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joelsgoldrush · 2 months ago

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“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days.

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate.

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?”

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity.

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.”

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?”

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky.

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest.

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold.

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer.

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more.

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads.

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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caffeinewitchcraft · 2 months ago

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AITA for being proud of my job as a regional Nightmare?

My sister told me she’s making her own post and that if I was so sure I wasn’t TA then I should make my own so here I am.

I’m a regional Nightmare. I’m very proud of how hard I worked to get here. Not many terrors in their 20s get this high up and it’s because I do the work. I get up at 8pm and I’m out in the woods grinding out those quotas until dawn. Sometimes I sleep out there in my uniform just so I can be the first on scene for the multi-part jobs. I’m efficient, I’m punctual, and I’m committed. My goal is to be a Cyptid by the time I’m 30 and, to do that, I have to stay on at all times.

As a result, I work a lot. I’m often not home for days at a time. I have a very strict training regimen and my time for friends and family is virtually nonexistent. That’s why when I do get the time to hang out, I prefer to spend my time intentionally. What I mean by that is that I don’t want to sit on a couch when I could be lifting weights. I don’t want to chill in the pool when I could be volunteering for new scares. I especially don’t want to gossip over tea when I could be getting overtime.

Last Saturday, my sister invited a bunch of family over to her house. My job in the Virginia woods fell through, so I decided to go. Silly (her childhood nickname) said she had something important to tell the family so I thought it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

Key word: thought.

When I got to Silly’s house, I was surprised to see so many cars out front. Our parents were there and our older brother. The house was packed. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and a ton of people I didn’t know.

At first the event was fine. Silly’s always been a good cook (see, I know you’re reading this, Silly, and see? I do compliment you when do something actually good) and everyone was really enjoying the flank steak (though I did have to save it before she cooked it medium well). But as the day wore on, I could tell people were getting bored. Silly and Mom were focused on cleaning up and said that dessert would have to wait until her fiance got home. Which was kind of rude to be late and I felt really bad for Silly. It seems like my soon to be brother-in-law (BIL for short) is never around when she needs him.

In an effort to help, I engaged some of the people I didn’t know in conversation because the party was getting a little dead and I didn’t want one of my sister’s parties to fail. I was trying hard not to think about the time I was wasting waiting for my future BIL so it also served as a distraction.

It turns out one of the guys was a fellow terror. He worked a corporate job and we talked for a while about the pros of being freelance like me. He asked me a lot of questions and I was happy to mentor another terror. Corporate can suck the art out of what we do. My clients only care if the quota for their mission is met and don’t enforce such strict timelines. They come to me for quality. Poor guy barely had time to mend his uniform between scares (his cloak was tattered and his hook hand was rusty) so I recommended my tailor and blacksmith.

The guy and I exchanged information. I gave him my business card and he looked for one of his. While he looked, I felt nature calling so I headed upstairs to use my sister’s bathroom (like hell I was going to use the same one as my Uncle Joe). From up there, I saw my future BIL pull into the driveway.

Being a regional Nightmare is a tough job. Like I said, I have to train a lot to keep my certification. So I thought it’d be a good idea to get a scare on my BIL both to punish him for being late and to make up for all the time I’d already wasted at the party.

So I waited for him to come upstairs to change and, when he did, I pulled out the works. I darkened the room and fell back into the shadows. Then, while he groped for the light switch, I stretched out my leg (I have an extra joint in them) and tried to nudge him. I honestly didn’t expect for him to trip and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect for him to fall backwards. I’ve been practicing this skill on my family since I was sixteen and got the leg extension mod and none of them ever fell like that.

My future BIL fell down the stairs. I panicked and raced over to look over the banister. He was fine! He wasn’t bleeding or anything and, when I saw that, I started to laugh.

Everyone freaked out though. They all said I was being immature and bullying my BIL. I told them it wasn’t bullying, it was my actual job. I said that I was just joking and didn’t know my BIL, a former “Cryptid”, would take it so hard.

My mom jumped in and backed me up, but my sister has always been the Queen of the castle. Silly and Dad kicked me out ( I mean, I let them, I’ve got enhanced strength and I didn’t want to hurt them). Dad called me a disgrace and to not come back home.

I asked him if he was really kicking me out just because I wanted to show off my skills a little? And he said yes. And Silly said I had it coming to me for a long time.

I don’t even know what went wrong.

So AITA for taking pride in my work?

---.

SillyCreeper says: Oh my god, you actually made this post? You’re an actual idiot. For anyone who believes this story, read mine before you vote. My brother left out a few details like how the party was my GENDER REVEAL PARTY and that he’s not a regional Nightmare, he’s a Slasher for hire.

OP replies: I am TRAINED to operate as a regional Nightmare. That makes me an independent regional Nightmare.

SillyCreeper replies: Regional Nightmares don’t steal failed missions from corporate Slashers

OP replies: Get your own post, Silly

SillyCreeper: Oh, I already did. Have fun being torn apart on yours, dumbass.

-----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read Silly's AITA post a week early, please consider becoming a patron (X)!

Aita for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a Scare on my husband?

I'm working on this anthology during November and I'm having a blast with this story in particular! The family drama keeps going on and on

#my writing #aita reddit parody #reddit parody #meta monsterverse

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odinsblog · 8 months ago

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“I had a Zionist grandmother who grew up, she grew up in Poland, she was supposed to go to Israel to study. Her father had paid for her for the first year of tuition. And then in 1939, when she was in her last year of high school, Germany and the Soviet Union invaded Poland.

She ended up for a couple of years in the Soviet-occupied part of Poland, which was how she ended up in Moscow. And by the time Germany occupied all of Poland. So then she spent the rest of her life living in Moscow.

And 45 years after the end of the war, dreaming of being able to go to Israel, but not being able to because she was now stuck in the Soviet Union. And so I think I was very infected by, infected in a non-derogatory sense, by my grandmother's dream of Israel. And I had my own dream of Israel growing up as a, as a Jewish kid who was bullied and beaten up and teased.

I just wanted to live in a country that, that was majority Jewish. I could not understand why my parents would want to go to the United States and live in another country where Jews are in the minority. My parents on the other hand just didn't want to be Jewish.

Like their only experience of being Jewish was being systematically discriminated against. They were both born during the Second World War, so they were second generation, utterly non-religious and separated from any Jewish tradition, except the tradition of being a targeted minority. So they just, they just wanted to go somewhere where they wouldn't be Jewish.

And so when I was 15, a year after we moved to the United States, I actually went to Israel planning to stay there and didn't. For a variety of reasons, but one of them was being confronted with, with what I found at the age of 15, a shockingly racist society.

So the first time I went to Israel was when I was 15, it was 1982. And then there was like an 18, 17 or 18 year gap.

And I started traveling to Israel regularly from 1999, 2000. And the first time I went back was to actually complete the research on the book about my grandmother's. So it's been a good 25 years that I've been coming back.

And I think Israel has undergone a lot of changes in that time. But no, I don't think that like the kind of Ashkenazi Sephardic racism that shocked me in 1982 has found subtler expressions. But politics of settlement have only been exacerbated.

And I still find them extremely painful to observe, especially because some of my beloved relatives are settlers.

I did visit them this last time I was in Israel, because I really wanted to see what it looked like for them.

I was compelled to go visit them because of a Facebook post that my cousin made. And just to give you an idea, I really hold these people very, very dear. But for years, I would go to Israel, Palestine and not tell them that I was there, because I kind of couldn't face them.

So it's been a number of years since I last saw them, a number of years since I went to that settlement. But my cousin had posted something on Facebook. It was a picture of her son playing the violin.

And she wrote, in one of the houses where they stayed in Gaza, there was a violin. He played for his soldiers and then put the violin back. And I found that post-heart-rending and eye-opening, the picture of him playing the violin was not from Gaza.

It was from earlier, but he had apparently told her about playing the violin in Gaza. And obviously she was worried about her son serving in Gaza and so she's posting about it. And she wants to assert that he is a good boy.

But also, entirely missing from that post and from her world view is that somebody lived in that house in Gaza. That violin belonged to somebody. Like, it was such an extraordinary example of the blindness that we were talking about a little bit earlier that I wanted to go visit them and kind of engage with that blindness more.

And I got a really good dose of blindness to the point where, and we had this incredible moment when we went walking around the settlement after Shabbat lunch. And we sort of got to this hilltop where there's a swing and there's a little free library.

And we're looking out on a Palestinian village. And I said, what are we looking at, to my cousin? And she was trying to get her bearings.

And she said, where are we looking? And she named another settlement, which was kind of, which was not on our line of sight. It was like this literal example of looking at an actual Palestinian village that she drives past every day.

And before the village was sealed off after October 7th, she used to get gas there. And she knows it exists. But somehow she, also it also doesn't enter her geography.

It is nameless.”

