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chococolte · 2 years ago

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☼ — calling them a good boy II

word count. 3k

characters included. kazuha, scaramouche, heizou, diluc, kaeya

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religous + cult themes, sagau + cult au, etc. g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. part one here! requested by nonnie <3 yes these are a *lot* longer, i wrote them in my notes app and 4 some reason that equals me writing more words??

kazuha

Kazuha shudders, swallowing hard as you run your hands along his cheek.

"So cute," you say, your smile audible in your voice. The tips of your fingers twirl his platinum blonde hair. "And all mine." Your breath is warm on his face. With you so close, he can almost smell you, if only he leaned forward some more. Your hands glide across his skin with the gentleness of a blade of grass brushing against his legs. Kazuha repeats your words in his mind until they're etched into his memories, until he can look back upon them and feel the heat of your breath.

Your touch is soft like a zephyr, calm and comforting. Your smile is like that of a breath of autumnal air, warm and mellow. Your presence feels like the vernal embrace of the sun's warmth, so perfect and soothing. To exist next to you is a blessing unto itself, to partake in the air you breathe euphoric.

Kazuha's cheeks turn a dark red, burning with heat. Your laughter is full of mirth, ringing out like bursts of gales. The sound of your happiness, to know that he is the cause, even at the expense of his dignity, is worth more than the skin on his back or the vision at his hip. All of his power is meaningless in front of you.

Kazuha shivers when your hands move downward. He's sure you can feel his Adam's apple bobble underneath your fingers, the sweat coating his skin. You retract your hands and rise all to quickly for Kazuha's muddied brain to catch up with, and he barely stops himself from whining at the lack of contact. Leaving him kneeling, Kazuha watches your figure, draped in silk and rich fabrics, as you turn and sit back down on your throne.

You take a moment to properly position yourself, then look at him with an expression of gaiety. You tap your lap languidly with half-lidded eyes, and Kazuha uses every muscle in his body to stop himself from pouncing forward.

With shaky movements, Kazuha crawls toward you and carefully, tentatively, raises himself to his full height; his hands tremble as he, for only a moment, is above you. You look up at him expectantly, and slowly, with his heart stuck in his throat, Kazuha rests himself on your lap.

His heart threatens to burst from his chest as your hands instantly coil around his form, keeping him locked against you. He's sure you can feel his pulse from how close you are, sure you can hear how loud is heartbeat is. You smile knowingly, rubbing soothing circles onto his back.

"Was that so hard?" You whisper against his ear playfully. Your lips brush against his earlobe. He takes in a sharp breath. "You're such a good boy for me... and it's just for me, right?"

There's a slight warning in your tone, a tiny edge. Kazuha flushes at the implications. He nods eagerly, staring at your cheeks instead of your eyes. He can see from his periphery your eyes crinkle at his movement, your smile widening.

"Good," you say, and trail a hand up his leg. Kazuha holds his breath, watching your hand sluggishly move upward. Your movements feel like torture. "Since you're my good boy, I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

You squeeze his thigh, and Kazuha whimpers.

scaramouche

Scaramouche is weak to you in particular, it seems.

"Sit next to me," you say, patting the spot next to you on your bed. Your voice is soft, almost a whisper. Scaramouche shuts his eyes, allowing himself another second of reprieve. You have commanded him, and as your puppet, he must listen. He can imagine how smooth your silken sheets are, how they'd feel against his skin. Mostly, he thinks about how they must smell like you, by now. Perhaps you'd let him lie down, surrounded by your scent, your warmth. But to think that way was shameful, so he grips the thoughts tightly in his grasp; the ideas, the visages of you, the gentle mirages of you and him, and he rips them to pieces. He will not allow you to have this hold over him.

You repeat yourself at his silence, patiently waiting for him to follow. Your voice lingers in his mind for a moment, flittering like a current of electricity; his body moves on its own then, his own will lost.

Maybe this is his true will, somewhere deep inside. The thought is off-putting, though he know it likely true. Either way, your soft hands stretch away from you as soon as he's within reach, grabbing onto his thin wrists. You direct him next to you, but keep his hands within your own. Scaramouche stares at your face, your eyes, your smile; you know what you're doing as you return his gaze, taking his hands and moving them to your lips. You lay a small, benign kiss on his skin, looking up at him with a knowing smile. Scaramouche tries to snuff out the feelings that burn in his chest— happiness to be in your presence, blissfulness to be so close to you, euphoria to have your lips upon him, even in such a small way. He douses them, but the flames climb higher. He rips away their oxygen desperately, but still, the fire roars; unbidden, unstoppable.

"My good boy," you mumble against his skin, kissing his hands again. "You know that, don't you?"

Scaramouche nods his head, even though he wants to rip his hands away and ask you to stop. You look at him like that, as if you truly care— but he knows you don't. You can't. No one has cared before, and you will not be any different.

