is somehow both a whimper and a howl.

“Much better,” Rio whispers, pulling her hand from your jeans, kissing down your neck and stroking your cheek with her thumb. You can smell yourself on her fingers. You lay there dumbly, shivering through the dregs of your orgasm, sighing into an exhaustion you’ve never known. “That was good, that was really good,” Rio hums, pleased.

When your eyes meet, there’s a bit of tentativeness. This got out of hand. The smile you give her is, you hope, both wayward and reassuring.

“Did I-” you’ve started your line while still out of breath, and interrupt yourself to take a deep breath, “Did I do okay, Professor?” A phrase carrying a triple meaning, at this point. You’d give anything to look at Agatha right now, but manage to stay in character, keep your gaze trained on Rio’s glazed eyes.

“You were amazing,” she whispers, kissing you softly.

“Cut!”

Both Rio and you jolt in surprise. She peels off of you, lightly intertwining your fingers with hers, and you sit up, looking towards Agatha. You only see the camera, and in the darkness, her dark form slides from behind it. Her outline becomes slowly visible as she takes a few steps closer towards you two, though shadows still cut across her. You can see a smile stretch across her face.

“Now that,” she says. “Was perfect.” Agatha turns to face the crew. “On that note, that’s a wrap for today. Everybody go take a cold shower.” Agatha then steps fully into the light. The look on her face is indescribably malicious, a smile that could be angry or just evil, pale eyes glinting. You exchange a glance with Rio and notice a soft heat on her cheeks. “You two, meet me in my trailer first.” Agatha’s eyes narrow. “I want to discuss some notes with you.”

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha all along fanfic #agatha all along smut #agatha x reader #rio x reader

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moviesandmania · 1 year ago

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PIRANHACONDA Reviews and free on Crackle, Freevee, Plex and Tubi

Piranhaconda is a 2012 American sci-fi horror film about hybrid creatures hunting down a scientist who stole their egg, as well as a film crew making a slasher film in the jungle. The movie was directed by Jim Wynorski, produced by Roger Corman and stars Michael Madsen, Rib Hillis, Rachel Hunter and Terri Ivens. Plot: A hybrid creature – half piranha, half anaconda attacks a movie crew on…

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#2012 #creature feature #free online #Jim Wynorski #mad scientist #Michael Madsen #Piranhaconda #Rachel Hunter #review reviews #Rib Hillis #Roger Corman #Terri Ivens #trailer

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ervotica · 4 months ago

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steve if he thinks you got hurt in a battle and you didn’t - the RELIEF that would wash over this man

fem!reader; steve finds you after the battle with vecna. you confess to doing something stupid, and steve cuddles you stupid ✩

For the most part, your injuries are superficial. Claret caked in a smearing line over your temple, matting a few stray curls to the side of your head, a couple of rogue handprints against your pulse point, fingerprints marked in blood on your skin, and a twisted ankle that’ll heal on its own with some ice and elevation.

You’re back in Eddie’s trailer, the curly haired boy propped against your shoulder as you wrestle him upright to wrap sheet after sheet of bandages over his midriff. Eddie can feel your panic like a dumbbell pressed to his chest, your eyes flitting upward at every sound as though something is about to jump out and savage you.

“So, you and Harrington, huh?” Eddie fixes you with a sidelong glance, corners of his mouth tipping up teasingly.

“I know. You think it’s weird, right?”

Eddie hisses as you wrap a particularly sore spot, brows pinching into a frown. He keeps talking despite the throbbing in his side.

“Not weird. Just… unexpected. I get why you didn’t tell me.” You pull his t-shirt back over his ribs - now obscured by a thick layer of padding - and twirl his hair into a frizzy ponytail at the nape of his neck while he talks, pleased for the distraction from waiting for Steve’s return.

“I didn’t tell you cause I thought you’d be weird about it or something. Like… I know what school was like for us, and I didn’t want you to think less of me because I love him. He’s a great guy, Ed.”

“You love him, huh?” he coos.

“Shut up. I hate you.” you snort.

You drop your head to Eddie’s shoulder. Maybe chasing after those demobats behind him wasn’t your smartest move, but you have your best friend — alive, whole, and almost back to his full annoying self.

You’re so diligently pleading your case to your theatrical best friend you almost miss Steve slip through the crack in the door. Your lashes twitch when he makes a beeline for you.

“Hey, honey,” he sighs. You feel every one of his muscles uncoil as he wraps himself around you, a protective hand curled over the back of your head. “I was worrying about you, sweet girl.”