—Masha Gessen, the descendant of Holocaust survivors, discusses the dehumanization of Palestinians (part 2 of 3)

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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Bark, bark, snort, grrr

(The ex idea comes from @st-el-la-luna, absolutely brilliant darling ❤️)

Content: Voyeurism, Mild Injury, Possessive/Protective Behavior

Johnny, for all his quirks and… weirdly human tendencies, is an incredibly good sport. Particularly about letting you put him in Santa hats and wreaths, ugly sweaters and snow socks. He poses for every picture so dutifully, looks so serious and annoyed up until you plant smooches on his head or cheek and that silly lupine grin comes out.

He’s been your perfect little heater ever since the heater started to go on the fritz. It keeps shutting off or turning itself lower than it’s meant to be, leaving you shivering before you realize something is amiss. It’s not so broken that you’re willing to interrupt your solitude to have someone come fix it. But you’re grateful for a big fluffy body laying on your feet or snuggling under the blankets with you.

As the winter sets in, you tromp out with him in the snow a lot. Often use his sturdy shoulders and better footing as a crutch to navigate without slipping. He always gets fussy when you do, dancing in his feet and snuffling at your coat, urging you up.

One morning you wake up after a fresh snow, expecting that you’ll have to clear the driveway and porch - only to find it freshly shoveled and salted. It would spook you, except you’re sure Johnny would have woken you up barking his head off if it was anything to worry about.

Your mother calls about holiday plans in mid-November. You hedge around any commitments, hand buried in Johnny’s fur, saying that you don’t want to leave your precious pup at home.

The combined efforts of both your parents, your sister, and a cousin you actually like makes you cave eventually though. They promise it’ll just be family, that you can even bring Johnny. You grimace at that - debate getting him some meds from the vet…. But he’s been doing better on walks in town.

The weird assurance that it’ll “just be family” should have been a red flag.

When you arrive at your parents’ place, several gift bags and Johnny (with a bow tie on his collar) in tow, you find your ex there. On the couch. Next to your least-favorite cousin and your sister.

“What’s he doing here?” you ask sharply.

“Well, you two were engaged—”

Johnny’s ears shoot straight up as you tense.

“Yeah, and then he cheated.”

“People make mistakes. If you would just hear him out.”

“I don’t care what he has to say. And I don’t care what you have to say either.”

You drop the bags in a heap and click your tongue for Johnny. He falls in with you instantly, leaning up against your side. You get all the way to your car before you hear your ex’s voice calling your name.

You try to hurry, but there’s ice and the last thing your dignity can take is slipping right now. Luckily, you have the perfect deterrent before you ex can even get within arm’s reach.

Johnny snarls, so deep and loud you feel it in your own chest.

“Jesus!” your ex cries, coming up short. “Where did you get that thing?!”

“Johnny picked me. More than I can say for you.”

“Don’t be like that, I’m picking you now.”

“Oh, did your girl best friend lose all her daddy’s money?”

His cheeks light up neon. Huh. Got it in one.

Then he dares another step and Johnny lunges. You just get a hold of his harness but it’s enough ward your ex off a bit more.

“He’s very loyal,” you add. “Also more than I can say for you.”

“Baby, just listen—”

“An upgrade all around, I think.”

You round your car, climb into the driver’s seat with Johnny standing guard, then let him clamber over you into the passenger’s seat. At the front door, most of your family is gathered and staring. You flip off your ex one last time before peeling out of there.

The tears come after you’ve gotten back home. Johnny licks your face until you stop crying, then leads you inside. The two of you curl up on the couch together, his face buried in your stomach. You fall asleep there and dream of a man’s voice whispering love and comfort in your ear.

—

A week later, your ex shows up.

You’re out in the yard with Johnny, watching him zoom through the snow and laughing as he speeds by. Your ex must hear you because he comes round the side of the house.

And Johnny. Goes. Ballistic.

Literally, he hits your ex like a missile, taking him into the snow and snarling like something from hell. He’s got his teeth in your ex’s designer coat, ripping it to shreds. It’s frightening; you’ve never felt safer.

“Johnny!” you call. A growl. You walk closer, kick a bit of snow at both of them. “Johnny, down! Leave it!”

And he does, finally does, though not without taking a good chunk of fabric with him. Your ex, wide-eyed and pale, panting, doesn’t bother to say a word. He scrambles away while Johnny barks after him, all canine and spit.

You hum as he returns to you, fabric in his mouth, tail wagging.

“What a good boy,” you coo, taking the partial sleeve and inspecting it. Louis Vuitton, it looks like. “Very good. My perfect boy.”

You drop his prize into the snow and snort as he wastes no time peeing on it. Well, that’s gonna stay there. Forever.

“C’mon bud, you deserve a treat.”

Johnny follows you happily inside, a new pep in his step.

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Masterlist

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic

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celestialtarot11 · 9 months ago

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Friendship Synastry 🌹🌴

Hi friends! Just thought I’d do this post because someone mentioned there weren’t a whole lot of synastry posts focusing on platonic connections, which I agree ☝️ So let’s change that! Enjoy! Please like, comment and reblog 💅🏻

1st house overlay 💗- So beautiful! I share this with someone who I’ve known for 10 years! We see each other in one another. Growing up we always pretended we were cousins 😭 and everyone believed us. We both hype each other up and the friendship is harmonious.

Venus in the 4th house ✨- A feeling of home like no other. That same friend and I got disconnected for 7 years and somehow we reconnected! This placement truly is beautiful and embodies finding each other again and again in friendship. Both parties feel comfortable making jokes and sharing intimate details with one another. Both feel seen on a deeper level.

9th house synastry ❤️- Cultural differences in friendship! Both learn from different cultures and share their experiences with one another. Both are teaching each other new things and love to engage in topics of philosophy! At some point both could live away from one another and have to travel to see one another. Short distance or long distance!

10th house stellium 🌟- Both inspire each other to be better versions of themselves. Mutual level of respect depending on what planets fall into the 10th house. Both see each other as people who can bounce ideas off one another without shame! If the planets are afflicted or malefic, the friendship can turn into competition to boost ego.

Scorpio stellium ☮️- Transformative connection. Both see each other at their worst and help each other out. If the planets are afflicted or malefic, the friendship can end with betrayal or end suddenly due to private information being let out. For example, something personal only the other person would know. If ifs aspected good, the friendship is a deep bond and feels familiar to both. Intuitive, and spiritually deep connection. Both dream of one another.

6th house sun 💆‍♀️- The planet person may ask a lot of help from the house person! Not necessarily a bad thing, but if this is aspected negatively it can be more of “pain in the ass” kind of feeling 😭 Especially if the friendship isn’t going well. But when aspected positively, the house person can teach a lot to the sun person and it’s a beautiful exchange of knowledge. Set boundaries ya’ll! 6th house synastry requires boundaries too. 6th house synastry can also suggest that friend popping up randomly to visit you!

Mars in the 6th house 🌹- The mars person empowers the house person to be better and take initiative in their life. Brings a lot of energy, joy, stamina, and life to the connection. Without the mars person the house person may feel bored, or disconnected in their life. It’s important the house person knows to balance their energies with action vs rest! The mars awakens the house person!

Moon in the 11th house 💅🏻- If the house person has chiron there I’ve noticed they sympathize a lot with the moon person. Both may face criticism in the friendship and jealousy, because both seem like a power duo. Growing up I experienced a lot of this with my friend we share this synastry, and people have found reasons to shame us! If there is no chiron, the moon person is often comforted by the house person. There is a deep connection and a sense of community present for both 🌹😊

Leo on the Descendant ✨- After reconnecting both people would’ve gone through a major glow up in their personal lives and physically! Both people could be in touch with their hearts and emotional truth. In some other connections I’ve seen people get in touch with their egos rather than their authenticity. The connection can lose spark!

Aquarius ascendant 🫂- Both felt and experienced the black sheep phenomenon growing up. They are able to connect on that and lift each other up. Close knit community! Especially if they knew each other for years. Both are unique individuals but mesh together so well because both embrace their authenticity and power in the connection. Both can view the connection as unique, irreplaceable, and unforgettable.

Leo stellium 🌟- Lots of hyping each other up, feel good feelings and love 💅🏻💗 Both are great at lifting each other up! When one person feels discouraged the other has their back and vice versa. If the connection is afflicted it can easily lead to competition, jealousy and control issues. If the connection is great both are literal teddy bears to one another and are protective 🌹

Their rising falling into your 5th house ❤️- The rising person brings a lot of fun, adventure and play into the connection! The house person sees the rising person as connected to their inner child, bold, vibrant and a leader. Also a protector in a lot of ways, emotionally and physically. They could feel very safe with the rising person. The rising person naturally causes the house person to open up and have fun ✨

Moon in the 5th house 🌹- Nurturing, intuitive and beautiful connection. Peaceful and chill. Telepathy is common between the two and this placement doesn’t necessarily dull the fun, rather through fun and laughter the two feel their bond growing deeper. The moon person offers a creative safe space for the house person to explore and open up.

