#but once you’ve done it once it’ll never be hard again

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

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You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fight to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid - Part 4

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 2245

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: Thank you for the continued support! You all make my day with your comments and theories. :)

Read part 3 here.

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

You sit at the kitchen table nervously, drumming your fingers on the wood. You knew Wanda would be home late–she never had the respect to give you a proper timeline for her outings. The clock tells you that it’s a little past midnight, and sleepiness burns in the corners of your eyes, but you told yourself you aren’t going to bed until this is all over. 

You run the lines over in your head. What you want to say to her exactly, what you’ll counter with if she reacts well or poorly. You’ve waited long enough to have this conversation, perhaps too long, but Natasha finally gave you the push you needed.

“Do you still love her?” Natasha asks softly after you tell her the whole story of your wife’s philandering. 

You don’t answer. Deep down, you know your love for her was being tested to its breaking point, and you weren’t so sure it would survive after this. “I’ll talk to her tonight, when she comes home,” you say. “You should probably go home. I can’t imagine it’ll be a pretty conversation.”

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” Natasha insists. “You shouldn’t be alone to do something like that.” Your heart melts, and for a moment you want to get up and kiss her. Not that you wanted to pull a Wanda, but you couldn’t ignore how beautiful and generous your maid was. She was excellent at her job; never complained and went above and beyond, even when your wife was being a total bitch. She treated you with the respect and kindness you deserved. She was everything you wanted in a partner and more. 

But you were stuck with Wanda. For now, at least.

“Are you sure? Wanda might be home late and I don’t want you to feel obligated to stay just for me,” you say. 

“It’s fine. She won’t even know I’m here. I can leave out the back door,” Natasha says.

“Thank you, Natasha.” Her support means more to you than you’re allowed to express. 

“You’re welcome.”

Now, with Natasha hiding in the kitchen, the two of you wait.

***********************************************************************

You accidentally doze off and wake with a start when you hear the garage door open. For a moment, you don’t even remember where you are or why.

“Natasha? Are you still here?” you whisper as loud as you dare.

“Yes.” Her head pokes out from around the corner of the kitchen.

Relief fills you. You were worried she would ditch you after all, not that you would’ve blamed her in the slightest. “Wanda’s home,” you tell her, and she nods and disappears again. At least you didn’t have to face your wife entirely alone.

You sit rigidly still on the couch until your wife walks in, almost passing you at first. 

“You’re back,” you say, and she jumps, reaching for the light switch and revealing you on the couch.

“I said I’d be back tonight,” she says.

“Who were you out with?”

“My girlfriends.”

“No.” You stand up and walk over to her. You are a great deal taller than her and for once she looks like she feels her size around you. “Who did you go out with tonight?”

Wanda doesn’t make eye contact with you. “You know…Carol, Darcy–”

“Are you fucking them too?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda draws back from you until she bumps into the bookshelf.

“You heard me,” you say through clenched teeth. “Were you fucking them too?”

“No. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because I know you spend all your free time fucking anything that moves behind my back.”

The silence in the air is electric. Your heart is thundering in your chest so hard you wonder if Natasha can hear it. Wanda’s eyes widen. 

“I...I’ve never done that,” she says, but her falter shows her lie. “How dare you suggest–”

You take your phone out and show Wanda the screen. She squints at it in confusion at first, then a shadow of horror passes over her face when she realizes it’s the camera view from the little ceramic turtle you planted in the china cabinet, now showing the two of you standing there.

“You hid a camera in my own home–” Wanda starts.

“I hid a shit ton of cameras in our home,” you say. 

“So this is why your business is failing,” she cackles, and the switch in topic throws you for a loop. “You spend all day watching and stalking me in our home when you’re supposed to be working. No wonder you don’t bring home any money. Not only are you a shitty spouse, you’re also a shitty worker.”

Anger explodes inside of you, and for a moment your control slips. You lunge for Wanda, not even sure what you’ll do once you grab her, but she slams her palms to your chest and sends you staggering back. She turns and yanks a book off the shelf, removing a revolver from the pages and pointing it towards you with trembling hands.

“Don’t get any closer to me, you fucking creep!” she yells.

Your anger dissolves into concern. “Put the gun down, Wanda. Please. Let’s just talk about this like adults–”

“Oh, now you want to talk like adults?” Wanda laughs manically. “Where was this before you started illegally recording me in my own home?”

“You’re fucking cheating on me!” you scream, losing your composure again. “I moved us into this big house, in this nice neighborhood, and you’re just so fucking ungrateful for any of it!”

“I didn’t want any of it to begin with!” Wanda returns.

“Why not? Because you had to leave behind your fuck buddies in our old neighborhood?”

“You’re the exact same person here as you were over there. A self-righteous piece of shit,” she seethes.

“If you’re so sick of me, why don’t you divorce me?” you ask. “Oh wait.” You snap your fingers. “I bet no one would want to sleep with a washed-up divorcee. Because where’s the fun in that?”

Wanda turns the gun around and points it at her temple. “I’ll kill myself if you divorce me,” she says, then shifts the gun to point towards her chest, “But I’ll make it look like you did it.”

The blood in your veins chills at the thought. “Give me the gun, Wanda.”

“Take it from me,” she goads.

While you have very little confidence in your disarming tactics, you do know you’re stronger and faster than Wanda. You also don’t fully believe that she’ll kill herself right here, so that gives you an advantage of time. 

Before a plan even forms in your head, you reach out with your arm and slap Wanda’s hand away from her head. She startles and drops the gun; you expect her to dive after it but instead she whirls around and punches you in the face. Despite all of her faults, she’s never outright hit you before, and your vision swims as your head whiplashes against the bookshelf. 

“You crazy motherfucker,” Wanda screeches, punching you again and you fall to the floor, instinctively curling into a ball to protect yourself. Her foot slams into your ribs and for a second, you can’t believe you’re getting the beating of a lifetime from your own wife.

Meanwhile, Natasha is in utter shock at the events unfolding in front of her. She feels like she’s overstepping some serious boundaries, but she can’t leave you now, especially with Wanda having the upper hand. 

“Wanda, stop!” she hears you gasp as Wanda grabs hold of Crime and Punishment uses it like a weapon, raising it behind her head and smashing it against your body over and over. Natasha can’t bear to stand there anymore. She has to protect you from your insane, deranged wife.

Natasha crosses the living room in four leaping strides and picks up the revolver. Wanda looks shocked more by her presence than the fact that she’s now staring down the barrel of her own gun. 

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” Wanda says.

“Get away from Y/N,” Natasha says, holding the gun in both hands. The weight feels disconcertingly familiar, and despite her nerves, she isn’t shaking.

“Are you fucking her?” Wanda suddenly turns to you. “You’ve got some nerve watching me get it on with the neighbors when you’ve been fucking our maid–”

“Shut up!” Natasha yells. “I’m not doing anything with Y/N!” she says, although she wishes that wasn’t the truth.

“I don’t believe that.” Wanda marches over to Natasha, leaving you unraveling on the floor. Blood drips from your nose and mouth, and Natasha can see the purpling bruise on your cheek. “Vision told me Y/N took you to see Wicked on my anniversary–”

“Because you couldn’t be bothered to remember and go yourself!” Natasha says.

Wanda is too enraged to quiet. “How dare you enter my house, take advantage of my kindness, and take my partner to bed–”

“Back off!” Natasha says, raising the gun until it’s almost level with Wanda’s eyes. “Not everyone is a cheating whore like you.”

Both Wanda and Natasha seem shocked by her choice of words. Natasha’s arms shake as they drop a few inches. She won’t hold back anymore–but neither will Wanda.

“You little bitch.” Wanda draws her arm back. Natasha flinches and squeezes the trigger.

BANG.

The gunshot is much, much louder in an enclosed space, and Natasha’s ears ring so hard they hurt. Wanda stands before her, her jaw dropped in shock. A stain of blood grows on her shirt, centered over her bellybutton. 

“Oh my God. Wanda, I’m sorry, I didn’t…” Natasha gasps, unable to wrap her head around her own actions. 

“You…You shot me,” Wanda says, grabbing her stomach as she falls. Natasha tries to catch her but misses; you appear behind Wanda and lower her slowly to the floor. “How is that possible?” She looks up at you and your face is pale with shock. “You fucking shot me!”

“Nat,” you whisper. “Nat, give me the gun.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Natasha cries, handing you the weapon and backing away from the two of you. “I thought she was going to hit me and–”

“It’s okay.” You stand up, wobbling a little, and rush to her side. “Go home Nat, okay? Go through the back door and jump the fences if you have to. And if anyone asks where you were tonight, you weren’t here.”

“No, no.” Natasha fights the tears threatening to spill out. “That’s wrong. I did this, I want to take responsibility for it–”

“No,” you say. “With your background, you’ll be locked in prison the rest of your life, if you don’t get deported first.”

“M-My background?” Natasha stammers. “How do you know about–”

You shake your head, indicating now is not the time to have this discussion. “For the record, it never made me trust you any less.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” You reach out and grab her hand. It calms Natasha instantly. “Go now. Let me handle this. I’ll come find you when this is all over.”

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha sobs.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now get out of here, please!”

Natasha doesn’t wait to hear you instruct her again. She looks at you, her savior, one last time, completely ignoring Wanda laying on the floor, before dashing off towards the garage. It’s pitch-black, but she doesn’t dare turn on a light, and fumbles for the back door. Outside, the air is nippy and her breath clouds in front of her face. She takes a deep breath to orient herself, then runs headfirst towards the neighbor’s fence, hauling herself over it as quietly as she can, crossing their yard, and leaping over the next fence. 

She has to jump over two more yards before she gets to the street, racing to her Nissan and peeling away down the street. In the safety of her car, the realization crashes over her and she can’t stop the waterworks. 

She can’t believe she shot your wife. She can’t believe you knew her background. Clint had told her no one would find out what she had done in Russia after she assumed a new identity, but you had found out somehow. And yet, you were still okay hiring her even after you knew she had killed her former boss. 

The sounds of sirens pierce her thoughts and Natasha seizes up. A black-and-white police car races by. Either you had called them, or a neighbor had heard the shouting and gunshot. Natasha prays her presence had gone undetected. She had never been more thankful Wanda forced her to park down the street, where her car was less likely to be seen. 

She wonders if she’ll ever get to see you again.

***********************************************************************

After Natasha leaves, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Wanda is gurgling and crying on the floor, pressing her palms against her stomach, blood spilling through her fingers and on the tiles Natasha had mopped earlier that day.

Your grip tightens on the gun as you move to stand over Wanda, where she can fully see you. Your body throbs where she hit you, and you know you don’t look much better than her. Blood bubbles out of her mouth. She can’t speak anymore, but her eyes are fiery and pleading.

You lift the gun, which feels like a thousand pounds in your hand.

“Someone should’ve done this a long time ago.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Welp, that escalated quickly. Will Wanda live? Should she?? 👀

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[hy6erion]

I am a sucker for pervert Viktor!!! (>u<) so cute

𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭(𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐨𝐧.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭!

𝐚/𝐧: i also apologise for not posting lately!! I just have been a bit busy but it should be better now!

Perv! Viktor who steals your freshly worn panties straight from the laundry, then returns them like nothing ever happened.

He waits until you’re out of the room before he snatches them—still warm, still damp with the remnants of your arousal. He buries his face in the fabric, groaning as he fists his cock, imagining how your pussy must have felt, soaked and clinging to the fabric all day. When he’s done, he makes sure to put them right back where he found them, so you never even notice they were gone. The thought of you slipping them on, unknowingly wearing his dried release against your folds, makes him unbearably hard all over again.

Perv! Viktor who coats your personal belongings with his cum just to mark you.

Your hairbrush, your hand cream, the pen you chew absentmindedly while working—he’s tainted them all. He strokes himself over them, biting down on his lip to keep quiet, his seed spilling over your innocent possessions. When you use them later, completely unaware, it takes everything in him not to lose his mind. The idea that his essence is on you, that you’ve touched it, carried it, maybe even licked it by accident—it makes him delirious with possessive need.

Perv! Viktor who rigs Hextech surveillance just to watch you undress in the privacy of your room.

He tells himself he just wants to keep you safe, but that’s a lie so weak even he doesn’t believe it. The hidden lenses capture everything—the way you peel off your dress, the way your hands glide over your skin, completely unaware of your silent audience. He watches every night, stroking himself as you stretch, arch, slip your fingers between your thighs to satisfy your own desires. He strokes in time with you, whispering praises you’ll never hear, moaning your name as if you belong to him already.

Perv! Viktor who deliberately spills something on you just for the excuse to touch you.

“Ah, my apologies” he murmurs, eyes dark with barely concealed hunger as he dabs at your clothes, his fingers pressing just a little too firmly against your chest, your thighs. His fingers linger, brushing over sensitive spots under the guise of being helpful. If you shift, feeling weirdly embarrassed, he merely smiles, playing the part of the gentleman, all while his cock aches from how close he is to touching you exactly where he wants.

Perv! Viktor who masturbates in the very spot where you sat, while your scent is still fresh.

The moment you leave, Viktor is there, inhaling the lingering warmth where your body once rested. He spreads his legs, fists his cock, grinding into the same seat cushion that cradled your ass minutes ago. He imagines you riding him there, your heat pressed against his lap, moaning his name like you need him. He cums hard, making a mess of himself, panting as he envisions what it’ll be like when he finally has you for real.

Perv! Viktor who presses against you just a little too much in crowded spaces.

It’s innocent enough—after all, the hallways are narrow, the space limited—but Viktor takes full advantage of every accidental brush. His hip against your ass, his thigh against your own, the firm press of his body behind you. If you so much as gasp or stiffen, he chuckles under his breath, pretending not to notice the way he’s pressing against you just a little too firmly. You think it’s a coincidence, but Viktor knows exactly what he’s doing.

Perv! Viktor who licks the rim of your glass when you’re not looking.

You leave your drink unattended for a moment, and Viktor can’t resist. His tongue flicks over the place where your lips once were, tasting the ghost of your presence. It’s perverse, it’s filthy, and it only makes his obsession worse. The idea of your mouth so close to his, even if you don’t know it, makes his cock throb with frustration. He wonders how much further he could go before you’d finally notice.

Perv! Viktor who fantasizes about taking you in your sleep.

He watches you doze off after a long day, your body relaxed, unaware, defenseless. His mind wanders—what if he were to slip under the covers? What if he ran his fingers over your bare skin, teasing between your thighs, feeling the way your body responds even in slumber? He knows it’s wrong, but the temptation eats away at him, his cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself to the image of your soft, unknowing body beneath him.

[atlabeth]

too sweet

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: a night out makes hotch realize a few too many things.

a/n: me??? writing for criminal minds again out of nowhere??? what is going on. and i do not have an answer i was just in a hotch mood bc he's fine asf and i finally have the confidence to write for him here we are lol. hope u enjoy this short lil thing

wc: 2.4k

warning(s): alcohol consumption, a sexual joke or two, written in one go so might be a mess! aaron is all in his head but this is basically all fluff

Hotch can’t focus. 

Mostly because he can’t stop glancing over at you. Normally it’s not a problem—he’d lost count of how many times he’d distracted himself from mounds of paperwork by meeting your eyes through his office window, often accompanied by a smile that made even his heart beat a little faster—and especially now, it shouldn’t be a problem. 

You and Derek have had some kind of bet going on during the past few nights out—you didn’t believe he was as charming and suave as he claimed, and Morgan was all too happy to prove you wrong.

You bet that he couldn’t get at least five numbers every night, and come last Thursday, Morgan took the win at the end of the evening with a smile on his face. As punishment, the first round of their next night out was on you. 

And that’s nice, sure. Hotch is always thankful that his team can still joke around and have fun with each other despite everything they have to deal with each day. He hopes they keep the light in their eyes as long as possible, especially the younger ones. He’s fine with being the stick in the mud, the one who never smiles, the iron willed chief that scares local uniforms.

Hotch is not so fine with the way he feels right now. 

It’s a busy night at the bar, which is understandable. Hotch is sure half the precinct is out alongside them, celebrating the BAU finally solving the case that had torn them to shreds over the past week. You, Reid, and Garcia put the threads together an hour into scouring through evidence, and the unsub was cuffed before noon. 

Certainly something to celebrate—there’s a reason the whole team agreed to go out tonight and leave tomorrow. Even Rossi decided to join when he learned you would be buying, but he’s already abandoned them in favor of catching up with some old friends. Hotch even thinks they might have another round in their future because of their solve, courtesy of the local chief. They had a long night ahead of them. 

But you haven’t gotten the drinks yet, and Hotch wonders how long it’ll take even after you do. Because some officer is trying to talk you up, and you’re smiling and laughing along and giving him every bit of your attention. 

Hotch recognized him the moment he set eyes upon him, even in plain clothes. He’s some joke of an officer from the station, and he’s been trying to get your number—or even just get your attention—throughout their whole visit. Always sidling up to you during debriefs, specifically giving you any information or evidence he finds—Hotch has overheard him asking for your number more than once. 

Hotch has been so focused on the case he’s not even sure if you’ve rejected him or not, and the mere thought is enough to annoy him. If he wasn’t equally as sure of your ability to defend yourself and afraid of overstepping with you, he would have stepped in. 

But it makes sense. The officer is young and handsome, you’re young and pretty—not to mention you have a way of lighting up any room you step into. Hotch spent the whole first month of your employment wondering why you would want to do a job like this. He’s spent the rest of it thankful that you did. 

You’re sharp as a whip, naturally, but you’ve also done wonders for the team atmosphere. It’s hard to feel down with a smile like yours beaming his way. The job weighs you down like it does everyone, but you still manage to lift everyone’s spirits on the jet ride back before they jump into the next case. It’s impressive. 

It’s also trouble. You’ve been part of the BAU for almost two years now, and Hotch has spent just as much time tearing his eyes away from you as he has working. It’s wrong, and it’s wholly inappropriate in terms of your working relationship—he’s your boss, for god’s sake. 

But sometimes, Hotch will be beating himself up over one thing or another on a case, and you’ll plant yourself in his vicinity and refuse to leave until you’ve helped him work through it. If you ever tire of the FBI, he thinks you have a second calling as an elementary school teacher. 

Sometimes the hotel they’re staying at will have truly shitty coffee, worse than they’re used to at the BAU, and you’ll already be in the lobby with a tray full of the team’s orders. Hotch never recalls telling you his order—you just figured it out, and you remembered it. 

Sometimes his gaze will drift your way, and he’ll find you already staring at him. You look away just as quickly as he does, and it makes him wonder. 

Hotch has made a living off of studying the behavior of others. More often than not, he finds himself profiling his co-workers just out of instinct. His job is to know what others are thinking. 

But god. When it comes to you, Hotch doesn’t think he’s ever felt more unsure in his life. Especially when you look at him the same way he wants to for weeks, then act nothing but proper another day; when you fall asleep against his shoulder on the jet one night and entertain some desk jockey another night. 

It makes him feel like a highschooler again, trying to figure out if Haley really liked him or if she was just playing around, and it’s more embarrassing than it should be. Especially when he’s still dealing with the lingering emotions from the divorce. 

“Hotch.” JJ’s voice is enough to break him out of his trance, and he blinks as he turns to her. At least someone paid him the mercy to dispel his thoughts, even if only for a temporary time. 

“What?” 

“Did you hear a single word I said?” she asks, a slight smile curving on her lips. 

“Of course,” he responds. “The chief’s over there talking with the commissioner. He’s the same guy who made your life difficult the last time we were in Milwaukee.” 

JJ’s eyebrows shoot up, and she nods. “I didn’t think you were listening.” 

“I think he just got lucky,” Morgan cuts in, his gaze darting over to you momentarily. “I think you were too focused on our drinks.” 

Reid frowns. “I don’t think he was focused on the drinks. He’s—” 

“Just making sure they’re still coming,” Hotch interrupts, and he straightens his tie. Today really has been a long one—usually, he’s better at covering these things up. “And I wasn’t lucky. I was listening.” 

“Trust me,” Morgan says with a laugh, “I’m watchin’ her until I’ve got a glass in my hand. She’s not getting out of this after the way she bragged this whole month.” 

“The stupidest thing to make a bet on,” Prentiss remarks, “especially with you.” 

“She said she just wanted to prove you wrong,” Reid contributes. “She thinks you’re too cocky.” 

Morgan grins. “It’s not cocky if you can back it up.” 

Hotch’s attention goes back to you, and you’ve finally gotten their drinks. You’re loading them onto a tray like you’re the bartender yourself, and his brows crease. Maybe he should have gone up with you. 

“Do you think she needs help?” he asks. How obvious is too obvious? Why does it feel like his brain only works at half power whenever it comes to you? 

“She’ll be fine,” Prentiss says. “And if she needs it, that guy talking her up can help.” 

“Jason Rodriguez,” Reid remarks. “He hung around her the whole time we were trying to pinpoint a location, and he wasn’t any help, which makes sense because he's practically desk-bound at the precinct. I’m surprised she got any work done.” 

JJ chuckles. “I’m surprised he hasn’t given up yet. He’s been following her around all week, like some lost puppy.” 

Morgan shrugs. “I dunno. She seems pretty into him.” 

“I don’t think ex-frat boys are her type,” Prentiss says wryly. Hotch doesn’t think so either, but he doesn’t say anything. Contributing to this kind of conversation is certainly too obvious.  

“I doubt we’ll be back here for a while. She might as well.” Morgan smiled. “She probably needs a win after such an embarrassing loss.” 

Thankfully, before Hotch has to keep pretending not to care about this topic, you walk over carrying a tray of cocktails—and you’re alone. The subject of their previous conversation seems lost in the crowd, and he feels a dangerous amount of relief. 

“Are you all talking about me?” you drawl. 

“You know we are, sweetheart. Thought you were never gonna get here.” Morgan sits up, smiling at you. “What’d my win get us?” 

“Long Island Iced Teas,” you muse as you set the tray down. “Enjoy it, because I’m gonna be working some overtime to make up for all these.” 

Morgan grins as he takes his drink. “You should’ve never doubted my skills.” 

“I’m surprised you didn’t need any help,” Prentiss says. “You’ve done this before, huh?” 

“Bartended my way through college.” You slide into the booth next to Hotch, just a bit too close for a bit too long, and he hopes that no one can see his chest still for a moment. It’s impressive that he still hasn’t figured out how to lessen the effect you have on him. “I’ve probably got better hands than you, Morgan.” 

“Do we need to make another bet?” he asks. “Because I’d love to clean out your wallet.” 

“Maybe wait another month before you prey on any more poor, defenseless agents,” you croon, and Morgan laughs. 

He pivots the conversation away from you when you pick up your drink and take a sip, and you look at Hotch. Whenever your gaze is on him, you make him feel like he’s the only person in the room. He’s sure you never look at anyone else that way, but Hotch wonders how much of that is his mind trying to justify his imagination. 

“I’m surprised you agreed with this,” you say, mercifully interrupting his thoughts. “I thought you’d want us to go back tonight.” 

“You all earned a night out after the work you did,” Hotch says. He thinks about taking a drink, but he decides against it, at least for now. He can barely trust his sober mind. 

“You’ve earned it too,” you say. “We wouldn’t be anywhere without you, Hotch. You keep us all together.” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever would’ve connected the dots like you and Reid can with Garcia. I hate unsubs with secret codes.” 

“I’ve always liked puzzles,” you muse. “There’s nothin’ like it when it all finally clicks.” 

Hotch hums, and for a moment, he’s silent. Your gaze remains fully on him, and that might be why he has trouble thinking. It’s too easy to get lost in your eyes. 

“What did that guy say?” Hotch finally manages to ask, because he honestly can’t help it. Morgan’s points actually worried him a bit, and he wonders what that says about him. Ex-frat boy certainly isn’t your type, but someone forgettable for a one night stand isn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 

Your brows knit together as you drink some more. “What guy?”

“The officer you were talking with,” he says. “He seemed to like you.” 

He’d been flirting with you since the moment you stepped into the precinct, actually, desperate for your attention, but Hotch didn’t really want to say that. He’s sure you noticed either way, if the rest of the team did. 

“Oh. Him.” You shrug. “He’s nice, I guess. Definitely a looker. But he’s got nothing beneath that hair.” 

“Morgan’s surprised you didn’t bring him back,” Hotch says. He wonders if he’s pushing too much, and again, he feels like a highschooler testing the waters. Do you know what you do to him? What you reduce him to? 

You shrug as you take a sip. “If he knows what’s good for him, he knows he doesn’t have a chance. My attention’s on someone else.” 

Prentiss calls your name and you get drawn back into the middle of the team’s conversation, and thankfully, Hotch has a chance to digest your words—and the stunner of a smile you flash at him before you get pulled into their talk. 

His decision to not drink seems even wiser, now. Hotch has to loosen his tie, and he ignores Reid watching him. It’s futile trying to hide anything from Spencer Reid—the kid already knows everything. 

Again, it's dangerous how much satisfaction he gets from it—from knowing you never really paid that officer a second thought. You didn’t smile at him the way you smile at Hotch. You don’t smile at anyone the way you smile at Hotch. He thought he was imagining it at first, or that he was just a bit too stuck up, but it was the honest truth. You paid him special attention, and he couldn’t blame the warmth in his chest from the thought on any alcohol. 

He tunes back into the conversation just to hear Morgan demand you pay for his next drink. 

“You’re lucky I’m feeling generous,” you say. 

He puts a hand to his chest. “Generous? You’re just paying what you owe me.” 

You laugh and shake your head. “Pick your poison, pretty boy.” 

“How do you feel about tequila?” 

You make a noise of disgust and shake your head. “As long as I don’t have to drink it.” 

“You’re just paying, sweetheart.” Morgan’s eyes dart to Hotch, and he nods as he grins. “One for me and our fearless leader.” 

Hotch shakes his head. “Someone has to get us back to the hotel.” 

“That’s what cabs are for!” Prentiss exclaims. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Hotchner. You deserve to let a little loose.” 

“It takes most people an hour to process a drink,” Reid contributes, “so you’ll be fine before we leave if you want to drive.” 

“Come on, Hotch,” you say, and you nudge his shoulder. “You might as well—I’m paying.” 

“...Fine,” he says, and the whole team cheers. Even Reid smiles. 

“Y’know, you can smile tonight, Hotch,” you say with one of your own before you down the rest of your drink and stand up.

And one actually tugs at his lips. It feels a lot hotter in this bar with your eyes sparkling and you beaming right at him, and he fights the need to shed his jacket. Your grin somehow grows. 

“That’s what I came out to see,” you remark as you pick your wallet back up from the table. “I expect another when I get back, Hotch. There’s a lot to celebrate tonight.” 

Yeah, he thinks as he watches you go. There just might be. 

[m0llygunn]

Eddie's Notes (eddie munson x fem!reader one-shot)

summary: Eddie's a friend you trust... you trust him enough to have your first time with him... and your second.

tropes: virgin!eddie, virgin!reader, friends to lovers, bad at sex eddie but eager to learn (eventually) warnings: 18+! mature language, pet names (baby, pretty/sweet girl), smut, p in v sex, mentions of reader's period, oral (f receiving), virginity loss a/n: a lot of people write eddie as being good in bed (myself included) but I thought it'd be fun to dive into a realm of him being not good (but he is a cutey little dedicated sweetheart once he gets his act together). reblogs and comments are appreciated profusely <3 wc: 10.4k+

“Do you want to do something else?” You ask over the top of Eddie's copy of The Hobbit. 

“Not really anything else to do.” Eddie replies, from the other end of his bed, only sparing you a short glance before going back to his guitar. 

You’ve been thinking about it for a while and you trust Eddie, you really do. 

Saving yourself for marriage is not in the question. Saving yourself for the love of your life doesn’t seem probable. So someone you trust is the best case scenario. And you really trust Eddie. 

The best part is you’re pretty sure it’ll be an even playing field with Eddie. In his crude nature, with sex jokes and innuendos, it was hard to decide whether or not he has but you’re almost certain he hasn’t. 

Almost certain. 

“Are you a virgin?” You ask, words spilling from your lips before you can stop them. 

“What?” He laughs. You shrug before realizing that maybe that question is outside of your realm of friendship. Maybe what you actually want to ask him is eons outside of your friendship. 

Sure, you’ve been friends with him for a few years now but you’re not the best of friends. Good enough friends to hang out a couple times a month doing nothing beyond enjoying each other's company, but it’s not like you’re best best friends. 

“If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine. I guess that was super weird for me to ask, sorry.” You say, going back to hiding your face in his book. 

“No— no, not weird at all.” He says with a nervous chuckle. 

You give him a moment to answer the question but he doesn’t. When you peek out from behind the book again, his gaze is fixed forward, stuck in a trance of thought.

“Sorry.” You say again.

“No— don’t be.” He shakes his head, blinking away whatever he was thinking. “I’m um, uh— not really?” He says, adding an inflection to his statement like he’s asking you.