You drop his hands, setting them carefully back down. Your every touch is soft and calculated, touching him as if you're scared he'll run. He has thought about it before, so you're not entirely wrong. Slowly, you reach for his face, cupping his cheeks in your hands. Scaramouche feels his pulse quicken beneath his skin, his face heat up from your proximity. You run your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks, and Scaramouche is unable to stop himself from leaning into your touch, from eagerly lapping up the scraps you've deigned to give him.

"I think I need to tell you again," you say softly, keeping your eyes locked with his own. "You're my good boy. Only mine. I won't let anyone take you from me." You lean forward, and Scaramouche is almost overwhelmed by your scent. You're everywhere, surrounding him— he wants to grab onto you and never let go, to hide in your comfort. Your lips brush against his cheek, and his breath hitches in his throat. You kiss his face gently, then lean away.

A small part of Scaramouche wants to ask you to do it again. He wants to ask you to run your fingers through his hair, to allow him this one moment of peace where he does not need to concern himself with worldly affairs. But to ask would be selfish; to ask would mean demanding more from you than you've allotted him. He must be grateful for what you've given him so far. The rest of him wants to ask you to stop already, to quit pretending like he matters to you.

You hum, and gently push him into your embrace. Scaramouche shudders and closes his eyes.

Maybe, he can allow himself this small moment with you.

heizou

To Heizou, you are everything.

You are the opposite of sin. You are light, bereft of all evil and darkness. You are purity itself, a paragon of virtue: you are what every being should strive to be. You are beauty itself, ethereal and kind— you are incapable of vice, of committing the same evils as mankind. Heizou will listen when you call for him, when you ask for his presence. You can do no wrong. Anything you touch, you purify. Your mere presence could water any wilted flower, resuscitate any withering life form. To Heizou, you are the earth that holds up the world and the sky that contains it. You are the ground he walks upon, the mountains he climbs; you are infallible, immune to temptation.

As your hands run through his hair, Heizou has to stop himself from begging for more. Your touch is holy and sacred. To feel your fingers, your hands, your warmth— it’s a nauseating pleasure. Heizou feels almost drunk on you. He can only barely resist the urge to grab your hands and force them down his body, until every inch of himself is coated in your light— until he’s entirely yours, both in body and mind, until any being could look upon him and know who has marked him.

He shivers when your hands brush against the base of his neck. Heizou makes a small sound of obedience, looking up at you on your throne through half-lidded eyes. A part of him feels slightly embarrassed that you’re seeing him in such a pathetic state, but the rest of him can feel only pride as he stares at his reflection in your eyes. You’re staring at him, no one else. Your hands are tangled through his hair, intermittently tugging and pulling; you’re doing this to him, not to another. Nobody is worthy of you, not even him— but the rest only worship you in name. None of them strive to be like you as he does, not one of them understands your ideals as he does.

“You’re such a good boy, Heizou.” You run your thumb over his lips, laughing at his imploring gaze. Heizou feels adrenaline rush through his veins at your praise. He’s done good by you! You praised him! His greatest wish has always been to please you, to leave you satisfied with him— to hear your voice say what he has only imagined you saying before leaves Heizou breathless.

“Such a cute boy.” A playful smile tugs at your lips. Heizou’s heartbeat quickens at your words, his face bursting with color. You cup his face in your hands and he leans forward, smiling at your touch. "I want to hear you say it. You're only my good boy."

Heizou's smile widens, his eyes looking up at you with awe. His heart clenches and threatens to burst at the thought of announcing he's yours. He has only dreamed of you claiming him, of entering your fold and becoming yours entirely. He wouldn't mind it if you changed parts of him to better fit your preferences; anything until he's truly worthy of you, anything to deserve your eyes on him, for him to continue to breathe in your presence.

"Only yours," he says, voice weak. "I'm only yours. Only your good boy."

diluc

Diluc shuts his eyes when you call for him.

It's not that he doesn't desire to look at you. No, it's that he can't tear his eyes away from you once he does. You are everything— perfect in every way. You do not desire anything from him, only that he worship you. In return, he receives your love, your guidance. Diluc doesn't know what he's done to deserve your preference, but he would not deny you anything he could provide for you. If you ask for his presence, he will arrive at your beck and call. If you want to touch him, Diluc will lay still until you've had your full. If you desire for his eyes to look upon you, he will open them, however reluctantly.

As Diluc takes in your form, his heart roars with all the strength of a wildfire. Your throne is etched with intricate, glistening jewels; multifaceted and multicolored. The loveliest riches can buy; yet, they still look so lacking in comparison to you— beauteous and heavenly you. You will always stick out in Diluc's mind. He has long etched your appearance into his memories, long unforgettable no matter how many years past. He could spot you, even if he's long since weathered from old age and if he's forgotten who he is. He could never forget you, his god; the one he worships above all else.