Venus in the 12th house 🌟- In a healthy friendship, both are connected to the spirit realm and connected to each other spiritually, and acknowledge that. They allow their intuition to grow together and foster a deep sense of belonging. Both feel like they truly accept one another for who they are and the healing of wounds related to love begins. More so platonically, both feel they can open up to receive care ❤️ Mother wounds heal a lot in this connection.

Cancer Venus in the 5th house ☮️- The cancer person shares a lot of emotional wisdom to the house person, and both have fun like no other. Truly this represents the intertwining of two souls on a platonic level. The venus person is so encompassing of emotion, and brings a sense of community and comfort to the house person. The house person makes space and room for the wisdom the venus person holds, and together the two share a unique bond.

Aries rising falling into your 2nd house 💨- The aries person is seen as vivacious, bold, intelligent, and self assured. Sometimes may struggle with self worth and esteem, but with the house person Aries can learn a thing or two about self esteem. Vice versa, I feel that both people learn about self worth and confidence in the connection and both bring out the best in one another. The house person gives a sense of grounding to Aries rising, and Aries rising brings the heat and passion to the house person ❤️

Thats all I have friends! Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing your love with me ❤️☮️ Please like comment and reblog for support! Your feedback is always appreciated.

Paid Readings 💗

#astrology community #devi post #astrology #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot deck #tarot #witchcraft #tarot reading

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harrysfolklore · 1 year ago

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Can you write a blurb where y/n is pregnant and she and harry are at a family party or something and everyone keeps touching her bump and she’s very uncomfortable, and harry comforts her? Xx

as usual, i hated the ending for this but i hope you guys like it 🥲 let me know your thoughts and thanks for the request <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

GIF BY @whatsthereinthename

The world was going crazy over Harry Styles becoming a dad.

And the fact that the picture he posted on his Instagram to announce it gathered over 30m likes, making it the 10th most liked picture on the platform’s history proved it.

However, his millions of fans all over the world weren’t the only ones feeling absolutely ecstatic over his wife being pregnant with his first child, his family was also losing their minds over the news.

The Styles family loved YN to pieces, and not only Harry’s nuclear family consisting of his mom and sister, his extended family including aunts, uncles, cousins and even family friends had grown to love the girl over the years. So when Anne called up to invite them over for one of her famous get togethers, they were over the moon because they knew the couple would be there and they would catch a glimpse of a pregnant YN for the first time.

“You ready, love?” Harry said as he entered their shared bathroom where his wife was applying the finishing touches to her makeup.

“I am, just need to spray on some perfume and I’m good to go.” She said as she turned around to face her husband, and when Harry got a proper look at her his breath almost hitched in his throat.

She looked absolutely breathtaking with her navy blue sundress and the brand new bump that adorned her body.

Harry swore that he had never seen someone more beautiful.

“Look at you, darling.” Harry simply said, putting a hand on his chin, looking at her almost in disbelief.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” YN joked for a moment, battling her eyelashes at him.

“No, you’re just the most gorgeous woman on this earth.”

“And you’re a total sap, let’s go, I don’t want us to be late.”

The car ride to Anne’s house was nice, their favorite soft tunes and small talk filled the air until they got there, and before getting off the car, Harry took a moment to reassurance his wife about the evening.

“If you feel uncomfortable or want to rest let me know immediately, okay? I don’t want you or baby to be overwhelmed.”

She pecked his lips softly before speaking, “We’ll be good, don’t worry.”

They got off the car and we’re instantly met with Anne waiting for them by the door, a fond smile on her face at the sight of two of her favorite people.

“I’m so happy you made it,” she said as he hugged Harry first, “Darling! You’re absolutely glowing!” she hugged her daughter-in-law, gently caressing her bump.

“Thank you, Anne. It’s so good to see you.”

The three of them headed to the backyard where the rest of the guests were mingling, and once YN stepped foot all eyes were on her, complimenting how beautiful her bump looked.

“YN darling! Long time no see!” one of Harry’s aunts approached her, hugging her before placing a hand on her bump.

At this, she immediately tensed, not used to anyone aside from Harry touching her bump.

Harry noticed it and he placed a hand on her back protectively before speaking, “We’re going to sit down for a bit, the missus is a bit tired from the drive here.”

Once they were seated next to Gemma and her boyfriend Michal, YN squeezed Harry’s leg gently and gave him a soft smile, as a way to thank him for his previous action.

The evening went on smoothly, they ate Anne’s delicious food and engaged with family they haven’t seen in a while.

However, every time someone came close to YN, trying to touch her bump or just invade her personal space, she grew more and more uncomfortable.

“Your bump is getting so big!”

“Is the baby kicking yet?”

“I miss having a baby bump.”

Were some of the comments YN had heard all day long, and by the time another of Harry’s aunts tried to approach her, she had enough and quickly exited the backyard before she could reach her.

“Love? Are you okay? Saw you running away back there.”

Harry’s voice made its way to her ears, she was leaning on the kitchen counter, her back facing him.

“I’m okay, just needed a breather.” She said, her eyes closed and still not facing him.

“Hey,” Harry slowly approached her, standing next to her but not touching her, “Can you look at me please?”

YN slowly turned around, and once Harry saw her watery eyes with tears threatening to come out, he pulled her to his chest.

“What’s going on, love? What made you upset?”

YN took a few breaths before speaking, “I just, I’m not used to anyone but you touching my bump and being close to me, and your aunts have been all over me all evening and I guess I got overwhelmed,” she sniffed before continuing, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude to your family but these hormones are acting up.”

“It’s okay love, nothing to apologize for,” he pecked her forehead softly, “Do you want to get out of here, we can leave now.”

“No, we don’t have to leave,” YN interrupted him, “Can you just, stay next to me when we go out there? I feel safer when you’re close.”

Harry almost melted at her words, and she grabbed her chin and kissed her lips softly.

“Of course, my love. I’ll always make sure you and baby feel safe and comfortable.”

And with a final shared kiss, they headed out again, Harry staying by YN’s side the entire time, making sure she and his baby were always safe.

taglist: @lightsoutstyles @willowpains @straightontilmornin @sleutherclaw @gimsaysay @hazzassmirk @platinumbarbie143 @musicforcinemas @celesteblack08 @scntfrhs @eleanordaisy @lomlolivia @iceebabies @iloveshawn @be-with-me-so-happily @watermelonsugacry @rayisthehoe @drewrry

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sunflowersteves · 1 year ago

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can you write about carmy & readers first time after getting engaged 🥹

omg omg omg fiancé carmy just does it for me ok? and ik for a fact that the man wouldn’t wait once you got home. also I couldn’t find a picture of the ring I wanted so just pretend.

warnings || fluff, established relationship, SMUT, soft sex, riding, mention of oral sex, 18+ only

masterlist

You looked down at the small diamond ring that was garnished with two rubies on a sparkling gold band.

You were smiling so brightly that your cheeks started to desperately ache. The stones glistened, and you felt in awe as your chest fluttered with adoration.

Your admiration for the ring had stopped as Carmen’s voice rang through your ears. “Are you sure you like it?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed and head down, looking at the delicious food he had made. His left leg was bouncing up and down as the thoughts piled one over the other.

Carmen had asked you that same question about four to five times now. He asked you once after you said yes, two in the car ride, and one while walking up the stairs of your apartment complex.

Despite your reassurance—sometimes too much in a daze of staring at your hand to realize he had even asked you a question—Carmen still couldn’t quite get it into his head that you said yes.

It was as if his head was still in a jumbled mess—still sweating and knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. His heart couldn’t stop thumping against his chest, and anxiety-filled thoughts rushed over another. The nagging feeling that he doesn’t deserve this and that he doesn’t deserve you had taken over his brain.

His entire speech happened in such a blur with his stuttering sentences and shaky voice. He watched as your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you shouted, “Yes!” It took him a moment to realize your response—his eyes slowly blinking with his mouth parted open to then at lightning speed getting up off of the ground and crashing you into a hug. It just all felt so real.

You stand up from your end of the table and walk over to him, taking the spoon that he’s frantically tapping in his hand out from his reach. “Baby,” You coo, pressing your palm against his cheek.

It was the most obvious thing in the world to you. You couldn’t stop staring at it since he put it on your ring finger, but you knew that he just needed a little encouragement to swat those thoughts away. “What’s going on?”

Carmen had proposed. Richie had called you saying there was an emergency at The Bear. Of course, he failed to mention that everyone was okay. You rushed to the restaurant in a frenzy, grabbing the bare minimum and speeding down the highway roads.

When you arrived, you practically jumped out of the car and ran inside. Your brain had thought of the worst possible outcomes—a burned-down restaurant and hurt people. It was sending you into a spiral.

But then, your heart stopped at the view in front of you. This time, the thumping of your heart was pure elation (minus the mental note to yell at Richie later). The entire restaurant had been closed, and a small candle-lit table had been set up—rose petals trailing across the concrete floors.

Carmen and Richie were arguing but they didn’t see you quite yet. “You didn’t even fucking tell her anything?” Carmen huffed.