“Not really?” You ask, looking for clarification but he just shrugs. You assume the conversation is done but as soon as you go back to the book, he speaks again. 

“I… have done stuff. You know, a little rub and tug from the hideout’s finest,” He says, making a crude pumping motion with his fist over his guitar covered crotch. “but… to elaborate, uh— no actual penetration, I guess.”

“Penetration?” You say, laughing softly at his choice of words. 

“Yeah… never put it in?” He says again like he’s asking you if it’s an okay answer. 

“Fair enough.” You smile, nodding your head. 

The both of you sit in silence, Eddie shifting uncomfortably in his spot. You expected him to counter ask your question, but he just sits there, fingers drumming on the body of his guitar.

“Why did you ask me that?” He asks with a genuine curiosity, finally breaking the silence. 

“You don’t want to know if I’m a virgin?” You ask, purposefully ignoring his question. 

“Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows rise, hiding beneath his bangs before he comically relaxes himself, putting on an image of indifference. “Oh… me too.” He says coolly.

“So I’ve heard.” You reply, rolling your lips inwards to try and hold back your laugh. You twist in the bed, putting the book down on the floor.

“Why are we talking about this?” He asks quietly, following your lead and setting his guitar down on the bed beside him. 

“Do you… want to…” You ask, trailing off, shrugging your shoulders.

“Want to…?” He asks, sitting up straighter. 

“You know?” You say, raising your eyebrows hoping he says it so you don’t have to. Faux indifference thrown to the wind, his own eyebrows rise once again, eyes going wide in disbelief. 

The silence goes unperturbed until his mouth pulls into a flatline before dropping agape, his eyes narrowing in on you. 

“I think you’re gonna have to spell this one out for me, cause I think I know what you mean, but I am not gonna look like an idiot if I’m thinking something entirely different than what you’re thinking.” He rambles, hands working overtime twisting his rings mindlessly. 

“Do you not want to?” You ask, your eyes flitting to his nervous habits on full display. 

“No I do!” He says a little too loudly, cheeks going red in embarrassment. “But… clarify please cause I really don’t want to be reading this wrong.” He says, flattening his palms on his legs, as he clocks that you’ve noticed his fidgeting. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” You ask as plain as can be. All of Eddie's fidgeting stops immediately. He freezes, his eyes going wide, and you feel your own nerves pick up.

It takes a moment but when he comes back alive, his eyes finding yours. “You’re not joking right?” He asks, his gaze penetrating so deeply it almost becomes too much.

“I’m not joking.”

“Uh— then… yes.” He says calmly.

“Try not to sound so enthusiastic.” You laugh nervously, feeling uncomfortable in the thick tension of the room.

“Shit— I’m sorry. I’m just— it took me by surprise. But I do! Really do, seriously!”

“Okay then.” You smile, feeling your nerves relax. “Do you want to… now?”

He nods his head vigorously before pausing with a look of defeat. “Shit, yeah I do but Wayne was supposed to be helping a friend fix up their car. He might be home in a few hours.”

“A few hours? Is it… is it gonna take that long?” You laugh.

“Probably not.” He says, cheeks flushing dark red. He starts wringing his hands again, his nervous habits becoming more and more prominent by the second.

“Eddie, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you can tell me if you don’t want to. I won’t be upset, I swear.” You say, sitting up straighter to look at him. 

“No— no god no. I mean yes— I do. I want to. I just— fuck, I didn’t think we’d be doing this today.” He says, eyes flickering over the room before meeting you with a sheepish smile. 

“Should I take my clothes off?” You ask, toying at the hem of your shirt. 

“Oh shit— yeah. Yeah, and I’ll take mine off?” He asks, grabbing at the hem of his own shirt. 

“Yeah. I think so.” You smile, pulling your shirt off. 

“I’m just gonna— yeah, just gonna move this first.” He says, picking up his guitar and pushing himself up off the bed. When he turns from hanging it up, he stops, eyes flickering over your shirtless body. Trying not to lose your nerve, you quickly unclasp your bra, pulling it down your arms, and dropping it off the side of the bed. Eddie’s unwavering eye contact with your chest makes your skin heat, playing on your nerves, especially since he's stood in the middle of his room not saying anything.

“Eddie.” You say, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Right.” He mumbles, jumping into action, pulling his own shirt over his head. He moves quickly to unbutton and unzip his pants and with a deep breath, you shimmy out of your own, pushing them off the edge of the bed. 

“Underwear too?” He asks, still standing in the middle of his room.

“I guess.” You laugh.

“Right. Stupid question.” He says, shaking his head. You watch as his hands go to his boxers and within a blink he’s pushing them down until they pool around his feet, his hard length becoming your main focus as it bobs against his lower belly. You take in the sight of him, still standing in the middle of his room, naked. Your eyes linger on his erection until his hands cover it. 

“Sorry.” You mumble shyly, shifting on the bed to tug down your own underwear. 

“Don’t be sorry.” He says, clearing his throat. 

“Are you going to come over here or…” You ask, dropping your underwear to land in the pile of your other discarded clothes. 

“Yeah.” He says, swallowing harshly. He steps to the edge of the bed, about to climb on until he stops. “Condom, uh— gimme a minute.” He says, eyes darting around the room. “I have one somewhere, just…” He mumbles as he bounds for his desk.

With his back turned, you let your eyes rake over him. He’s cute, very cute. His nerves are endearing; however, Eddie’s always been brash, you didn’t expect him to be so jittery. In a weird way, you like it, because it’s distracting you from a lot of your own nerves. You trust him, entirely. You’ve never not trusted him.

He opens drawer after drawer scrambling through his belongings until proudly holding up the little silver square.

“Right, good.” You say, trying to sound casual. 

“Are you okay, like, do you need anything?” He asks, stumbling his way back to the bed over his messy floor. 

“No, I’m good. Just need you, I guess.” You say, motioning down to his crotch, cringing at yourself for saying it like that. 

“Right. I’ll… put this on then.” He replies. He settles on the bed beside you, pausing before tearing open the condom package. He pauses again.

“Do you need me to… help?” You offer, hoping you don’t sound as dumb as you think you do.

“Uh, I’m good. I think, just— slide it on there.” Eddie says, rambling as he fumbles with the condom. “Just like… that. There. Okay.” He coaches himself, turning his upper body towards you when it’s finally on.

“Do you wanna…?” You ask, motioning for him to get on top of you. 

“Yeah, sure, yeah.” He rambles, pushing himself up. You spread your thighs for him, his hips fitting between your bent knees. His movements are awkward, which you also didn’t expect from Eddie. Normally, he’s clumsy but he’s very forthcoming, very sure of himself. You're used to the way he thrashes through life, kind of like a bull in a china shop, but right now he’s tiptoeing, treading very lightly.

“Should I put my arms here?” He asks leaning forward so a hand rests on the bed next to your head.

“However you’re comfortable.” You say softly, trying to coax some of his nervousness away.

“Let me… just… figure this out.” He rambles again, adjusting his body first with both hands caging you in, then switching back to just one, before leaning back and resting on his knees.

It takes you a minute, but you clue in that every adjustment is centered around the least physical contact between the two of you. “You can touch me, Eddie.” You say, hoping he’ll ease into the moment.

“Right. Yeah of course.” He says, shaking his head. He tentatively lets his hands find your bent knees. His touch is feather light, obviously unsure.

“Should I just…” He asks, looking down between where your bodies almost meet. His eyes linger between your thighs, hands gripping harder on your knees, and it makes your belly flip. A good flip, more like a flutter. You like how his eyes become darker, and his mouth slightly drops. It’s cute. He’s cute. 

“I’m ready when you are.” You exhale, trying not to laugh as his eyes glaze over in a dazed look, still focused between your legs.

“I’m ready, so if you’re ready.” He replies mindlessly, still not looking up. 

“Eddie, you can put it in.” You laugh softly. His eyes finally flicker to you, catching your smile, and he mirrors it as best as he can, albeit with a blush of pink across his cheeks for being caught staring so long. 

“Right… I’ll do that.” He replies. He takes his length in his hand, running his fist up and down once. It’s a casual action, practiced, and you get a glimpse of what Eddie’s really like without the jumbled nerves. 

He leans in the slightest bit and you feel the tip of his head prod at your slit, sliding down slowly. He works himself down, parting your slit until he’s resting just at your opening. You think he might start pushing in, but he pauses, keeping himself entirely still. 

“Uh— sorry but, this is the hole right?” He asks, cheeks flaring red.

You don’t blame him, there is a lot going on down there and you know he just wants to be sure. He's being careful, asking questions when he’s unsure, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but it still makes your face turn the tiniest bit hotter because of the intimacy you’re not used to. 

“That’s the one.” You say awkwardly, moving your own hand down to your center to help guide him. 

Before you can even wrap your hand around him, he interrupts you, making you draw your hand back. 

“Wait do we— I don’t have lube or anything.” He says, eyes flitting to yours. 

“Maybe… spit? That’s what other people use, right?” You offer with a shrug.

“Yeah… I’ll just…” He says before dribbling over you. Missing completely, his glob of spit lands on your lower stomach making you laugh. He looks embarrassed at first, but as he watches you laugh, his lips slowly break into a smile before he eases into his own laughter. 

“Why are we being so awkward? We’re friends, this is fine, right?” You say, exhaling, trying to compose yourself from your laughter.

“Yeah, we’re friends… having sex.” He says with a heavy exhale.

“I’m still me and you’re still you, we don’t need to be nervous.” You say, looking into Eddie’s eyes. He nods, taking another deep breath and letting it out and you can feel some of his nerves leave him. He nods again and you smile at him. 

“I’m still me, you’re still you.” Eddie echoes. He takes a final deep breath before looking at you, returning a flash of a smile. 

You spit in your hand, bringing it to your core, getting yourself wet. You motion for Eddie to come closer and when he does, you wrap your fingers around him enough to line him up with your entrance. 

“Okay, so just push in. But slow please.” You guide. 

“Slow, got it.” He replies, hips beginning to move towards you.

He takes your words to heart, pushing in extremely slow. So slowly, you aren’t even sure if he’s moving, apart from the noises he’s trying to hold back— and there’s a lot of them, which must mean he’s getting something from this. 

You move your hand to his hip, pulling him towards you and he moves a little faster at your guidance. You start to feel a pinch, then it turns into a stretch. He continues pushing in slowly, the stretch turning to a very mild burn.

“Are you almost in?” You ask, squeezing your eyes closed.

“Almost, like another inch, maybe?” He says, hand squeezing your knee.

“Okay— good.” You breathe.

“Are you okay?” He asks, movements stilling.

“Just stings, but keep going.” You say, trying to unclench the muscles you keep tensing by accident. He complies, pushing into you slowly again.

His hips finally press flush against yours and Eddie stills. Looking up at him, you see his mouth working back and forth, eyes glancing over your body like he’s trying not to look too hard or too long at any particular spot. You’re about to tell him that he can touch you again but his mouth opens, sucking in a breath like he’s about to say something. 

“You’re really warm. Like… inside.” He says. His voice sounds strangled but you can tell he’s trying to come across as casual. You can’t help but laugh.

This is what you wanted. It’s easy. You feel comfortable enough to laugh. You trust Eddie and despite his nerves, he’s doing a good job. 

With your hand on his hip, you keep him still, giving yourself time to adjust, and he complies, taking deep breaths that you subconsciously align your own breathing to. 

When the sting relaxes into a dull ache, you take a final deep breath before relaxing your grip on Eddie.

“Okay, you can move, Eddie.” You say, pushing against his hip. He looks up at you long enough to nod, before moving his eyes back down to your center.

He pulls out slowly, just a touch faster than he pushed in and it’s such a foreign feeling to you. It’s on the cusp of being something you might enjoy… but not quite there. 

When he pushes back in, it’s a little quicker and you get the same almost pleasure feeling. 

“Fuck.” Eddie groans, hands squeezing harshly on your knees.

“It’s okay?” You ask. The tone of his voice catches you off guard. You’ve never heard Eddie sound like that before.

“Y-yeah. You’re really tight.” He says in that same tone. It’s deep, it’s raspy, and he sounds out of breath. It’s hot. Your stomach twirls, and you watch his face as it contorts in pleasure, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth and his brows pinched harshly together. 

He looks like he’s really enjoying it, but… apart from seeing him like this, you aren’t.

You shift your hips, trying to find any ounce of pleasure but if anything, it just feels like he’s prodding at you. Not uncomfortable but definitely not pleasurable.

“Eddie, does this… feel good for you?” You ask tentatively. You know the answer, you can tell by the way his breathing has turned into little pants but you figure there must be something you’re missing. You can’t help but feel a pinch of jealousy that it feels that good for him. 

“Fuck. Yeah, feels really good.” He groans, his thrusts slowly picking up in pace. 

You lay still, watching Eddie thrust in and out of you. The image of him, face contorted in pleasure, and all the breathy little gasps spilling from him makes a hint of heat pool in your lower stomach, but this isn’t at all like you thought how sex would feel. 

Maybe your next question comes out a little mean, but his radiating pleasure taunts you. It’s juvenile, but you can’t help but think how it’s not fair.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me if it feels good?” You watch as Eddie’s mouth drops open even further, his chest rising and falling harshly. His eyes squeeze shut and you aren’t even sure if he heard you. 

“I’m gonna cum— shit. I’m sorry. I can’t- f-fuck.” He groans, his thrust becoming uneven, stuttering against you. 

“Oh.” You say quietly. His thrusts are short and shallow until his movement still, cock pulsing inside you. 

And just like that, it’s over. 

���Jesus Christ.” Eddie groans, his hold on your knees becoming almost bruising. You feel a little more heat pool in your core seeing Eddie come undone but at this point, you know it’s over.

You continue laying still, watching Eddie’s face slowly unwind, eyes fluttering open. He pulls out, moving his way to lay back beside you on the bed, his breathing still harsh and ragged.

You watch as his head hits the pillow, eyes closing as he sucks in a deep breath, exhaling it harshly. His eyes open again, meeting your gaze. 

“That was— holy shit.” He says breathily.

“Yeah?” You ask, trying not to sound disappointed because that most definitely was not ‘holy shit’ to you. Quite frankly… that was just shit. You’re not upset, not in the slightest, just jealous. Envious that it was so easy for him and not you. It’s irrational, and you know you shouldn’t be mad at him, but it doesn’t stop the bud of spite inside of you. 

“Did that— sorry. Was that good for you?” He asks, head tilting towards you. 

“No.” You say flatly. Your eyes go wide at your answer because you most definitely didn’t mean to say that, it just slipped without thinking. 

And as you watch his face fall, every ounce of jealousy, envy, spite, anything you were feeling just seconds ago leaves you entirely, being replaced with regret for that one little word. You shouldn’t have said that. 

Eddie was nervous. He was shy. He was tentative. Gentle. Careful. Respectful. 

It was endearing. You found him cute. 

You wanted it to be with Eddie because you trust him. He did everything you wanted. 

It was his first time too.

“Oh” He says, eyes going round with disappointment. 

“No! I mean it was fine. You did good Eddie, we’re no longer virgins!” You say excitedly, trying to fix your slip of the tongue. You smile but his face falls flat. You feel your heart pang as he deflates in front of you. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry. Maybe— uh… I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He says quietly, hand raising to his face, rubbing aggressively over his mouth and chin. You can tell he’s not buying your cover up and you genuinely feel bad.

“Don’t worry about it, Eddie. It was just the first time. I'm sure it’ll get better?” You say, trying to fix the sad look in his eyes but it only gets worse.

“That bad, huh?” He asks, and his demeanor breaks your heart. You should have kept your mouth shut.

“Don’t feel bad!” You say, sitting up to get a better look at him.

“Fuck— I’m so sorry.” He huffs, hand going back to rubbing over his jaw.

“No, don’t be sorry! It can only go up from here, right!” You try your best to fix your mistake but it’s not working. 

“It was that bad.” He groans, hiding his face in his hands. 

“Eddie, please don’t feel bad.” You say, moving to be able to fully look at him. “I wanted to lose my virginity to you because I trust you, Eddie. And it was perfect in that sense. You didn’t hurt me at all, and I really, really don’t want you to feel bad.” You say genuinely. You let your hand rest on his arm, trying to pull his hands away from his face.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He says again, palms pressing harder into his eyes despite you trying to pull them away.

“Eddie. I’m so serious. I wanted it to be with you for a reason. Please, please, don’t feel bad.” You try a final time.

He stays, hands covering his face for a while and you don’t know what else you could say to make it better so instead, you opt for getting dressed. Even when you shift on the bed, he doesn’t move.

It only takes a few minutes for you to be fully dressed. He laid still the whole time, hands pressed to his eyes, and you’re convinced he fell asleep.

“Maybe I should go?” You whisper quietly. His hands fly away from his face, eyes widening. His gaze takes you in, realizing that you’re fully dressed and he sits up quickly.

“You don’t have to.” He rushes out, his wide eyed gaze meeting yours.

“I probably should, right? It’s getting late.”

“Right…” He agrees sitting up. “I can drive you, if you want?”

“It’s nice out, I can walk.” You offer.

“I'll drive you, just give me a minute.” He replies, brushing off your comment.

“Sure.” You say politely, grabbing your bag from the floor.

You wait for him in the living room and it’s only a few minutes before he’s fully dressed. Wordlessly, you both go outside, and get in the van.

After a silent ride, he parks in front of your house.

“Eddie, I’m sorry. I feel like I ruined your first time.” You say.

“Shit. You have nothing to feel sorry about. I’m the only one who should be sorry.” He says, huffing an almost laugh.

“Don’t be sorry. Eddie, I told you already. I trust you and because of that it was a great first time.” 

Eddie shrugs, not accepting your sentiment. 

“I’ll see you?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, see you.” He nods.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

It's been just over a week since you and Eddie slept together. A week of radio silence. Sure, it’s not like you two hung out everyday before, but you thought that, maybe, that might be different after you slept together. But nope. 

You waited a while to call, trying to give him space since that night didn't exactly end as you hoped. While you waited, you hoped he would call, but he didn’t. 

Eventually, you ended up calling, but you got his uncle, who said Eddie’s been busy the last few days and he hasn’t seen him much. Later that night, Eddie called, but your mom answered since you were staying at a friend's house. You called again yesterday, Eddie wasn’t home. You had expected him to call that night but he didn’t. And you’ve been thinking about it all day since it’s summer vacation, your parents aren’t home, and you just have a lot of time.

When there's a knock at the door you fully expected it to be a salesman or jehovah witness, but you were surprised to see Eddie. You didn't even have a chance to speak before his hand was on the door, pushing it open as wide as it could go.

“I want to try again.” He says, a slight breathiness to his voice as if he just rushed his way over here.

“What?” You ask confusedly.

“I want to try again.” He says a little louder before shrinking a little. “If you’ll let me, I mean. Only if it’s okay with you.”

“You… want to try again?” You ask, finally clueing in to what he’s talking about.

“Yeah. I feel fucking bad that I came—” He stops himself, turning around, looking to the street. “Can I explain inside?” He says, wincing slightly. 

You usher him inside, spotting your neighbor on their porch and you pray to god they didn’t hear Eddie and if they did, they remain oblivious to what he was getting at. 

As soon as the door is shut, Eddie’s speaking again.

“I meant to start with an apology.” He says, voice softer and less breathless.

“Eddie, I really don’t want to hear you apologize again. It was fine.”

“It wasn’t.” He states, raising his brows. He relaxes into sincerity, meeting your gaze. “I want to apologize for what happened after.” He says, pausing for any objections from you. You let him continue. “You were being really nice about it and I… I was being selfish. You already didn’t enjoy yourself, and then I made it your job to make me feel better about it. That was really shitty of me.” 

“I felt bad, you know. It was your first time too.” You shrug.

“But you shouldn’t have had to coddle me like that. It wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.” He says softly. You can tell he’s genuinely sorry for it and you really do appreciate it. You nod, and he rolls his lips inwards, nodding back. 

“Thank you.” You say. He nods again.

The room stills, the both of you in silence. You can tell Eddie wants to keep talking. 

“So… outside you were saying?” You lead, prompting him. He catches your eye, smiling appreciatively for you being the one to break the silence.

“I was saying outside that I feel terrible that I came so quickly and it wasn’t good for you and I want to try again.. if you’ll let me.” He blunders out. 

You raise your brows. This is more like the Eddie you know. Straight forward, to the point. 

“I um— I don’t know what to say.” You laugh softly. You do feel a hint of apprehension. You’ve already accepted that the sex was bad but the part that really got you was what happened after. Not his sulking, but after you left. The not talking part. That was the last thing you wanted to come from this.

Despite your feelings, you can’t help but light up a bit at Eddie’s enthusiasm. His eyes are wild with it. 

“You don’t have to say yes. But I did a fuck ton of research and look—” he says pulling out a folded piece of lined paper from his back pocket, starting to uncrumple it. “I took notes and everything. I want to do it right, so if you’ll let me…”

“You took… notes?” You ask amusedly. He holds the paper out to you and you cautiously take it.

“Yeah. I’m dedicated to this. I told you, I feel fucking terrible. I should have listened more, asked you questions, done so many things differently. So I just— I don’t know.” He says shrugging, hands wringing themselves.

You glance down at the paper to see his scribbled writing covering every inch of the paper. Your eyes gravitate to a very technical diagram of a vagina that he drew out. 

“I don’t want to look at this.” You laugh, shoving the paper back to Eddie. 

“Shit, sorry.” He laughs nervously. He goes pink in the face. Not exactly out of nerves like before, but more so flustered. It’s cute.

You can’t help but bite. 

“So… what exactly did research entail?” You ask, holding back your smile.

“I went to the library first. Looked at some books there. Read some magazines… asked a few people.”

“People?” You question worriedly.

“No— no don’t worry! I didn’t tell them it was you or anything. It was mostly just books and magazines that I read, I swear. I just wanted to make sure some things were actually true.”

“And… you really want to do this?” You ask. You're intrigued and his effort is very endearing. You did say that it could only get better…

“Yes! But only if you’re comfortable with it. Doing it once was generous— so if you say no, I understand.”

“Generous?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Like, that was a cool thing to do, you know?” He shrugs, cheeks flaring. 

“Cool?” You laugh again.

“Yeah.” He replies, cracking a smile.

Your eyes gravitate to the sheet of paper in his hand. You don’t really have anything to lose, right? You’ve done it before and if he really is dedicated to this like he says he is… might as well give it a shot?

“Yes.” You say firmly, your mind made up.

“Yes?”

“Let's try again.” You exhale.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t do any research but… if you’re okay with that, my answer’s yes.” 

Eddie perks up, eyes becoming filled with excitement. He looks at his sheet of notes for a moment before his gaze finds yours again. 

“Do you have a calendar?” He asks plainly. 

“A calendar, Eddie? What?” You ask, feeling confused all over again.

“I just… yeah. Just like a regular calendar.” He shrugs.

“In my room.” You lead him upstairs, pulling the calendar down from your wall and handing it over.

“Okay, thank you. And when was your last period?” He asks, laying the calendar down flat on your desk, fingers drumming over the dates.

“My last period, Eddie, what the fuck?” You laugh.

“No, seriously. If you’re ovulating it’s supposed to be better, so last period was…?” He says, fingers gliding over the calendar.

“Like two— three-ish weeks ago?” You say, pointing at the general days on the calendar. 

“Okay, okay. Just gimme a minute.” He says, flattening his notes down on the surface next to the calendar. “Alright, so if this was the first day of your period, then you should be ovulating? Or almost ovulating?” He says, fingers sliding along the weeks, counting quietly under his breath. 

“Eddie, it sounds like you’re trying to get me pregnant.” You laugh nervously.

“No! No, I swear to god, no! I just- I read that it’s supposed to feel better for you during that week, so, like, now would be a really good time for me to… you know, try to make you feel good.” He says, eyes going wide as he turns towards you, looking the slightest bit mortified.

“Oh…” you respond, brows raised as you try not to laugh in his face. It’s endearing it really is, but… this boy is so odd. “Alright then.” You nod, your lips tugging into a smile. 

“Yeah. So I can check that off.” He says, grabbing a pencil from your desk and physically checking off one of his notes. “So next, is foreplay.”

“Foreplay?” You parrot, laughing in disbelief.

“Yeah. I think that’s where I really fucked up last time. I mean, I didn’t even kiss you, for christ sake. And I didn’t touch you at all before, so yeah. Foreplay.” He says, exhaling harshly.

“You want to kiss me?” You ask nervously. Your heart picks up as your gaze flickers to his lips.

“I mean, yeah.” He says, going shy. “But I didn’t know if you would have wanted me to cause we’re not… you know, together.” He shrugs his shoulders.

“You could have kissed me.” You smile at him, your stomach going fluttery at the thought. 

“Really?” He asks in disbelief. 

“Yeah.” You affirm, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Cool.” He nods slowly, smiling.

“So.. are you going to?” You ask, sheepishly. He meets your gaze, eyes slowly lowering to your lips. He nods his head, stepping closer to you.

When your eyes flutter closed, you feel his lips press against yours, soft as a feather.

He pulls away and you almost think it’s over until he pulls you back in, hands on your waist, bringing you closer to him. His lips meet yours again and it’s entirely different from the first. His lips work against yours and it leaves you dazed, struggling to keep up with the unexpected, but it’s perfect.

His hands still on your waist, he guides you to lean against your desk, his body pulled flush to yours. His hands rub up and down your sides slowly, adding to your fluttery dizziness. 

The kiss deepens, his tongue licking along your lower lip and you part your mouth. He’s gentle with you, tongue imploringly licking into your mouth, almost as if he’s testingly seeing what you like best. It gives you butterflies, something you’ve tried to not dwell on getting from Eddie in the past.

His hand trails up your waist, taking purchase on your jaw, guiding your mouth against his until his kisses slow, his lips meeting the edge of your mouth before trailing down the side of your face.

You swallow harshly before speaking. “That was really good.” You say, clearing your voice. You practically feel Eddie’s lips turn up in a smile against your jaw.

“Yeah?” He asks breathily against your skin. 

“Yeah. I think your research is working so far.” You say, squeezing your eyes shut as his kisses trail down your neck. 

You open your eyes when the kisses stop and you feel him pull away. 

“Yeah?” He asks excitedly, making eye contact with you. His gaze is a combination of shock, disbelief, and amusement and it’s adorable. It pulls on all of your heart strings at once.

The attentiveness, effort, the everything from right now mixes with everything from before. Gentle, careful, respectful, you trust him. You trust him and you think he’s cute, endearing, adorable, and you want him.

“Keep going.” You say, your own voice going breathy.

“Right.” He mumbles, face pressing against your neck again. 

You bring your hand to the back of his head, fingers entwining in his hair. As soon as you do, you feel a nip of teeth that makes you gasp. He cleverly soothes the area with his tongue after, making a whimper rise in your throat that surprises you when it falls from your lips.

“Eddie, who’d you get that from?” You whisper curiously, voice sounding pathetically whimpery. 

“Dunno, s’just something I picked up.” He replies, pulling away enough for his breath to fan over your damp skin, giving you shivers. 

He nips again, chasing it with a harsh suck that makes your head spin. You can’t help but feel like he’s showing off now but you don’t care, you let him. He has you at a place where you’re his for the bending, malleable in his hands. 

“W-what’s next on your list?” You stutter through his kisses.

“Not done with this yet.” He says, voice gravelly and low. You nod your head, not bothering to try to speak again.

His kisses work lower and lower until they meet the neckline of your shirt. You feel his fingers on your hip playing with the hem of your shirt, tugging and lifting it just enough to get your attention. You nod again, wanting it off.

“Eddie.” You whine, pushing your chest against his when he doesn’t do it right away.

He pulls away from you again, and when he looks at you, he looks surprised. 

“What?” You question, feeling embarrassed.

“N-no! Nothing, that was just.. really hot. Wasn’t expecting that s’all.” He stutters, both hands now on your waist, rubbing up and down.

You feel your face burn, feeling shy all of a sudden. You know he picks it up because his eyes focus on you, pausing everything.

“D’you want me to keep going?” He asks, and you nod your head.

“Want you to take my shirt off.” You whisper.

“Yeah?” He laughs.

“Eddie.” You whine, feeling embarrassed at how much he’s affecting you.

“C’mon let’s get your shirt off, pretty girl.” He coos and you feel your stomach flutter. His hands lower to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and you raise your arms cooperatively. 

“You think I’m pretty?” You ask just as the shirt pulls over your head.

“Hell yeah. I think you’re beautiful.” He says, stopping to look into your eyes as he says it. You lower your gaze, fixing it on your shirt in Eddie’s hands.

“Which is another thing I fucked up last time, by the way.” He adds, dipping his face to meet your gaze.

“Hm?” You hum, head spinning too fast to keep up.

“Last time. I didn’t tell you how fucking beautiful you are.” He says. His eyes flutter over your face, hand moving to tuck your hair behind your ear. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to, so I didn’t. But believe me, I thought about it.” He says, dipping his face down to press a chaste kiss to your shoulder. 