“Hey, Stevie,” you coo. You feel strangely close to tears already, throat thick and clogged with it. Eddie busies himself hobbling to the kitchen in search of snacks. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine, angel. Show me your leg?”

“My leg’s fine!” you blurt, speech jilted with an incredulous laugh. He turns up a few steps from death’s door, and his priority is your fat ankle. “Just…sit. Let me look at you properly, yeah?”

“Let me stay like this for a sec, okay?” He’s wrapped an arm and a leg over your body, crouched where you’re sitting on the carpeted floor. His voice is a whisper against your skin. Then louder with a question. “Whose blood is this, angel?”

“Eddie’s, probably,” you answer round a yawn. “Bats got a chunk out of him.”

“Okay.” He smears a kiss at your jaw. “Why are you so covered, baby?”

“‘Cause I’m a really great friend?” You grimace, eyes crinkling as you prepare yourself for the brunt of the confession. “And maybe… maybe ‘cause I went out there to save his ass.”

You hide your face against the hollow of Steve’s throat, feeling oddly close to crying again. The sting of tears pervades your sinuses, lips pursed in a futile attempt to keep it at bay.

“I couldn’t let him die, Stevie. He was all I had once, you know.”

“You’re too fucking sweet for your own good, you know that?” he murmurs, rocking back on his heels until you’re well and truly trapped in his embrace, squished and helpless as he kisses every inch of you. “My girl. I love you, you self-sacrificing idiot.”

You snort, squeezing him with as much gusto as his injuries will allow. “For the record, Eddie’s the self-sacrificing one. Not me! Be mad at him. I’m just his knight in shining armour, duh.”

“Okay, angel.” Steve’s voice is thick, and your hands cradle his cheeks when he tilts downward to gather more of you up and into his grasp. “Don’t do it again though, okay? I was so worried about you.”

You sniff, lips smacking wetly over his jaw. “You know I’d do it for you too, handsome.”

“And I’d do anything for you. But let’s not let it come to that too often. Deal?”

“Deal.” You let him wrestle you into another squeezing cuddle. “We should just stay in bed tomorrow or something, right?” Giggling, you press your forehead to Steve’s cheek. “I think my house fell into a hole.”

“You can stay with me, angel,” he laughs. “I don’t want to be away from you, anyway.”

Eddie rolls his eyes with a groan from his firm place on the couch. “For the record, this is disgusting,” He obnoxiously crunches a - most definitely stale - Dorito between his front teeth. “But I guess this is cute, or whatever.” He points at Steve, eyes narrowed. “If you’re ever mean to her, I swear to God I will hunt you down, Harrington.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Steve shrugs, smearing yet another kiss over your face.

You suppose there’s worse ways to experience the end of the world.

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majestyeverlasting · 6 months ago

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𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Paring Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary In the wake of a storm, you seek out Eddie because he gives the best hugs and may be the only person in Hawkins who has the answers you need [fluff, 2.1k]

A/N Eddie didn’t come back wrong. Not in the way you’re thinking, at least. But he does hear things from time to time…

The sweet scent of wet earth lingers inescapably as you pedal, bike wheels whirring softly as they weave around potholes filled with rain. The familiar stillness that follows every storm has settled over Hawkins. Cool droplets fall from tree branches onto your skin, contrasting the warm fall air. With the wind at your face, the heaviness in your chest begins to lift as you travel further from home.

When you arrive, rain drips from the Forest Hills entrance sign. The old, chipped wood has survived years of vandalism and wear. Puddles of water have collected on the gravel road, and colorful toys have sunken into muddy portions of front yards. The closer you get to Eddie’s trailer, the more you hear muffled music permeating from within the four walls.

The lights are on, visible through the curtains. It isn’t until you’re close enough to dismount your ride that you realize you’re hearing Ozzy Osbourne. Eddie’s voice passionately joins in as the chorus circles back around, a smile pulling at your lips as you rest your bike against his trailer.

The moment you knock on the door, he quiets. There’s brief shuffling, then purposeful footsteps until he’s finally swinging it open. The way his eyebrows shoot up at the sight of you is comical. A guitar solo pours out to greet you as well.

His curly hair is pulled back in a low, messy bun and a black pair of pajama pants ride his hips. Every time you see him, there seem to be more designs inked across his pale skin. They’re down his arms, splayed across his chest. The dragon was your favorite of them all. Snaked along the side of his rib cage with its mouth bared, shielding a splotch of scars.