Richie just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “No, you fuckin’ bitch. I just said there was an emergency.”

Carmen’s hands exploded around him, an unlit cigarette between his middle and index finger. “Are you fucking serious right now, cousin? She’s probably freaking the fuck out—an emergency? Fuck—” Richie just rolled his eyes and shrugged, but then his eyes locked with yours and a huge smile spread across his lips. The rest went in a blur, and before you know it, Carmen got down on one knee.

“I-I just—I don’t know. I wanna make sure that I’m doing this right.” His eyes finally look into your own. Your heart just about stops at the sadness that’s swimming through them.

“Carmy, baby,” You moved his chair back, wooden legs sliding against the hardwood floor. You climbed onto his lap, legs on either side of him. You pressed a hand to his chest, and you gently rubbed your thumb against his soft, white t-shirt.

His hands rest on your hips, and they squeeze the soft, plushy flesh. He let out a content sigh, some of the anxiety already dissipating from his thoughts.

He wants everything perfect, just for you. The irony of it all is that you do think everything’s perfect. Everything is always perfect with him.

“Let me see, bebita.” Tina couldn’t stop smiling, taking a glance over at you staring at your ring. You were waiting for Carmen to finish talking with Natalie before leaving the restaurant. Tina had found you, staring happily at your finger.

She cursed under her breath, eyes widening.“Ay, coño—” She continued to watch the small diamonds sparkle underneath the kitchen lights.

Then, she smiled. She looked at you, and she had the biggest smile on her face. You make Carmen so happy, and he knows he makes you happy.

She was truly excited for her friends. “You know, this was Mikey’s ring. It was their grandmother’s or some shit, but—” She pauses, smiling right at you. “It was definitely his.”

Your eyes widened, mouth agape. “What?”

“You’re perfect.” You say, looking into his ocean eyes. “You’re doing everything right.”

He searches for something. He searches for anything. Any doubt, guilt, lying—literally anything. He continues to stare at your beautiful face, looking from the plump of your cheeks to the curve of your lips.

His eyes look back up to yours. Nothing. He found nothing but pure love and adoration between your irises. He choked out a sound. It was garbled and whimpering. It made your heart clench.

“Carmen—” Before you could even react, his lips devoured yours. You gasped against him before melting completely, hands going into his messy hair. His hands scaled your body in a passionate frenzy, desperation hitting his gut to pull you even closer to him.

You moaned against him as his tongue pushed through your lips and into your mouth, swirling and tangling with one another. His hand went to cup your cheek; it was so gentle and sweet—the action made affection swirl in your chest.

He parts from you, only for a moment. “Please. I need—I need to be inside you.” Another breath-stealing kiss, lips molding against yours. “You’re so—you’re so perfect, baby. N-need you.” He pants out.

“Fuck, Carmy.” Your hands move to fumble with his belt. He continues to kiss you, lips smearing against your jaw and chin. Jittery, your hands bumble around and finally find the button to his pants. You shuffle them down his thighs, letting out a moan at the sight of a bulge in his boxers.

“Carmy—” You whine. His fingertips graze your shoulder and lift the spaghetti strap of your dress. “Please.” You feel dazed and desperate. You feel a burning sensation sprout from your chest, and it ignites across your entire being.

He helps you out of your dress, and his hands fumble with the back of your bra. Meanwhile, you’re also fumbling with getting his boxers off. The position of sitting in the chair had made this much more difficult. “Baby, fuck.”

“Need you, Carmy.” You whine. It caused him to smirk down at you. Eventually, the two of you get all of your clothes off, discarding them somewhere on the floor. You were still straddling his thighs—kisses so sweet and passionate that they tingled against your lips.

His cock was hard, leaking with some pre-cum, and it made you shudder. His eyes were half-lidded as he stared at you with hazy eyes. You position him to your entrance and slowly sink into him.

You both moan against one another, breathing in each other’s presence. Carmen’s head rolls against your shoulder, biting down at the clench of your walls. You start to ride him—hips rolling against his own.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna make you my wife.” He breathes out. He watches the way you slick smears against his thighs and the way he disappears into your tight cunt. You loudly moaned against him at the affirmation of his—making you even wetter than before.

“Wanna—wanna be your wife, Carmy.” You whispered against his soft skin. His lips lower to the perky bud of your nipple and swirled his tongue around the sensitive area. “Want—fuck me—want you to be my husband.”

You could feel his cock twitch at your words. His lips revert their way to where he really wants them—your lips. You whimpered at the feeling of him pushing you further.

The hand on your back was rough from calluses. The new position made you whine and cry, Carmen whispering sweet, sweet praises. “Doin’ so good for me, baby. My–my fuckin’ girl. Look at you, so-so good. Gonna make you my wife. My fucking wife.”

His words are what send you over the edge—the sweet praises and confirmations of his love became too much. “C’mon, pretty girl. Let go for me. Be a good girl and let go.”

With a loud moan, your walls spasm around his cock and gush all over him. You’re screaming his name like a prayer that won’t leave your lips. Your legs shake, unwilling to move any longer. He’s whispering to you again and again, but this time you weren’t listening.

He was on the verge of an orgasm too, but there was a bigger, more primal need for him to do first. He watched as you slowly slid out of him and he started to press gentle kisses across your shoulder and neck.

He watches your eyes slowly come back to him, and he waits. “I love you, baby.” He says, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“I love you too, lovebug.” You say, a lazy smile curling your lips. You look down to see his hard cock against your thigh. You open your mouth to say something—wanting to take care of him, but he stops you with a shake of his head.

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna eat you out. I need to taste you. I-I—” He stutters through his words, and the desperation settles on his chest. He needs to taste you on his tongue. He needs to hear the sweet sounds that escape your mouth as he eats his favorite meal.

“Carmen. Fuck, yes.”

The first night of being Fiancée’s with one another was going to be a very long night.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #the bear smut #the bear #smut

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urhoneycombwitch · 1 year ago

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shrine of your lights

Eddie Munson x fwb!Reader edibles and a church wedding to attend. what could go wrong with Eddie as your plus one?

foreword: I listened to Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac for this. LOL. kind of AU bc it’s a few years after ssn 4 and everyone is alive and just fine (lovesick but oh well can’t b helped) based on this anon thank u for inspiring me!!!!

cw: a smidge of Catholic blasphemy, weed usage, friends w/ benefits Eddie, R is a bit of a love (and relationship) skeptic and Eddie is lovesick, R+E are in their 20’s, pining, public sex (no one but them observes tho), R has hair long enough to tuck behind ears, R gets a hickey but skin tone/color is not described, R has breasts and a V, softdom Eddie, marking kink (?)

wc: 4.8k

___

The stained glass window in front of you looms tall, afternoon light streaming through and casting a kaleidoscope of colors on the polished wood flooring. You stretch out a hand into the warm beam of sun, admiring the way the colors catch and bounce off your dainty star-chain bracelet.

When Eddie had suggested you two eat some weed brownies as a precursor to your (very distant, very Catholic) cousin’s wedding, you hadn’t quite expected to get as stoned as you are now. Since Eddie hasn’t attended any major life functions sober since 1981, and seeing as how you refuse to step foot inside a church space without some sort of social lubricant, the weed wasn’t a hard sell at all.

To be fair, Eddie had warned you of their potency, and you had snuck another quarter of a brownie when his back was turned: but christ, your tolerance must be crazy low or something, ‘cuz a window has no right to be this mesmerizing.

You’ve been staring at it for the past five minutes, in your own little world while a steady stream of wedding guests file in through the big oak doors and mill about before the ceremony. The warm, still air of the church is heady with the smell of fresh florals and incense, and a line of votive candles flicker and wink against the windowsill.

Casting a glance over your shoulder, you see Eddie’s still speaking in gentle tones with an elderly woman (whom you’re likely related to, hard to say) near the foyer, all charming smile and sincere hand pressed to the slip of bare chest his button-down displays. You’ve got to hand it to the guy, he’s really great at endearing himself to total strangers; he’s been a natural shoe-in for any plus-one you’ve needed over the past few years.

While Eddie is perfectly in his element, holding what looks to be an engaging conversation while stoned to all hell, your focus is drawn back to the window. You should probably be on the arm of your guest, seeing as how it’s your family wedding after all, but the swirling lights and colors are too alluring to pull yourself away from.

“Beautiful piece of art, isn’t it?”

The voice behind you is unfamiliar, and proper social graces here would call for an introduction, perhaps a firm handshake, but your limbs and tongue feel so loose and the reply is out of your mouth before you can think twice- “God, yeah. S’fucking gorgeous. I want one for my house.”

There’s a light cough, and when you turn on your low-heeled Mary Janes it’s under the amused eye of a priest- in full priest-garb. Green velvet robes and little hat and everything.

You realize your error- swearing and taking the Lord’s name in vain- but the brief stint in Catholic school from when you were 6 is unfortunately not recalled in time to stop the scramble of swears mixed with apologies that come tumbling out.