“Eddie.” You reply not knowing what else to say. Your heart beats faster and it’s all consuming, adding sweet to your ever growing list of things you like about Eddie. He’s always been sweet, but this feels bigger, and it makes your heart squeeze.

“Want me to take this off?” He asks, fingertips sliding under the strap of your bra. 

“Please.” You whisper, using all the air left in your lungs to muster the single plea.

His fingers trail behind your back, tickling you along the way until they reach the clasp, unfastening it hook by hook, letting it fall to the floor.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. So perfect. Wish I had said it the first time.” He says lowly, between kisses on your shoulders.

You hum, both because you don’t know what else to say and also because you are so fully absorbed by Eddie. You watch him as his kisses get lower on your collarbones

“S’this okay?” He asks, kisses stopping before reaching your chest.

“Uh-huh.” You breathe. Your hands move the back of his head again, tugging him lower until his kisses meet your chest. His hands rise tentatively until they press against the roundness of your breasts. Another moan falls from your lips and that spurs him on enough to more confidently massaging you, adding kisses to the mix.

“C-can we lay down.” You stutter, trying to catch your breath. 

“Anything you want, pretty girl.” He replies, continuing his kisses. He guides you, taking steps backwards to the bed, turning you so the backs of your knees hit the mattress.

You lay down and he follows, hovering over you more comfortably than last time. 

You close your eyes, absorbing the weight of Eddie on top of you, and you feel hot everywhere. It’s completely contradictory to last time and he still has every piece of clothing on. Before you can even think of asking him to take off his clothes, you're startled by the wet, hot feeling of his mouth on your nipple. 

“Eddie.” You moan. Embarrassment isn’t a feeling you can harbor anymore, Eddie has you so entranced. Your chest rises and falls harshly, panting as his tongue swirls around your sensitive nipple. You feel like your skin’s prickling and your heads empty, the only thing that exists right now is you and Eddie. 

He switches, paying the same attention to your other breast and you spread your legs further, letting Eddie fall closer to you, hips pressing against yours. 

“Want clothes off.” You whimper, his teeth grazing before sucking harshly on the delicate skin.

“Mine or yours.” He mumbles, words vibrating against your chest and you’re sure you’re covered in goosebumps.

“Both, Eddie.” You moan. 

He makes quick work of pulling his shirt over his head. His hands go to the button of your shorts, stopping to look at you first. 

“I want to try something first, if that’s okay?” He says, dipping down to meet your gaze. 

“Eddie.” You whine, not caring the slightest, you can only think of wanting your clothes off. 

“I can take these off?” 

“Take them off.” You reply, getting impatient. He watches you, and he still looks surprised. You bring your own hands down, and it sets him in motion, popping the button open and pulling them down your legs. 

“Baby, you’re doing okay?” He asks, as he tosses your shorts to the side.

“M’doin’ good Eddie, keep going please.” You breathe, squirming on the mattress. 

“Fuck, okay.” He replies, voice gravely again. He tugs your underwear down, tossing them to the floor and begins shifting backwards on the bed. It surprises you, pulling you out of your spinning daze as he disappears between your legs.

“Eddie, what are you doing?” You ask, sitting up slightly.

“M’gonna eat you out. That okay?” He asks, lifting his head to look back at you. You’re obviously familiar with the term, but you’ve never had anyone do it to you before, making his actions unexpected. You don’t know what you thought he was gonna do, but it wasn’t that.

You lay back down on the mattress, exhaling deeply.

“Hey? Is it okay? I don’t have to.” He says softly, getting your attention. His hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers.

“You can.” You reply nervously. He squeezes your hand.

“We can stop anytime, okay?” He says, eyes searching yours and making it clear that he means it. 

Trust is starting to seem more like an understatement. All of the good things you like about Eddie, you’ve always liked about him. Maybe it’s the way your head is spinning or maybe it’s just how Eddie’s always been, but you get a burning feeling for him. Not a desire or a neediness born from the heat of the moment, but like an adoration, like a particular thump of your heart exists just for him. 

“Okay” you reply, nodding your head.

Still holding your hand, he lowers himself again. His breath reaches your cunt and you feel shivers erupt up and down your spine, excitement blooming in your belly. 

“Just gonna ask you one thing, okay? Need your help a little, just tell me what you like, gotta tell me what feels good, okay?” He says softly, popping up once again to look at you. 

You nod, squeezing his hand, and he lowers his head again.

Your whole body jerks as you feel his tongue lick up your core. It’s wet and hot and something you’ve never felt before.

“Holy shit.” You gasp, squeezing his hand again. 

“Good or bad?” He asks from between your legs.

“Do it again.” 

He does it again and it’s good. Definitely good. 

“Good, Eddie. Really good.” You reply breathily. He squeezes your hand in acknowledgement before his tongue is on you again. The warm heat of his breath and his tongue meet your slit, licking up, parting your folds and catching on your clit, making you jolt again. 

When his thumb on the back of your hand starts running back and forth on your skin soothingly, you melt entirely. Relaxing into everything. 

His tongue explores your cunt, lapping up and down before he focuses on your clit, making you gasp. It feels like the almost pleasure you got last time but a million times better. It’s actual pleasure this time, not almost. It tingles all the way up into your belly and you can’t help the way your breathing turns into soft moans.

His tongue swirls around your clit and your mouth drops as your mind reels at the feeling.

“F-fuck.” You gasp when he switches to sucking, making your hips buck against him. “S’really good, Eddie.” You moan.

“You’re so wet this time, baby.” He groans, the vibrations of his words against you making you whimper. The tingles traveling to your belly start to tense, making your breathing turn into quick pants. You want to tell Eddie he’s doing a good job but you can’t get the words out through your gasps, so instead you find purchase on the back of his head with your free hand, tangling your fingers in his hair, hoping he’ll understand.

He switches between lapping at you, flicking his tongue, and sucking your clit. The wet sounds of his mouth against your cunt filling the room, adding to the way your body’s growing impossibly hot, stomach tightening into a tight knot. 

When you feel his fingers at your entrance, you gasp. He squeezes your hand and you squeeze back. 

He pushes in one finger first, it’s similar to the prodding from before but much better with his mouth working against you. 

He works his finger in and out of you before slipping a second in and the slight stretch that comes with it leaves you reeling. You think that feeling alone is fantastic until he curves his fingers upwards into an almost hook shape. 

Prodding turns into straight pleasure as he wiggles his fingers in and out, hitting a place inside of you that leaves you gasping for air.

“Eddie. G-good.” You moan, your stomach tensing harshly. You feel your thighs start to shake as moans, gasps, and whines leave your mouth unwillingly. 

“You're getting really tight.” He hums, lips barely leaving your clit. All you can do is whimper as the vibrations of his voice push you further and further into pleasure. “Baby, you gonna cum?” He hums again. 

You nod your head ferociously not being able to produce words.

“That’s it, cum for me, baby.” He groans between flicks of his tongue. His words travel straight to your stomach adding to the pulsing knot.

Your hips buck insenstantly and you feel like you’ve lost total control of your body. All that you can feel is pleasure rippling through you like waves, hitting an all time high, and you break. You cum, harder than ever before. You’ve tried on your own before and it’s barely been worth noting, but this.. this is earth shattering. 

You feel weightless, floating, all of the tension leaving your body. It’s magnificent, perfect, it feels like you’re in a dream. The only thing that tethers you to reality, is Eddie’s hand in yours and the way his thumb gently pushes into the back of your hand. 

You feel yourself settling down from your high, but as Eddie’s mouth keeps working against you, you feel the edges of your vision go dark. Your body fights with prolonging and pushing away the pleasure as it takes you whole. 

“E-Eddie.” You choke out, squeezing his hand. Your hips buck, and he understands, slowing down.

Sucking in a deep breath, you squeeze his hand again and his motions come to a slow halt. 

You are astounded.

Absolutely astounded. 

You have no words.

You tug him by the hand, you need him closer.

“You okay?” He whispers, as he moves up by your side. You pull him by the hand, willing him to hold you as you turn on your side. He complies, giving you everything you need.

You take steady breaths that help you settle back into your body. It could be seconds, could be minutes, could be hours that pass, but eventually you catch your breath, finally grasping the moment. 

“Holy shit.” You exhale. Holding onto Eddie’s arm wrapped around your stomach.

“Was it good?” He asks nervously. You lean back, turning to lay flat on your back so you can see him.

“Was it good? Eddie, holy shit.” You say, widening your eyes as you take in his nervous features and flushing cheeks. Your eyes trail down to his slick coated face. His lips slowly curl into a smile and fuck, you finally understand how he felt after the first time. 

“It worked?” He laughs. 

You take his face in your hands and you kiss him hard. Yeah, it fucking worked, holy shit.

His tongue licks into your mouth immediately, his slick coated lips giving you a taste of yourself. Keeping your hands on his cheeks, you continue kissing him, tongues working in sync until you can’t keep up.

He kisses you breathless. When your head goes dizzy, all you can focus on is the reemerging pulse between your legs. 

Lowering your hands to his hips, you guide him on top of you. He tries to lift himself, hovering not to put all his weight on you but you need it, so you pull him until he rests flush against your body. 

Your hands explore up his chest, wrapping around his sides until you take purchase on his back, pulling him as close to you as you can.

Through his clothes, you feel his hardened length resting against you, and you roll your hips up looking for relief, making Eddie gasp into your mouth.

You do it again and his mouth stops moving against yours, feeding a whimper right into your lungs. 

“Clothes.” You pull away just enough to whisper, grinding your hips upwards against him. 

Eddie’s lips still against yours, he’s resolved into quickened breaths in and out, breathing into your mouth.

“Want you Eddie.” You whine, not getting enough relief from your grinding. 

“Clothes.” He echoes mindlessly, swallowing harshly. He doesn’t move, so you take to moving your hands down, folding your fingers under his belt, blindly searching for an edge to pull at.

“Take them off.” You say a little louder. 

“Right. Clothes.” He says, finally snapping out of whatever transfixion he was stuck in. 

He pulls away, and you miss the feeling of his chest against yours immediately. You watch as he undoes his belt and pants, pushing both his jeans and boxers down his thighs, struggling to get them off. Eventually, he takes to standing, nearly falling off the edge of your bed, making you giggle. When he finally has them off, he’s quick to resume his position overtop of you. 

“I’m getting ahead of myself. Need to make sure you’re doing good.” He says, blinking back the glazed over look in his eyes. 

“I’m doing so good, Eddie.” You purr, hands trailing up the expanse of his back. 

“Everything feels good? Do you need me to do anything else?” He brings a hand to the edge of your face, pushing your hair back, making your heart flutter and core ache at the same time. 

“Want you inside.” You whisper.

“I can do that.” He laughs breathily. He reaches down to the floor, his body weight laying on top of you as he reaches for his discarded pants. After a bit of fumbling, he sits up again, condom in hand. His hands slip on the packaging until he grows frustrated, ripping the corner of the foil open with his teeth. You feel heat pool in your core at the sight, wanting him more than you’ve ever wanted anything. 

“Eddie, you’re so pretty.” You say breathily, his eyes flicker up to you from his focus as he rolls the condom down his length. You see pink raise on his cheeks as his lips turn up at the corners.

“You think so?”

“Know so. So beautiful and cute and adorable and hot and I want you.” You ramble, feeling absolutely drunk off of how insanely fast he has your head spinning with lust. You want him in a lot of different ways, every way. You raise your hands to his shoulders tugging him closer.

“My pretty girl.” He whispers, dipping his face down to kiss you.

“Yours.” You mumble against his lips right before they meet yours. It rolls off your tongue naturally and it feels right. You’re his. Entirely enraptured by him, entirely swept up by him. 

You can pinpoint the exact moment he processes what you said. He had started kissing you hungrily, then it was like it hit him. His mouth stopped moving against yours, and when you slid a hand up to hold his jawline, his mouth started to move again, but differently. 

The kiss turned sweet, gentle, tender. It turned meaningful and slow, like every touch of his lips against yours and every caress of his tongue had purpose. You indulge yourself in the change of pace until you can't anymore.

“Eddie, please.” 

“I got you, sweet girl.” He whispers.

The sunsetting leaves the two of you in the low golden glow. Eddie’s face illuminates with the light bleeding in through your sheer curtains and your heart beats a little faster as you watch him lean back, his cock in his hand, rubbing his fist up and down his length once before lining it up with your entrance. 

The confidence he holds now, compared to last time, makes you swallow thickly. Last time it was cute and endearing, this time, he works you into pleasure and it leaves you reeling for more. This time he says you’re his, and you agree. You always have been in a way. Trust was a disguise, trust was a front. You like Eddie. You always have. 

“Ready, pretty girl?” He asks, voice low as he stares into your eyes. You feel his head at your entrance and you clench in anticipation.

“Ready.” You chorus, relaxing yourself. It’s literal in the way you relax your muscles, but it’s also metaphorical in the way you open yourself up entirely for him. This isn’t your first time, but it’s the time that matters. It’s the time where he is completely himself and you are completely yourself. It’s everything you wanted and more— more that you didn’t realize you needed until now.

He pushes in and you both sigh in tandem. Your sighs mature into moans as he slowly pushes in, fully bottoming out inside of you.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, voice quiet and carefilled.

“Not like last time.” You answer.

“Sorry, baby.” He whispers, dipping his face to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Sorry it hurt last time and I didn’t even kiss it better.” He continues, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips.

“S’okay, Eddie. You’re doing so good now, feels so good.” You reply, voice just as quiet as his. You pull his face down, pressing your own tender kiss to his lips before trailing your hands down the front of his chest, rounding them to hold his sides. 

He shifts his hips, withdrawing from you slowly. You guide him with your hands, willing him to keep going, and he does. 

“S’feel okay?” Eddie says through a strangled breath. 

“Feels good.” You breathe.

“You sure? We can put a pillow under—” he starts to explain, slowing his already slow motions.

“Want you to go faster.” You interrupt.

“Faster.” He echoes, almost like he’s coaching himself. You hum as he complies, drawing his hips and pushing them back into you at a quicker pace. 

Him filling you up and stretching you out felt entirely different this time, way better, and it has you absolutely dizzy. It’s not prodding this time, it’s more like a roll that leaves you breathless, panting just to fill your lungs. His cock grazes your sweet spot with every pump into you and with every other thrust, his hips meet yours completely, teasing your clit with their contact. 

“Harder.” You whisper, and he complies silently apart from the way he harshly sucks in a breath.

His hips begin snapping against yours, the slap of skin on skin echoing in your room mixing with the obscene, wet noises of his cock pushing in and out of you, complimenting the breathy moans and whimpers coming from both of your mouths. Each thrust hits your clit, making you shudder, hips jolting and stuttering with your pleasure.

You feel your insides start to tense and you know you’re close. His thrusts start to falter as his breathing turns ragged.

“So close Eddie, please.” You whine. He breaths a whimper, hips picking up again, returning to his quick, hard pace. 

“Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum for me.” He says breathily, voice pitching up. His hand reaches down past your belly, fingers finding your clit, rubbing it and it sends your hips into a spasm of stutters.

“Eddie.” You cry. You feel your body go rigid before your pleasure explodes, freeing you from the reigns of tension and pushing you into pure ecstasy.

Eddie only musters a few more thrusts with the way your cunt clamps down onto his cock, fluttering and pulsing all around him as your orgasm takes you over. Strangled whimpers pull from his lungs as he prolongs your pleasure until he breaks alongside you. 

“F-fuck. Shit. I’m c-cumming.” He grunts, cock twitching inside you as his balls press firmly against your ass. His hips stutter, shallow thrusts pushing in and out, the warmth of his cum filling the condom. With your half lidded eyes, you watch Eddie— his face contorting in pleasure, and you enjoy the moment, committing it to memory. 

Eddie stills completely apart from his heavy breathing that matches yours. He surprises you when he rolls onto his back, taking you with him, pulling you over his chest, his cock still firmly pressed inside of you. 

“Eddie.” You laugh breathily. 

“J-just need to feel you for another minute.” He replies hazily, eyes squeezed shut. His hands wrap around your back, hugging you closely and you relax into him tentatively. His hands pull you down again, and you have no choice but to put all of your weight on him.

When your combined panting resolves to steady breathing, he breaks the silence. “Was that better?” He asks, pushing his head back into the pillow to look at you.

“That was… better than better. Way, way, way better.” You say whimsily. It was perfect, it was everything, you don’t have any words. 

“Yeah?” 

“That was like… I don’t even know. I can’t even describe it, just so so good. Really.” You say in awe, reflecting on what just happened.

“You can tell me the truth.”

“Eddie.” You say warningly, lifting your head to really look at him. “If you studied like that for all your classes you’d be valedictorian. A++, honestly Eddie.” You say.

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” He asks, still sounding unsure.

“You should frame those notes you wrote, hang them up like a diploma in your room.”

“Okay, now you’re just teasing me.” He laughs, turning his head away from you to hide his smile. 

“No! And you wanna know how serious I’m being right now?” You say, reaching up and taking one of his curls, swirling it around your finger, grabbing his attention.

“How?” He asks, turning back to you. 

“Because I’m already thinking about doing it again.” You whisper. You watch Eddie as his smile grows. 

“Really?” He asks, eyes beaming.

“Yes.” You nod, pressing your lips together as your smile grows. 

You watch Eddie as a whirlwind of emotions take over his face, it’s disbelief, happiness, excitement, a few you can’t parse, before it settles into nervousness. It makes your belly knot in nerves immediately. 

“Last time… I was— after, I was so upset because…” He starts, eyes fluttering over your face, avoiding your gaze. He takes a breath before continuing. “I was so upset because I wanted to ask you out, and then after the sex was bad, I kind of figured you’d never go out with me.”

“You wanted to ask me out?” You say, pushing yourself up with your arms to see his full face. 

His eyes flood with worry, and you reach down, pushing his damp bangs from his forehead. He finally looks at you and all you can do is smile. His nerves settle the slightest bit as he relaxes into his own sheepish smile. 

“I would still like to, if that’s okay with you?” He asks, shyly.

“It’s really okay with me.” You reply.

“Maybe I can ask when I’m not still inside you?” He laughs softly, eyes flickering to your lips. “Not that I don’t think this is romantic, but…” he trails off when you start laughing, watching you closely as you do, dimples set deeply in his cheeks.

You nod your head before lowering your face to his. He meets you halfways, pressing his mouth to yours, kissing you sweetly. 

“My pretty girl.” He whispers as he pulls away. 

“Yours.” You whisper back, smiling. 

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

After a few more moments of you resting on top of Eddie, the two of you begin to shift, slowly separating from one another. Lazily cleaning yourselves up, trading discarded clothes as you pick them up from the floor, it’s a good memory, one you want to keep forever. 

The sun now tucked beneath the skyline, your room glows in the low light form your lamp, Eddie’s heartbeat serving as the background music to this moment. You settle deeper into his chest, and he hugs you tighter.

It wasn’t the first time, but it was the time that mattered the most. 

As far as silent moments go, there’s not many with Eddie. He breaks the quiet of the room, shifting to look at you. 

“I think I might want to be a vagina doctor, I know so much shit about vaginas now.” He says, completely serious. You choke on a laugh, surprised by his comment.

“Really?” 

“No.” He says, tilting his face so you can see his smile. “Just know a lot now.” He laughs.

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part four)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

You sit in your manager’s office, facing the bay window that overlooks the vast golf course. Your fingers are interlaced in an effort to hide the way your hands are trembling.

When Detective Brading asked for the space as you meekly followed him into the office, your boss shot you an unsettled glance, then agreed and left the room.

It throws you into a chilling realization. Everyone will give you that same condemning look when they find out the truth. You can’t imagine why else a cop unexpectedly came to your workplace and dragged you away – he must know what you’ve done.

The confidence you had last night that you’d get away with this crumbles when the door slams shut, making you flinch. Detective Brading expels a deep sigh. Why doesn’t he just arrest you and get it over with?

“Every second in a missing person’s case is precious,” the detective tells you. He sits on the edge of the desk instead of in the chair behind it, staring down at you. If he’s trying to scare you, it’s working.

Missing. At least that means they haven’t found Porter’s body.

“I hate to disrupt you like this at work.” His words mismatch his tone. “But I think you can help us.”

“How?” you ask.

“You said you were with Rafe for a couple hours the night Porter went missing,” he says. “Do you know where he went after he dropped you off?”

“Home,” you answer quickly.

“And you’re sure about that?”

“I’m…” You can’t be too defensive. It’ll raise red flags. “Pretty sure.”

The detective sighs again, as if you’re disappointing him with every word you say.

You glance at the framed photos of your boss and his family on the wall. He lives such a comfortable, normal life. You lost your chance at normalcy the second you told Rafe to pull the trigger.

“I’m sure it’s hard to hear this about a friend of yours, but we think he played a role in Porter’s disappearance,” he says. “And we need to ask you to talk to him about that night.”

“Me?”

“Yes. We’d have you wearing a wire.”

“What?” you say, floored. “Why me? We haven’t been hanging out that long. I don’t think he’d trust me enough to tell me anything.”

You hope you didn’t just discredit yourself or Rafe. But if they try to get one of Rafe’s other friends to trick him into a confession, you know for a fact that he wouldn't admit a thing. But you? You’re the only person he’d openly talk to about what really happened.

Your body is tight with anxiety. Maybe that’s why they’re asking you to do it. They think you know something and Rafe slipping up in a conversation with you is their meticulous way of proving it.

“I shouldn’t share this, but his other friends don’t believe that he’s entirely innocent,” Brading says. “You’re the only one we spoke to who does. And I think Rafe knows that you’re in his corner. I can tell you’re a good kid. Do the right thing and help us find Porter.”

You don’t buy it. You can’t ignore the instinct telling you that Brading is suspicious of you, too. He’s manipulating you. And for once, it feels good to be underestimated.

If you refuse to help, it could work against you. But if you agree, and you find a way to warn Rafe that you’re being listened to, that’d help your case. And his.

“I’d have eyes on you the entire time,” the detective explains. “He’s out on the golf course now. He came alone. Act like it’s just another day at work. Strike up conversation. See if he can open up about what he did after he dropped you off that night.”

“You want me to do this now?” you stutter.

“Like I said, every second is precious,” he says. “I know you’re caught off guard, but he’ll be, too. It’ll work to our advantage. I’d be in your ear, telling you what to say. You can handle this.”

This is a trick. It has to be. He cornered you because he suspects you, and now, he’s trying to outsmart you.

You mentally run through the possibilities. You can’t contact Rafe to warn him. But you could type a note out on your phone and find a way to flash it to him inconspicuously.

You’ll figure it out. And if you can’t, you’ll back out and say you couldn’t handle the pressure.

“Okay,” you agree. “I can do it.”

“Good.”

“I just need a second. Can I go to the restroom?”

“Yes. I have to ask you to leave your phone. We can’t take any risks.”

He assumes you’ll give Rafe a head’s up. Now you’re sure you’re a suspect, too. You try to look understanding as you hand him your phone.

·········

You’re seconds away from a panic attack as you pace around the private restroom, trying to figure out how the hell you can tip Rafe off. Maybe you should just back out.

Then, it comes to you.

The logbook tucked in your backpocket. The one Rafe teased you about and called your diary just last week. It’s your way out.

You uncap the pen hooked onto the book, open to an empty page, and write: wearing a wire. act innocent.

·········

Rafe lines up his club behind the white ball, his shoulders tight. He can’t shake off what happened last night.

You’re afraid of him. You pulled him in and pressed your lips against his, but then you shoved him away when he tried to hold you. And after you promised you wouldn’t screw him over, you left abruptly and took away the warmth he’s spent his whole life craving.

You’re supposed to have each other’s backs. He owes you and he wants to protect you, but you act like he’s a wild animal you can’t trust won’t bite you. He doesn’t know how to prove that you don’t need to be scared of him.

And it’s not just you expecting the worst of him. The way his own friends have been acting around him, shifty and tense, is pissing him off. He is guilty, but the fact that they have no faith in him digs a hole into his already overwhelming loneliness.

He’s out here on his own because he desperately needs to clear his head. He desperately needs to see you.

You drive the cart over the paved pathway to where Brading told you Rafe is. Your heart is racing, terrified this will go terribly wrong.

“You can still hear me clearly?” Brading says in your ear.

“Yes,” you say quietly. The earpiece he gave you is tiny and unnoticeable. The logbook you placed beside you after you drove off is the only chance you have of warning Rafe.

“Remember, act natural. Bring up Porter when it feels right,” Brading says. “Looks like he spotted you.”

You pull up to Rafe as he places a club in the bag hanging off the back of his cart. You remind yourself over and over that you have to speak about Porter in the present tense.

You can’t believe you’re here. Life twisted and turned and things you never imagined possible are your reality now.

There’s a genuinity in Rafe’s smile when your eyes meet his, the complete opposite of the pompous smirk you’ve seen over the years you’ve known him. If your heart wasn’t already pounding from adrenaline, it would be from the way he’s looking at you.

“Finally,” he says. “I was getting thirsty.”

“Don’t tell me you want a beer this early in the morning,” you sigh tensely, staying seated as you look over your shoulder to the cooler packed in the back. Brading is yards away, parked in a cart and posing as a golfer taking a break. Your breath is shaky.

“I’m kidding,” Rafe says, a little softer. He steps forward, hand on the roof of your cart, leaning closer to you. His eyes search your face. You’ve been aching to see him again. You wonder if he feels the same. “You mad at me or something?”

“Ask him why he’s alone,” the detective instructs you, jerking you out of your small moment of joy.

“I’m always mad at you,” you joke. “How come you’re alone out here? You’re always with your friends.”

“They’ve been pissing me off lately,” he mutters.

“Why?” Brading says. You plead with your eyes that Rafe just look down at your note, but he speaks before you can repeat the detective’s word.

“Why’d you run out last night?” His gaze trails down to your lips, his voice low. “Thought we were having a good time.”

It’s embarrassing to know you’re being listened to. And nerve-wracking that now the detective knows you’re more than just friends. Anyone could tell from Rafe’s suggestive tone that something happened.

You did suddenly leave the closet you’d led him to last night. Kissing him got to be overwhelming. But you can see in his gaze that it wasn’t just an impulsive, passion-filled makeout at a party. It meant something to him. And it’s a relief, because it meant something to you, too.

The chemistry you felt with him was always returned. It was just contained. Watered down. And now, whatever this is could end before it even begins. He could say one thing and get you both into trouble.

You regret agreeing to this. You need to get Rafe’s attention on the open book beside you before it’s too late.

“We were. I had to get back to my friends,” you say. “Why are yours pissing you off?”

“You know,” he says, glancing to the side. “They’re always lookin’ at me like I’m guilty.”

You can hear your pulse. You keep your eyes on Rafe, discreetly tapping on the page. He doesn’t notice. He doesn't follow your silent instructions.

“Are you?” Brading says. You repeat the two words, your throat dry.

Rafe’s brows furrow in confusion. He looks at you again. A tense silence blankets you.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” you say. “Not even my diary.”

Your heart lifts in all-consuming relief when Rafe catches your meaning. He looks down at the logbook and realization washes over his face.

You’re safe. The man in your ear isn’t going to discover a thing.

“What, you agree with them?” Rafe asks. His tone is casual, but his Adam’s apple bobs with a nervous swallow. Your eyes are locked knowingly, enveloped in the comfort that he knows to play along now.

“Tell him no,” Brading says.

“No,” you half-laugh. “I’m just saying, if there is something about that night that you didn’t tell me, you can trust that it’ll stay between us.”

“I was with you.”

“Ask him what he did after,” Brading instructs.

“Not all night,” you reply, cocking your head. “Where’d you go after you dropped me off?”

“Home. You know that,” he replies. “Even you’re doubting me now? Come on.”

“No,” you repeat. You reach for his hand, eyes trained on him. “I’m sorry. I just meant to say… if something happened, I wouldn’t judge you for it. You trust me, right?”

Rafe’s body buzzes at your touch. He does. He completely trusts you and it’s such a new, comforting feeling and he wishes you felt it for him, too.

“I do,” he says.

“You’d tell me?”

“I would.”

You nod reassuringly.

“I don’t know where Porter is,” Rafe says. “And I wish people would stop looking at me like I did something to him. I’m so sick of everyone expecting the worst of me.”

You’re not sure where his lie ends and the truth begins, but his fixed gaze is heavy with sincerity.

“We’re not getting anywhere with him,” Brading mutters. “End the conversation and meet me back at the office.”

“I don’t expect the worst of you,” you tell him.

His shoulders relax and you can tell your words did something to him. You nod again, a small, relieved smile pulling on your lips.

“I should get back to work,” you say. “You sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

“You’re just fishing for a tip now,” Rafe replies, smirking.

“Guilty.”

You both share a soft chuckle, the twisted joke behind your word choice not lost on either of you.

·········

The detective is tense when you see him again, a minor crack in his confident demeanor. It’s clear he thought he was going to catch you – both of you – today.