"Come here, won't you?" You say coyly. You phrase it like a question, but Diluc knows it's an order. His legs move him towards you before he even has any time to fully register your words, so used to following your orders. Diluc is only this complacent for you. He has thought about telling you before, uttering every thought he has of you, of showcasing just how much you consume his every waking moment. But he's sure you must already know, which is why you tap your lap.

"Rest your head here," you say. "You've been working so hard for me, haven't you? I think you deserve a break."

Diluc's heart stutters in his chest. His body awkwardly kneels before you, and with a small pause of hesitation, Diluc slowly lays his head on your lap.

You hum in contentment. "Good boy," you say, and with no prior warning, untie his hair. You move with no rush, slowly threading your fingers through his bright red hair. Diluc, however, is still reeling from your words, repeating them to himself like a mantra. Good boy? If it were anyone else, he would've found the words distasteful, almost mocking. Perhaps he would've gone so far as to completely cut off whoever would dare to utter such a thing to him. But from you, the words spark a desire. A desire for more, a desire for you to stay with him for a little longer. Diluc does not like to be without you— the comfort you bring like the warmth of a familiar embrace. His eyes flutter close when your hands find a particular sensitive spot, goosebumps lining his flesh. He hides his face in your lap before his brain can catch up with his movements.

Just as Diluc almost scrambles away and apologizes, you laugh. He freezes at the sound, face burning at how angelic your laughter is, then shudders as you resume playing with his hair.

"Good boy," you say again. "Just my good boy."

Diluc gulps loudly, averting his eyes. He leans into your lap again.

kaeya

Kaeya should hate that he can't bring himself to detest you.

You are perfection personified. You are virtuous, kind, and loving. Once, Kaeya hated you. He hated your image, your faux benevolence. You were the cause behind his suffering, the perpetrator; if you held even an inkling of love for him that so many claimed you did, none of what happened to him should've come to pass. Yet, they did, and there were only two logical conclusions: either you did not exist, or you did not care.

Kaeya denied you entry. He refused to allow himself to just be mere entertainment to you. He refused to let you diminish him to nothing more than your plaything. He would not be thrown away, used and discarded. He would not let his years of guilt, regret, and sorrow be reduced to something you could just gawk at. His pain was not for you to see. His grief was not for you to analyze. It was his own, not yours. If you were real, you would have to prove yourself to him; not the other way around.

"Kaeya," you coo. He snaps to attention, shuddering from the softness of your voice. Slowly, like he is truly afraid of upsetting you even in this small way, Kaeya raises his head. Kneeling before you should feel shameful, after everything. He should be ashamed to kneel before the one person responsible for everything he has endured. But Kaeya has long since accepted the way you make him feel, that absolute sense of security. He has long since foregone his own ego, pride and dignity. When it is just the two of you, Kaeya is nothing more than your sick, devoted worshiper.

"Kaeya," you say again, a small chuckle leaving your lips. Kaeya's mind feels dazed, almost, the sound of your voice saying his name leaving him weak. He wants to ask you to say his name again, and again, until he can never forget it. Until it's so embedded into his mind that even when he dies, he'll hear it clearly, ringing out like a loud clap of thunder. He never wants to forget the way you make him feel. "Come here to me, my good boy."

With an almost puppy-like eagerness so unlike him, Kaeya moves toward you. Your words, your praise, your attention; all of it is directed onto him. To be the only one standing in your gaze, the only one in the reflection in your eyes, feels more right than anything else in his life has felt before. To imagine being beside you in such a way leaves Kaeya yearning. All too quickly, Kaeya is kneeling directly at your feet.

You tap your lap. "Sit here."

Kaeya blinks. Then, he smirks. "What's this about?" he asks, but he's hurriedly moving on his feet to do as you ordered, excited at the prospect. For the one moment where he rises above you, Kaeya finds himself feeling vaguely sick. Such a position is unnatural. To be above you, even in this sense— is wrong. He quickly bows his head as he settles himself into position, and leans into you when you snake your arms around his waist and tug him closer to your chest.

"Good boy." You praise him so easily he almost feels silly for getting so happy about it. But still, Kaeya's heart thumps in his chest and melts when you rub the sides of his abdomen. This warmth, this affection; this safety and peace that only comes when he is around you. This is why Kaeya has found himself unable to hate you as easily as he did in the past— he realized as soon as he could comprehend the love from your control— all of his suffering, his pain and agony; all of it was meant to lead back to you. If Kaeya had to live through all of it again for you, he would.

You are heaven given form. To worship you so closely; nothing would be too much of a price.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years ago

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Eddie Munson x fem!reader [3.5k] more smut with your favourite friend with benefits. slow and soft eddie, a little teasing. PART ONE

You managed maybe twenty seconds of reprieve before your body was screaming at you for more. For Eddie, for the boy, for his touch, for his-

“Kiss,” you murmured, voice still breathy, lifting your face to his, nose nudging his cheek and you felt the way it lifted as he smiled. “Kiss me, please? Really want you to k-”

You didn’t mean to sound so fucking needy, so absolutely wrecked with desperatation. But Eddie must’ve heard it in the way you spoke, felt it in the way your hands clung to the slope of his shoulder, because he was moving down into you without a second thought.