“Oh shit- I mean- fuck. Oh god. Sorry, Father, I didn’t mean-”

The priest- old as hell but thankfully with sense of humor still intact- smiles kindly at you and takes your hand in both of his, patting graciously. “No apologies are necessary, my dear. The beauty of God can be overwhelming and awe-inducing.”

You nod jerkily, grabbing on to his excuse- “Yes, yep. That’s exactly what happened. Struck down by the awe.”

The priest nods to you, and then to Eddie (who’s appeared at your side like a guard dog that sensed trouble), then wanders off down a row of pews to greet other guests.

You’re nearly doubled over with the effort it takes to conceal your laughter, Eddie stroking a calming hand down your back and chuckling with you under his breath.

“Struck down by the awe, huh?” he echoes as you straighten back up and dab at the tears gathering against your lashline. “You really are somethin’.”

“That was so embarrassing but guess what-” here you lean in, voice a conspiratorial whisper as Eddie raises his eyebrows to look down his nose at you- “I don’t give a fuck ‘cuz I’m hi-igh.”

This last word is sung with a two-note lilt, and you turn back to the comfort of the sunny window as Eddie steps in beside you, shaking his head. “I told you to start with a lower dose, ya goose. Did you take more when I wasn’t looking?”

You shrug a shoulder, the soft linen of your cardigan brushing up against the hard leather of Eddie’s jacket. “Maybe. Couldn’t say. You gonna steal this window for me or what?”

He blows out a breath, pretending to appraise the size and heft, rapping his ringed knuckles against the sill- “Well normally I’d say ‘anything for my girl’, but we’d need a shrink ray for this type’a heist.”

“Maybe Dustin has one we can borrow.”

He sucks his front teeth, playing along, shaking his head in faux-disappointment. “Nah, little shit’s only got a ham radio. Useless when it comes to religious robbery.”

Eddie looks overly pleased when you giggle, but some of the humor in his face falls to concern as he reaches out to squeeze your upper arms. “Hey. You doin’ okay? If you’re too stoned to sit through the ceremony, I can find us a little spot to hole up in. I’m good at finding those.”

“I know you are,” you reply, waving away his worry. “I’m fine, honest. Do I look high?”

He holds you at arm’s length, giving you a contemplative once-over. “Nope. You look beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, affectionately, then smooth your palms over the front of your black slip dress and pull the scalloped sleeves of your cardigan into place. “Well, of that I am aware.”

Eddie winks, and you really wish you were sober enough that the warmth of his hands and the smell of his cologne would have less of an effect but high as you are, you want nothing more than to burrow into his neck and taste the salt of his skin.

“Do I look high?” he asks, pulling away to do a little spin so you can appraise his appearance.

Eddie Munson, as it turns out, cleans up very well for family functions: smart black boots, maroon button-down tucked into a pair of flare-legged trousers, worn but well-kept leather jacket to top the outfit off. And in signature Eddie fashion, little glints of silver highlight the ensemble- his usual chunky rings, stacked layers of thin chain necklaces, metal buckles on his coat and at his waist, even a set of tiny hoops (courtesy of your jewelry drawer) in his ears.

The dryness in your mouth has nothing to do with your intoxication as you blink back to the present and give Eddie a once-over. “Uhm. Nope. You look sober. And very hot.”

He grins at you, wolfish, but then a bright chord of organ music signals the start of the ceremony. With a steady hand on your back, he leads you to a pew near the last row; when you’re both seated, his hand runs smoothly down to rest on your thigh, drumming a lazy beat with his thumb against you as the processional starts.

Your cousin Marion looks lovely swathed in white tulle, contrasted with her groom in a black tux. Her mother, your aunt- Karen? Karina? can’t recall- dabs at her tears with a delicate lace handkerchief in the front pew as the couple exchanges vows, promising eternal and ineffable love until their ultimate demise, etcetera.

You’re not someone who’s ever fallen prone to the gushy emotions that love seems to create in so many of your peers. While Nancy and Robin will dole out tissues to each other during some cheesy romcom, you’ll get ribbed for being so stoic. None of your breakups have ever ended in giant blowouts or dramatics from your side- hard to fight for something when you hadn’t really cared about it in the first place.

That’s why you consider yourself so lucky, when it comes to Eddie. After the two of you ended your high school fling due to graduation, you’d come back to Hawkins after a few years of college and found yourself sneaking out like a teenager again to hang out with Eddie Munson.

He told you he doesn’t want anything serious, either, and that he’s just fine being friends who sleep around and go to all of each other’s parties.

You almost believe him.

He’s been to every one of your nephew’s hockey games this past season, and you’ve spent two cozy Christmases so far at the trailer with him and Wayne; every party in between has ended with Eddie driving you home, or (more frequently) back to his place. Your collective relatives and friends haven’t asked about your relationship status in years, and it’s all thanks to Eddie’s presence in your life: if the two of you aren’t technically dating, it’s really no one’s business.

The old priest from earlier is droning on about some bible verse; uncomfortable on the hard bench and feeling restless, you shift your hips, and Eddie digs his fingers into the meat of your thigh.

“Quit. Squirming,” he murmurs, lips at your ear. When you shiver and still, he pats your leg and straightens again, eyes fixed to the front altar.

You and Eddie make it through the ceremony with minimal damage, only getting one dirty look from an older man in the pew ahead when you’d snickered at a dirty joke (courtesy of your benchmate). Marion and her new husband greet their guests one by one as everyone filters outside, and you coast easily through the interaction, kissing your cousin on both cheeks and fawning over her dress and giving just the right amount of congrats before Eddie plucks at your elbow to subtly redirect your attention.

“Let’s get some food in you,” he says, linking your arms together as you follow the receiving line outdoors.

The reception is held just next to the church building in a surprisingly lovely courtyard. Sunlight filters through the willow trees at the edge of a grass yard, where a picnic basket awaits on each spread quilt. People are kicking off their dress shoes, unwinding with the lure of nature, kids chasing each other through the paths between blankets as adults wiggle their toes into the grass and dig into the luncheon.

Possibly, you’re high and over-romanticizing, but you can tell by the look on Eddie’s face he’s there with you, taking it all in from your blanket in a quiet corner of the yard.

There are finger sandwiches in the basket, along with some fresh fruit and plastic utensils and plates to eat off of; Eddie fixes you a plate and you dig in happily, sock feet tucked under yourself, yours and Eddie’s shoes in a jumble nearby.

“Could eat anything when I’m high,” you muse, then bite into a sandwich that has the perfect cream-cheese-to-cucumber ratio with a contented sigh. “Food is so good.”

Eddie snaps a baby carrot with his back teeth, then snorts at you before reaching out to tuck one side of your hair behind your ear before it gets eaten along with your food. “I know you can eat anything when you’re high. I once saw you scooping up apple pie with potato chips.”

You give him a sidelong frown, mouth full of bread and veg as you defend yourself- “Yeah, and it was great. Dee-licious. Would do it again if-”

Your name is being called, and you swivel to see a young man about your age weaving along the spaces between blankets towards yours and Eddie’s spot.

“Tony!” In a neat bit of multitasking, you manage to swallow your food and rise to your feet (albeit unsteadily, with Eddie’s hand snapping out to support your efforts), then hold your arms out to envelop the boy in a hug. “Oh my god, it’s been ages.”

Anthony Townsend has grown up in the time you’ve spent away- the last recollection you have of your former childhood neighbor is his mop of red hair bouncing with the trampoline his parents bought him in 6th grade. He grew into his looks, for sure- the awkwardness of pre-teen ears and too-big front teeth have settled into a very kind and handsome face.

He looks genuinely pleased to see you, returning your hug with a squeeze, pulling back to hold both your hands and ask about where you’ve been. You breeze through a highlighted version of the last few years, leaving out all the interdimensional monster bullshit and focusing the questions back on him.

Tony’s telling you about his father’s veterinary practice that’s still running smoothly when you feel Eddie at your back, and Tony falters, dropping your hands.

Social cues come a tad slow to you, under the influence, and you think Tony’s stumbling because you haven’t introduced him yet (how were you supposed to know Eddie’s been glaring daggers at the poor kid ever since you’d hugged him?), and you attempt to remedy your mistake with a casual remark- “You know, Eddie here has been feeding the stray cats at our place every night, a whole colony of them- there’s gotta be, what, ten of ‘em now?”

You turn to Eddie for confirmation, reeling a little at the dark scowl he’s still sporting as he nods. “Yup. Somethin’ like.”

Tony scratches at the back of his neck, freckled cheeks pink as he begins to back away- “Um, yeah. Cool. Well it was great to see you! I gotta…”

With a vague gesture, he turns and tails it back to his blanket on the other side of the yard. You whirl on Eddie, his face smoothing back into relaxed indifference, even as you hiss, “What the hell was that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Don’t know what you mean, princess.”

“That,” you repeat, waving an arm in the air for emphasis. “I know I’m not sober but you were being weird, even by my standards.”