You thought you’d clear your and Rafe’s name through the monitored conversation, but Brading just looks angry now.

“You didn’t mention your relationship is more than friendly,” he says, arms crossed as he stands across from you in your boss’s office. He didn’t even care to sit down this time.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you needed to know that.”

“I need to know everything. You were withholding information,” he tells you. “And there’s something else you’re not telling me.”

The facade he was putting on has faded. He’s on edge and direct about the fact that he doesn’t trust a word out of your mouth.

“There isn’t,” you reply.

“Listen,” Brading says, his voice heavy and terse. “Porter’s family brought me into this because I’ve had a long, successful career of putting away scumbags like your boyfriend. I know your type. I know you’re covering for him. And you’re just making it worse for yourself by not telling me what you know.”

You don’t respond, staring at him blankly, your heart drumming in fear.

“I could make things easier for you if you just admit it,” he says. “A judge is likely to be lenient when someone helps with an investigation. I’d vouch for you.”

He’s intimidating. But you won’t give in. You never will.

“I don’t know anything,” you state.

His lips close into a firm line as he steps past you.

“I’ll see you soon,” Brading threatens before he opens the door.

·········

The lip of the sun still clings onto the ocean horizon as Rafe drives south. He was relieved when you texted him to come over tonight. He needs to see you. And he needs to talk about what happened this morning.

You answer your front door and Rafe takes in your gentle gaze and he swears that the pull he always felt towards you is a thousand times stronger because for once, you actually seem glad to see him.

“We can go to my room,” you say. You’ve been anxious to meet with him. You can’t control your impulse and you don’t see any reason to.

You press your cheek against his chest and wrap your arms around him the moment your bedroom door shuts behind you. His heart is thudding against your ear, his body hard and warm.

Rafe hesitantly cups your arms, not sure if you’ll push him away like you did last night.

“He just showed up at my work,” you say in a nervous rush, “and I thought if he heard you say you didn’t do anything, he’d back off, but then he said he knows I’m hiding something. He’s onto us. I don’t think we should talk to him without a lawyer. I can’t afford one. You have to help me pay for one.”

Rafe realizes you’re trembling beneath him. He doesn’t give a fuck that the man who scared you like this is a cop; if he was in front of him right now, he’d punch him.

“I will,” he says. “That was smart. The note.”

“I was so worried you wouldn’t see it.” You pull back, craning your neck to meet his eyes. “I know it was risky. You did a good job.”

He nods, gazing down at you. He’s not used to people telling him he did something right.

It’s unreal to be here, standing in your bedroom, past the guard you’ve forced him to stay behind for so long. It’s intimate seeing where you live, where you sleep, where you exist.

“He told me a judge would go easy on me if I helped with the case,” you admit, “but I have your back. And I don’t expect the worst of you, okay? I know you have my back, too.”

“You trust me?” Rafe asks, a hint of surprise in his deep voice. His hands drag down your arms, stopping at your wrists.

You wriggle against him, a subconscious test that you’re not trapped. He immediately releases you.

It makes his chest ache to know you expect him to harm you.

“I won’t hurt you,” he says.

Your body betrays you. Tears surface, hot and fast. The fresh wound lodges against your heart.

“It’s not…” You step back, knees wobbling. Your legs are suddenly desperate to rest and can’t hold you up any longer. “It’s not personal.”

You step away, sitting at the edge of your bed, head in your hands. You’ve barely been keeping it together, trying to outrun the shadow of pain that’s been haunting you. There’s no limit to what you’d give to forget what happened.

You brush your hands off your face when you hear the floorboards creak. Rafe leans in front of you, crouched at your feet. You watch his hands ghost over your calves.

It throws you for a loop, seeing him on your floor like this. For so long, all you assumed about him was that he thought he was above you. Now, he’s on his knees for you.

“Hey.” He says it in the same way he did after the gun went off. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him. You know that’s what he wants.

You meet his eyes, and when you see the genuine concern swimming in the deep blue, all the strings hardly keeping you together unravel.

“It wasn’t about money,” you utter tearfully.

“What?”

“It wasn’t ever about money. He didn’t rip me off.” Your sobs start to come out as gasps. “He hurt me.”

Rafe’s veins turn to ice. He frantically searches your face for an explanation because no, it can’t be what he’s thinking.

“I passed out while he…” You shake your head, tears rolling over your cheeks as you shut your eyes. “It’s like my mind couldn’t take what he was doing to my body and I passed out. And then you came in…”

His breaths grow shallow. That’s why you were as angry as you were. Why you cried as hard as you did. Why you tense up and shove him away when he holds you.

When Rafe pushed Porter in that room, he never would have expected you’d be there, bearing the pain of something that fractured you. He’s furious, disgusted, in disbelief.

He sees now that you meant when you said you don’t regret killing him. The empty look on your face was never guilt. It was fear. Trauma.

“I know I shouldn’t have gone upstairs alone,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “I didn’t think–”

“Stop,” he says softly. His hands rest on your face, palms gently cupping your wet cheeks. Of all the things you thought you knew about him, you would’ve never expected him to be so tender. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It settles your coiled heart hearing him dismiss the nauseating, intrusive thoughts you’ve had blaming yourself for what happened. You finally open your eyes to look at him again.

His eyes are glossy. He knows now and he’s looking at you with so much sympathy that your chest stutters with your gasps, stomach somehow twisting in both pain and relief.

For once, Rafe doesn’t say the first thing that pops into his head – that if he knew what Porter had done, he would have made him suffer, he would have tortured him, instead of shooting a single, life-ending bullet. Because there’s no point. You saved his life that night and he wishes he could’ve saved yours, but all he can do right now is tell you what he will do instead of what he would have done.

“I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again,” he murmurs. “I swear on my life. You’ll always be safe with me.”

He’s hesitant to startle you with his touch, but thankfully, you lean over and wrap your arms atop his shoulders and it’s so gratifying to know you’re using him to ground yourself.

Rafe holds you like he can’t get close enough. Because he can’t. Nothing he does now can take back what happened to you but everything he does moving forward will be to make sure you never experience a horror like that again.

His life is no longer a cycle of numbing thrills. He has a real reason to keep going now.

You inhale the comforting smell of his neck, your cheek pressed against his. You curl into him as you shake through your sobs.

“Nobody else knows,” you admit, voice muffled against his skin. “I didn’t think I’d tell.”

Even after what you’d done together, a bond that didn’t exist between you before digs its roots into you both. He’s holding you with softness you didn’t know he was capable of, after making a promise so sincere that you felt it in your core.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. And for the first time since that terrifying night, you feel it.

·········

It’s been five days since Brading accosted you at work. Even though he hasn’t bothered you since, and there haven’t been any public updates on the investigation, you’re on edge knowing that you and Rafe are suspects.

Since then, when you’re not working or hanging out with your friends, you’re with Rafe.

You still haven’t told the guys. You don’t know how you could possibly prove to them how good of a man Rafe actually is when you can’t tell them a single detail of what’s happened between you. You’d rather not have to explain yourself to them. Not yet.

Rafe doesn’t pester you about being your secret. As long as he’s something to you.

It’s dusk and you’re sitting on the quiet beach with him, cocooned in comfort and curled up on the sand, the setting sun playing across his handsome face.

Since your conversation in your bedroom, you haven’t spoken about the night that tied you two together.

But you have been speaking to each other like never before, holding onto the playfulness that always existed beneath your banter, allowing yourselves to talk and joke and kiss with no inhibitions. Except he doesn’t dare hold you without asking if he can first.

Tonight, as you sit side-by-side in the clouded orange and pink glow, Rafe feels a smile on his face, a real one, after not smiling for so many years. Being with you is the first time in a long time that he feels vaguely normal.

“It’s too bad,” you say, gazing at his dimples.

“What is?” Rafe rasps.

“That you’ve been keeping this smile from me for so long,” you say with a glint in your eyes. “Why were you so dedicated to hating me?”

“You hated me,” he scoffs with a smirk.

“You started it. All that Pogue/Kook crap.” You meant it as a joke, but Rafe’s smile fades. He looks ahead at the crashing waves. You hit a nerve.

“What?” you ask softly.

Rafe is consumed by his own emotions. He’s a victim to how demanding and overwhelming they can be. He’s been like that for most of his life.

Being with you has cleared some of the fog in his head. He knows now that he was desperate for some form of connection and that’s why he bought into the idea that being part of a group meant something.

If he had nothing of substance to him, nothing lovable, at least he had wealth in common with a social circle he always felt disjointed from. It was a ridiculous substitute for a sense of belonging.

“I was jealous,” he finally admits.

“Jealous?” you echo.

His jaw tenses. He can’t look at you.

“You’ve seen it yourself,” Rafe mutters. “When shit hit the fan, nobody backed me up. Nobody checks up on me. Nobody gives a damn. I don’t have any real friends. And you called your friends family. I don’t have that. I don’t have anybody. It’s why I sell coke. It’s pathetic, but at least I have something worth…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. The man who you thought had everything never did. He was in pain, lonely, selling drugs because at least it gave people something to like about him.

“Rafe,” you say quietly. He meets your gaze. You wish you could unsee the hurt in his eyes. “You have me. I care about you so much.”

You look at him in all the ways he’d always secretly hoped you would. The years of longing for you – the girl who always has a retort, who always keeps him on his toes, who always looks so frustratingly beautiful – all those daydreams don’t come close to how it actually feels to have you like this.

He wonders if you have any idea of all the ways you can break him.

“Yeah?” is all he can mumble, his throat tight.

You nod, finding his hand and pulling it to your chest. He’s not sure if you meant to press him up against where he can feel your pulse, but he feels the rhythmic thudding coming from beneath your skin, and God, is it insane that he feels like he lives for your heartbeat?

He thought he was fine living an empty life. But he’s gotten a taste of being wrapped up in you and he doesn’t want to lose it. Ever.

“You keep me safe,” you say softly. “Let me do the same for you in my own way, alright?”

He nods, blinking away tears. Your heart breaks and you lean forward, losing yourself in his kiss. His lips are soft and gentle, pushing against yours with a soft fragility.

“Are you okay?” you whisper against his cheek. He hasn’t been okay in so long. But this is the closest to it he’s ever gotten. He doesn’t want to hide you. He wants everyone to see you chose him.

“Do you want to go to that bonfire tonight?” he asks.

There’s a party at the beach you spoke at a couple of weeks ago, back when Rafe stopped you after you bought a joint from Porter.

“Together?” you ask. He nods, uncertainty pinching his face. You can tell he’s expecting you to say no. As if you’re ashamed of him.

You’re almost sure your friends won’t be there. They asked you to hang out at Pope’s tonight and you declined and said you’d stay home. They probably won’t be at the bonfire.

Either way, you’re willing to take the risk. Rafe is worth it.

·········

Gossip spreads like weeds. You can tell by how people stare at you when you arrive with Rafe that his name has been in everyone’s mouths, whispering conspiracies about what he did to Porter. You know your name will start to come up in those conversations, too.

“So, it’s true,” one of his buddies says when he sees you cupping Rafe’s bicep as you join the group, the bonfire crackling. “You’re really messing with a Pogue.”

“That’ll be the last time you call her that, got it?” Rafe says sharply. His friend scoffs a laugh, putting his hands up in feigned surrender, his beer bottle sloshing.

Rafe leans to mumble in your ear, “Do you want a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say, eager to take the edge off.

You swallow the bitterness of the drink Rafe picks up for you, staring ahead at the ocean, thinking about how somewhere in the vast expanse, Porter’s body is lying at the bottom.

“Man, it’s weird just… continuing to live life, isn’t it?”

You look up to see a man standing beside you. He’s a friend of the person you killed. You recognize him from the day at the club when Porter called you over. You still get shivers remembering his smile.

“What do you mean?” you mumble.

“Porter. He’s just gone,” he continues. There’s a slur in his words. He’s drunk. “He’s gotta be… you know. There’s no other explanation.”

You tighten your grip on Rafe’s arm, but he doesn’t notice, lost in conversation with one of his buddies.

“Yeah,” you offer. “It’s sad.”

“He told me he liked you,” he says with a raised brow. “He had a huge crush on you.”

You can taste bile on your tongue. You look up at Rafe, whose attention is on your conversation now. His stare is hard, his nostrils flared in anger.

“I didn’t know,” you say simply.

“Really?” he laughs. “He said you were playing hard to get.”

His vile words make your breath hitch.

The flame in Rafe rises so fast that within two seconds, he swings a punch. And suddenly, he’s leaning over, knuckles ramming into the idiot’s face as he lies on the sand, unleashing the rage of what happened to you and the urge to take your pain away.

He could kill him.

Rafe feels hands at the crooks of his shoulders pulling him back. He struggles to get on his feet, his friends’ words overlapping as they try to calm him down. He’s breathless, looking up to meet your eyes, taking in how completely lost and anguished you look.

He roughly pushes his friends off as he stumbles towards you, his shaking hands resting on your shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he says to you, looking at you like you’re the only one here.

“You’re such an asshole!” the guy on the ground shouts.

Rafe ignores him, his hand on the small of your back as he leads you away from the crowd. You’re trembling, thrown back to that night, thrown back to being called a tease, thrown back to being held down.

You reach the parking lot, not nearly far enough from the loud crowd, still hearing the crackling of the fire, when your knees buckle.

Your heart is pounding so hard that you’re afraid it’s going to give out. But Rafe holds you up as you stand between parked cars, looking at you with desperation.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You find strength as you pull your arms up around his shoulders. He holds you tightly, firm and still against your shaking body.

You’re slowly finding peace.

Then you hear JJ’s voice mutter, “What the hell?”

You pull back, spotting him a few feet away with Pope and John B getting out of the car, looking at you with an expression you can only describe as appalled. You don’t have words. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Blistering sirens reverberate through you. They get so loud so fast that you don’t realize you’ve lost contact with Rafe until a police car jolts to a stop a few feet away from you.

This has to be a nightmare.

Detective Brading swings open the door, followed by another cop, rushing towards you and Rafe. He’s carrying handcuffs. You might lose consciousness.

“Knew this day was coming, didn’t you?” Brading says before he grips Rafe’s wrist, pushing him up against the nearest car.

Rafe struggles, but Brading slams him against the hood of the car so hard that you hear the thud of his skull against the metal.

“Stop! You can’t hurt him like that!” you cry. The other police officer steps in front of you, pushing you back. You expect him to handcuff you, too. He doesn’t.

You look around you in terrified desperation as if someone can help. The crowd has quickly come closer, watching in awe, as if you and Rafe’s lives aren’t being pulled apart for everyone to see.

You meet Rafe’s frightened gaze as the side of his face presses against the car. Brading flatly recites his rights, handcuffing him, ignoring you as you beg that he tell you why he’s being arrested, that he stop hurting him.

Rafe doesn’t say a word until you whimper in pain and plead to the officer keeping you back to stop holding so tight. He tries to charge forward, demanding he take his hands off of you, earning him another rough push against the car.

Brading hauls him away and you try to follow, but the other officer keeps you back, gripping you so hard that it reminds you of Porter all over again.

“You want to get arrested, too?” he mutters. Your muscles give in, losing tension. You still don’t understand why Rafe’s being arrested and you’re not.

“No. Sorry. I’ll stop,” you say weakly. “Where’s he being taken?”

The officer doesn’t believe you at first, but eventually, he loosens his grip.

“The county jail,” he says, looking past your shoulder as the car door shuts.

Then, they leave, and you’re in front of the crowd, in front of your friends, frozen and speechless.

·········

Your mouth is dry as you wait in the lobby of the quiet jail. They won’t give you any information. Nothing about what the charge is, how long Rafe will be here, if he’ll be given bail. It’s been an hour.

You hold JJ’s car keys in your shaking hands. You were frantic when you begged him to lend you his car, promising you’d take care of it.

He confusedly agreed and you left immediately, not exchanging any other words, following the police car just in case the officer lied to you about where they were going.

Your phone is dead and your connection to the outside world is dead with it.

Your stomach drops when you spot Brading exit through a door behind the processing desk.

“What’s happening?” you ask. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

He stiffly cuts through the lobby, pushing open the front door, letting it swing behind him. You grunt as the door hits your palms.

“I suggest you go home,” Brading mutters as you trail him into the dark parking lot. “I can charge you for assault against a police officer if you don’t stop harassing me.”

“Please. I just want to know,” you plead. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

You’re sure he’s getting a power trip out of this. You didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. Now, he won’t tell you.

“Please,” you repeat, feeling utterly powerless. The detective stops abruptly, facing you, his face in a scowl.

“I’m ordering you to go home,” he says sharply.

“Brading?” someone calls behind him.

Within a matter of seconds, you hear something you never thought you’d hear again. The single and unmistakable blow of a gunshot.

·········

You’re in disbelief, staring ahead at the stranger sitting in your living room as her gaze travels between you and your parents. The woman introduced herself as an agent, flashing a shiny badge before she came inside.

Last night, you gave the cops a statement about what had happened in the parking lot. A man was out there, agitated and waiting for Brading. He shot him and looked you dead in the eyes before another man shouted for him to get down on the ground.

He drove away, tires screeching, as the officer who’d rushed out of the jail shot at the car. You remember dropping to the cold concrete, being interrogated by a detective, and eventually being ordered to go home and not tell a soul what you’d seen.

You’re still terrified, unable to accept what your life has become and how the domino effect you’ve been thrust into could be so vicious.

“Detective Brading is in critical condition,” the woman says, “but he was able to identify the man who shot him.”

“What about Rafe?” you ask. “Is he okay?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who that is.”

You sniffle your tears, shaking your head in disbelief. You still haven’t been given any updates on him.

“I’m here because the man from last night,” she continues, “is part of a family that has dangerous affiliations. Brading has a history of putting away high-profile criminals, and he arrested the shooter’s brother. His brother recently passed away in prison and… he tracked Brading down to make him pay. He’s still at large. According to your statement, he saw you, is that right?”

You nod anxiously, waiting for her to get to her point. By now, you have enough trauma to last you ten lifetimes.

Then, she tells you that for you and your parents’ safety, you’ll need to be put into witness protection and that you’ll be relocated and given new identities immediately.

When you ask what you’re supposed to say to the people you’re leaving behind, she’s eerily calm as she tells you, “Nothing. I’m sorry, but there’s no way you can contact anyone you know. Everyone will be under the impression that you’ve died.”

·········

You consumed Rafe’s thoughts as he sat in the county jail cell. He didn’t focus on how suffocating the room was, or how badly his wrists burned from the handcuffs, or what his future was going to look like.

He thought about you, how completely and deliberately you were in his corner, how all the embarrassment of being arrested in front of all those people was erased when you yelled in his defense.

The only voice in the crowd standing up for him, while everyone else watched, was yours. He has never cared about someone more than himself. You changed that.

That’s why when he receives the news that you passed away in an accident, he snaps.

next >

note sorry for the drama… now i can finally share that this inspired this part of the story 🤭

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rest of the night narration, rafe and reader slowly getting along.

main masterlist | tag list | previous next

cassaline dabs her lips with a napkin the color of crushed rose petals, sitting with a straight back and the posture of someone who’s never known discomfort.

“i know it’s all overwhelming, darlings,” she coos, pouring herself a bit more wine. “but if the tribute parade was any sign, you’ve both taken to the capitol beautifully. i mean, truly, the presence . . . you’ve got people talking. my inbox is glowing.”

you glance at her from across the table, chewing slowly. “good,” you say, voice even.

rafe doesn’t say anything, but the corner of his mouth ticks up. not a smile. not really. just something close.

enobaria sets her fork down with careful precision, then lifts her glass. “she’s not exaggerating,” she says, her voice lower. “we heard from two different sponsors tonight. both asking when your training sessions start. they want to come watch.”

that catches your attention. you raise a brow. “already?”

“mhm.” she sips once, then adds, “and one of them’s on the gamemaker board. just so you know.”

rafe glances at you briefly, then shifts in his chair, letting one arm rest lazily across the table. “so we’ve got fans,” he mutters.

“you’ve got interest,” brutus says gruffly, standing up from his seat. he leaves half a steak on his plate and barely touched the glass of whatever cassaline poured for him. his arms are crossed, “but you need allies.”

you sit straighter at that. rafe’s already watching him, brow twitching.

“you’ll meet with district one tomorrow during training,” brutus continues. “maybe four, too. we’re working on the timing. you’ll make the call if you want the alliance.”

cassaline gives a soft nod, her earrings sparkling with the motion. “nothing is final, of course. but we’ve spoken to both teams. they’re open. interested.”

“they always are,” enobaria says smoothly. “no one wants to start a bloodbath between the careers on day one.”

you know what brutus means, though. alliances are useful, if they’re balanced. but three districts joining together? that’s six tributes, a quarter of the arena’s bloodthirstiest kids, all in one pack. and if it goes that way this year, it’ll be hard to break.

rafe seems to be thinking the same thing. “big group,” he mutters. “harder to manage. harder to trust.”

“harder to kill,” brutus adds, one eyebrow raised. “unless you’re ready to start with a war.”

you breathe in once through your nose and look at enobaria, who meets your eyes like she’s sizing you up all over again. “what would you do?”

she shrugs one shoulder, “i’d meet them, feel them out. see which ones have tempers, which ones like to follow. then i’d keep the ones who do what they’re told, and gut the ones who don’t.”

cassaline gasps, almost delighted. “enobaria! manners!”

enobaria smirks. “i used my fork.”

you don’t laugh, but you do look down at your empty plate and think about how different tomorrow will be. training. watching. reading every step, every hand, every flinch from the other tributes. you and rafe may have caught attention tonight, but now comes the real work: deciding who to trust before you're forced to kill them.

brutus gets up and steps away without another word, already done with his part—the advice and the meal. you hear the heavy thud of the door closing behind him, leaving only the soft clink of cutlery and cassaline’s gentle humming as she sets down her goblet.

“sleep well tonight,” she tells you both, smiling brightly. “you’ve made a lovely impression. tomorrow’s about making it last.”

you push your chair back slowly, rising from the table. you catch rafe doing the same across from you, both of you moving like something’s already shifted.

you glance at enobaria. she just nods once. you nod back. and then, looking at cassaline, you speak, “wake me up if someone dies.”

you walk out before anyone can reply.

the bedroom was way too big for one person. that’s your first thought when you finally get to be alone in it. there’s no cassaline talking your ear off, no brutus brooding in a corner, no rafe’s unreadable expressions across the table. just this room and you.

you’re not sure if his looks the same. rafe’s, that is. it’s across the hall, same size probably, but you didn’t peek when you had the chance. didn’t want to look too interested. you’re curious, though. you always are.

the floor in your room is marble, smooth and cold beneath your bare feet, a color you can’t quite name. there’s a vanity near the far wall, lined with bottles and brushes and jars of products you don’t recognize, probably don’t need, but the capitol put them there anyway. just in case.

the bed sits like a throne in the middle of the room, covered in too many pillows, too many layers. it’s clean, quiet, still.

the bathroom is attached, tucked away behind a set of sliding frosted glass doors that seal silently. it’s just as ridiculous as the bedroom. the kind of space you’ve only ever seen on capitol tv.

the showers have more buttons than a control panel. there are shelves full of body creams, hair masks, oils, facial rollers, scented salts. toothbrushes that buzz when you hold them, rows of toothpaste in different flavors. moisturizers labeled by time of day, skin type, weather conditions. you barely touch any of it.

you just rinse off the sweat from the day, scrub your face, change into the soft nightwear folded neatly on your bed. it’s nothing like home, but it’ll do.

when you’re done, you dive straight into the mattress like you’ve been waiting for it all day. it swallows you instantly.

you lie there for a while, staring at the wall of a window across from you. the capitol glows beyond it with impossibly tall buildings. it’s dizzying, a little nauseating. you’ve seen it on a screen before, back home. but this is different. real. loud. blinding. it doesn’t look like it ever sleeps.

you won’t, either, not with that glow crawling across the floor of your room.

you push off the bed with a groan, walking over to see if there’s a curtain or anything you can tug shut. but there’s nothing. it’s just smooth wall, smooth glass. no handles. no switches. you pause, then glance behind you, remembering the remote you saw earlier on your nightstand.

you pick it up and look at the buttons. a few have symbols, like mountain peaks, a sun, maybe a wave, but most of them are blank. figures. you try one, and for a moment, nothing happens.

and then the wall shifts.

it’s not like a regular projection. it’s too immersive. no glare, no distortion. just a seamless image stretching across the full height and width of the glass, and suddenly, your room is filled with the soft orange and dusty gold light of a wide, open canyon.

the wind doesn’t blow through the walls, but you swear you can feel it. it looks like somewhere people lived before cities were even a thought.

you lower the remote and sit back on the bed again, cross-legged this time. the colors soak into the walls. into your skin. it’s not quite comforting, but it’s distracting enough. that’s all you need.

your hand finds the small bowl of iced cookies on the nightstand. they look sugary, almost fake, like they were made of pastel chalk. you take one anyway, bite into it. it crunches, then melts, like snow under sunlight.

you heard that apparently, capitol treats don’t go bad. they can sit out for weeks and still taste fresh.

great for you. great for the ghosts who’ll live in this room after you.

you lean back slightly on your palms, chewing quietly, watching the canyon stretch on forever. just breathing. just listening to the silence, for now.

but now it’s been hours since you first laid down.

you’ve changed the wall at least four times. from canyon to forest to snow-covered field to soft ocean waves, each one more soothing than the last, but none of them work. you can’t sleep.

you’re curled under the covers now, still wide awake, staring at the window wall. it should be peaceful. quiet. you picked it because it reminded you of something still. something far. but your eyes won’t close for long. every time they do, something pulls them open again.

it’s too hot. too cold. too bright. too dark. the blanket doesn’t sit right on your shoulders. the air shifts strangely in the room. even your skin feels off, and you’re too aware of the sound of your own breathing. and every time you try to fix it, you reach for the remote to adjust the lights, toggle the air temp, you wake yourself up all over again.

you’re frustrated. angry in the quietest, smallest way.

tomorrow is training. the start of it. you don’t even know what time they’ll wake you, just that someone will. cassaline had told you and rafe you wouldn’t need an alarm. “an avox will be there at some point,” she’d said lightly, “if not one of us.”

and wasn’t that funny? not funny-ha-ha, but funny like a punchline delivered too early. the capitol cuts their tongues out, calls it justice, and then expects them to silently rouse tributes from their beds.

you’d seen them earlier. avoxes. a few stood near the corners of the main living space, close enough to act quickly, far enough to not draw attention, watching, waiting for the mentors or stylists or prep team to be done so they could sweep through and clean what’s left.

it wasn’t creepy exactly, but you hadn’t approached them. hadn’t really looked them in the eye. you weren’t supposed to talk to them anyway. weren’t supposed to acknowledge too much of anything.

your head falls into your hands, fingers dragging through your hair. you sigh.

“you have training tomorrow, go to sleep.” it echoes in your mind, soft and strict and familiar. probably your mom’s voice. or your dad’s. either one.

you almost laugh, because for a second, you really do wish one of them were here. just to scold you. just to be loud enough to snap you out of this feeling. maybe then you’d sleep.

but they’re not. they’ll never be in this building.

and so, after a moment, you rip the blanket off your body and swing your legs off the bed, planting your feet on the freezing floor. your teeth almost clack together at the cold. you groan under your breath, stepping to the dresser and tugging open a drawer, pulling on the first pair of socks you find. then, quietly, carefully, you push open the bedroom door and slip into the hallway.

it’s dim out here. not pitch-black, but close. the kind of darkness that has no intention of being inviting. your arms wrap around yourself on instinct. it’s colder than your room. empty, too. no footsteps. no soft laughter. just silence and carpet.

you walk slowly, tiptoeing across the hall, and into the living area.

everyone’s gone. probably asleep.

you glance at the dining room as you pass it. it’s spotless, like the chaos from earlier never happened. no wine stains, no crumbs, no twisted napkins left behind. you remember cassaline spilling onto herself, brushing it off with a soft laugh, enobaria amused. it’s as if it never happened. the table gleams like it’s brand new.

you move on, walking deeper into the living room, where the massive couch takes up more space than any normal family could need. a fireplace sleeps beneath a blank screen, both waiting for someone to wake them.

maybe, if you were normal, if this were a regular night in a regular place, you’d sit here and watch something. let yourself fall asleep to the soft flicker of warmth and white noise.

but then you notice it.

the balcony doors are slightly open. just enough for a thin, pale glow to slip through the curtains.

your brows furrow. it’s late. too late for anyone to be out there. close the door, that’s why it’s so cold out here.

you step closer, slow and quiet, fingers brushing the curtain aside, and through the narrow crack in the door, you see him.

rafe.

you stand there, staring at him through the crack in the door, and it’s just—why the fuck is he out here?

he’s just standing there, leaning against the railing, elbows propped on the edge, hands laced together. he doesn’t move. doesn’t notice you. he just stares out over the capitol. the city looks different at this time at night. not quieter. just lonelier. maybe you were wrong before.

you hover behind the door for a second, the cold draft brushing your face. he’s out there, just like you’re in here, sleepless, restless, waiting for something that won’t come.

you eventually push the balcony door open and step outside, the wind enveloping you immediately. as soon as you go to close it behind you, the thing lets out the loudest, most god-awful creaking sound you’ve ever heard.

it seals with a heavy clunk and you freeze, wide-eyed like you just got caught sneaking out.

rafe’s already spun around, shoulders tense, like he’s ready to lunge at whoever decided to sneak up behind him. but when he sees it’s you, his posture shifts. he’s less defensive, more irritated. he looks at you like you’re ridiculous for that. like really?