His mouth slanted over your own with the same messy greediness you felt. You were still completely naked, sheets bundled underneath you, Eddie’s jeans pushed to the bare skin of your thighs and it made you ache.

How could you still want him so badly after he’d already made you come? You were still vibrating, body buzzing from the flick of his tongue and the feel of his fingers sliding in and out of you.

But then the boy slid one hand into your hair, held you to him so he could kiss you senseless, tongue licking over your own again and again and again. His other hand traced the lines of you, from the dip in your waist to the curve of your hip, hand skimming down to cup your ass, squeeze the flesh there and pull you into him.

You could feel how hard he was, thick and hot against your thigh, trapped beneath denim and god, the way he was grinding himself into you was maddening.

You couldn’t stop kissing him though, revelling in the way it left you both breathless, more and more desperate for the other, noses pressed to cheeks, your hands tugging at his curls until he groaned into your mouth, let you swallow his sounds and keep them for yourself.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, back arching off of the bed, into his frame, trying your best to wrap yourself around him “Eddie.”

“I know- fuck,” Eddie’s voice was shot, low and rough, dripping in need and he smelled like smoke and sex and something that was entirely him. “S’alright, sweetheart, Christ, I know.”

You were pushing him back then, eyes a little wide, hair a mess and your hands on his bare chest. You tried your best to coax him backwards and the boy let you, went soft for you and let you manhandle him to where you wanted because fucking hell, Eddie Munson would throw himself into traffic for you if you asked.

So you got him on his knees on the bed, followed him to do the same and you let out an almost watery laugh at the way he didn’t let go of you, not once. He kept a wide hand on your waist, fingers splayed comically large over your ribcage, your back and all he could do was stare down at you, taking in every detail, every line, every freckle and scar.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered, catching your mouth once more, making you both both cling to the other as your swayed on the mattress, kissing like you’d never been allowed to before.

And perhaps you hadn’t, not like this. Alone with the boy in a bed that smelled like him, in the dark of his room with no one else to worry about. Hands dragging over naked skin, new places to touch, to see, to kiss and taste.

“Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Eddie was still running his mouth as he kissed you, catching every soft sigh and whine you gave him with a push of his lips to yours. “What you doin’ with a guy like me, huh?”

It was a rhetorical question, you knew that. The boy was mumbling, almost to himself, eyes closed, lips smoothing over your jaw, totally lost in you. But you felt the need to answer him, to show him why you were with him.

Your hands found the waistband of his jeans, fingers a little shaky as you tugged at it, popping the button and messing with his zipper, a little noise of indignation stuck in your throat when it didn’t budge as easily as you wanted. And then you were pawing at him, hands roaming over the ink on his chest, lips pushed back to his and you were whining, his name tumbling from your lips over and over again.

“Hey, hey,” Eddie was catching you, hand cupping your chin, pulling back enough to look you in the eye and he felt like he’d been punched in the gut at all the emotions he found there. Need, want, a heavy dose of something fond, something more. “Sweetheart, s’fine, I know. C’mere for me.”

He took your hands in his, let them drag slow down his chest, over the lines of his hips, the soft of his stomach and he unzipped his jeans with your fingers curled between his own. Everything seemed to slow then, right back down like before, like he was reminding you that you had all the time in the world. Eddie pressed sweet little kisses to your face, peppered them over the apples of your cheeks, open mouthed presses to the corner of your mouth, the angle of your jaw.

“S’that what you want?” He kept your hand in his own, hissed when he brought it to rub over the hard outline of his dick, twitching beneath his boxers. Your fingers curled around it, thick and heavy in your hand and Eddie squeezed your palm around it with his own, groaning. “You want this, baby?”

You nodded, eyes clenched shut as he pressed his forehead to your own, crowding into you with your joined hands still tugging at his cock through his underwear. The boy was panting, needy noises coming from his lips and you couldn’t believe the way your cunt was aching again, a dull throb that you were desperate to make go away.

“Eddie,” you whined and your heart stuttered when he whispered your name back, his free hand curling around your waist to hold you closer to him.

“Shit, I need- I need to be inside you, sweetheart,” he gasped out, jaw slack and parted lips ghosting over your cheek in a lazy kiss. “Fuckin’ desperate for you, please.”

You don’t know how it happened, how Eddie ended up beneath you, back against his headboard that rattled a little too loudly. But you were curling your fingers into his jeans, tugging them down his hips, taking his boxers with them until his cock spring free and slapped against his stomach. You were a mess of limbs, huffs of laughter and kiss swollen smiles as Eddie yanked off his socks as you tried to wrestle the denim down his legs at the same time, both of you completely naked before the other for the first time.