There’s this look that Eddie gets, sometimes, when one of you bumps against the walls of your loosely-defined relationship- a brief flash of pain and sadness before it gets hidden away behind his comfortable mask of bravado.

He’s got it now- a small pinch in his eyebrows, doey eyes swimming with emotion, and you put a hand on his leather-clad arm as the pieces fall into place. “Were you… are you jealous?”

In the span of a blink, the mask is back up, and with a dry laugh that’s so unlike him, Eddie shakes his head. “Nah. What do I have to be jealous of, huh? ‘S not like we belong to each other.”

Maybe on a different day, with half the weed in your system, you’d be able to let this comment slide. But there’s something deeply hurtful about it, sinking and twisting in your stomach like a stone. Your grip tightens on Eddie’s arm, tears stinging hot at your eyes, voice a watery, desperate thing- “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Eddie is quick to comfort you, once he realizes you’re close to crying- “Shit, sweetheart. Okay. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to think…” Your voice is still shaky with emotion as Eddie lets you hold on to him, gently shushing you even though there’s no one near enough to hear. “You’re important to me, Eddie. I never wanna make you mad, or upset, or-”

“I’m not.” Eddie cuts smoothly into your rambling, placing his hands on either side of your neck as you cling to him, cool rings kissing into your skin. “I’m not mad, promise. I was just being an asshole for no reason, okay? Could never be mad at you.”

His thumb strokes at the column of your throat, your breath and heart rate lulled to normal under his touch, his expression returning to the gentle fondness you’re used to seeing.

“Let’s finish up lunch, hm?” Eddie says, and with a final soft squeeze he pulls away from you, taking with him the warmth of his palms.

It’s always like this, with him, at least in front of your respective families- any PDA is kept to a strict minimum, nothing too intimate or drawn out so as not to attract attention. You’d implemented this rule from the beginning, and Eddie has been nothing but respectful of it, your peace of mind over not wanting a label pacified.

But right now? The lack of Eddie’s arms around you or his lips on yours was starting to make you ache.

You both settle into the blanket again, conversation flowing around mouthfuls of food as you catch Eddie up with the latest family gossip, laughing when he bats your pointer finger out of the air (as if anyone is really paying attention to you two giggling loons).

Someone’s brought a radio and has it dialed to a soft rock station; you gasp and shove at Eddie (sprawled out like a house cat after a full meal in the sun), exclaiming “It’s Fleetwood Mac and you love Fleetwood Mac!”

“I so don’t,” he grumbles, but rises easily when you tug at him to stand sock-to-sock feet with you in the grass.

You both fall into a smooth rhythm, Eddie’s hands staying (respectably) on your hips, yours looped around his neck, doing a slow little rotation. He gazes at you as you sway back and forth in each other’s arms, the scrutiny making you titter and fidget.

“What?”

“Thought I told you to quit squirmin’,' ' comes his answer, hands tightening into the meat of your waist. “Let me look at you a minute.”

So you let him look.

While his chocolate eyes roam your face, you trail a hand up to curl a lock of his hair around your finger. Eddie leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut, giving you room to do some staring of your own at those long, dark lashes.

After another slow circle, Eddie inhales and draws himself back, clearing his throat. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, sweetheart, but we’re gonna start getting looks if you don’t quit using me as your personal stress toy.”

You snort. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“All good,” he replies, dimples springing into his cheeks, teasing again- “When we get home later you can pet me like a dog, if you want. Just gotta tone you down ‘cuz you get touchy when you’re high.”

Eddie’s being a perfect gentleman. He’s sticking to your rules and looking out for you.

So why is it making you so sad?

You realize, with a stunning clarity, that you don’t want to wait until you’re back at the trailer to touch Eddie. That you’re starting to crave him when he leaves, whether it’s for a day or an hour or just out of bed to get a snack.

Fuck it, you think, and bend to scoop up your shoes.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you tell Eddie, slipping on your shoes then starting towards the building. When you realize he’s not following, you pause, giving him a look over your shoulder- “Aren’t you coming?”

Eddie blinks, wondering if you’re insinuating what he thinks you’re insinuating or if he’s just really, really high. “Um. Uh…”

You don’t leave room for the shock to sink in, turning on your heel and smirking when you hear him swear under his breath and scramble to catch up.

In a narrow hallway lined with portraits of long-dead saints, you push Eddie against the wall, mouth sealing over his and hands roaming hungrily over his body.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, in between kisses, your fingers tugging at the root of his hair, near the nape of his neck where it stings the best- “what’s got you so worked up, princess?”

“You.” The answer is an honest one. You slip your tongue between Eddie’s teeth and the boy moans, melting into you.

Peppering kisses down Eddie’s face, your lips settle into the hollow just under his jaw, then part to give room to your teeth. Eddie stiffens as you bite down, sensitive skin pierced by your mouth; it’s his turn to be the squirmy one as you suck a bruise into that soft spot.

His cock is filling out, as proved by the steadily-growing bulge behind his zipper. You give a mean little wiggle of your hips and Eddie jolts so hard you lose your spot on his neck, popping off him with a wet smack.

“Angel, you have to stop.” Eddie sounds absolutely wrecked as he tries to maintain some distance, head tipped back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. “M’not gonna last if you keep doing that. Let me take you home, we can-”

“Shhh.” You quiet him with a pointer finger smooshed against his lips, your other hand tilted to your ear. “You hear that?”

Eddie strains to hear distant cheers and hip hip hoorays from the festivities a few corridors away; when he nods, you whisper, “That’s the cake cutting. We have a good ten minutes before anyone thinks to come back here.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s off the hook when you release him completely, walking swiftly towards the main sanctuary. But then, because you’re a temptress, you beckon him with an impatient wave.

And because he’s so easy for you, he follows.

It’s like that window has a magnetic pull- you’re back under the prismatic glow of the stained glass, brushing a hand across the wide sill to dust it before hopping up to perch there. You fit neatly between the split row of votive candles (all snuffed out by now), enough room for your knees to part and for Eddie to fill the space.

You cross your arms around his neck, drawing him in with another deep kiss as his hands find your waist.

“Want you to mark me up,” you murmur, and when Eddie draws back, wary, you let your chin tip up. The crown of your head knocks into the window, exposing your throat. “Show them I’m yours, Eds.”

Only have to tell him twice, apparently, ‘cuz his teeth sink into your stretch of soft skin without further qualms. The feeling of his tongue soothing over the sore spot makes you jump, hips bucking forward into his hand that you didn’t even notice had trailed up the inside of your dress.

His long fingers pet at the wet patch that’s seeping through your underwear, catching at your clit on an upstroke, your gasp a harsh noise in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

Eddie begins to rub at you through the fabric in earnest now, tight circles with his thumb even as he pulls his mouth from your neck to assess his handiwork. “Yeah, fuck, sweetheart, that’s gonna leave a mark. You want everyone to know who you belong to, huh?”

Your bundle of nerves throbs under Eddie’s touch and you curse, hands weaving tight into his hair again. “Shit, Eddie, yeah- just like that…”

He dips back into the well of your neck with his teeth, keeps just the right amount of pressure on your clit, and that tension coiling in your lower stomach is just about to snap before you stop him with a hand around his wrist.

“Sorry,” you pant through the apology, forehead crushed to Eddie’s collarbone as you try and catch your breath. “Was about to come and I want you inside of me for that.”

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckles as you giggle, chastising- “Hush and mind your manners, Munson. That’s blaspheming and we’re about to fuck in a church.”

“I’ll show you manners.” Eddie has his pants and briefs shoved to mid-thigh before you can draw breath to tell him off; one hand smears precum down the shaft of his ruddy cock as the other pushes your dress up and hooks your panties to the side.

You’re wet and worked up enough that he slides into the heat of you with ease, breath punching out with the way his cock completely fills you. When Eddie pulls out and sinks back in, you let out a keening whine and scrabble for purchase on his leather jacket.

“That’s it, sweetheart, that’s it-” his voice is a dark rumble, each word punctuated with a snap of his hips, the squelch of your slick walls responding. “So wet for me. That’s my good girl. You like gettin’ off to being mine, huh, angel?”

You nod, head lolling against the window, and Eddie grins wicked even though you can’t see it. “Come on. Show me whose pussy this is.”

When his hand snakes between your bodies to press against your clit with his thumb, you come with a long, strained whimper, ankles crossing at the small of Eddie’s back to draw him closer while the velvet walls of your cunt spasm.

Eddie’s free hand shoots out to the supporting wood arch of the window for stability as he angles his hips up, longing for that glossy honey-eyed look you get sometimes: and there it is, your eyes half-lidded and brow pinched in pleasure as his cock hits against that gummy spot, the tremble of your thighs locked around his waist as your orgasm peaks.