“that’s why i didn’t close it,” he says, turning his back on you again. his forearms settle on the railing, crossed casually like this is his personal hideout. this is night one, buddy.

you shoot him a flat look as you walk over, glancing behind you once at the door like it betrayed you. “how was i supposed to know that?”

he doesn’t even look at you. just shrugs. “and how did i know the door would sound like that?”

you blink. “yeah, actually.”

rafe exhales through his nose, amused in that dry way only he knows how to pull off. “my dad’s a high-ranking peacekeeper back home,” he says finally. “brought me here one time when i was a kid. to the capitol.”

you look at him, a little confused. “here here?”

“yeah.” he shifts slightly, letting his forearms relax. “i met some of the tributes that year. he showed me around the tribute center like it was a museum. made a whole point to bring me to the floor for district two.” his jaw flexes. “like he knew i’d end up here someday. or hoped.”

you watch him for a second, your hands coming up to rest against the top of the railing beside him.

“that, and the couches in the living room fold out into beds,” he adds, offhand. “just in case someone can’t sleep in their actual room.”

your eyebrows twitch up just a little, impressed despite yourself.

“huh,” you murmur, gaze slipping away from him and onto the city below.

but you stand there, quiet, next to rafe.

you eventually steal a glance at him again. he hasn’t said anything in a bit. his face is cut from stone, but his eyes look distant. like he’s not even here. at least not on the balcony, not in the capitol. maybe not even in his own body. you wonder where his head goes when he goes quiet like that. probably somewhere ugly.

you shift a little, toe nudging the cool floor. “so . . . was that your dad’s thing? training you early?”

he doesn’t move. not even a twitch. for a second you think he won’t answer at all, but then his thumb brushes absently along the railing. “his thing was control.”

you nod, slowly. your eyes flick back to the city.

“and your parents?” he asks, softer now, almost cautious.

you let out a breath. it fogs slightly in front of you, the night colder than you realized. “they’re not like that. they’re just . . .” you think about it, really think. “they’re quiet. good people. never wanted this for me.”

rafe finally turns his head just enough to look at you. “but you volunteered.”

you nod once. “i did.”

he waits. doesn’t push, but waits.

you chew on your lip for a second, then say, “there was this kid in our district. younger. maybe thirteen? untrained, like it was obvious her parents took care of everything for her and never needed her to train at the academy like we did. but she would’ve been dead by the first hour.” you pause. “figured if anyone was gonna die, might as well be me. someone who at least knows what they’re walking into.”

the silence that follows is thicker than before. it settles into your skin, makes your shoulders feel heavier.

“you?” you ask, voice lower now. “you’ve probably been raised for this since birth, right?”

rafe lets out a short breath. maybe it’s a laugh. maybe it’s not, “pretty much.” your brows knit, your grip on the railing tightening slightly. “i used to think getting reaped would be the worst thing that could happen to me,” he says, voice steadier now. “but being trained for something your whole life . . . only to be scared of it anyway?” he turns his head a little toward you. “that’s worse.”

you watch him. not saying anything. not really sure what to say.

there’s a pause before you mumble, “well i haven’t slept either.”

he shifts, slightly. “figured.”

you glance at him. “yeah?”

“i heard you pacing earlier. you walk loud.”

a huff of a laugh leaves you before you can stop it. then you lean a little more into the railing, your hair falling into your face. “think they’ll wake us with some kind of trumpet in the morning? or like, cannons to get us ready for the real thing?”

“nah,” he says. “probably just an avox, like cassaline said. just starin’ at you until you open your eyes.”

you laugh again, quieter now. “creepy, but possible.”

you fall into silence after that. the wind pulls through the balcony and you shiver slightly, shifting your arms closer to your body. you notice rafe glance at you, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

your voice drops to a whisper. “i hate this place.”

he’s quiet again. and for a second, you wonder if you said too much. but then—“me too.”

you look at him, and he’s looking right back. his eyes aren’t cold like they were earlier in the day. they’re tired. like yours.

you both look away at the same time, gazes falling back to the skyline. it’s a strange thing, sharing this moment. a quiet sort of closeness, made from exhaustion and fear and the knowledge that in a few days, one or both of you might be dead.

“so . . . you cold?” he asks, not looking at you.

“a little.”

he shrugs off the light jacket he’s wearing and holds it out. doesn’t say anything. just waits for you to take it.

you hesitate for a second, then reach for it slowly. “thanks.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he says, but his voice is softer than before.

you smile. barely. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

you slip the jacket on, sleeves a little long on you, and return to your place beside him.

you don’t say anything else for a while. you just stand there together, watching the city, letting the quiet stretch between you again. but it’s different now. less heavy. less lonely.

maybe, just maybe, the night will pass a little easier now.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae

[flemingsfreckles]

In Control (18+ g!p)

Synopsis: After Jessie leaves you high and dry one morning before training, you decide to take matters into your own hands when she returns home late that evening.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), g!p smut, simulated sex (think dry humping without clothes 🙃), oral sex (r giving), delayed orgasm/edging, lots of grinding, sort of ruined orgasm, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamic, overstimulation,

WC: 4.4k

A/N: hi, I know g!p isn’t everyone’s thing, but I had this idea and couldn’t get it out of my brain so I needed to write it. I also promise I’ve got some non-g!p smut in the works as well as some non-smut stuff. I’ve just had to take a bit of a break to deal with some real life things and take time after the election to compose myself and take some time to care for myself. I promise other stuff is slowly being worked on, this is just what was the most completed.

“Babe, don’t!” You scolded Jessie as she lay behind you, subtly grinding the hard on she had woken up with into your ass.

“Don’t what?” Her voice, still deep with sleep

“You know what you’re doing, you’re going to get me all worked up, then leave me high and dry when your alarm goes off in,” you lean over to look at the clock, “8 minutes, and then you get to go work off steam at practice while I’m stuck here without you!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She whispered, before placing an open mouth kiss on the side of your neck, her arms slowly wrapping around your midsection. Her fingers draw lines across your stomach and begin to trail up to your chest as she continues gently grinding herself into you. It takes everything in you to not roll your hips back, you couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she already had you worked up.

As you predicted, Jessie’s alarm rang out just a few moments later and suddenly her hands were gone and the bed behind you was empty as Jessie moved into the bathroom to get ready. When she came back out in a shirt and shorts you couldn’t help but notice the still prominent bulge she had.

“You didn’t take care of yourself in there?” You say, still eyes her up.

Shaking her head Jessie smiled at you, “I’m saving it for you, plus it’ll go away in a minute or two once I’m thinking about training and not my sexy girlfriend.”

“Go then, but give me a kiss first.” You reach a hand out in her direction.

“I love you.” She says as she walks over to where you remained in bed.

“I love you.” Your lips meet in a quick kiss. “You better be ready to go when you get home, none of this I’m too tired from training shit. You’ve fucked me after playing 90 and then going to after parties, you can handle it after a training session.” You smile up at her, giving her a quick wink, making sure she knew you were teasing.

“I promise, I’ll make it worth the wait, I’ll have you screaming my name baby.” She responded with a cocky tone, letting her hand trail down your sternum before placing one final kiss on your lips. “We’re done at 1:30, I’ll be leaving there around 2:30 at the latest, I promise. 3 o’clock I’m all yours.”

You sighed heavily as you checked the time again. 2:30 came and went, no text from Jessie that she’d be home soon, then it was 2:45 still no word from her, and then it was 3:00. You had gotten yourself all ready 30 minutes before Jessie was supposed to be home And here she was, late.

You had gone into the closet, finding the small shopping bag you had purchased the other day. Inside of it a tight, dark blue lacy bra with a matching thong to go with it. You had put both on, then perched yourself on your bed in anticipation for Jessie’s return home, waiting for her to come and follow through on her promise to have you screaming her name.

You were annoyed at first, Jessie never blew you off. She was a terrible texted but she kept you updated on where she was, when she’d be home. This was unusual behavior, you were worried about her, maybe something happened, maybe she had gotten injured. Your early stages of spiraling were put to rest when Jessie finally returned your messages at 3:21.

Jessie ☺️: I’m so sorry, I got caught up in some impromptu press stuff I didn’t know about, I’ll be home soon.

Slightly frustrated with her, you decide to get your revenge. Smirking to yourself you open your phone's camera before sliding your hand to the waistband of your thong. You move your hand down between your legs, taking a moment to touch yourself before deciding to take a photo. It wasn’t overly explicit, just showing your hand between your legs and a teasing glimpse of the blue lace, but it would get the idea into Jessie’s head.

You: I was told I’d be getting pleased by 3, just didn’t know I’d have to do it myself.

You watch as the message goes from delivered to read. You watch as she types for a moment, then stop, no message ever being delivered. You roll your eyes, losing your phone before lying back, letting your fingers mindlessly play with your core, not really trying to get yourself off but more just enjoying the feeling.

You heard the jingle of her keys and the door shut followed by quick footsteps and the bedroom door swinging open not long after. Jessie stood in the doorway still wearing her training kit. Her eyes fall to where your hand was still inside the lacy fabric.

“Oh wow.”

“Nice of you to show up.” You say firmly at her, sitting yourself up on your elbows, taking your fingers away from where they had been on your clit.

“I know, I’m so sorry, we just had media stuff that no one told us about.” As Jessie begins her frustrated rant regarding having to participate in media and the lack of warning your eyes can’t help but wander down her body to the slightly obvious tent of her training shorts.

“I just wish they’d given us a heads up, that would’ve been nice, but no, they made us all train and then shower and then we had to get back into clean training kits and pretend we were training again for photos.” Jessie continues on rambling.

Deciding you had heard enough you push yourself up from the bed and walk over to her. She continues talking, eyes now closed in frustration, complaining about her day until she feels your hand fall between her legs, cupping the noticeable arousal. Her eyes immediately open, falling to where your hand rested.

“Should we do something about this?” You look at her, giving a gentle squeeze to her bulge. She nods and you reach for her neck with your free hand, pulling her in hard to kiss you. Her body pressed into yours, letting her covered bulge grind against you. “Hang on Jess.” You manage to clear your mind enough to push her away gently. She steps back, her eyes trailing over your nearly naked body, drinking you in with her eyes.

“God I’m so lucky.” She mumbles to herself. You feel shy and yet confident under her gaze, knowing you could make her like this felt good.

“Lay down.” You say nodding at the bed. Jessie questions you with a glance. You throw your hands up. “Just do it, let me put on a show for you.” Running your hands over the lace of the bra you try to sell the lie you were telling her. You knew if you told her what you were about to do, she’d be stubborn. Promising a show would get her on the bed easily.

As you expected she quickly climbs on the bed situating herself in the middle. You follow her, making your way towards where she laid. Jessie sits up one hand out to reach for you, instead your hands find her shoulders and you gently push her down, putting her on her back before climbing to sit on her thighs.

“Hey that was mean.”

“So was telling me that you'd be mine at 3, and then not getting home until nearly 4.”

“I know, but babe I had media.” She tried to defend herself. You knew deep down it wasn’t her fault, but she could’ve at least texted.

“Shhh.” You put a finger to her lips. “No excuses, right?” You nod encouragingly down at her, until her own head mirrors the nod. You lean down kissing her hard, starting to slowly grind yourself down onto Jessie’s thighs. “Now,” you pause, “do you think you deserve a show?”

Jessie just looks at you, her eyes jumping around your face, unsure of how to answer, so she doesn’t. She continues to stare, her mouth opening every few seconds as if she’s going to answer before she closes it again.

“I don’t think you do. Had you been on time, I would’ve given you a show, I would’ve let you put your hands all over me, I would’ve let you pull these off of me, or maybe I would’ve let you decide if you wanted to fuck me while I was still wearing them. But you were late, and I had to start by myself.”

Jessie sighs, “Let me make it up to you, let me show you I’m sorry.” Her hands come to rest on your thighs, letting them creep up toward your core.

“No, keep your hands to yourself.” You say with a glare before moving off her thighs. You bring your hands lower, one cupping the obvious tent in her shorts. Giving it a quick squeeze, Jessie bucks her hips slightly.

You slowly draw down her shorts, making sure to tease her, taking your time getting the waistband past her erection, letting the fabric drag slowly over her cock. You then repeat the same tantalizing process with her tight compression boxers, finally letting her length spring free. You admire it for a second, giving it your full attention knowing it made Jessie feel shy but you wanted to truly appreciate her, all of her. “Is that all for me? Did I get you this hard?” You cock an eyebrow, looking up at her from where you sat between her legs.

Jessie nods in your direction, her eyes looking between her own arousal and your face.

“Tell me baby.” You encourage her.

“You make me so hard.”

“Good girl.” You praise her, causing her breath to hitch slightly at the words and her erection to bounce as her muscles clench In reaction to your words.

“You know I was thinking about this,” Your hand wraps around the base of her cock, “when I was touching myself. I was thinking about how well you fuck me, how wet I get for you, thinking about you, all of you, your fingers and your tongue and especially your cock.”

Jessie takes a deep breath, blinking quickly a few times, you can tell she’s trying to compose herself the way her hands fist the bedsheets before relaxing.

“You must’ve had some dirty thoughts of your own, the way you walked in the door already hard. What were you thinking about baby?”

“You.” Jessie tries to thrust her hips into your hand slightly, causing you to take your hand away from her.

“Tell me more.”

“I was thinking about that dirty little photo you sent me. I was thinking about fucking you.” You nod encouragingly as she speaks, bringing your hand back to her, running your fingers down her length. Her words stops and you once again take away your hand.

“More.” You say looking up at her.

She nods, looking to the ceiling for a moment. “I was thinking about, how sexy you are, how good you feel around me,” Jessie’s words fill the air, you bring your mouth to the tip of her cock, your tongue grazing over the head, cleaning the precum that was leaking from the tip. When Jessie’s voice stops you pull your head back and look up to see her eyes blown wide and mouth slightly ajar.

“You stop talking, I stop too.”

“Your pussy, I was thinking about your pussy, how tight you feel, how you’re made for me.” As she speaks you take the head of her length into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around it, pleased with yourself when she stumbles over her words. “I was thinking about how I want to be deep inside of you, making you scream my name.”

Rewarding her you take her length into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat, before pulling off and watching in amusement as she thrusts into the air, wanting your mouth back. “I don’t think you deserve to be in my mouth, and you certainly don’t deserve to be in my pussy.” Jessie just lets out another sigh as she looks up at you with a silent beg.

Your hand strokes Jessie’s length once, spreading your saliva along it before your hand comes to hold it for a moment. Slowly you push her cock down, the tip coming to rest on her stomach just below her bellybutton. You hold it flat against her stomach and begin to adjust yourself. You move upward, off her thighs to hover over her hips, your core just inches away from where you knew she wanted it.

Smirking down at her you pull your panties to the side and lower yourself onto her. You raised an eyebrow as you gave a tentative grind yourself along Jessie’s length, watching her for any signs of discomfort. The stuttered breath from Jessie gave you all the information you needed to know, she was enjoying this as well.

You repeat your motion, letting the slick of your arousal coat the underside of her cock. Looking up from where the head of her cock was starting to leak onto her stomach you find Jessie’s face mesmerized as she watched you grind on her. “Guess you’re getting a show after all.” You say smugly, her eyes pulling away and coming up to meet yours. “Like what you see?”

A smile creeps onto Jessie’s face as she nods. “Yeah, you look fucking gorgeous.”

“Would this make it better?” You say as you reach a hand behind your back, removing the clasp on your bra and letting the material slide down your shoulders slightly. You remove the bra, tossing it to the side and you swear you can feel Jessie’s cock twitch against you. Her hands start to move upward before you move your own hands to cover your chest. “It’s just a show, no touching, if you had been on time you could’ve touched me in any way you wanted.” Standing up quickly, despite Jessie’s whine as the loss of contact, you strip off the panties you had already soaked, dropping them on the floor before climbing back onto the bed and settling yourself on Jessie’s cock.

Feeling smug at the way Jessie lets out a small huff of frustration, you rock back and forth again, this time making sure to grind your clit against her head, knowing that’s where she was most sensitive. “Fuck.” Jessie’s hands grip your thighs, her nails digging in slightly. You feel her arms tense as they try to encourage your grinding motion.

Fed up with her, you grab her wrists, pulling them from your thighs, noticing the way your skin flashes white before returning pink from how hard she had been gripping you. You lace your fingers with hers before leaning forward, pinning her arms above her head. “What did I say? No touching. You’re not in charge anymore, you lost that privilege when you were late.” You watch as Jessie’s eyes widen in what appears to be shock, you weren’t normally one to be dominant in the bedroom, that was usually her role. You felt uneasy for a moment watching her reaction, worried you’d made her uncomfortable, but she just looked up at you before swallowing hard and nodding.

“Please.” She let out what would be an otherwise embarrassing whine, but you knew she didn’t care. You could feel the way her body tensed under yours, her hands clenching into fists. You just smile and shake your head down at her.

She could flip the two of you easily, you both knew it. She was stronger, even in her compromised position she had leg, core, and arm strength that yours couldn’t match. While she could overpower you, Jessie also knew this was a punishment, she had gotten held up at work and failed to tell you, so while she could flip you, easily have her way with you, she remained flat on the bed, looking up helplessly at you.

“Babe, please, I’m so sorry.”

“Hmmm.” You pretend to ponder the choices, knowing fully that you weren’t going to let her get her way just yet. “No, I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

“I have, babe I’ll never do it again.” You can feel her starting to squirm more beneath you. “Let me show you how sorry I am, let me make you feel good.”

“I’m feeling plenty good. I think it’s you who’s a little worked up.” You lean down putting your mouth to her ear. “I think you just want to be in my tight pussy.” You whisper, punctuating your sentence by grazing your teeth along her ear.

“I- “fuck, I do, I want to be inside you, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Like I said, I’m feeling plenty good.” You emphasize your words with a roll of your hips, watching as Jessie’s mouth falls open and she briefly closes her eyes. Taking her silence as acceptance of her punishment, you continue grinding yourself along her, enjoying the way her face contorts trying to hide how good you were making her feel.

You start to notice how Jessie’s breathing picks up, going from long, deep breaths trying to compose herself, to quicker, less even breathing. It doesn’t take long before Jessie speaks up again. “Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum soon if you don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” You let your hips stall for a moment and watch as Jessie instantly relaxes below you, taking in a slow deep breath.

“Yeah, you’ve got me so close.”

“Good.” You smirk down at her as you begin moving your hips, you watch as frustration flushes through Jessie’s face before being replaced with pleasure as you grind yourself onto the head of her cock. Her eyes begin to roll back before she quickly shuts her eyes, letting out a strained grunt.

“Fuck.” She mutters, head thrown back slightly. “Fuck, babe.” She sends you a glare, an expression of annoyance across her face. ”Seriously. I’m going to cum.”

“Then do it.” You shrug your shoulders.

“No.” Jessie shakes her head against the pillow, her eyes pinched shut, “Not yet, I want to cum inside you.” You almost laugh at her expression. You hardly ever got to see Jessie like this, putty in your hands,

“If you wanted to cum inside me maybe you would’ve come home on time.” You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself as you watched your usually in control, level headed, calm girlfriend fall apart beneath you. “Then you could’ve been so deep inside me, any position you would’ve wanted, let you manhandle me, use me, I would’ve let you cum in me. But you were late.”

She shuts her mouth, lips tight, she squints at you, not saying a word.

“Oh, are you upset baby?” You tease her. Putting both of her wrists in one hand you grab her chin with the other, making her look at you. She glares up at you, still not speaking. “Okay well how about I give you options? Would you like that?”

Jessie keeps her glare for a moment before giving in and nodding.

“Okay, well you can either cum now just like this,” you gesture downward to where her cock still remained nestled between your lips. “Or, you don’t cum at all, I’ll climb off, leave you here, and use one of our toys to finish the job. What would you prefer?” You notice the degrading tone you’re using toward her, but you also don’t care.

She doesn’t give you an answer right away, to tease her you start to shift your weight as if you’re going to stand up. “Like this.” She finally mutters.

“Good choice.” You sit back down with a grin, returning to your previous motion, making sure to focus your attention on the head of her cock. It’s only a few minutes later that Jessie starts to quietly whine.

You know it’s coming, you can tell by her facial expressions, the way she scrunches her nose and her eyebrows pinch together. Her chest begins to heave. You finally release her hands, realizing just how hard she was straining against you, they immediately grab your hips as you allow her to aid your grinding motion as she ever so slightly thrusts her hips. The way her eyes get wide as if giving you one last plea to be inside of you before slamming shut, her lips falling apart as a deep groan from her fills the air.

Pausing your own thrusts you watch as her hips thrust roughly twice before stalling, the head of her cock nestled between your lips. You can feel her tense up below you. A whisper of profanities comes from her mouth. Her hands tighten on your thighs, her nails indenting your skin, her thighs and core clenched and she holds her breath as she begins to cum, traces being shot over her own chest. A whine full of pleasure mixed with frustration escapes her body as you feel her length twitch beneath you.

“Now that you got yours, I want mine.” You say starting to grind yourself on her again. You knew you had to be quick, using her length while it was still hard you moved yourself faster, grinding yourself harder. Jessie gasps as you begin to pleasure yourself once again, using her overly stimulated cock.

“Oh fuck, this is so good Jess.” Feeling yourself get closer to the edge you no longer care that she’s touching you, not enough self control to slow your impending orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck,” Jessie groans beneath you, her eyes are still closed as she tries to keep her composure long enough to help you get your orgasm. she bites her lip hard stuck between the immense pleasure and overstimulation she was experiencing. “Too much.” She whines as you speed up your hips, your hands flat on her chest using her for leverage.

“You can take it. I’m almost there Jess.” You knew if she needed you to stop she’d tell you, you also knew she’d do anything to get you your pleasure. Her hands kneaded at your thighs as she tried to hold herself together long enough to help you. She nodded, adding in a thrust with her hips, aiding in the stimulation on your clit.

“Right there, fuck.” You can feel your thighs beginning to tremble on either side of Jessie’s waist as your orgasm creeps closer. Your hands leave her chest and move to your own, letting your fingertips graze over your sensitive nipples. You did it knowing it would give you the tiny bit of sensation you needed to get over the edge but also because you knew it drove Jessie crazy.

As you expected, her mouth falls open in awe watching you. You catch her eyes for one moment before your own close as you throw your head back, your orgasm crashing down. The feeling of release radiates from your core across the rest of your body causing you to tense, stalling your hips momentarily. You jerk your hips against Jessie a few times, working yourself through your orgasm, before collapsing forward. A small sigh leaves your lips as your head comes to rest in the crook of her neck as you wind down. Your breathing is quick and shallow against her skin.

You allow yourself only a minute to recover before pushing yourself up from where you lay on her chest. “I love you, don’t be late next time.” You smirked as you rolled over, still spent from your own orgasm you lay for just a second before quickly getting up. “I’m going to shower.” You look back for a second admiring your girlfriend, her chest covered in her cum, her now softening cock still resting up on her stomach, covered in your own arousal, she looked beautifully spent.

Jessie laid on the bed still, nearly frozen in place, unable to comprehend the past hour. A feeling of overstimulation was still lingering between her thighs but also so was a strong desire to go again. She couldn’t believe the way you took control, the way you held your own against her. She was so used to you crumbling under her touch, falling into submission quickly, but you hadn’t this time. You took control, you had pushed her down on the bed, you had your way with her, you made her submissive. What was confusing Jessie’s mind the most was how much she had liked it.

Laying back, thinking of how you had pinned her hands above her head, how you had her begging for you, how hot you looked using her body to get yourself off. She was in awe, speechless, dumbfounded and overall she was aroused. She looked down, seeing the remnants of her previous orgasm across her stomach and chest, as well as her cock that was beginning to rise again. She needed you.

You waited in the bathroom for a moment, shower running, waiting for your girlfriend to join you. When she didn’t and you didn’t hear her move, you wandered back into the bedroom, still seeing Jessie laid on her back. “Are you joining me, or should I shower by myself, oh!” You stop your question noticing the hard on Jessie was displaying.

Her hands immediately move downward to conceal herself as a smirk grows on your face. “Ready to go again already?”

You watch as the expression on Jessie’s face turns to one you know all too well. Gone was the shy, sweet, submissive side of your girlfriend, her face now firm stared back at you. She was about to get her revenge.

She moved off the bed and toward you, her hand grabbing your chin and pulling it to look at her. “Get in the shower. Seems like someone needs a reminder of who’s in charge around here, and I think we’ll start with you cleaning me up with that smart little tongue of yours.”

[jo-com]

‧₊ ᵎᵎ 🍒 ⋅ ˚ ➛ A way to a dog lover’s heart

Lando Norris x Fem!reader

Summary: Despite his personal problem with dogs; Lando took it upon himself to study more about dogs and how to win their favor so that he can win yours.

Genre: Fluff, wholesome moments, Dog lover reader (Let’s pretend that Lando dislikes dogs)

Note: there are some grammatical errors and that this is not proofread, hope you enjoy tho!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ⋆🍨｡𖦹 °✩ ─ ───────

Ever since his childhood days, Lando had some personal issues with dogs— it was an unpleasant memory that he wishes to forget. For him it was a gruesome event that marked his fear of dogs forever. It made him scared to the point that being approached by them make his instincts act up and run away.

The so called ‘gruesome event’ he was talking about was, Lando getting bit in the ass by a small dog. So terrifying.

People find it funny, hilarious even, but for him it was an “Traumatic experience.” Well so he says.

He vowed to never touch an inch of them, but upon finding out that you were a dog enthusiast— even his fear of dog won’t get in the way of winning your heart.

…

“I am so happy that you also like dogs, it’s hard to meet people that are inlove with them, like i am”

Lando let out a lengthy cough, “yeah uhm i love dogs so much its crazy.”

Your face lit up at his words, feeling your heart content with the same love you guys shared for dogs. Never have you ever met someone like him, he is so different.

“Sooo, would you like to visit me sometimes? I’d love for you to meet my babies.”

Lando licked and puckered his lips, releasing it with a pop— his demeanor shifted into a uncertain one. You could sense hesitancy from the way he moved.

You then picked up on his action and your once smiling lips were now pulling into a frown. Does he not want to meet them? Or does he not want to be bothered by going?

His eyes flickered back to your almost pouting face. The look in your eyes clearly screams, ‘slowly loosing interest’, he became wary of your expression and quickly lightened the mood by blurting out his response.

“YES, I would love to meet them” he slightly yelled, his voice even cracking a little.

You giggled at his anxious face, “sure, it’s another date then.”

Lando sighed contentedly, seeing your face warm up to him once again. His pupils dilated into a heart shaped as he stared more at your breathtaking appearance— if that’s even possible? Nonetheless lando was both stoked and afraid at the same time. But it’ll all be worth it when he makes you his.

…

Lando’s heart skipped a beat as he contemplated whether or not to ring your doorbell; he has been standing there for like 30 minutes now and was so scared at the thought of being pounced by your hell hound. Only staring at your front door and doing nothing.

“Lando? What are you doing just standing there?” You asked, your eyes narrowed at his standing figure.

With your sudden voice, he was quick to go back to his senses and compose himself in front of you.

“Oh uhm… you see.. ah i was just taking in this beautiful house of yours.” Lando answered, showing some of his teeth with an awkward smile.

You looked at him skeptically but soon shrugged it off and gestured for him to come inside, to which he happily obliged.

His chest began to shake once again, waiting for your dog to come at him and do the same thing the dog from his childhood had done.

He stiffly walked towards your living room. Taking in the interior and design that you’ve come to a liking. Mentally noting the things you’d love and prefer.

He was then interrupted when he saw the biggest golden retriever that he had ever seen run across the other room to where Lando was now currently standing. His eyes widened at it’s sudden appearance— his whole body shaking in fear at it’s sight.

Once you saw your dog, you were quick to run towards her and ruffle it’s fur; feeling her tender fur rub against your palms, “Hi my baby, did you miss me? God you’re so adorable like always, yes you are” you spoke in a childish manner while kissing her nuzzle.

Lando stood awkwardly at the side. He gulp down the saliva that was forming inside his mouth. He didn’t know what to do at this point, he was scared shitless at your dog.

You stopped what you were doing and momentarily glared back at lando, “come meet my baby, isn’t she so cute?”

He bit down his lower lip— sighing heavily to muster up his strength and atleast show that he’s interested. Even if it was forced.