You took a second to take him in, all of him. New tattoos that appeared from under clothes, dark swirls of ink that curled over his skin. He was lean, trim waist, subtle lines of muscle that wrapped around his arms, his thighs.

He looked nervous as you sat between his spread legs, hands smoothing across his thighs as you leaned into him. Eddie could help but drop his stare to your tits for a second or two, nipples peaked and grazing across his own chest as you moved against him.

You caught his lips in a sweet kiss, your voice sticky and soft with affection as you told him, “you’re so pretty, Eddie.”

You couldn’t see, not from the way you were sucking a nice bruise into his neck, but Eddie had the sheets fisted in his hands at your words, your voice. He sighed, let his head fall back and his jaw go slack, tilting himself this way and that so you could bite and suck at his throat.

You felt him swallow, a harsh bob of his Adam’s apple as you kissed over it. He sighed, soft, melting under your touch and his hands caught your waist as you moved yourself to perch on his lap. Your thighs spread over his own, your bare cunt sliding slick and warm over the hard length of him.

He twitched, you moaned, he held you a little tighter.

“Yeah?” He asked you, voice higher and breathier than you’d heard it before.

You grinned, nodding, the graze of your lips following the line of his jaw, stubble catching on your tongue as you flicked it out a little dirty at the space under his ear. You mimicked his words from earlier, hurting your own heart with how true they were.

“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you whispered.

Eddie grinned, Eddie blushed, shaking his head at you as he smiled all soft, sticky fondness catching at his throat as he cupped the back of your neck and tugged you into him.

“C’mere, you.”

Another kiss, sloven and lazy, one that stirred up heat in your stomach, made you grind against him with a whine. He didn’t get a chance to pull away as you wrapped your hand around his dick, pumping him once, twice, before you raised yourself up a little, and sunk back down.

Eddie’s fingers were bruises on your hips, grabbing at you as his tip nudged at your cunt, slick and warm, a slow slide of you as you went down down down.

You took him inch by inch, gasping at each bit of stretch, eyes watery and on his own as he watched you, pupils blown, jaw hanging slack.

“Jesus fuckin’ christ,” he moaned, the sound ripping out of him in a stutter. You were both panting, chests heaving as you took him all, sitting pretty in his lap with his cock seated fully inside of you. “Oh, good girl, good fucking girl.”

You gasped, didn’t dare move, because you were already clenching around him and you could feel the way the boy’s cock was twitching inside of you, his head thrown back at the way you were tightening up at the feel of him.

It was too much, the stretch, the ache, the feeling of being so full.

“Eds, Eddie,” god, you sounded close to tears, too overwhelmed by it all. “I can’t, s’too good, already close, don’t wanna- fuck, not yet-”

The boy was petting at you, hands brushing over your thighs, your shoulders, cradling your cheeks in his palms as he kissed over your lips. He made soft noises, nudged at your jaw with his nose so you’d move your head back for him to kiss a line across your throat.

“You’re alright, sweetheart, yeah?” Eddie cooed, voice full of awe and heat for you. “I’ve got you. S’okay, gonna take it real slow for me, aren’t you?”

You mewled, made a little whining noise for him, because fucking hell, that’s all you could do. His cock was throbbing inside of you, his thighs already a mess with you and you couldn’t help but rock a little, hips moving over Eddie’s and making him grunt.

“Yeah, jus’ like that, hmm?” Eddie nodded, eyelids drooping with pleasure. “Can I watch you? Huh? You gonna let me watch you fuck yourself on a my cock, like a good little girl?”

You were nodding, small hands gripping around the boy’s board shoulders and you realised then and there that you’d do absolutely anything Eddie asked. His voice made your toes curl, singing with praise, thick with adoration.

“Shit, yeah,” you told him, eyes squeezing shut as he chanted his hips up a little, nudged somewhere deep inside of you. “Yeah, please, you can watch me, I can do that.”

You were babbling, a mess, back arching for him to touch more of you and Eddie obliged, one hand smoothing down the curve of your tummy, the other flicking fingers over your nipples, twisting and pulling a little rough when he felt you get wetter for him.

His lips were at your ear when he whispered, mouth warm on the shell of it, “remember, sweetheart, nice n’ slow for me, yeah?”

You nodded, all words gone as you started to move your hips. Eddie kept his hands on you, fingers splayed wide over the tops of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the crease that separated them from your cunt, just gently sliding over the spread of your folds as you rocked back and forth over his cock.

You barely lifted yourself off of him, just rolling yourself over and over, hips grinding down onto him as the boy groaned his praise to you. And every time you got too eager, Eddie tutted, wrapped a large hand around your neck and brought you to his lips, kissing you sweetly and murmuring about how you needed to take your time.