Once he’s fucked you through the height of it, Eddie dips to bite at the taut muscle where your neck and shoulder meet, clamping down on the words threatening to flood out as his hips stutter. He comes hard, deep groan muffled into your neck, curses and praises spilling out in mindless babbling: “Fuck fuck, angel, that’s it, honey, shit, you’re so wet. All for me, huh, baby? Doin’ so good…”

He sags into your arms, pinning you to the window, chests heaving in tandem as you both catch your breath. You stroke a hand down his back, towards his ass, and then to the edge of his pants.

When he realizes that you’re trying to tuck him back into his clothes he whines at you, but you’re quick to shush him. “We’re cuttin’ it close with timing already, Eds. Help me out?”

Reluctantly, Eddie pulls away from the wet warmth of you to re-dress. Once his belt is in place he attends to you, helping shift the hem of your dress back down, rubbing his finger lightly under the skin of your eye where some mascara had smudged.

“I’ll double back for the keys and we’ll go home, ‘kay?” Eddie says, nose nudging into your cheek. “Wait here. You got some wicked marks and everyone will know we just fucked.”

“Pfft. No they won’t. Who would actually fuck in a church?” You push Eddie back playfully, hopping down from the sill with a wink. “You’ve gotta be sick to do that. Good thing my family believes you to be a perfect goody-two-shoes.”

Eddie stares as you make for the doors back to the courtyard, shrugging off his incredulity- “Eddie. It’s fine. So they’ll think we made out a bit. Who cares? Not me. And plus…” here you trail off and point, mischievous, Eddie’s eye’s following the line to his sock feet- “...you kinda have a no-shoes situation goin’ on. Gotta fix that.”

When you disappear through the doors, Eddie slams a palm to his chest, in awe- then feels the outline of the lighter in his inner pocket. With a practiced twist, he has it out and lit in a second, holding the flame to the wick of a votive candle.

“I don’t know how these candles work, exactly, or if atheists are allowed to…” Eddie clears his throat, glances over his shoulder to confirm you’re still out of earshot, then whispers above the flickering light: “Please let this be real life and not just some high-fueled fantasy because this is kind of huge for me. Okay thanks. Amen, or whatever.”

Eddie blows out the candle like it’s a birthday wish then hurries to catch up with you, sock feet silent against the wood floor as he calls out your name- “Slow down and have a heart, babe, I’ve got no grip!”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #weed mention #tw weed

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Text

the set up II l.wienroither x reader

"-yeah she said she'd be here at ten but she's probably still on australian time." beth shrugged as viv gave her a look and laura frowned a little in confusion.

"that is not how it works." viv sighed with a shake of her head as her blonde girlfriend grinned with a shrug. "who will be here?" laura asked curiously, engaged in a fierce game of tug of war with myle on the sofa.

"oh my cousins coming over! the one whose been livin in australia for a couple years." beth exclaimed happily, kicking a few pairs of shoes out of the way as viv hurried to put them away in their proper place afterwards.

"oh she is back now? cool, have you seen her yet?" laura asked, hissing a little as her focus slipped and myle teethed on her hand for a moment. "no!" laura remanded firmly as the puppy watched on unfazed, launching off the sofa toward one of her toys.

"yeah she's moved back here now, living with her best mate until she can find a place of her own. we went for dinner a few days ago and caught up, she's a girl with a lot of stories." beth chuckled, the door bell cutting her off before the conversation could go any further.

myle barked and sprinted off to the door, getting under beths feet as she scooped her up and swung it open. laura wasn't able to see much still sat in the living room by herself, now suddenly wishing she'd asked before inviting herself over like she normally would.

"urgh beth! i don't know where her tongues been." you whined as your cousin held myle up allowing her to lick all over your face before viv came to save you and gently tugged the puppy away into her own arms.

"welcome back!" you grunted as your cousin quite literally jumped on top of you, stumbling a little as your knees almost buckled but you caught your footing. "i saw you a few days ago you idiot." you laughed, squeezing her before she dropped back down.

"but i didn't see you for like a year beforehand so i win!" beth stuck her tongue out as you rolled your eyes. "she's so tiny." you grinned, viv handing you myle as you cooed at the small dog, craning your head away to avoid her licking you again.

"don't avoid her kisses thats rude!" beth gasped snatching her back as you hugged viv hello. "our friend laura is here as well." the dutch woman nodded for you to follow, beth already disappearing.

laura felt herself get a little tongue tied as beth quickly introduced the two of you, and unsure how to best greet you she settled for a friendly wave and a smile which seemed to suit as you did the same and took a seat beside beth.

"your accent is all sorts of messed up we'll need to work on that if you want to be accepted as a british citizen again." beth teased as you playfully rolled your eyes, shoving her and falling into conversation.

an hour or so later beth and viv stepped out to get lunch ready, inviting both you and laura to stay as the two of you got to know each other better, finding it almost effortlessly easy to speak with one another.

"so why did you move back now?" laura asked, the subject not really having been brought up yet as you shrugged.

"australia is beautiful and the people are wonderful but its expensive to live there. and my family are all getting older and i miss seeing them as often, my friends are all getting engaged or having kids and it just felt like the right time to come home." you answered simply with a smile.

"and it would seem like the perfect time since i get to meet you!" you cooed at the small puppy sat chewing on a toy in between you and laura.

"lau's been trainin her!" beth poked her head in as you looked to the austrian impressed. "really? hope they're paying you for your services!" you grinned which she reciprocated. "i am a dog whisperer who sadly works for free." laura sighed dramatically.

"we pay you in food you're almost here now more than when you lived here laura!" beth yelled out from the kitchen. "go on, show me your skills." you smiled, tucking your legs beneath you and shuffling around a little.

"okay. myle, pang!" laura made a gun with her fingers and mimicked shooting, the small dog just looking up at her unmoving. "myle, pang!" the footballer tried again with a frown, huffing as again myle clearly didn't do as she wanted.

"myle, pang!" you hid a smile behind your hand as laura manhandled the dog, slamming her onto the sofa with a huff. "she is normally more obedient." the austrian blushed with embarrassment as viv whistled and myle leapt down and raced off to the kitchen.

"no that was brilliant, she fell down all by herself!" you teased the blonde who knocked her leg against yours with a playful glare as the two of you fell back into conversation.

"viv! look at them." beth whisper yelled to her girlfriend who raised an eyebrow but shuffled over none the less. "lau likes her!" beth grinned excitedly as vivs frown deepened. "what is not to like? i think i like her more than you." viv shrugged as beth scoffed.

"not like that. like likes her!" beth tried again as her girlfriend returned to dishing up lunch. "like likes?" the dutch questioned with an amused smile as beth rolled her eyes.

"yes! look at the way they're looking at one another. they're both single, around the same age, both could use a little somethin." beth shrugged like it was the most obvious idea ever.

"beth." viv warned with a raised eyebrow. "they would be quite cute you know, and then if they got married laura really would be part of the family!" beth grinned happily.

"no! you do not get to meddle, leave them be. if they like each other they will figure it out themselves." viv warned, pointing a pair of tongs at beth threateningly who huffed. "what those two? not a chance! all they need is a little loving push." the blonde winked and yelled out lunch was ready.

"are you coming to the match tomorrow?" laura asked curiously as the four of you sat around the dining table after lunch. "football isn't really my thing." you admitted with a shy smile as beth let out a long and overly dramatic sigh.

"yes she's the black sheep and the secret shame of the family, we actually exiled her to australia but clearly it didn't work." your cousin shook her head in disappointment.

"you do know you are sitting with three footballers, yes?" laura laughed as now you were the one to blush. "i'm not a sports person okay! thats not illegal." you rolled your eyes and sank a little deeper into your seat.

"you don't have to be a sports person to enjoy and support the womens game, terrible feminist you are." beth continued to tease as you scoffed.

"i am not! that is so unfair i don't enjoy watching any sports men or womens, equality!" you rebutted, beth and you arguing back and forth as viv nodded for laura to help her clear the table leaving you both to it.

when they returned it seemed you'd reached some sort of agreement as the conversation had shifted topics. "she's comin!" beth sang out with a victorious grin as you puffed air out of your nose and sent her a scowl.

"she bullied me into it and i'm only going in hopes of beth getting smacked in the face with the ball." you shrugged as now it was her turn to gasp and scowl. "when i'm on the return from a very serious injury? insensitive little shit you are." your cousin shook her head.

"you can sit with me and leah!" laura offered with a happy smile, frowning a little as you groaned and threw your head back. "not leah!" making your cousin laugh. "ohh yes leah, perfect idea lau!" beth grinned as you banged your head onto the table.

"what is so bad about leah?" the defender asked still a little confused. "she doesn't shut up the entire game and she mansplains everything to me like i'm a toddler!" you dragged your hands down your face as viv chuckled and patted your back.

"good! you need a 101 in proper football appreciation and education missy, and lau and lee will make sure that happens."

"yes i know! you told me that ten minutes ago leah." you sighed deeply as once again the blonde explained why the offside was called.

"im just making sure you understand! stop looking so miserable mate there's worse places you could be spending a sunday." leah pinched your cheek as you huffed and pushed her away, subconciously shuffling a little closer into laura who was sat on your other side.