Lando then lowered himself and took a knee by your side. He was now face to face with the so called beast and was clearly rethinking the whole situation he’s in.

“Come on now, pet her she doesn’t bite, trust me.”

He nodded slightly, “yeah..she’s just a little ball of…cuteness?” With shaking hands, he finally laid his hand in her head— stroking them stiffly as his fear still resides in his mind.

His heart pounded inside his chest when your dog swiftly licked his hand. “Ohh i think she likes you.”

The sweat that formed in his forehead were now crashing down his face— what has he gotten himself into?

…

“I am not ready tho, will it be okay for you to wait?” You asked, your tone laced with sweetness.

Lando nodded his head, “Yeah, it’s okay. I mean i can walk your dog while you finish up.”

Your whole demeanor lit up as he uttered those words— feeling a sense of closeness forming around you two. You were speechless at his suggestion; not one single guy you’ve ever dated asked you that. Ever!

Meanwhile..

On the outside Lando looked cool as hell when he said that but on the inside well… he was shaking in fear, he didn’t even know why he said that. Why would he? When he’s scared of them. Even touching them triggers his anxiety. But if it’s for you..

“Yeah sure, if it’s alright with you to spend time with her?”

He shrugged, “what do you mean? I love dogs!”

…

“I FUCKING HATE DOGS” Lando screamed— his whole body shaking and numb from running.

You see, when lando took her out it was all going great…. not until two dogs showed up and started chasing them.

His breathing became uneven while the two dogs kept following them and barking out loud, not louder than Lando’s screaming voice though.

Even the whole neighborhood could hear him and looking at him with pure judgment. Whispering amongst themselves and enjoying the free entertainment that lando had put out.

…

“So how was the run?”

“Uh it was amazing, she was…great, nothing happened at all it was so peaceful” Lando spoke, his voice trembled from being out of breath earlier.

You then grabbed her leash and escorted the two inside— taking it off her sooner as she stepped in your floorboards.

A smile formed in your lips, seeing your dog run with glee and then back at The driver in front of you, “thank you, really. I hope she wasn’t a bother.”

Lando stared blankly at you, his mind wandering at the events that happened earlier. “Like i said, she was amazing, i hope to do it again next time!.”

Like hell he will.

…

I am back y’all😜

[aziawow]

now that we're here... (benny weir x f!reader) nsfw, 6.6k words

summary: in the heat of the moment, you and benny sleep together. you don't even kiss. a devilish plot (and teenage awkwardness) keeps you from talking to him about that night. the solution, however, might just be part of the very thing you're avoiding.

warnings: nsfw, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (DO NOT EVER HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX!!! USE A CONDOM EVERY SINGLE TIME!!!), implied reader isn't a virgin, blood, language, devil mention, implied animal abuse, death (of ocs), panic attack. if there are any other warnings please let me know so i can add

notes: no use of y/n, she/her reader, can also double as a rory x platonic!reader bc they're such besties. this fic is so fun pls give it a read!

You’re not entirely sure how it happens. Seriously. Yes, you’re super ultra mega attracted to Benny, but you never expected this to happen, especially as suddenly as it did. 

You’re a planner, extremely detail oriented, and you’re almost never taken by surprise. Impulsivity isn’t you, it’s Benny. So what made you throw caution into the wind and do this? 

You’re not even together; you didn’t even kiss. 

Suffice to say, you’re freaking the fuck out. 

***

You and Benny are chilling together, watching a movie on his bed. It’s rare for you two to be alone, but Ethan had to help his parents with whatever, Rory was doing whatever Rory does, and Sarah and Erica were having fun in town. They invited you, but with the supernatural craziness of the last few days, you just wanted a quiet night in for once. 

Years of familiarity resulted in you and Benny being pretty comfortable with each other, so you were cuddled together, you mostly on top of Benny while you both made fun of the movie and stuffed your faces with popcorn. 

You think it happens because you got thirsty. 

One second you’re reaching across Benny to grab your drink, then another has Benny hissing through his teeth and grabbing you. He held you still, and you glanced up. 

His eyes were squeezed shut, and a peculiar red flush adorned his face. His breathing was quickened, and he was practically shaking. 

Startled by his behavior, you sat up, still half on his lap and completely oblivious. 

“Benny, what’s wrong?” You place the back of your hand on his cheek, thinking he might have a temperature. Hot, but not feverish. You scoot forward a little to reach his forehead, and Benny gasps. 

“Please,” he strains, “stop moving.” 

Your eyebrows knit together. He was making no sense. “What…”

Then, you feel it. 

Your leg was brushing against his very prominent, very hard, erection. 

“Oh,” you gulp.

Benny’s eyes spring open, his mouth starts to move, but he can’t seem to say anything. You know he’d try to shrug this off, tell you it’ll go away, and apologize to lessen the sheer awkwardness of the moment. 

You don’t want him to. 

His lips are parted, panting quietly, face blushing the prettiest red you’ve ever seen, skin sheening with sweat, and his eyes? One part horrified and the other completely and utterly aroused. 

You really don’t want to waste this moment. 

Without thinking, you place a hand on his upper thigh. Firm enough to not get lost in translation but gentle so he could brush you away if he didn’t want this after all.

Your eyes meet, confusion and hope and desperation swimming in his. Slowly, you slide your hand upward, waiting for him to swat you away. 

He doesn’t. 

When you reach his front, you apply pressure and palm him through his pants. 

Benny groans delectably, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. 

You can feel yourself get wet at his reaction, the burn between your legs throbbing as the seconds pass. The fact that one little touch from you elicits a response like this makes your veins rush with power. 

Then, he moans your name. 

You’re done playing. You unzip his jeans and push them down. Benny, who has all but collapsed on his pillows, eagerly helps you slip the rest of it off. 

You climb on him again, fully this time, and take him into your hands. You pump him a few times, having to wet your hands with your spit. He’s shaking under you, making these small pathetic noises that have you grinding on his thigh. 

He’s lasting for a lot longer than you expect a teenage boy to, especially a virgin. 

Benny surprises you yet again by sitting up abruptly, and you let him go. He takes his shirt off, and when it’s discarded somewhere on his messy floor, he presses your foreheads together, mouths breathing into each other but not quite touching. 

His hands play with the hem of your shirt.

“Benny,” you moan, when his fingers disappear under the fabric and press against your hot skin. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks, throat raspy and deep. You nod at him, and your top joins his on the floor before you can blink.

Your hands roam each other’s bodies, just feeling and squeezing. Benny nuzzles your neck and collarbones, pressing kisses and leaving nips here and there. You grip his hair and pull, feeling the whine of pleasure Benny lets out against your skin.

After a few moments of this, you realize Benny is nearly naked, and you still have your pants on. You pull away from him and sit up higher on your knees. When Benny realizes your next course of action, he wastes no time in helping you rid yourself from your pants, and when they’re gone, he grabs a handful of your ass and blinks up at you, wide and ready. 

You reach behind your back and unhook your bra, peeling it off slowly, almost painfully so, for Benny. You toss it aside, and all he can do is stare. 

You reach for his hands and place them on your breasts. When he starts to feel you up and squeeze, you throw your head back and keen at the sensation. 

“Fuck,” you gasp. You look down at Benny, and he’s peering up at you through his dark lashes with nothing but want behind his eyes. Instinctively, you pull his head to your chest, and your pleasure multiplies when Benny immediately starts licking and sucking and kissing you all over. 

Your legs are delightfully weak at this point, so you push Benny back down on the sheets and fall on top of him. You’re still touching each other and it feels like he’s become a second skin. You hardly register his hand going further down until it rests on your lower abdomen, toying with your panty line.

“Can I touch you?” he all but pleads, and who were you to deny him? 

You’re nearly sobbing when he slips his fingers into your folds, feeling the wetness he caused. You can tell he’s trying to finger your clit, so you decide to be a good partner and guide him to its location. You shudder when he finally finds it on his own and begins to rub, the friction nearly too much for you. 

You’re kissing and biting his skin, one hand gripping his sheets and the other skimming along his chest, your nails scratching and digging into him. You grind back on his hand, so he picks up the pace and you know right then you’re about to cum. 

“Benny,” you warn. “Benny, don’t stop.” 

He doesn’t, and you cry into his neck when you orgasm on his fingers. 

You both lay there panting, but you have no time to bask in the afterglow when you remember he hasn’t came yet. 

You get on your hands and knees above Benny, and you lower your face to his, still not touching except your hair brushing his. 

“Do you want me?” you ask. You want him. You want him so bad you don’t know what you’d do if he said no. 

He nods, and your heart flutters. 

“No,” you whisper. “I need to hear you say it.”

He nods again. “Yes. Yes I do. Please,” he begs. He starts to babble his affirmation and continues to do so when you get your underwear and his boxers off. You grip him and slick his head up with your juices, and when you finally sink down, Benny shuts up and you both sigh as you seat him fully inside you. 

You start to rock, fucking yourself with his cock and feeling so, so good. Benny’s hands find your hips and together, you find a pace as you ride him. Your hands are on his chest as you slide up and down on him. He begins to feel you again, your torso, your breasts, shoulders, and hair. You don’t want him to stop exactly, because it makes the pleasure increase tenfold, but you’re in control, and it's so hot when Benny does what you want. 

You grab his wrist and pin them on either side of his head, and the flash of lust in his eyes as you do so makes you smirk. 

You keep holding him down as you pump in and out of him, as you rock against him, but after a while your legs begin to ache. Benny, feeling you slow down, takes the reins. 

You let him go, and he wraps an arm around your body, pulling you down flush against him. The other hand weaves through your hair, angling your head once more into the crook of his neck. Holding you tight, he fucks up into you, and you feel something you never have before. 

For a virgin, he’s a natural at this. Your bodies know what they want and how to get it, the carnal desire guiding you the whole way. You can feel him pulse inside you, and you know you’re both about to cum when his thrusts grow quicker. 

“Benny,” you moan into his ear, and that’s all it takes. His motions get sloppier as he climaxes, but you don’t care because you’re in the middle of coming yourself. 

You’re laying there, trying to catch your breath and clinging together tightly. He’s practically hugging you, and you're running your fingers through his hair. 

You know you can’t stay like this forever, so you pull off of him, both of you wincing as you do so. You want to find your clothes and dash, but your legs wobble and you fall back down on him. 

You expected Benny to crack a joke like he always does, but when you turn around, he has an arm thrown over his eyes. His chest rises and falls quickly, and you wonder if you should risk it and leave after all. 

But then, Benny wraps an arm around you, much gentler this time. “Good night,” he says softly, and he’s out. 

You’re actually grateful Benny doesn’t seem to be aware of aftercare, because you have no idea what to do, and would have even less of an idea if he stayed awake and wanted to talk about what just happened. 

You’re contemplating whether to stay or go, and when you finally decide, your eyes slip shut, and you cuddle into Benny’s warmth. 

The next morning, you have a proper freak out. 

You need to talk to him, you need to not talk to him. You need caffeine and a pregnancy test and a change of clothes. You need an ice pack and a salt bath because holy fuck you’re sore, Jesus Christ Benny. 

You need Sarah and Erica. 

Luck is on your side today, because as you make your way into school, there’s no sign of Benny. You find who you need chatting at Sarah’s locker, and when Erica sees you, she immediately asks what’s wrong. 

“Oh my god, I don’t even know where to start,” you choke. They blink at you and you start to ramble. “I did something so stupid last night, But it also wasn’t stupid except for the parts that were but ohmygod I need to tell you something. It cannot wait and I am freaking out.” You pause to take a breath. “I think my heart is about to give out.” 

“Okay, okay relax,” Sarah calms you down. “We have 20 minutes before first period. What’s up?” 

“Hold that thought, Sarah, I think she needs to sit down.” You nod, so the girls take you to a more private area, which turns out to be an empty classroom, and as soon as you get there you crumple onto the nearest chair.

“So… what's up?” 

You sit up, your whole body jittering with nerves. You wanna tell them so bad but you don't know how. This is a kind of confession that needs a strong lead to get there, but you’re totally blanking. 

“Well?” 

It burst out of you, “Benny and I slept together!” 

Neither girl moved. They stood there, gaping like fish. You knew they believed you, this isn't something you'd lie or joke about. Oh how you wish you were. 

“How?” Erica finally spoke.

You grimace. “Well, it was kind of an accident at first. We were just watching a movie, then we got really horny at the same time, and it just went from there.”

Sarah’s face twisted at your words. “Were you at least safe?” 

You pinched your lips together and avoided their gaze. 

Sarah groaned and Erica exclaimed, “Are you serious? That was so stupid!”

“I told you I did something stupid! I wasn’t really thinking about protection in the heat of the moment and I seriously doubt Benny had a condom laying around.” You stop then. “Oh my god. I took Benny’s virginity.”

At your words, Sarah and Erica looked at each other. “Ewww!”

“You did what?” a voice shouted from the previously closed door. 

Rory. 

Son of a bitch. 

Erica pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut. You’ve never been more thankful for her as she began to threaten Rory within an inch of his undead life. You expected him to wet himself, but Rory’s face was calm, and not the kind of blankness you’re accustomed to seeing on his expression.

He huffed. “No wonder Benny was being so weird this morning. I thought losing your virginity was supposed to change a guy in a good way. His face looked exactly like the time I accidentally dropped him in a dumpster.”

That… did not do anything good for your ego. 

“He hates me,” you pout. 

“I don't know about that,” Rory shrugs. “He asked if I saw you and told me to tell him if I did. Oh, well now that I’ve seen you, I should probably go tell him.” Rory started to walk away, but the three of you shouted after him and dragged him back. 

“Okay, jeez. I don’t get what the big deal is.”

Erica facepalmed and Sarah scoffed. “The big deal is that two close friends slept with each other. That’s not a thing friends do! It’s probably awkward for them!”

You sigh. “Guys, it’s more than awkward. We didn’t even talk about it. I left before he woke up.”

Erica gasps, “You did not.” Sarah and Rory both wince, and again, this did not make you feel better. 

“What was I supposed to say! It happened so suddenly—we didn’t even kiss!” 

The three of them pause and gawk at you. You threw your hands up in surrender. 

“It just didn’t happen. We were kinda focused on other things.” You were pulled back to the memory, his lips and hands everywhere, his whiny little mewls and pants hot and breathy in your ear… 

“Oh my god. She’s thinking about him right now, ewww!” Erica squealed.

“Wait, was Benny actually good?” Sarah asked in disbelief. 

You sigh dreamily, “Let's just say, if he wasn't already a spellcaster, he'd still have magic in his fingers.”

“EWWW!” Three voices cried in unison. Rory gagged and Erica covered her ears. Sarah closed her eyes, her worn expression letting you know she very much regretted asking at all. All three looked rather like a steak to the heart would be a perfect end to this conversation. 

The end, however, came in the form of the warning bell. Before leaving you swore all of them to secrecy, with an emphasis on Rory’s discretion. He gave you a thumbs up and said “You can count on me!” You were not confident in his ability to keep his mouth shut. 

Classes went on, but you were on edge in fourth period, the first class of three you and Benny shared, not including lunch. You got there early, as usual, and Benny came in second before the bell, also as usual. You didn’t dare look up at him when he walked by you, knowing it was him by his clumsy footsteps and the scent of his cologne. He sat behind you, and you felt the weight of his stare on you the entire class period. When the bell finally rang you were first out the door. 

Your whole group usually sits together at lunch, unless the dorks had a mathlete meeting or Erica decided to sit with her boytoy of the week, which happens more often than not. She promised to sit with you and Sarah today just in case a buffer (or a badass vampire) was needed. 

Rory is the first of the boys to sit down and starts yammering about his day. Apparently the stray cat he feeds in the junkyard went missing and it’s been days since he saw it and he’s getting worried. He was in the middle of the “epic” tale of their friendship and why they don’t try to eat each other anymore when Benny sits down. Right in front of you. Where he always does. Very normal, but you can’t ignore the shaking feeling that no, everything is decidedly not normal. 

Unfortunately for all of you, Rory trails off. 

The table is silent for a long, long while.

You want to say something so bad, you hate this awkward tension between the two of you, but you can’t speak. It’s like your voice was stolen by teenage embarrassment. 

You have enough strength of mind to meet Benny’s eyes, only you’re unable to read him. Is he disgusted? Regretful? If so, of what specifically? Is your friendship completely over? He just looks and looks. 

Just as a headache began to form between your eyes, Ethan barrelled into his seat in an anxious flurry. You’ve never been happier to hear the words: “Guys, I think we have a problem.” 

Your focus is 100% on Ethan now, you don’t even notice the pinch of Benny’s brows at his best friend's words, or the way his fingers twitch for his spellbook, or the way he licks his lips like he always does when he concentrates. 

It’s Benny, of course you can’t help but notice. 

Except, something Ethan just said actually pulled your focus. “Wait, you said you saw strange markings in your vision. Was there anything concrete? It sounds like whoever drew them and left the animal hearts and talismans were attempting a ritual.”

Ethan nods. “There were pentagrams all over my vision, and there was a flash of goat hooves and a clock.”

“A clock?” Benny asks. 

“Yes,” he confirms. “The hands were set to midnight.” 

“The witching hour,” you and Benny speak in unison. You snuck a peek at him, almost startling when you see he did the same. You dart your eyes away, and a sinking feeling hits you as you realize what Ethan’s vision most likely meant.

“Rory,“ you start slowly, “what color is your junkyard cat?”

Your friends tense as you say this, also connecting the dots. Rory, bless him, remains oblivious. 

“He has black fur! That's why I named him Shadow Ninja! I hope the little guy is okay…” Rory digs into his sandwich, and you don’t know if he’s being willfully ignorant to spare his own feelings, or if he genuinely knows nothing about superstitions. The group glances at each other, all silently agreeing to keep Rory in the dark. 

“We need to find out who’s behind these rituals. It’s one thing if they’re idiotic humans, but another if they’re witches,” Sarah comments. 

“What do they even want?” Erica asks. “What are the rituals for?”

“Well, if Ethan’s visions and the ritual’s remnants are anything to go by,” you muse darkly, “I’d guess they’re trying to summon the Devil.”

Benny hums. “Making a deal with the Devil is not good, Grandma says that all time. We need to find out for sure where the rituals took place.”

He begins to flip through his spellbook when Ethan asks why the location matters. 

Then, it hits you. “Ley lines.”

“Exactly,” Benny confirms, but he doesn’t look at you. “If they’re doing the rituals on the ley line, it’ll be easier to find out where they’ll go next.”

Sarah puts a hand on your arm. “Hold on, what are ley lines?”

“They’re invisible, mystical energy lines that run underneath the earth. They connect various historical sites, prominent landmarks, and sacred spaces to conduct the energy. They’re said to amplify the supernatural, so it makes sense if there’s one running through Whitechapel.”

“There is,” Benny says. He flips the book around and shows everyone the page he found. It details the line running through your province of Canada, but there isn’t anything you recognize. The map isn’t updated for the 21st Century, apparently. 

You make plans after school to go ley line hunting, deciding to split into three pairs to cover more ground, one vampire and one human in each. Out of everyone, you have the most success at keeping Rory on task, so you’re partnered with him. His protective side comes out most often with you, being the only fully fledged human of the group, no vamp, seer, or spellcaster powers in sight. 

You can fend for yourself of course, though you find fighting magic with magic more often than not solves the problem. It’s no bother to you when you have brains. You help Ethan make the plans and connect the dots, you don’t need to execute them. 

Admittedly, the idea of summoning the Devil scares the shit out of you, it also helps take your mind off of the Benny issue you’re facing. 

You and Rory have been searching for an hour and a half (with you only needing to pull Rory back on task three times) when you realize the section of the map took you to a familiar house in the rich part of town. 

“Rory,” you get his attention. “Isn’t this Jesse’s mansion?” He, briefly serving time in Jesse’s cult, frequented this house more often than that one time you paid an unwanted visit, would know for sure. 

“Oh hey. Yeah, it is.”

The mansion looks different than the last time you saw it. After Jesse’s imprisonment in the cubile animus, the place remained abandoned; and no one, not even the HOA, dared to mess with what he left behind. 

The lawn was overgrown, leaves and vines creeping up and curling around the corners and windows. The siding was darkened with dirt and grime, and some of the shillings had fallen off, leaving a gaping spot where it once lay. 

“Does the magic line go through the house?” Rory questions.

According to the map, it did, but you had a feeling it wasn’t this easy. 

“We need to get in and check it out. Something doesn’t feel right.” 

Rory walks up to the gate and pushes it open, the hinges squeaking and built up rust grinding as it opens. The two of you approach the former vampire den cautiously, the brick driveway filled with green in its cracks and all kinds of foliage strewn over the walkway left by wind and storms. 

Once inside the house, you shudder. It might've been abandoned, but the air felt dark and tainted still. 

“Hey,” Rory called from where he ventured further in, “I’m not sure this place is as abandoned as we think.” 

He’s right. In the corner of the living room, messy sleeping bags and junk food wrappers littered the entire space. There were school bags tossed haphazardly on a table, and books on every available space possible. 

You made your way to the kitchen area, where there was more discarded food, spilled liquid, and even more books. On the dining table, dried blood, a variety of talismans, melted candles, and ashes lay within a pentagram.

You made your way to the island, which was clear of everything except one book in the center.

Rory came up next to you and pointed. “I know this book. It has Jesse’s prophecy in it.”

You skimmed the book, and Rory stopped you on the page about the prophecy. You scanned the page, and when you saw a familiar line, you read it aloud: “The dead take root, the barren orchard bears the devil's fruit.’” You pause. “Rory, check the map. I think the ley line runs under Ethan’s house, specifically the tree in his backyard. They tried the ritual here, and it didn’t work. The other failed rituals happened at the church, the cemetery, and the stump of Whitechapel’s oldest tree. If they found this book, it won’t take them long to figure out their next spot, and I think it might actually work this time around. I mean, symbolically, it seems like the place to catch the Devil's attention.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “Woah. This is getting kinda scary.”

“I agree, we should get out of here before they get back.”

You start toward the door, but Rory stops you. His face twists regretfully as he responds, “Too late. I can hear them outside.”

His words make your blood run cold, and you hear the creak of the front door opening. 

As quickly and quietly as you can, you and Rory squeeze inside the empty walk-in pantry. You’re easing the door shut as the kitchen door slams open. 

“I’m telling you, that geek is onto us. He’s a seer, right? I bumped into him before lunch and I swear he saw something,” a husky, feminine voice said. Through the panes on the door, you can make out a silhouette of her, but nothing too clear. 

A hand slaps the counter. “Why does it matter?” Deep, male, and insanely grating. You can see his hulking frame lean on the island. “He might be shacking up with vampires, but they’re not invincible. They can’t stop us no matter what they know.”

Behind you, Rory murmurs, “I know them from somewhere.”

The first one sighs, apparently not hearing a peep even from a few feet away. “I guess, but his friends are vampires. The small one, Sarah, babysits him on Friday’s right?”

“Yup. But, with some garlic and a sharp wooden steak, it shouldn’t be too hard to negotiate for that virgin’s blood. And he doesn’t even need to die!”

“That we know of. The instructions say the blood of a virgin, who’s to say that doesn’t mean the life of one? The 17th century assholes who wrote it down weren’t very specific with the recipe.”

“And the awful fucking poetry. I could’ve done without that,” the guy scoffs. 

“Whatever,” the girl snaps. “We will do it tomorrow night after his parents leave. We get what we want and hey, maybe once the Devil himself turns us into vampires, we’ll kill the virgin anyway. I hear they taste the best.”

The two cackle, and their voices dim as they clomp away. 

You and Rory tip toe out of the pantry, keeping an eye on the door as you walk. The thing is, you’re not completely aware of your surroundings. In a stroke of bad luck, you trip on a stack of books, and they clutter noisily to the ground. 

You meet Rory’s eyes, horrified. 

“Who’s there?” the guy shouts. You hear the stomp of their boots getting closer, and Rory tugs you away to the other door and up the stairs. You follow him like you’re on autopilot, everything you heard and what’s happened catching up to you at the wrong time. 

You’re being pulled up another set of stairs and Rory kicks the bedroom door open. 

“This one has a balcony. Gord pushed me off it when I was learning how to fly.”

“What a dick,” you mutter and suddenly you’re gasping in the cool outside air. 

Rory grabs onto you right as the door flies open, the two satanists rushing forward. Not a second too soon, Rory takes off. 

A few minutes and half a heart attack later, you land on the designated meeting point, which was, of course, Ethan’s front porch. Everyone was there already, and you felt comfortable enough to have a panic attack. 

You’re still gasping and your legs give out on you. You’re caught by familiar arms, and Benny lowers you down to the porch chair.

“We—we found—the book. The lines—the tree, it just. They’re going to attack you! Take your, your blood. They wanna turn. They need him to turn.”

You’re not making a lick of sense to anyone, and Sarah starts to rub your back. 

“Breathe,” she says softly. She doesn't have the compulsion ability mastered, but you want to listen to her, so you do. 

“You found something? What happened?” Ethan asks. 

“Dude,” Benny chastises. “Maybe wait til she stops freaking out? Rory, what’s going on?”

Rory explains your findings as best he can, and you use the lilt of his voice to calm down. “The guy and the girl look so familiar. I can’t place it, though.”

With a huff, Erica reminds him, “They go to our school, genius, obviously they’ll be familiar.”

Rory starts to protest, “Yeah but, that’s not where I recognize them from.”

“Vampires,” you finally say. Everyone stops and stares at you. “The deal they want to make with the Devil is to become vampires. Why would they go to all this trouble when this town is crawling with them? I think it’s because they literally can’t. Vampires won’t turn them.” You twist your body to face Sarah and Erica. “Does the Council have some kind of banned humans list? Like, “Do not turn these people under the penalty of death” list?”

Sarah hums and furrows her brows together in thought. “I’m sure they do, I’ll go check,” and she vamp speeds away. 

“It’s the only reason I can think of. Anyone else have a theory?”

You look up from your place on the chair, and everyone (again) is staring. 

“That,” Benny declares, “was incredible.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time since last night, it doesn’t feel weird. It feels… normal. Right. 

You smile at him shyly, and think yeah, you’ll be alright. 

A nudge to your side has your attention on Erica. Apparently she caught that little exchange. She quirks a playful eyebrow at you and you shrug your shoulders innocently. 

After that, it doesn't take too long for Sarah to return in a whoosh of air. “They do have a list! And it comes with pictures. Here,” she hands everyone a stack. Thankfully, it’s not too big. It only takes a few seconds before Rory spots them. 

Ethan nods. “Yup. I ran into her this morning and that’s when I got the vision. She didn’t seem too pleased with me.”

Now that you have all the pieces, you plan. 

A pizza is ordered and you all gather around Ethan’s dining table.

“These people know way too much about us, so what if we give them more?” Ethan suggests. 

You hum in agreement. You reach for a slice, and your hand brushes Benny’s. You lock eyes over the table, and he’s flushing that sweet red again. He retracts his hand, and you grin to yourself as you take the slice. 

“Like what?” Erica asks. 

“They think the ball is in their corner, right?” you explain. “So what if we change it up? Make them comfortable, make it even more easy for their plan to unfold, but what they don’t know is that we’re doing the same thing, only better.”

“Okay,” Rory remarks, voice laced with confusion. “What do we do?”

You and Ethan share a near manic smirk. 

“We’re gonna set a trap. Tomorrow, I will very loudly say in front of them that I’m Jane’s babysitter tonight instead of Sarah. That gets rid of one vampire, they think ambushing us will be a walk in the park if it’s me.” 

“Tomorrow night, you three,” Ethan informs Sarah, Erica, and Rory, “will be waiting in the shadows, ready to attack when necessary.” 

You take a deep breath. “Benny, you need to be with us.” 

Ethan startles. “What, why?”

You ignore him. 

“Benny, do you trust me?”

Instantly, he says yes. 

“Good,” you breathe. “You need to be the sacrifice.” 

Ethan protests immediately, and the others look at you like you’ve grown a second head. 

“Um, they need a virgin for the ritual, right?” Erica speaks up, deliberately slow as if you somehow forgot you were the one to change Benny’s virginal status. 

“Yes,” you confirm, and as subtly as you can, you explain. “They need a virgin to complete the ritual.”

You can see the moment it clicks for Sarah and Erica; unfortunately, Rory is more vocal with his understanding. 

“Ohhh, is it because Benny—YEOUCH!” He yells as Erica elbows him particularly hard in the side. 

Ethan’s eyes dart between all of you. “Uh, okay. Whatever. As long as it isn’t Jane, I don’t care who gives up their blood.”

The next day at school, you get the wannabe vampires hook, line, and sinker when you bring up your status as tonight's babysitter right in front of them. Unbeknownst to them, Jane is going to be safe next door with Benny’s grandma the second their parents leave for date night.

It takes a few hours for the “ambush” to happen, just minutes before midnight. You have fun pretending to act scared and whine when they tie you up, though you could’ve gone without the grass stains as the burly guy tossed you next to the tree. 