It eventually got too much, just like you knew it would, like Eddie hoped it would. ‘Cause you were whimpering, begging, petting at the boy as your eyes turned wet and you could hardly keep your legs from shaking anymore.

He gave in then, barely able to keep himself together, harder than ever as his cock sat deep inside you, throbbing for release. So he shushed you with a soft coo, gathered you in his arms and let you fall into his chest. He kissed you desperate, kissed you greedy and then his hands were roaming you back, clutching you right and finally, finally, finally he was rutting up into you.

Eddie’s eyes were on yours as he snapped his hips into yours, holding onto the curve of your ass to gain some purchase, he slack and lids hooded. He was babbling nonsense, words sticky sweet and filthy as his cock started a fast, hot slide in and out of you.

“Babybabybaby,” Eddie groaned, his hands everywhere at once, like he couldn’t get enough of you. “Fucking Christ, that’s it, fuckin’ bounce on me sweetheart, you got it, you got it, shit.”

You keened as you grabbed back at his hair, curls fisted in your fingers and Eddie grinned at your touch, like he knew you couldn’t help yourself. You scratched at his scalp, sighed at the way his lashes fluttered with it and you did as he asked, indulged him by lifting yourself off his cock, just enough to feel utterly empty before dropping yourself back down.

It made Eddie swear, head thrown back, bumping against his wall but he didn’t care, just encouraged you to do it again and again and again and again until-

“Sweetheart, m’gonna come, tell me you’re close, tell me what you need please, c’mon baby, tell me.”

Your hand was shaking as you grabbed Eddie’s, dragging it between your legs so he could thumb at your clit; rough, sloppy circles that did exactly what you needed it to do.

You pressed your face to the crook of his neck as you came, your entire body rigid against his as Eddie continued to fuck his hips up into you, the boy gasping at how tight you got around him, his arms wrapping themselves around you to hold you to him.

Another few thrusts, one, two, and Eddie was falling apart underneath you, clutching at your jaw so he could press his mouth to yours, lips parted as he moaned and whispered against you, a barely there kiss.

Minutes passed before either of you spoke, before either of you moved. Happy to stay curled against each other, still in Eddie’s lap, his slowly softening cock still nestled between your legs and you were messy and sticky, but fuck, you didn’t care.

You lay lines of kisses across his shoulder, nose nudging soft at his neck whilst the boy drew shapes over your back, his touch bringing goosebumps across your skin. And when you eventually cooled down, your body growing sore and a different ache set in, Eddie helped you shuffle from his lap, tutting in sympathy when you whined at the way he slipped out of you, every part of your body too sensitive.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered and he left you with a quick kiss to your forehead as he pulled on a pair of sweats he found on the floor, coming back with a warm washcloth and a large glass of water.

You let him clean you up as well as he could, shared his drink with him until your chest stopped heaving and you felt like your throat could form words. Reality seemed to hit, and you were suddenly so aware that you were in the boy’s room, in his bed, naked and flushed and so, so satisfied.

But you didn’t know what this was, if it had changed, if this was still the same. If you and Eddie were still the same. Because sex had always been sex but there was something different in the way he was looking at you, with your clothes on his floor and his hand smoothing back your hair so he could kiss over your eyelids, down your cheek to your jaw.

You didn’t think he wanted you to leave, he wasn’t acting like it, wasn’t rushing you but god, female insecurity seeped in and tugged at your bones, making you feel hollow and unsure.

You moved as if to find your clothes, not getting very far before Eddie pulled a large shirt out of his drawer, handing it to you with a shy smile and hopeful eyes. You weren’t sure who was happier when you accepted it, the boy’s eyes following the movement of it as you dragged it over your head, lips twisted when you realised it smelled like him.

“So, uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, stood near his bedroom door and crossed his arms self consciously. He was still shirtless, muscles flexing, tattoos shifting over skin. “Did you mean it? Earlier? About you, me… all night?”

Your stomach flipped, tumbled, like someone had lit a sparkler inside of you.

“S’okay if you’ve got somewhere to be,” he told you, a hand reaching up to tug at a curl, a telltale sign of his nerves. “I can drive you home or-”

“I don’t have anywhere to be, Eds,” you replied, voice more shy than he’d ever heard it.

“-or we could order a pizza or somethin’.”

You looked up to find him smiling, that smile you loved, slow and soft and wide, the kind that made his eyes seem warmer, like honey.

“Yeah?”

He shrugged, moving back into the room. He toed at your bra, grinning. “Yeah.”

“That sounds like a date, Munson,” you gasped, all faux shock and drama and god, Eddie adored you for it.

He was back on the bed with you, a warm hand curling around your ankle where you’d stretched your sore legs out. His thumb rubbed over you, like he was trying to soothe his own nerves as well as your own.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Eddie scrunched his nose, acted confused and like he wasn’t sure what he was saying. But his heart was hammering and he wondered if you could hear the way it rattled his bones, if you could see the relief on his face when you didn’t immediately get up to find your shoes. “S’weird.”