“You’re goin’ off the rails, huh?” There’s a playful lilt to your voice as you quote the lyrics back to him, tilting your head.

His cheeks flush as he opens the door wider for you, your perfume wafting as you walk in. “Every day of my life—fuck me, I can’t believe you heard all that,” he groans, running a hand down his face.

After shutting the door, he turns off the stereo. You sigh as you toe off your vans and take a relaxed look around the small space. With Crazy Train having come to an end, you can hear the TV quietly droning about the possibility of more rain.

For as much as there was that changed in the world, this place seldom did. With its warm lamplight and eternal coziness. The air smelled of pine, underscored with smoke. Even the mug shelves and baseball caps hanging on the walls have stood the test of time.

When your eyes meet again, he offers a boyish grin that settles under your skin. “Wasn’t expecting your pretty face today.” He tucks some wispy flyaways behind his ears.

“Sorry I didn’t call first,” you say. “I just needed to get out of the house...needed to see you.” Eddie doesn’t miss the brief shadow that flickers in your eyes, as though another thought is protesting from a cage in the back of your mind.

As much as he’s tempted, he doesn’t coax it out. “Nothing wrong with a good ol’ change of scenery.” He lifts his brows in that charming way of his. “Not that this is the Four Seasons or anything—”

Before he knows it, your arms are around him. A hum vibrates through his chest as you tuck your nose into the warmth of his skin. As he hugs you in return, the remaining tension melts right from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. Once he’s sure you’re feeling better, he starts rocking from side to side until your smile slips through.

You try to pull away, but he only squeezes tighter. “Eddie,” you whine through a giddy laugh.

“Nope, you’ve gotta commit now,” he quips. “I don’t make the rules, angel.” Hearing that, you relax into him, exhaling at the playfulness and familiarity of his embrace.

“How do you do it?” You murmur into him like he’s some sort of magic.

He smooths his palm up your back, gently massaging at the base of your neck. “Do what?”

“Make everything better,” you whisper, feeling the rest of your worries dissolve under his touch.

A weak chuckle rumbles through his chest as he pulls back to look at you. The honesty in your eyes makes him feel like he’s an imposter. Like he’s somehow got you fooled. “I don’t know about everything...”

Life has been different since the Upside Down. There were scars from that day that were never going to fade, engraved beyond skin deep. It was the voices from before, the rumors and taunts, that made him feel like he was that same punk teenager who corrupted everything he touched. Like being himself was innately wrong.

It was hard to believe that someone like you genuinely enjoyed his company, found him helpful, thought he was good. But he was getting better about it because he didn’t make it this far for those old voices to hold the same power. These days, new voices echoed around him, not confined to memories but strikingly real, intimately near. Never unkind, just disembodied and drifting through the in-between.

They didn’t scare him anymore. He learned when to listen and when to tune them out. Something was bound to follow after he crawled his way back to the land of the living. Nevertheless, he’s grateful for a second chance at life. If things had ended any differently, he never would’ve seen how much better things could get—or cross paths with you.

You think for a moment before speaking up again, “Then we’ll agree to disagree.”

Eddie takes your chin between his forefinger and thumb, eyes flitting over your face in awe. You grow shy under his gaze, and that’s when he leans in to kiss you, his plush lips soft and slow. A satisfied sound rises in your throat as you trail your hands along his waist, feeling the different textures of his scarred skin beneath your fingertips.

Caught up in the warmth of your mouth and the pleasant stirring in his gut, he doesn’t feel you pull the elastic from his hair, letting it cascade down over his shoulders. However, he smiles at the feeling of your fingertips gently scratching his scalp.

“I got something for you,” he eventually whispers, pecking your lips one last time before heading to his bedroom.

Butterflies dance in your stomach as you trail after him, toying with the hem of your shirt. You take a seat on the foot of his bed, watching him saunter to his nightstand, humming under his breath. Your eyes drift to the dagger tattooed between his shoulder blades, the blade descending a short way down his spine.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, turning back around with something hidden behind his back. Eddie snickers as he approaches, your eyes adorably shut. It’s a contagious sound. The bed dips as he takes a seat, his thigh pressing against yours.

He taps your nose with something soft, prompting you to open your eyes.