They make quick work of setting up the ritual, and hey, there's Shadow Ninja! Anger flares in you at the sight of Rory's friend tied up and muzzled like that.

When it’s all set up, they mix together what looks like the world’s most disgusting cocktail in a gold chalice. 

“Now,” the girl announces as the two stalk up to you, Benny, and Ethan. “Who will it be?” 

“We were gonna do mega geek over there,” the guy said, nodding toward Ethan, but then he points to you. “But what about her?” he asks his friend. 

The girl, the absolute bitch, throws her head back and laughs. “Her? Are you kidding? She’s a slut, no way am I drinking her blood. We need a virgin, not some high school whore, remember?” 

Your mouth drops open, “Well fuck you too! At least I got hot while I was still in high school. You wanna be eternally 17? I feel sorry you need a do-over when some of us got it the first time around.” That might not have been the best response, you think as she backhands you across the face, but it felt damn good to say. 

“Leave her alone,” Benny growls, eyes flaring, and wow, that’s hot. “Do not talk about her like that, I swear to god.”

The guy taunts Benny. “Oooh I think lover boy here just offered himself up! Gimme your arm, nerd.”

They aren’t gentle as they take Benny’s blood. You send them death glares every time he winces and hope this ridiculous ordeal is over soon.

You watch as they mix the blood into the chalice. They chant in terrible latin, and finally, they drink, draining the cup dry.

The air is still as you wait for a long moment.

Suddenly, they’re both doubled over in pain, clutching all over their bodies and heads, screaming so forcefully the veins in their forehead pop out. 

“We’re sorry!” the girl shrieks. “We don’t know what happened!”

The guy falls to his knees. “We didn’t mean to insult you—we did everything right, we promise!” 

“What do you mean,” the girl wails, and she spits up black. You realized then that someone must be talking to them in their heads. Him, possibly? 

The guy is shaking on the ground; he has the same black liquid spilling out of his mouth, and you know then that it’s blood. His eyes lock on Benny, and he began to crawl toward him.

“You!” is all he can gurgle out before he disappears in an ashy poof. The girl gives an ear shattering shrill, and a second later, she’s gone too. 

Sarah, Erica, and Rory emerge from their hiding place, instantly moving to free the rest of you from your bonds. 

“What just happened?” Ethan sputters. He didn’t expect that. What the fuck. 

“They messed up the ritual,” you smile. 

Ethan frowns. “Really? I don't see how.” 

Rory laughs and puts an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. 

“It’s because Benny took a trip to Bonetown,” he snickers, and you punch him in the shoulder as hard as you can. 

Rory makes an offended face at you. “Ouch! What was that for? I was just answering Ethan’s question.”

“Rory,”  You speak calmly, eyes closed. “Shut. Up.”

“What! We should all be thanking you! I mean, if it wasn’t for you, they totally would’ve summoned the Devil. Unless they chose Ethan instead but—”

“Rory, look! There's Shadow Ninja!”

The blond vampire squeals and tears off toward the tree, freeing his very much alive, but incredibly pissed off, feline friend. 

Only, the damage is done. 

You seek out Sarah and Erica, but they just shrug and chuckle awkwardly at you before vamping away. Rory, once he comes back with the squirming cat in his arms, senses the sudden tension he unwittingly created, and after a few seconds of deliberation decides the smartest move is to do the same. Jerks, all of them. 

You really, really wish Ethan wasn’t as clever as he is. You know the instant the explanation dawns on him. His mouth drops wide open and he points to Benny, who gives him an awkward smile. Then Ethan points the accusatory finger at you, and all you can do is pinch your lips together and watch him freak out.

“You—but how—why didn't you say—but that means—you exploded them with sex?”

He shakes his head and spins around, walking away to fetch Jane and muttering to himself like mad. Poor guy.

You and Benny are the only ones left of your ragtag group still lingering, so you walk to his house, and when you reach the steps, you can’t take it anymore. You blurt:

“We didn’t even kiss.” Benny stares at his shoes and bites the inside of his cheek. “We didn’t, so I didn’t know if you actually liked me or not. It was good, it was so fucking good. I should've stayed. I wasn’t thinking when I left the other day. I hate the morning after talk but you deserved so much better than what I gave you. I’m sorry. I like you Benny, I really do and I want to make this work.” You keep rambling, just saying what comes to mind and you’re still rambling when Benny cups your face in both his hands and pulls you into a blessedly mind numbing kiss. 

It’s everything you ever wanted. It's soft and sweet, yet firm and demanding, just like Benny. Your mouths move together skillfully, slotting together like they were made for it, and you’d like nothing more than to kiss him until you can’t breathe any longer. 

He pulls back slightly, lingering in your space, breathing in your air. 

“If I invite you in, will you stay this time?” 

You don't have to think. 

“Yes.” 

[itsmarsss]

hunchback of notre-dame [Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Reader] (Marvel)

You get this ridiculous idea that you just need to mark a huge heart into his back.

Word count: 1,945

Warnings: sexual innuendos and jokes all around, mention of logan being a 'free pass' in your relationship lol, wade having a hard time grasping intimacy that isn't of a sexual nature, wade feeling self-conscious and speaking badly of his own appearance. established relationship. so many ridiculous and over-the-top pet names.

kiiinda loosely based off this ask- "Deadpool with s/o who keeps biting him? Not sexually (mostly) but I need to CHOMP this man."

“Please? Please please please please please please? Come onnnn sweetie-pie. Darling-dear. Baby boy. Baby.”

“Oh my God never call me ‘darling-dear’ again, what is this, medieval england?”

“Don’t change the subject!”

“Geez Louise why do you wanna do that so bad? Is it like a biting kink or something?”

“It could be.” You shrug.

“I’m listening.”

You roll your eyes at his reply. “‘Course now you are. I just wanna see how it looks!”

“It’s gonna heal in like two seconds, you know that, right?. I’m not sure it’ll even show.”

“Yeah but get this- what if you tried really really hard to stop it from healing?”

“I… don’t think that’s how it works, pookie-bear,” he tells you, booping your nose along with the ridiculous pet name.

You ignore it. “You don’t know that!”

He stops to think for a couple seconds before letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. This once.”

“Yes! Take your shirt off. And throw it in the wash, how many days have you been wearing it for?”

“Oh, too many to count, sweetheart.” 

“That’s gross, Wade.”

“Hey now, I’m gonna revoke your biting privileges!” He threatens, but proceeds to take the shirt off as and throw it in the hamper anyway.

“Nuh-uh, no take-backsies.”

“Then stop insulting my habits!” He sits down on the bed and you sit yourself on your legs right behind him. 

“What? When have I ever done that?” You feign confusion, kissing his shoulder.

“Now that’s just gaslighting. You’re a gaslighter. A mean, evil, toxic gaslighter and you’re gaslighting me.”

You laugh. “Oh whatever, grown man who needs to be reminded to do his laundry. You ready?”

“No?”

“Why do you even care so much? You get, like, stabbed on the daily.”

“Yeah but this isn’t… stabbing. Stabbing I’m used to.”

“I can stab you if you want me to.”

“Can you really?” 

“If you’re into that,” you play along.

“Oh you know I am, baby. No but that’s not what I meant.”

You kiss his lower back without a warning, and you can’t contain a smile at the way he shivers. “What do you mean, then?”

“This is… different.” He fidgets with his own hands as he talks, eyes trained on them over his own lap.

“What, not every person you’ve ever dated that’s asked to bite a heart into your back?” You continue kissing your way up his back, up until where you want said heart to start.

“Oh no, everyone asks me for that on the reg actually. I’m actually super mega lucky that I heal so fast, otherwise I’d just have to come home with all those hearts on my back all the time and you would not be happy with that would you?”

You punch his shoulder lightly and he smiles. “You bet I wouldn’t! Only I get to do this, you hear me?” You exclaim, feigning offense.

“Wolvie carved a heart into my thigh once. Hottest thing to ever happen to me. No offense.”

“None taken.” You bite the skin of his back right where you’d just kissed before. Not so hard that it’s meant to hurt, it’s not that kind of night, but not as if he’d break either, since, well, he kind of can’t. You suck lightly on the skin to make sure to leave a tiny mark and it’s a little funny to be doing this with no ulterior motives. “Especially since that for sure never happened.”

“It could have.” 

“If Logan ever carves a fucking heart into your thigh and I’m not there to witness it I will be so mad.” 

“Hey I thought we had a free pass with him!”

“Not if I’m not involved! Or at least get to watch.”

“Aye, aye, captain. Anything else you wanna witness between us, sweetcheeks?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m done, how about that?” You grin before resuming your work, biting and sucking on the scarred skin until you can see the aligned marks almost forming the shape you want them to. 

It’s a shock that it gets him to shut up for even just a few seconds, so it’s no surprise that the silence doesn’t last all that long. “This is…  It’s different… It’s… It’s really intimate isn’t it? Like overwhelmingly so. Is it hot in here, are you hot?”

You stop immediately. “Hey. Don’t freak out on me. I know I insisted a little but I didn’t think you were hesitating ‘cause you were uncomfortable. I wouldn’t have-” 

“No- no no no no no, it’s fine. It’s… Nice. It’s silly, but it’s nice. Just different.”

You stare at him until he manages to get himself to look up at you and nod, easing your worries and letting yourself believe him. “Okay. But only if you’re sure. And don’t call me silly!”

“You’re making it really hard, sugartits.”

“Hey!” You flick the back of his head.

“Ow! What was that for? It’s obvious that by ‘it’ I meant my dick. I was dirty talking. Clearly.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You bite into his skin again. He stays still and weirdly quiet once again, eyes closed and still shivering occasionally as you trace kisses along his back before following them with bites and, finally, the main goal- the hickeys. 

“You done?”

“Almost. Missing three.”

“They all still there?”

“They’re fading, but they’re still there. You trying to keep them?”

He shrugs, very obviously trying his hardest to pretend he doesn’t care. “Well you wanted me to, didn’t you?” 

You smile, cupping his jaw with one of your hands and turning his face to the side so you can give him a quick kiss. 

“Almost done,” you promise.

“Do it harder.”

“What?”

“Bite harder.”

“What, is this you saying you have some sort of biting kink?”

“First of all, you should have guessed that. Second of all, no, I just don’t want them to fade so fast.” 

“So someone’s enjoying the idea now.”

“Enjoying is pushing it. Curious is a better-fitting word.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Making the last of the marks, you lean back to admire the work. “Done,” you announce, tracing the shape with the tips of your fingers. 

“Well, can I see it?”

“Yeah.” You pull him to his feet and lead him to the full body mirror in the corner of the room. Turning himself around so his back is facing the mirror, he looks over his shoulder so he can see it too.

“Oh.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I thought it would… you can barely see it with the… you know. The scars.”

“Of course you can see it! Look!” You trace the shape on his skin with your pointer finger for him to see in the reflection.

“You know what I meant.” 

“I- didn’t want it to make you feel bad. It was really silly anyway. You can let it heal if you want to.”

“It’s not- it’s not that. Fuck, I know this was supposed to be this whole funny haha silly cutesy little thing but I just- I don’t even know why you do it.”

“Do what?”

“Put up with it.”

“What exactly?”

“This. It’s not really the best view in town, is it?” There he goes, unable to look you in the eye again.

“Sorry?”

“Like why would you even want to see this? You just spent like ten minutes staring at my back, which frankly looks like I single-handedly brought leprosy back to fashion and then you- just- like even just my face is enough for people to, like, projectile vomit. Why’d you make yourself do this right now?”

“I didn’t make myself do anything. I had to convince you to let me do it´.”

“‘Cause you wanna prove something.”

“What would I wanna prove with something so dumb?”

“I don’t know. That you don’t see me as a monster or something.” 

“I don’t see you as a monster. But I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

Letting his face fall into his hands, he lets out a frustrated sigh, as if he hadn’t meant for the conversation to come to this. And he probably hadn’t, really, but he already did so much of pretending to be fine all the time. It sucked to see him like this, but at least he was letting himself be real, be honest with you about the way he was feeling. 

You’ve come a long way to gain this kind of trust. 

“Sorry. Ruined the moment. Way to go, Wade!” He apologizes.

“You don’t have to say sorry, you know that by now.” 

He glances at the mirror again and sees all the marks have gone away already, his mind going elsewhere and interrupting the focus he’d been putting into trying to put off the healing of them. He finally turns around to actually face you. “See? Can’t even have this one fucking silly little thing you wanted. It’s gone already cause, guess what, I’m a fucking freak of nature now. Like The Hunchback of Notre-Dame or something. I don’t know, I didn’t watch the movie.” 

You laugh. “Well I’ll just be Esmeralda then.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Oh you’d find her so hot, dude. But doesn’t matter.” You walk up to him, kissing him gently from his ear to his jaw to his neck to his lips. “Don’t fucking question why I love you ever again, that’s, like, so rude.”

“Oh that was just so sappy, even for you babe, massive sap vibes all over.”

“Oh shut up you big baby.” You place a last gentle kiss on the palm of his hand. “I have an idea.” You pull yourself away from him, disappearing into the bathroom.

“Yeah? Does it involve pity sex? Cause I’m feeling down and I am ready to pounce if you are and-“ He raises an eyebrow in question when you come back holding up something. “That some new vibrator or something?” 

“Can you wait like ten seconds?” 

“Ten seconds? Babe, you know that’s asking too much of me when I’m this horny. They don’t call me The Flash for nothing.” 

“Who is ‘they’? And what does that even mean?”

“Sorry, wrong franchise. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Huh?”

“Back to the vibrator.”

“It’s lipstick.” You turn to face the mirror, taking your time applying the dark red color to your lips. “Kay, turn around, pretty boy.”

“Oooh, kinky! You gonna gimme a rimjob with that lipstick on?  Wait is that another kink? We are full of surprises today.” He quips, turning around as asked. 

“Wade please shut up.” 

“You know I can’t do th- aaahh what are you doing?” He flinches, taken by surprise by the kiss you place on his back, right where the heart you’d marked on him had been.

“Well you can keep these ones a little longer.” This time, he keeps quiet the entire time you take to mark the heart on his back once again, with the lipstick this time, reapplying it before every other kiss so the marks truly showed. 

“Fuuuckkk I’m never washing my back again,” he comments as he admires the reflection in the mirror.

“Don’t even start.” 

“I’m staying dirty forever and it’s gonna be your fault, sweetheart,” he declares as he turns around to face you, and it pleases you to see his mood seems better. 

“We are taking a shower in a couple hours and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“We?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively at the implication.

“If that gets you to actually shower for once.”

“Hey, I shower all the time!”

“Then you can shower without me like a big boy.” 

“Actually I don’t take showers I don’t know how.” 

“Yeah, yeah I figured.”

A/N: hey send me stuff for deadpool i actually enjoyed writing this lol it was v fun and cute!! i hope it isn't much too ooc lol i still gotta get the hang of writing wade

[valkyriexo]

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾Late night thoughts 007☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

“You okay back there, sunshine?” Felix x Reader

Felix sits behind you on the couch, his legs framing yours as he gathers a small section of your hair in his hands. His fingers fumble as he tries to separate the strands, and you can already feel the hesitation in his movements.

“You okay back there, sunshine?” you tease, peeking over your shoulder.

Felix lets out the most dramatic groan known to mankind, flopping against your back. “Why do you have so much hair? This is unfair. I’m being set up to fail.”

Without missing a beat, you start singing, “My life is so unfair....”

Felix freezes. “No.”

You grin, turning your head slightly. Felix lets out an even louder groan, dramatically dropping his forehead against your back. “I knew you were gonna do that.”

You giggle as he grips your shoulders like he’s in actual pain. “You set yourself up, babe.”

“This is worse than the braid,” he mutters.

You giggle, reaching up to pat his knee. “It’s just a braid, babe. You got this.”

He huffs, but his determination is cute,his lips pressed together, brows furrowed in deep focus as he attempts to cross one strand over the other. He stays silent for a good thirty seconds before suddenly whining, “Wait, I lost a piece...w-where’d it go?!”

You burst into laughter. “Lix, it’s attached to my head.”

“I know that!” he groans, completely unraveling whatever attempt he just made. “I just—I don’t know how it got so tangled!”

You smirk, turning your head slightly. “You giving up already?”

His hands immediately shoot up to gather your hair again. “Absolutely not.”

You laugh. “It’s okay, Lix. Braiding is kinda hard if you’ve never done it before—”

“Excuse me,” he interrupts, voice full of mock offense. “I have built IKEA furniture without instructions—this should not be harder than that.”

With newfound determination, he grabs your hair again, mumbling to himself. “Okay. Three strands. We’ve been over this. Three. Not four, not five.....wait, where did this extra piece come from?!”

You’re already shaking with laughter as he wrestles with the strands once again. “Babe, if it’s too hard—”

“Shh!” He leans in, squinting like that’s somehow going to help. “I am so close.”

“Lix, you just tied it into a knot.”

“…That was on purpose.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

You let him keep going, biting your lip to keep from laughing as he grumbles, mutters, and at one point even threatens your hair like it’ll listen. Eventually, he ties off the end with a triumphant noise and throws his hands in the air.

“DONE!”

You reach back, feeling what can only be described as a mess of loops and twists. “…Felix.”

“NO. DON’T JUDGE YET. LOOK AT IT FIRST.”

You turn around, barely holding in your laughter as you catch sight of his work—if you can even call it that. “Lix… this isn’t a braid.”

Felix flops onto the couch with a groan. “I give up. Your hair wins. I lose.” Then he perks up dramatically. “But at least I went down fighting.”

You giggle, leaning over him. “Don’t worry, sunshine. You do have other talents.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Like?”

You tap his lips. “Being kissable.”

He immediately brightens, wiggling his brows. “Oh? Well, if that’s the case—” Before you can react, he grabs your waist and yanks you down onto him, smirking. “I think I should really play to my strengths.”

You shriek, laughing as he smothers you in kisses. And honestly? Letting him lose was so worth it.

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

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[writing-mlm]

We’re alike… aren’t we?

Summary: Jason gets help getting bandaged after being stabbed, you get help after your fear of needles stops you from taking your HRT Pairing: Jason Todd & Trans!reader Wc: 960 tags/warnings: gender neutral reader, can be nb/ftm/mtf, stitching jason up, taking HRT, mentions of being tortured, trans blues, no romance but can be seen as such

based on a tiktok by @/bloody_converse

—

Jason doesn’t understand why you stay around even after everything he’s done. You know his past, you know his present, and for fucks sake you probably see where his future is heading. But fuck, you’re still there. You’re still letting him in at one in the morning after he crashed through your window for the millionth time that month, all with open arms. 

You’re still giving him the good blanket because it’s the middle of winter and his suit isn’t all that good at keeping him warm. You’re still lowering the music because he’s bordering on a concussion. You’re still staring at him as if he isn’t a serial killer, crime lord, zombie!

He doesn’t understand that you get it. 

In your own way, of course. 

You know what it’s like having a family that mourns you even though you’re right in front of them. You know what it’s like to feel as if you’re in the wrong body, missing parts that you’ll probably never get no matter how hard you work because it’s not the same. It just isn’t. You understand all too well what it’s like when your family looks at you, not looking at the adult you’ve grown into but the child they once had. The child you can no longer be. The adult that cannot bear to accept because it’s not what they had in mind for you. 

You know what it’s like to be set aside, to be considered wrong. 

You both don’t like mirrors, broken enough that you’ve gotten bad luck for the next three lifetimes. You both get nervous when getting intimate with partners because what if they think your bodies are gross? You’ve both gotten fucked over by your fathers. 

“Did you take your shot?” He asks as you hand him a water bottle and a pill for his pain. 

“No,” You sigh, looking away from him. “I chickened out again.” He doesn’t laugh, but you see the twinkle in his eyes as he takes the pill without the water chaser. He still drinks it, though. It’s non-contaminated water, it’s like the holy grail for fucks sake. 

“Get it, I'll do it.” It’s no use putting up a fuss, he’d just get up and find it himself. Besides, you could really use the help. The needle thing still freaks you out and your insurance is moving slow to move you to something better like gel or auto injections things. 

When you return, he’s washing his hands and putting on a pair of gloves. Not to mention in one of his shirts he keeps at your place, something about having too many germs on his clothes to be next to medical equipment. He’s forgotten pants, you note. Probably because he’s bleeding from his outer thigh. 

“I’ll get the medkit,” Setting your box of HRT supplies on the coffee table, you ignore his protest. Getting the kit you’d gotten after the first time he crashed at yours needing medical attention but refusing to go to a hospital or Bruce’s. Which, for the record, is more often than you care to think about.

When you return he’s sitting on your floor, a small pool of blood collecting on his discarded shirt. You replace it with an old towel and clean the spot. He doesn’t wince, but you see his thigh tense as you wipe the area and begin stitching him up. He’s used to getting stitched up, it hardly affects him these days unless it’s a bad wound. Thankfully this is a small stab wound, it’ll heal in under a week if he doesn’t open the stitches. And he probably will at some point. 

“All done,” Grinning at your work, you wrap it in bandages and then put a pin to secure it. He’ll check on it once he can but he trusts your handy work, it hasn’t failed him yet. 

“Your turn,” He says when you remove your own set of latex gloves. You wince at the idea but begrudgingly let him do it. He moves you to the couch, lifting your shirt enough that he can see your stomach and has you hold it up. You do, knuckles pressing against your skin so much your hand starts to shake.

“You’re a lot better at stitching me up and putting a needle in your stomach,” He humors you as he’s grabbing an alcohol wipe, eyes flickering up to yours. He cleans the vile first, carefully setting it on the table when he’s done. 

“You try getting tortured by needles,” You mutter, blinking down at his hand as he wipes the area. It’s cold against your skin, even more so when he fans it for a second. “Fucking hate Joker,” 

“Don’t we all,” He grabs the bottle and a 1-millimeter syringe that makes you inhale and look away. “You’re good, you got this,” He mutters with his attention mostly on drawing the liquid into the syringe with a careful eye. He switches the needle before checking for air bubbles and pinches at your skin once he’s sure it’s perfect.

“Ready?” He asks. “You can squeeze my shoulder.” You can only muster a nod as you prepare yourself. He works slowly, watching as he carefully slides the needle into your stomach and then watches your face as he slowly injects it. He doesn’t like it when he helps you; the panic in you makes his stomach hurt but he also doesn’t want you to not take your HRT or have a panic attack trying to do it yourself. 

He pulls the needle out and wipes away the drop of blood before putting on a bandaid. 

“All done.” He smiles, snapping his gloves off. You drop your shirt with a sigh, running your hands over your face as you relax.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 3- Easier Said Than Done

Summary: Frankie's been by your side through some of the hardest moments in your life. Three years have gone by, and now there's no one you want to see less when you find yourself at your lowest.

Word Count: 4.1K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, descriptions of a panic attack, hospitals, teenage Frankie's back at it again making it impossible for us to hate him!!

A/N: Hello, my name is Madeline and I am unable to stop writing gut wrenching angst and yearning. (Hi, Madeline). Maybe one of these days I'll stop sobbing like an idiot when I write, but I fear that day may not be coming any time soon

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Spring of 2006, Age 17

Most people say it’s the smell of hospitals they can’t stand. For you, it’s the noise. The constant chaos of voices, monitors, sirens, carts clattering as they roll across the never ending linoleum floor drives you insane. Even when it’s quiet, it’s still never silent. There’s always an ever present reminder looming in the distance to not get too comfortable. The inevitable fear that something could go wrong, and have you wishing that all you had to listen to was the ambiance of continual pandemonium. 

That’s why it’s such a relief when you hear the quiet ping of your cell phone resting on the edge of your chair. It’s enough to drown out everything else for a little while. 

Frankie :)))))) 

Hey where r u?

Game starts soon and I cant find u 

Katie and Morgan said they havent seen u either 

R u ok?   

You

Yeah I’m ok. 

Dad passed out and hit his head. Mom wasn’t home so I had to take him to the ER. 

Called Coach K in the ambulance to tell her I won’t be there. 

It’s times like these that it takes everything in you to remind yourself that missing big events to keep your dad alive is better than going to big events without him being here. But when you’re decked head to toe in your soccer uniform, sitting on the edge of your seat in a crowded emergency room instead of getting ready to start the last game of your senior year, it’s hard not to feel a little bitter about it. 

You read back over Frankie’s texts as you wait for his response, doing the quick math in your brain before frantically typing back. 

You

Wait, didn’t you have to work tonight? Are you at the field? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Called off work weeks ago 

U really think I would miss ur last game? Cmon Kenz 

Guess its not a surprise anymore. Surprise! lol 

You hope the nurse passing by doesn’t notice the way you’re grinning like an idiot at your phone, biting down on your bottom lip to keep your smile from growing so wide it’ll hurt your cheeks. You re-read the last three texts over and over, your face growing warmer each time. You’re not sure why you’d expect anything less. It still never fails to make you feel like your heart is seconds away from bursting at the seams. 

Of course he came. 

So lost in your train of thought, you hadn’t seen a fourth text pop up across your screen, only the fifth text of “???” that preceded it. 

Frankie :)))))) 

R u at memorial or westwood hospital? 

??? 

You 

Memorial. Why? 

Frankie :)))))) 

Be there in 15 

You 

Frankie you don’t have to do that 

Frankie :)))))) 

2 L8! Already leaving! See u soon! 

The tears welling in your eyes were most definitely ones of relief, joy even, that Frankie cared enough to attempt to make it to a soccer game you weren’t even at, let alone forgo a night’s worth of pay to drive himself to the hospital to see you. 

Your momentary excitement comes to a sudden stop as onslaught of bodies rush into your room to examine your dad. You’re quick to realize you’ve once again been caught up in a stampede where you’re nothing but another person in the way. An invisible presences that means nothing to anyone in this room. It makes the once blissful wetness welling in the corners of your eyes start to sting with a vengeance. 

But you’ve come very quickly to learn that crying doesn’t help anyone, especially when you’re not the one dying. 

You try not to let it hurt when your mom doesn’t even acknowledge the fact you’re sporting the jersey of the team you were supposed to start playing with twenty minutes ago, like you had brought your dad to the hospital in your uniform because that and your cleats were the easiest thing to throw on before you called 911. It’s even harder to try not to scream at the fact she barely pays your presence any mind, not even so much as a ‘thank you’ for getting your dad to the hospital in one piece. What’s the most painful is that you’re positive that she, or anyone else, even notices you’re gone when you slip out the door.

You’re here so often that the hospital staff don’t mind that you pace up and down the rows of the waiting room. Sure, they’ll be sending you a bill for the hole you’re burning through their carpet eventually, but that’s not today’s problem. 

Right now, part of the reason for your frantic pacing is to cool off some steam so you don’t say something you’ll regret about your dad’s cancer having the audacity to ruin the most important soccer game of your life to date. 

You’re also here so often, the hospital staff know Frankie. So much so, that your favorite receptionist, Cassandra, has more than definitely broken several hospital rules to let Frankie stick around long past visiting hours when you’ve needed it most. That’s why all she has to do is give you that look to break you from your vicious cycle of pacing to let you know when he’s arrived through the sliding glass doors of the front entrance. 

Most times, he at least makes it a few steps inside before you notice him. Tonight, he’s barely halfway through the door before you’re wrapping your arms around him in the tightest hug you have to muster. He pulls you in even tighter. 

It’s then that the reality of it all starts to set in. Your best friend had to drive to meet you at the hospital because he’s the only one that remembers you have a soccer game tonight. Your dad is in a cyclical pattern of slowly dying that leaves you feeling like a terrible person for even wishing things were different. You’ve spent the past nine of your seventeen years of life only knowing a world that revolves around cancer. For nine years, you’ve never complained that this is the way your life has been. Tonight, you’ve decided that the weight of the world is un-fucking-fair. 

Tonight, you’re not the one dying, but crying seems like the only reasonable thing left to do. 

You should be embarrassed by how loud your sobs are, how quick the damn breaks once your body finally lets you give into the pain. These are the kind of tears that make your whole body shake, the ones that make your chest hurt because you can’t catch your breath, gasping for air like some poor, lifeless fish, begging to be thrown back to the sea. 

Frankie’s seen you cry before, but not like this. You should care about how your tears are staining the fabric of his t-shirt, how he’s the only thing keeping you standing while your body feels like it’s about to give out underneath you. You hadn’t said a word to each other before you’d collapsed in his arms in a sobbing heap, but right now you don’t care. You can’t. 

You’re sure words are exchanged at some point as he practically carries you out to his truck, at least giving you the decency to finish crying without unwanted eyes in the waiting room glued to you, but right now, you can’t remember. 

You’re not sure how long it takes you to get back to the point of being able to breathe at a semi-normal pace, but something tells you that Frankie will hold you for as long as you need him too, crying or not.

He gently strokes your back, his thumb tracing over the fabric of your jersey as it draws small circles over and over, a sweet and simple dance of his fingers that steadies you just enough to keep from flying away. 