“What’s the ‘or something’ part?” You asked him, smiling as he moved closer, like he’d finally realised you weren’t going anywhere.

He took your legs in his hands, brought them over to rest across his own and looked at you through messy curls. Another smile, cheekier this time.

“Maybe a movie, on the couch,” his voice was so soft. “Could act a fool and make a move, y’know how it is.”

You laughed, a bright burst of sound that made his heart happy because you were still in his bed without any underwear and he’d came inside of you only minutes before.

“You’re ridiculous,” you told him, and Jesus, you could hear the sticky fondness in your voice, could feel the soft way you were looking at him.

“You’re still here, though,” Eddie answered and he sounded like he was in awe of the fact. He tapped out a guitar riff over your calf, smiled when you hugged out a laugh and blushed for him.

Your hand caught his easily, big and wide in your own but he let you curl your fingers around his, let you pull him a little closer still and you loved the way his eyes fluttered closed when you leaned in to kiss him

“I told you,” you pretended to huff, an affectionate roll of your eyes only softened by another kiss to the boy’s lips. “You’ve got me all night, if you want.”

Eddie smiled, beamed, cheeks rosy, eyes bright and he nodded. His throat bobbed like he was swallowing back emotion he didn’t expect and he cleared his throat and his pretty face in the crook of your neck when he answered:

“Yeah, I want to.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things

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freedomfireflies · 2 years ago

Text

Jack Shit

Summary: In which Jack Chambers is not a selfish, egotistical man-child with raging control issues that apparently wants to climb into Alice's womb like she's his mommy, but instead just a regular guy with a different set of control issues.

There is absolutely nothing better than the taste of him.

You’ve never felt so depraved. So irrevocably addicted to someone. Every fucking inch of the glorious man sitting just across from you.

His smile. His hair. His fucking arms, and hands, and fingers.

His fucking thighs.

You could just drool. You’ve never felt so pathetically needy in your life. He’s laughing at a joke one of his friends made, running his palm down his chin and your eyes fall to the facial hair that you absolutely adore.

Your thoughts are sinful. Looking at him like he’s sex on a stick. Truthfully, you’re almost embarrassed to be remembering him in such a way, and maybe chemically something is off in your body, but you don’t even care.

Because look at him.

You imagine everyone in the room can feel the tension. The way you’re attempting not to squirm in your seat as you look on. As you watch him settle into his chair as his legs spread comfortably.

Fuck, you could just moan. You have to pull your lip between your teeth and turn your head just to find a moment of reprieve.

And after what feels like hours of pure, unadulterated torture, he seems to notice, head cocking to the side before he nods his chin at you wordlessly.

You say nothing. Shake your head. Chew on the inside of your cheek.

His eyes narrow thoughtfully before his long finger lifts into the air and beckons you forward.

You feel your stomach drop, so cock-whipped by this man that you’re standing to your feet before you can think better of it.

The rest of the group continues their chatter as you make your way toward where he resides. And before you have a chance to sit beside him, he’s sneaking an arm around your hip to tug you onto his lap.

Shit.

Both a blessing and a curse and your legs pull shut within an instant as his head dips to find your ear.

“What’s going on with you, hm?” he murmurs, soft and silky, which certainly doesn’t help. “What’s the matter?”

His hand finds your leg. Innocent enough, mostly in an attempt to grab your attention.

But you’re too far gone, breath hitching at the feel of his skin against yours and he takes note of this immediately.

“What?” he repeats, a tremor of concern in his voice as he glances over the flutter of your lashes. “What’s the matter, angel?”

You could kill him, you really could. Your throat clears gently as you shake your head, now slightly mortified by the thoughts running wild inside your head.

“Nothing. M’fine.” You won’t meet his eye. Can’t. If you do, you’re done for.

“Liar.” His tone is playful, yet the way he hisses the simple word sends chills right down to your cunt. “I know you better than you think I do. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” you repeat, hoping to sound at least a little convincing. “I just…I’m ready to go home.”

“Oh?” His brow quirks upward. “Why, you all right?”

The gentle lilt of trepidation has you reeling, your heart hammering in your chest as you fight the urge to just climb on top of him.

Your knee begins to bounce, lip back between your teeth as you tug. Commanding yourself to remain indifferent. Relaxed. “Yeah, I just…I’m just—”

Suddenly, a look of realization passes over his face. And pure, unadulterated glee. He leans closer, nose brushing your cheek as he whispers, “Angel, are you dripping?”

You feel your head spin, your skin growing hot and your tongue going numb.

You don’t have to answer for him to know it’s true.

His fingers rub delicate circles into the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, subtle enough to slip beneath the observation of everyone else in the room but determined enough that you can’t focus on anything else.

You exhale a deep breath, hand landing over his as you squeeze his knuckles. “Shit, don’t…don’t—”

“Don’t what, hm?” He brings his hand higher and you still at the sensation. “Think it’d be really unfair of me to leave you like this, don’t you?”