It’s a small stuffed ghost with two black buttons for eyes, and an even smaller one for a mouth. You’re quiet as you take it from him, thoughtfully turning it over in your hands. Shaped like a comma, it has two adorable arms raised up from the sides. Faint stitching is visible along the perimeter like it was homemade. Eddie shifts and scratches the back of his neck, unsure how to interpret your silence.

A smile finally breaks across your face. “He’s adorable. Where’d you get him?”

Eddie runs a relieved hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna believe me, but Wayne and I went to visit Ruth in the nursing home the other day. You remember her? The lady who used to live a couple trailers down.” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “They happened to be having one of those activity days where someone comes in to lead a craft or whatever…“

“And you stayed?”

He kisses your cheek. “Bingo.” Then his voice grows fond. “All I could think about was making one for you.”

Warmth spreads throughout your chest. “I’m gonna name him Ghostie.“

The distant sound of a car door shutting makes you jump and look towards the window. Eddie almost laughs, but stops himself at the way your shoulders slump in dejection. Like you’re upset at yourself for reacting.

He leans in, talking carefully, “You alright?” You shake your head in dismissal, but his attentiveness doubles down. “Talk to me, Goose.”

The reference makes you smile, and you nudge him for it. “I’ve just been a little on edge.” There’s something else you want to add, but don’t. Eddie’s ready to prod it out this time around, but you’re quick to tap his nose with the stuffed ghost. “I might just be going off the rails like you and Ozzy.”

He huffs an amused breath. “Not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Never.”

•••

The rain starts back up again. Slowly, before pattering down harsher against the roof. By then, you’ve already eaten dinner and settled on the couch for Beetlejuice, the sun long set. Eddie’s arm rests over your shoulders as you lay asleep in his lap, Ghostie tucked into the crook of your elbow. He had a feeling things would end up this way.

When he shakes with a chuckle at yet another wacky scene, you stir. He doesn’t realize until you shift with a soft hum. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he practically coos, squeezing your shoulder.

“How dare you laugh and be amused.” Your voice is soft and groggy in that way he adores.

“I know, I’m awful,” he agrees with feigned gravity. “Gotta go turn myself in. Tell the kids I love them.” You snort as you sit up, snuggling into his side with Ghostie in your lap.

The lights flicker as a strong gust of wind blows outside. A concerned furrow forms between his brows at the way you gasp and stiffen. This jumpiness is unlike you. He rubs your arm in hopes of loosening you up, but darkness promptly envelopes the room. You can hardly see aside from mere outlines.

The sides of the trailer creak as the wind continues, a bit fiercer than before. Eddie curses under his breath at the inconvenience, while you’ve grown even more rigid and silent. There’s a false glimmer of hope when the lights briefly flicker, but darkness soon prevails again.

“It’s okay,” Eddie assures, pulling you closer. “Wind’s just disturbing the lines. They’ll be back on in a second.” The lights flicker before dying out again.

Tears well in your eyes. Your voice wavers as you speak, “Eddie?”

“I’m here,” he assures. “I’ll go grab a flash—”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Now it's his turn to still. It’s not a foreign question, not by a longshot. It’s one that was peppered throughout his childhood, and always returned in the later half of every year when the nights began to grow a little longer. It’s the sound of your voice that sets it apart this time around. You’re not seeking an answer for fun or on a whim. You’re searching for a second opinion. Deep down you knew, out of every other soul in Hawkins, he’d have one to give. No one came back from the Upside Down without a few ties that lingered.

He’s quiet for a while, the sound of wind and rain filling the space between you.

“It’s not a matter of belief,” he finally says, swallowing hard. “If something’s real—God, Satan, ghosts, whatever…” he pauses. “It’ll keep existing whether you believe it does or not.”

“So do you think…are ghosts real?” He can’t see your attentiveness, but he can hear it.

He chuckles humorlessly, blindly taking your hand in his so you know he’s not making fun of you or messing around.

The two of you start talking at the same time, “I—”

“Can feel them,” you breathe. “At my house. It started a few days ago after you left.”

Like he may have left them behind.

The lights stutter back on as the TV bursts back to life, somehow picking right back up. Eddie reaches for the remote and turns it off, his finger lingering on the button. When his attention settles back on you, there’s a sense of disbelief in his dark eyes, like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time in a while.

“Feel them?” he slowly repeats, searching your gaze for more.

“Hear their voices... like soft whispers,” you continue. “So I know they’re real.”

There’s a thoughtful beat of silence.

“Me too.”

Thanks for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things #halloween 2024 #joseph quinn #stranger things s4

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