"now do you see what i mean?" you whispered to the girl who let out a quiet laugh. "do you want to switch seats? i am very used to her talking." laura offered as you nodded eagerly and swapped, though leah was too busy groaning about the ref to pay much attention.

now freed from most of leahs commentary you instead found yourself much more enamoured in laura's takes on things, smiling at the way her nose scrunched up in annoyance when she disagreed with a call, or the way her eyebrows furrowed together and the tip of her tongue would push out when a pass was missed or possession taken.

"one thing i'll miss about australia is the weather." you huffed, wrapped in about five layers but still chilled to the bone as you were struggling to adjust back to the harsh realities of a frosty london winter.

"here, keep your ears warm." laura grinned, taking her her beanie off her head and tugging it onto yours, dismissing your protests with a wave of her hand and quickly changing the subject.

leah turning to lecture you about throw in etiquette was a little surprised to see laura now next to her, even more so as she noticed the way you two seemed so wrapped in your own little bubble as if you'd been friends for years.

with a raised eyebrow the blonde pulled out her phone, sending beth a message she knew wouldn't be seen until later and instead subjecting poor kim to her commentary who was sat on her other side.

by the end of the game you really could have sworn you'd known laura for years, it was near scary how comfortable you felt around her. which is why when beth offered for you to join some of the team for dinner and laura encouraged you come, you accepted.

though as you showed up to the restaurant beth had messaged, right on time, your guard was back up as you couldn't see your cousin or any of her teammates anywhere.

waiting outside in hopes everyone was just running late you breathed a little easier as laura showed up, the austrian caught a little off guard now as you pulled her into a hug which she settled into after a moment.

"no one is here?" laura frowned as you filled her in and shrugged. "beth said it was under her name maybe they are in another room or something." laura headed over to the front and gave beths name, and sure enough the hostess nodded for the two of you to follow her.

but as soon as she showed you to a table very clearly set for two, things started to make a little more sense. "oh sorry no-" laura tried to speak with the hostess but she was gone before she could say another word.

hearing your phone go you pulled it out reading the message from your cousin. "what?" laura questioned as you let out a scoff, turning your phone so she could read the message.

from; messy beffy ohhh no we got the time and the restaurant wrong....guess you and laura will just have to get dinner together instead, sorry!

"i don't understand. they forgot where we were going?" laura questioned clearly confused as you chuckled. "no, beth set us up." you sighed knowingly with a shake of your head. "she what?" lauras frown deepened a little.

"like...like a date. she's trying to set us up on a date." you explained knowing your cousin all too well, cheeks tinted slightly pink as lauras eyes widened in surprise. "oh." she stated bluntly, eyebrows shooting upward.

"but we don't have to! we can just go home, beth is just very very nosy." you assured, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. "no! we can stay, if you want to?" lauras own cheeks flushed red as you both stammered around your words before eventually taking a seat at the table.

the first half an hour was painfully awkward, both of you clearly a little unsure what this dinner actually was and not wanting to be the first to ask.

but once your food came and gave you some common ground the awkwardness began to melt away a little, both of you slipping back into a more comfortable pattern of conversation like you had before.

by the end of dinner once again it was like you'd known her for years, laughing and smiling and chatting about anything and everything as you both really got to know one another.

as you stepped away to go to the bathroom laura pounced, paying for dinner which you told her off for once you returned but your protests fell on deaf ears as she waved away all your offers to split the bill.

"what are you doing?" laura asked, seeing the uber app flash up on your phone as the two of you stepped out of the restaurant. "my best friend dropped me here but she isn't answering, i think she's asleep." you laughed with a shake of your head.

"i'll take you?" laura offered sincerely. "really? that would be great, thank you." you smiled, following her to her car.

"you can pay next time then!" laura teased as she pulled up outside your best friends house, who didn't live all too far from where you'd had dinner as you continued to berate her for paying. "you'd want to go out again?" you asked a little surprised as laura realised what she'd said.

"yes." the girl confirmed before she could overthink it, a smile settling into your features.

"good, i would too."

"do my eyes deceive me or are you here willingly and even looking like you might have enjoyed it?" leah gasped as you hovered by the barrier with a roll of your eyes, waving to viv over her shoulder who was busy trying to shake off victoria who'd jumped onto her back.

"don't get used to it williamson, i only come now you can't send me to sleep with your horrendous ongoing commentary and rules and boring chat." you teased, ducking as the taller blonde swung at you.

"please. i know the real reason you're here all too well buddy and whose name is on the back of that jersey even if you think you can hide it behind that jacket." leah smirked, ruffling your hair as your cheeks flushed bright red.

"shut up. i already get it enough from beth!" you groaned, pushing her away halfheartedly as the blonde you were really wanting to talk to started to make her way over.

"so its official then?" leah grinned happily, perking up as you shushed her. "no, we're just...enjoying our time together. now go away! go pester someone else." you rolled your eyes as leah chuckled, pulling you into a hug before racing off to catch up with lia.

"hi." you greeted with a soft smile as laura now arrived in front of you. "hello!" she beamed happily, the two of you settling into a hug which lasted a few seconds too long, neither of you really wanting to let go.

"red looks nice on you." laura poked at the arsenal home kit adoring your top half, the top she'd managed to wrestle you into this morning after you'd spent the night, placating all your whining with an abundance of sweet words and kisses.

"don't know, think i'd rather it was blue. i do really like light blue!" you teased, arsenal having just beat manchester city five to three. "sehr lustig, liebling." the austrian retorted in german making you frown.

"you promised no more german unless you tell me what it means, im still learning." you huffed with a frown. "with your very strange accent i don't think you will ever learn." laura teased with a smile, eyes flickering down to your lips for a moment.

"hey! i've been back here for weeks now, my accent is very very normal." you shook your head with a playful glare. but your conversation was interrupted as a flash of red barreled into laura, pulling her into a half hug half headlock.

"well hello lovebirds!" beth beamed, laura pushing her off with a roll of her eyes. "go away bethany." you sighed, but hugging her none the less. "where did you get this then! a football fan finally, i'll make sure you start to get invited to the family functions again." beth grinned tugging at laura's jersey on your person as you flipped her off and smacked away her hands.

"i'll pretend it says mead on the back then, shall i?"

"come on tiny tank lift with your legs! you've got two good knees now, no excuses." you teased the blonde who shot you a glare, dropping down the boxes in her arms with the rest of the pile and collapsing onto your sofa.

"is that everything now?" the girl groaned, hand covering her face tiredly as her body shone with a slight sheen of sweat and you closed your front door, gently placing down the box of kitchenware on the dining table.

"everything for today!" you announced, rounding the sofa and collapsing on top of laura who grunted. "stop pouting! you're my girlfriend lau its part of the job to help me move." you teased, shuffling back to push yourself up on your arms.

"if i knew that i would not have asked you." laura sighed, squealing as you pinched her sides for the comment. "would you rather we go back to sneaking about with my roommates around all the time?" you quirked an eyebrow.

"oh god no, they are more nosy than beth." laura groaned, hands sneaking up the back of your top and pulling you to lay back against her.

"don't you mean cupid!" you rolled your eyes, both of you constantly subjected to your cousins endless boasting that without her you'd never have gotten together.

which might have been partially true but you weren't going to give her the satisfaction of agreeing with it.

now finally settled back into london you'd secured a new job and an apartment all of your own. you and laura had only been seeing one another officially for about eight weeks so you'd both agreed it was too soon to move in together.

"you know even though you're my girlfriend maybe i should pay you for all your hard labour today baby." you sighed, lazily kissing her jaw as she perked up a little. "i think that is what is fair schatz." laura agreed with an eager nod and a smile.

"for building the sofa." you softly kissed one side of her neck as she squeezed your hips. "for helping me carry the fridge." you moved your lips to show the other side of her neck a little attention.

"for walking up and down all those stairs." you sighed, kissing the corner of her mouth. "for carrying all those heavy heavy boxes." you drawled sarcastically with a pout, kissing the other corner of her mouth, purposefully missing where she really wanted you.

"and for being the best girlfriend ever." laura smirked, tapping her lips expectantly as you raised an eyebrow. with a playful roll of your eyes you leant in but stopped, lips ghosting hers with a smile.

"the best girlfriend ever deserves dinner cooked for her." you whispered, pecking her lips quickly and trying to stand but before you could even push yourself up laura had easily flipped your positions now hovering over you.

"lau!" you laughed as she interlaced her fingers with yours and pressed them into the sofa, hazel eyes ablaze with adoration as she stared down at you, lips curled into a smile before she pressed them eagerly against yours.

you melted into the kiss with a small sigh of pleasure, hands cupping the back of her neck as she let you up, hers tangled in your hair.

the defender shifted a little on top of you before deepening the kiss, her tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth before she pulled away, teeth tugging at your bottom lip teasingly.

"i think as the best girlfriend, furniture builder, footballer and mover ever i should get to choose my own reward liebling."

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