You imagine it would be unfair, but you’re so deep in your lust for this man, you don’t imagine you’ll survive if he attempts to do something about it.

When you meet his question with silence, his grip becomes tighter. Unrelenting. “Angel,” he warns, subtly yet forcefully tugging you further along his thigh. “Don’t test my patience.”

And you aren’t trying to test him. God, you can’t even fathom the thought, and yet your own body betrays you as your voice disappears into thin air the moment he asks a question.

And because Jack Chambers is an evil, sadistic, and relentless man…he answers the question for you.

Despite the room full of people, he slips his hand up your leg until it disappears beneath the soft hem of your dress.

Nobody notices. Maybe you want them to, maybe you don’t. But you notice. Feel the way those long fingers graze your inner thigh as they travel up. Up and up and up until they find the silk of your underwear.

You also notice his breath hitch. Rather pleased at his obvious enjoyment of what he’s finding. The way, despite his power, he’s still overcome at the thought of you.

You watch his lips mumble something. You don’t catch what, exactly, but that hardly matters because he’s finally touching you. Thumb down the front of the fabric as he applies the subtlest amount of pressure. Just enough to make you squirm. Enough to have you sucking in a sharp gasp as you turn to hide your face in his neck.

“Shh,” he warns, cadence soothing and gentle. Soft and reassuring. It’s odd, the way he can seem both animalistic and tender all at once. You imagine that’s what you adore most about him. How he makes you feel both safe and terrified. “I’ve got you, yeah?”

He does, he’s got you, and you nod. You’ve never needed him to get you so badly.

A bit more pressure this time around. Up and down. Pressing. Circling. Kneading. Until you physically feel a blood vessel about to pop from how hard you’re trying not to whine. Until your stomach is cramping from the pain of holding the pleasure at bay. The way your thighs burn from attempting to squeeze them shut around his hand.

And the voices around you. Everyone laughing and talking and drinking and singing along to the music. Nobody pays you two any mind. If someone were to look over, they’d simply think you were whispering a secret in his ear.

And you are. Repeatedly. “Please, please, please.” Desperate and fraught. Needing him to take you home, or to the car, or even to the fucking hallway if that means he’ll give you what you want.

He’s so close to going a bit further. You wish he would. Need him to. Need him to actually touch you. Skin on skin. No more of this over-the-panties bullshit.

And he knows it. Knows what you need and is refusing to give it to you and you’re not sure why but you could kill him, you really could.

But that might have to wait until tomorrow because right now, with the thought of getting caught so close, and his hand much closer…you realize, you’re done for. Because skin on skin or not, you’re about to tip over the edge. His practiced and determined touch bringing you right to the cliff as he holds you there. Dangles you by one fucking finger.

And you can feel it. Bubbling. Ready to tip over at a moment's notice and it’s almost there, just a couple more seconds, and you’ll have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, and it’s so good and so close, and just one more second—

He stops.

Pulls his hand back.

Leaves you there. On the cliff. Dangling. Falling. Disappearing into the black abyss.

“Ja…Jack,” you just barely manage to whisper as he smooths the hem of your dress along your thighs, as if putting you back together. “What…what—”

“You never answered my question,” he tells you calmly, green eyes finally looking up to meet yours. “My angel knows better than that.”

You exhale a tense sigh. “Jack—”

“Off,” he demands, patting your hip to signal he wants you to stand to your feet.

But you hardly can, legs wobbly and chest caving in on itself. “Jack, I—”

“Off,” he repeats, a bit sterner, and immediately, you’re up. “Good. Go sit down and wait for me to take you home.”

“Jack—”

“Don’t push it, darling.” His tone hardens, lids narrowing as you feel the urge to cry bubbling its way up your throat. “Next time, you’ll tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll be good to you.”

“No, Jack, I promise…I was listening, I just—”

“S’too late now, Angel,” he hums, that familiar smirk attempting to sneak its way into his expression as he pulls his brows together and throws his arm over the back of his seat. His chin nods toward you as you settle on the couch. “Good girl. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to go.”

You suck in a deep breath. Hold it. Nails digging into your thighs. “Jack…please—”

“Uh uh,” he warns, head shaking once. “You can wait.”

“Jack—”

“You can wait.” He regards you carefully, and you can see the sadistic pleasure settle behind his eyes. “That’s it. Just like that. Sit there and behave for me.”

And you do. For the rest of the long, tumultuous evening. You sit there. You wait. You don’t make a sound.

But you do plan your revenge.

And as you watch him laugh with his friends and throw you a knowing wink, you smile through gritted teeth.

He’s so fucking in for it now.

And you’re gonna make it hurt.

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

#harry #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry edward styles #harry styles request #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fan #harry styles x you #dont worry darling #don't worry darling #jack #jack chambers

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