“It’s okay, Kenz. It’s okay.” It’s melodic the way Frankie coos it in your ear, like he’s trying to hush a fussy baby fighting sleep. It’ll take time, persistence and patience, but lucky for you, he’s got all three in spades. “I promise you’re okay. I’m here.” 

“This fucking sucks.” It’s not elegant or graceful, but it’s the truth, and right now, it’s all your brain can process. 

“I know it is, Kenzie. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not fair. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life worrying that this is the last day I see him. I just want life to be normal. I just wanna go play my stupid fucking soccer game. It’s not fucking fair.” You ball your fists against Frankie’s chest, pounding into him like he’s the one responsible for your hurt and anger. He’s not the one you need to take it out on, but he’s all you have. You hope he knows it’s not his fault he’s become your emotional punching bag as he takes blow after blow, despite how weak your swings are. You’ve got no strength left to fight. 

“I know. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, MacKenzie.” 

He takes it all until you have nothing left to give. You’ve lost a game no one ever has a chance of winning. Defeat is the unwanted trophy life rewards you with, but Frankie stands at the podium with you. He’ll take the hits if it helps ease the blow. 

“Will you be okay if I’m gone for five minutes? Just five, I promise, and then I’ll be right back.” His question catches you off guard, breaking you from your agitated state, nodding your head just enough to give him the permission he needs to race back through the doors of the hospital as you climb into his passenger seat. 

His truck gives you the kind of familiarity the hospital doesn’t. It’s hard not to find irony in the fact you feel safer in his piece of junk car where the wheels could give out beneath you at any moment than you do in a building that is built for saving people’s lives. Maybe it’s because his truck is filled with the memories of moments in life that make you feel like things are going to be okay. 

With the way Frankie’s breathing as he jumps into the driver’s seat, it’s hard to think he’s not back in less than two minutes, rather than five. He doesn’t say a word to you as he cranks the ignition, only a little prayer under his breath that now’s not a time his engine has chosen to give out on him. He doesn’t let you ask any questions until you’re already on the road. 

“Frankie, what’s- Frankie what are you doing?” 

He’s got that crazed kind of look in his eyes he gets when he’s hellbent on making something happen. He always likes to say that you’re the stubborn one. It makes you wonder the last time he’s taken a good, hard look at himself in the mirror. 

“I’m taking you to your game.” 

He says it so matter of factly, like his response to nearly kidnapping you out of the Memorial Hospital parking lot shouldn’t warrant any questions. 

“What?! Frankie! I can’t just-” 

“The doctor in the room said he’s stable and he probably won’t be conscious for the next few hours anyways. Your mom said it’s fine. I’m not letting you miss out on this. You deserve to get to play, Kenz.” 

You’re not sure at that moment if you want to kiss him or slap him across the back of the head. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

“Frankie, I-” 

“I’ll turn around and take you back if you want me to, but I don’t think you want me to turn around.” 

God, maybe you do want to kiss him. 

“I hate you, Francisco, I hope you know that.” 

“I know. It’s okay, you play better when you’re angry, anyways.” 

It’s always the little smirk in the corner of his mouth. The one he makes when he knows he’s right. It’s the same smirk he makes when he greets you after you’ve scored two goals to help your team win the last game of your high school career. The same one he gives you when he buys you ice cream to celebrate with two scoops of cookie dough instead of one, because you won’t stop laughing at his stupid joke about your big appetite for winning. 

That night, you fall asleep on his couch, too tired to drive back to the hospital, too scared to sleep in your house alone. You’re not sure if you mean to doze off with your head resting against his thigh like some sort of makeshift pillow. It’s easiest just to blame it on the fact you’re too exhausted to get up. But as you close your eyes and drift to sleep, you’re almost sure that the only muscle Frankie dares to move is the one that pulls the line of his lips into that same smirk you’d rather die than live without. 

You, Present

You’re shocked your initial response to seeing Frankie Morales for the first time in three years wasn’t immediately slamming your front door in his face and telling him to fuck off. 

That’s what your body wanted you to do. For as badly as it did, your some part of your brain wouldn’t let you. 

It’s probably the same, stupid part of your brain that won’t let you stop staring at him, either. 

He looks good. Way better than you’d like him to. It doesn’t seem fair that he somehow manages to find a way to return home more handsome than when he left. It happens every damn time. You swear he does it on purpose. You don’t know how he could, but that’s what you tell yourself. It makes it easier to hate him. 

“I didn’t know you were home.” 

It’s probably the worst thing you could have said to break the awkward silence stewing between you, because you both know it’s a dirty lie. But at this point, you’re far past granting Frankie the privilege of being a part of the truth- you’ll give him your version of the truth that you want him to hear. You’re not letting him have the upper hand. 

“Yeah. I uh- got home this morning.” 

Good to know the best either of you could do was reduce your relationship down to nothing but lying. If that’s the game he wants to play, then so be it. 

“Drive was good?” 

“Yeah.” Lie. “You?” 

“Fine.” Lie. 

For as much as you know the lies hurt, it’s the curveball you hit him with next that you hope stings the worst. 

“I didn’t think you were gonna come.” 

Because that was the truth. The way his face drops tells you the guilt ridden punch you’ve socked him with hits exactly where you want it to. You want the truth to hurt more. You want it to hurt just as bad as the way his truth hurt you. 

“Of course I was gonna come.” 

It’s a poor attempt at a swing back. He showed up with a knife at your gun fight. He knows well enough you won’t show him any mercy. 

“Wouldn’t have been the first time you hadn’t shown up for something important, Frankie.” 

“Your dad’s fucking dying MacKenzie, what makes you think I wouldn’t be here?” 

“Well, he’s been dying for the past three years so I’m glad you’re deciding to show up when it’s convenient for you.” 

That one shuts him up real fucking fast. 

His jaw ticks as he takes a deep breath, staring up at the sky like there’s something written in the clouds that will give him instructions on what to say next. There’s not much he could say at this point that would shock you, but Frankie never ceases to be full of surprises, whether you like it or not. 

“I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Kenz. I’m sorry.” 

That shuts you up even quicker. 

It shuts you up because you know he’s not lying. The truth is buried in the way his voice breaks at the start of your name, the way the “K” trembles off his tongue and shakes in the back of his throat. 

Your heart is mangled in your chest, hearing him say the two words you’d never thought you’d get and realizing you can’t accept it. 

“Sometimes sorry isn’t enough, Frankie.” 

Neither of you are sure what to say. It’s tough to tell if the fight is over because Frankie’s stabbed you to death and you’ve unloaded every last bullet you had, or if you decided to put your weapons down and walk away before any casualties have occurred. While it’s hard to deny it’s the latter of the two options, at least the first one would have been the honorable way to go. 

“Honey, is that Frankie at the door? Let him in, MacKenzie, don’t make him stand out there!” 

If there’s one thing you can always count on your mom for, it's that she’ll never fail to have impeccable timing, for better or worse.  

You don’t intend for the sigh you let out to be as loud as it is, but it certainly makes it clear to Frankie you aren’t happy about obliging to your mom’s request. You expect him to pass you like you don’t exist, entering your house to greet the two of the three family members who still care about him enough to not burn a hole through his chest every time they look at him, but he doesn’t. He waits for your okay, frozen on the porch until the subtle shrug of your shoulders signals you’ve given him the all clear to pass. He wants to know you’ll at least let him through unscathed for now. 

You follow behind him as he enters your house, trying to ignore the fact you’re entranced by the dark brown curls that still tickle the nape of his neck as he walks, or how the width of his shoulders nearly stretch from one end of the door frame to the other. You’re starting to regret not letting him follow you in  instead. 

You nearly bump into him with how quick he is to freeze once he sees the state of your living room. In the past few weeks, it’s made a terrible transformation from the space you once knew to a makeshift hospital room. The hospice workers had crowded your house with beds, oxygen tanks, and a wheelchair your dad refuses to sit in, an endless puzzle of enough supplies to let your father die in his own home, rather than the cold, sterile wasteland of the nearest hospital. 

You’d been able to ease yourself into your dad’s decline. You’d watched the months leading up to now as his body became weaker and sicker, reducing down to nothing but bones and deep, dark set eyes. You were a first hand witness to how cancer had greedily sucked every ounce of life he had left in him, taking and taking until he had nothing left to give. 

Last time Frankie saw your dad he was in remission. He looked good, healthy, even. That was three years ago. Frankie would have never imagined barely being able to recognize the man that was the closest thing to a real father he’d ever get. 

You want to scream at him that it’s his own damn fault he’s this shocked when he comes face to face with the shell of the man your dad used to be. But with the way you can practically see the guilt oozing out of Frankie with every step he takes towards the near lifeless body lying in the misplaced hospital bed in your living room, you can’t help but let your empathy get the best of you. 

“Hi Frankie, how are you? It’s so good to see you, honey.” 

Even though your mom knows you’re seconds away from wanting to dropkick Frankie off the face of the earth, there are few things she’ll ever let get in the way of her warm and welcoming demeanor. 

Frankie’s still borderline speechless as your mom grabs the tray of cookies he’s been awkwardly toting before she embraces him, arms still glued to his sides like he’s too afraid to move. The way she’s got him in the hug gives him no choice but to stare at the unsettling image of your dad over her shoulder, barely strong enough to turn his head to see what all the fuss is about. 

“H-hi, Mrs. Anderson. I’m okay. It’s good to see you, too.” 

“Is that my Frank the Tank? C’mere, kiddo. I was hopin’ I’d get to see you.” 

The past few weeks have made you shed enough tears to last a lifetime. Never once did you expect the thing that would make you cry the hardest out of everything you’d been through was hearing the long lost excitement in your dad’s voice upon Frankie’s return. 

It’s childish, the way you storm upstairs and slam your bedroom door behind you without a word, heat seething through your veins at the way your dad was so quick to forgive, welcoming Frankie back into his home like a day hadn’t passed, like he had been there right alongside him every step of the way through his descent. Your blood boils at the fact your father can’t be bothered to remember that Frankie had been nowhere to be found for three fucking years. Not a text, not a call, not even a “Frankie says hi!” through his mother four doors down. 

You can deal with the embarrassment of throwing a full blown temper tantrum later, but that’s more tolerable than spending another second in the same room as Frankie.  

“Well,” your dad huffs, his face grimaced with sarcasm as he looks back and forth between your mom, Frankie, and the empty presence you’d left behind, “that went well.” 

“Sorry about that, she’s um-” 

“She’s fine. Just stubborn.” Your dad grumbles, cutting off your mom with the best attempt he can make to raise his arm from the bed and wave her off. 

“No, I uh- it’s fine, I just- I should probably get going, don’t wanna take um- take up too much of your time.” Frankie’s heart sinks in the uncomfortable silence, quietly cursing himself for the mess he’s made. 

“It’s what, 8 o’clock in the morning? You got a bingo game at the senior center you need to get to, young man?” 

“No, I just-” 

“Perfect, no is the only word I needed to hear.” Your dad weakly smiles, gently patting the edge of the bed for Frankie to join him. 

Your heart winces hearing the heavy footsteps a floor below you from your bedroom, knowing the direction they’re heading is only further into your house and not back out the front door where you’d prefer him to be.

Thank goodness your dad has lost the ability to speak loud enough for you to hear the words that follow the thumps of Frankie’s feet. 

“Frankie, I’ve lived a very happy life. There are few things about it I’d change. But you know just as well as me that my daughter is the one who so lovingly inherited my stubbornness. Lucky for me, God knows I’m stubborn enough not to die until you and her figure this out. Unlucky for the both of you, that my time for stubbornness is starting to run thin.”

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

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@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[4ranghaes]

i absolutely love the way you write about bnd and how well done ur ot5 post are 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

this being said if you’re comfortable i’d love to see your thoughts on how bnd would send nudes/what type of nudes they send and how they’d be about it!! even what type of nudes they’d ask for. whatever you’re up to writing!!

take care of yourself <33

bnd sending and receiving nudes! ੈ✩‧₊˚

ot5 bnd x reader [smut, fem!reader]

a/n - okay i know a lot of these aren’t NUDES but i wanted to add visual references without putting dicks on your tl😭 and these are nicer to receive from boys than cock and ball pics anyway… also i didn’t add reference pics for sending cause i didnt want to limit body type/skin colour for reader !

warnings - NSFW PICTURES UNDER CUT!!!!!! MDNI!!!!

sungho🎀

sending - so originally, i thought about teasing photos taken in the mirror, revealing stomach and v-line but now, after looking, i think sungho would revel in sending you pics like this, showing off his body he’s so proud of and works so hard on, especially taken at or straight after the gym… however, i would say i think he’d still send v-line pics (not pictured) just like how he posts mirror selfies, you can see everything from his beautiful face to his slim stomach, happy trail leading down to his pubic hair, leading to the base of his dick and nothing more. ughhh omg i need him

receiving - sungho’s so sweet he’d never want to pressure you into sending nudes, even though he loves receiving them. seriously he’d never ask for them, any nudes sent are completely of your own free will. having said that, you’ve come to figure out what he likes and doesn’t like, and what he likes is thigh pics. panties, lingerie and BOWS WRAPPED ROUND YOUR THIGHS! he loves when you’re kneeling, thighs and stomach included in the pic. he also would love the classic mirror selfie in underwear, doesn’t matter if it’s fancy or not - he just loves seeing you on display for him.

riwoo🦦🍡

sending - absolutely inspired by the photos posted after the new years video… i think riwoo would generally be quite shy about sending nudes, and a sexting convo would usually be started by you, him only initiating when he’s on tour and so, so lonely. but he sends you little laying down pics, pants hanging low, waist on show because he knows how much you love them. i also think (not shown) he’d send full dick pics, just at a downward angle holding his hard length in his hand, simple but he has a pretty dick yk, has to use it to his advantage. one time, after begging and pleading you even got him to send one with a ribbon tied round the end.

receiving - once again riwoo on the whole is just super shy about nudes, so much like sungho, any nudes sent is your idea and usually catches him completely off guard, even if he’s alone on tour, he’s still hiding his phone, staring like he’s not allowed to, like he’s doing something wrong. if you forced him to have an opinion though, the ones where you’re fully clothed, either holding your tits, or your nipples visible through the material, or cleavage poking out the top. anything to do with your boobs, while you’re still dressed he loves… feels like he can perv, even though you’re already his completely.

jaehyun🪻🐕

sending - there’s no rhyme or reason to when myungjae sends you nudes, he’s so horny most of the time, you’ll be sat at your desk in the middle of the day and you’ll receive a 5 minute long video of him masturbating, beginning to end. he’s not discriminatory about the photos/videos he sends. i chose these two references just cause they reminded me of him… in the first, the fashion and the earphones, it just has his vibe - and i think he’d absolutely send you pictures of marks you left on his body throughout the day, different to the way taesan does it though, he’s not showing off, he’s pouting, trying to gain your sympathy. with the second, it’ll be his first day off in ages, he’d send you pics he’d taken during sex until you’re finally receiving pics of his hard cock, turned on by his own doing - and eventually a moaning audio…

receiving - he’d LOVE when you match his freak and send videos of yourself beginning to end masturbating and unlike riwoo and sungho, myungjae absolutely would and DOES ask again and again for you to send pics and vids… he does this normally which you appease with boob or lingerie pics, the usual basics. but when he’s on tour, he’s begging more and more desperately, you like to treat him. videos either masturbating or teasing yourself, begging him by name to come home and let you cum - even if he’s not usually a dom, he loves the illusion of the videos, it’s his own personal porn…

taesan🎸🐈‍⬛

sending - wound photos!!!!! i’ve spoken about this on other people’s blogs but i go insane for masochist taesan, whether that’s sub or dom i think he’d love being scratched, marked up, slapped and more, and afterwards he’d love to send you photos of the wounds. the photo below’s a bit tame but i couldn’t find any i liked… he’d take some straight after sex, when bloods coming from his lip and his back and shoulders, and his body’s bruised and swollen, but he’d continue to take them through the week, giving you updates on your artwork <3 also, like the second photo, you’d go a while no updates and then he’d send just photos of his bare, unmarked skin, basically begging you to come and mark him up. on the more nsfw side, he’d also send moaning audios as he stroked his cock, maybe when he’s in the studio alone, and he’s stressed, he enjoys rubbing one out and sometimes, he doesn’t want to be quite so alone…

receiving - taesan would be one who wouldn’t ask explicitly for photos, but if he sends one, it’s only natural for his girlfriend to send one back, right? (also if you’re the one to send the nudes unprompted, just know the sex afterwards will be a punishment, no matter how much he liked them). he loves when you do the same back to him, sending him updates on marks and cuts he left on your body, bruises on your thighs, hand marks all over, and even if you’re not one for pain like taesan is, he loves leaving hickies up your boobs and neck, and he wants updates on those too. apart from that, lingerie pics are the best for him. he wants to see whenever you get a new pair, modelled immediately over text, or even when you find an old pair at the back of your drawer while cleaning out. or, it’s laundry day and you have no other options. whatever the occasion, he just wants to make sure he’s included.

leehan🪸🐠

sending - leehan, like with most other things in life, is obviously unusual, but also very casual in his attitude. he’d love sending pics like the first one just completely unprompted - no prior conversation happening and you reply like …‘how dare you’… he loves teasing you like that. because of course you’re horny now, look at your boyfriend! he usually does that when he’s just bored, not horny. but when he’s horny, he’ll send pics like the second, cute photos disguising his bulge or his bare torso underneath. i also think on a real nsfw note, he’d enjoy sending videos of his face as he jerks off, he loves how it’s teasing you as if testing whether you know the face or not beforehand, because you open what you think is just a handsome video of your boyfriend - before you notice the slick sounds in the background and the low moans starting to escape his mouth…

receiving - he’d love to see videos or audios the same way he sends them, and he’d be shameless in asking for them - special requests and all. ofc leehan wouldn’t always be knowledgable to the fact that they’re coming though - for those ones, he loves just photos of your body in underwear, not lingerie, simple underwear. lingerie feels too stuffy, underwear feels like all the times he’s about to fuck you, just seconds before… specifically he loves mirror selfies when you’re sitting, high waisted panties framing your tummy, or kneeling in the same way. he loves receiving these unprompted, and he’s shameless at looking at them too, in the middle of the practise room, full brightness, sat next to the other members.

[sleepynoons]

THE NIGHT BY SOYOU (FEAT. GEEKS) – asakura shin (sakamoto days) x gn!reader, college!au, sfw

genre – fluff word count – ~2,300 warnings – suggestive content synopsis – plans have changed, and to your surprise, both you and your boyfriend shin are staying on campus over winter break. that means the two of you can spend christmas together, and you're excited to have him all to yourself!

Your room has never been cleaner. It’s a small studio, just a little over how much a college student living in Japan can afford, and usually, there’d be piles of clothes hanging on the backs of plastic chairs, plushies scattered across the floor – victim after victim to your devastating tossing and turning during the night –, scrap paper and ballpoint pens lying on every hard surface. But given that your boyfriend, Shin, will be staying with you for a week over winter break, you put in the effort to make your place look somewhat presentable and spacious enough for two people.

It’s not like he hasn’t come over before, but that was at the beginning of the school year in March when you had just moved in, and most of your belongings hadn’t arrived yet. At the time, the two of you barely knew each other; he only came to drop off some soldering tools that Natsuki, your mutual friend, had been holding onto for you, but from first glance, Shin looked absolutely adorable to you, and you knew you couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. After a few months, thanks to many chance encounters on campus and several more deliberate efforts on your end to meet up (mainly never-ending text messages in all-caps to Natsuki demanding he set the two of you up), the two of you began dating towards the latter half of the summer.

That’s why you’re not only excited that he’s staying over, but it’ll also be your first Christmas together as a couple! Throughout the past week, you’ve been daydreaming for hours on end about all of the romantic, cheesy things the two of you can do together – cuddling while watching a movie in the dark, making hot chocolate together, waking early to a white Christmas, the list goes on. But, more importantly, you have a single goal for this Christmas, one that will change the progression and trajectory of your relationship, and you must accomplish it.

You’ll finally convince Shin to make out with you (and maybe do more)!

Aside from teasing pecks and soft smooches, the two of you haven't done more, and it almost pains you to admit that your relationship is still on first base. To be fair, it’s not like you haven’t pressed for more. Especially when the mood seems more heated, you always ask your boyfriend for more, at which he blushes furiously but shakes his head, refusing to give you what you need. 

“I’m too nervous, and I don’t know how to,” he admitted once, begrudging and a little ashamed in tone. “You’re my first, so… I don’t really know what to do.”

At that, you backed off, not wanting to pressure him into doing something he’s not prepared for.

But it’s been months since that conversation, and your impatience is returning ten-fold. You’ve also noticed that, as of late, he’s been staring at your lips more, lightly panting under his breath whenever the two separate from a kiss, hands clenching and fisted at his sides whenever you lean a little too closely, as if he’s resisting some devilish temptation or desire.

Now that you have the chance, you have to ask him again, and if he lets you, you’ll teach him everything he has to know.

The doorbell rings, and you drop your phone down onto the kitchen counter and scramble over to the door. You fling the door open and spring forward, causing Shin to shout in surprise as you hug him.

“Shin!” you chirp, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you release him.

He sets down his duffle bag with clothes, toiletries, and other necessities for the upcoming week onto the ground, while holding onto a small bag with a ribbon tying the handles together. He pecks you on the forehead before shoving the party bag at your direction. “Merry Christmas!”

You can’t help but yelp with delight, hands clapping vigorously, before you take it from him. You look back at him and, with a large, wide smile, ask, “I thought we weren’t going to exchange gifts?”

With a shy sigh, he rubs a hand behind his neck, ears tinged pink, as he explains, “It’s not really a present. Just some goods from back home since you’re letting me stay over.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Shin!”

You fling your arms around your boyfriend again, embracing him tightly again, and you don’t let him go until you hear him wheezing for air.

Promptly, you let go before turning around and beckoning him with dramatic waves of your arms to follow after you. “Come in! Just make yourself comfortable!”

Shin chuckles before setting his duffle bag next to your bed before joining you in the kitchen. You’re pouring hot milk into two mugs, and he helps you drop marshmallow bits on top to complete the hot chocolate.

As you both sit down at your dining table, you ask him, “Are you feeling alright? I know this is your first Christmas away from home…”

Originally, your boyfriend was supposed to return home, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and it wasn’t safe anymore for him to drive home on his motorcycle. It’s quite obvious how much Shin’s family means to him – his phone wallpaper is of his two sisters, Lu and Hana, and he calls his parents every weekend. His brother, Heisuke, along with his pet bird Piisuke, often drop by as well. While you’re excited that the two of you can spend more time together, you’re worried that the tradeoff came at his loss.

Shin glances at you as he blows at the persistent steam rising from his cup. With a shrug, he says, “Oh, it’s not a big deal. The forecast said the snowstorm will clear by next week, so I’ll get home right before New Year’s.”

Despite his nonchalance, you let out a loud wail and bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t worry, Shin!” you declare, though your volume's muffled by his sweatshirt. “We’ll have so much fun together!”

And the evening is fun! As per tradition, the two of you order fried chicken with several side dishes – corn with melted cheese, toasted bread, garlic fries – and chow down while catching up on several movies that neither of you could watch due to endless assignments and deadlines. You also force Shin to do a sheet mask with you, and throughout the 15-minute wait, Shin’s incredibly restless and has to fidget in some way, whether that be bouncing his leg or wriggling his finger or elbowing you in the rib cage. By the time you both are ready for bed, it’s already past midnight – in other words, officially Christmas.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle as you crawl into the covers.

Shin’s already lying on his back, sprawled across the entire bed, and you take care not to step or press down on him. You hook a leg across his midriff and fold your arms together between your bodies, one hand flattened over his chest directly where his heart rests underneath. His heartbeat is surprisingly slow, though it’s not as abnormal given that he’s athletic and built. Shin has an arm underneath your neck, and his cheek's pressed against your forehead.

It’s tempting to fall asleep – from your shared warmth, the thumping of his heart alternating with yours, the occasional whisper of his breath tickling your forehead. And you do almost give in. Shin’s eyes are closed, and his other hand, which was fiddling with your sleep shorts, is getting lazier and slower in its movements. He might even be asleep at this rate, but unfortunately, you won’t let him rest that easily tonight.

“Shin,” you mutter, patting at his chest lightly, “are you still awake?”

At first, he doesn’t react, and you feel disappointment sink in your stomach. Then, you watch as a corner of his lip twitches until there’s a small, teasing smile on his face.

“What’s up?” he asks through a fit of chuckles. You giggle along with him and get up to peck him lightly on the eyelids.

“It’s Christmas!” you whine, quite emphatically as well. “We can’t just go to bed!”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. You ignore it because you know he always gives into your wants anyway. And as expected, he asks, “What should we do then?” 

This is the perfect opportunity, you think. A surge of excitement races through your body, causing you to almost shiver in delight. And so, with your leg that is slung across his waist, you tuck the heel of your foot into him a bit tighter, and look down at him with giddy expectation.

“Well…,” you drawl, “it’s normal for couples to get a little… naughty on Christmas, right?”

Shin immediately blushes, sputtering surprised and flustered noises, and tries to cover up his face. You catch his hand, though, and your hold on him prevents him from pulling away through other means.

“Shin,” you whimper, more desperate than anything, “don’t you want to kiss me?”

The question quite literally gags him, and with a slack jaw, he’s stunned quiet. His eyes scramble around, fastidiously searching your face for a sign of humor or teasing. But you’re totally serious, determined, and he can tell from the slight pinch between your brows.

He sighs, a loud release of air, before he faces away from you. With a muted voice, he admits, “I do.”

You gleam at his answer, and you press your body closer to his, chest to his side, thigh hiked up and over his stomach, arm across his chest. At this point, you’re practically lying on top of him.

“I want to kiss you, too!” you exclaim. But you quiet down immediately and mumble, “I want to kiss you more…”

Shin’s face is now a shade of deep red, heat spreading across his cheeks, ears, and neck. “I-I don’t know how to…”

You press your lips against the bottom of his jaw. You glance up, gauging his reaction, but it seems he’s also waiting to see what you’ll do next. So you continue, making your way up to his earlobe, which you nip at – his breath hitches at it –, before you move horizontally, scattering more pecks across his cheeks and nose bridge.

Then, you take a brief pause. You rest your forehead against his and whisper, “Is this alright?”

“Y-yeah,” he grunts.

With his approval, you resume. You kiss at the arches of his eyebrows, his temples, the apples of his cheeks again. But you feel a burning impulse to do more, so you finally allow yourself to kiss him.

You’re truly on top of him now. Legs straddling him and forearms resting on his chest, you kiss him deeply, putting slight pressure as you mesh your lips against his. Shin responds enthusiastically, hands grabbing at your waist, chin tilting up for a better angle, throat thrumming with broken groans.

When he tries to break for air, you press forward. You lick and bite his bottom lip, to which he weakly gasps at, before interlocking your lips together once more. Your hands have moved up to hold his face in place, enabling you to nibble at and taste his lips until you’re content.

“Breathe through your nose,” you croak as you finally relent, pulling away to get a proper look at your boyfriend.

Shin’s entirely disheveled. His shirt's crumpled and wrinkled, his hair's matted to his forehead, and there’s a dazed air to him in general. He glances at you before huffing, out of breath, “Should’ve said so earlier, idiot.”

You try to contain your satisfaction, but Shin clicks his tongue at you, knowing your internal monologue regardless.

“How’s that for your first makeout session?” you tease, poking at his stomach with an index finger.

Unwilling to give in, he gruffly responds, “Fine.”

You squawk, more than displeased with his response, and you probe even further. “What?! What didn’t you like? Was I too forceful? Did I bite too hard? Should I have added tongue –“

He muffles your mouth with his palm, blush reigniting at your string of questions, particularly that last one.

“No, no! It was fine – actually, fantastic! There, happy?”

You cross your arms and pout. You wanted Shin to enjoy making out with you so much so that he would say it himself, not to simply appease you.

As you’re thinking about what you could’ve done better, you don’t notice the way he stares – practically glares – at your lips. His arms have also slowly wound their way around your hips, and it’s only when he shifts so that he’s sliding up that you’re brought back from your thoughts.

You didn’t realize the two of you were so close again. Now that you’re both sitting up, Shin’s chest is pressed solid against yours once again, and a hand of his rests at the back of your neck, reaching up to hold the base of your head as well. His breath's also heavier, and you gulp, having never seen Shin so serious and quiet, aside from when he’s studying.

Finally, after what seems like several minutes of silence, Shin redirects his glare to you and mumbles, “Merry Christmas,” before he seals the last bit of distance between the two of you, kissing you so deeply, intently, breathlessly.

You squeak in surprise, but the noise gets swallowed up by Shin’s hungry licks and suckling, and the two of you continue to make out, lip to lip, tongue against tongue.

You’ve always known that Shin’s a fast learner, but your heart also sings with pleasure at your boyfriend’s adventuring boldness. The shyness he had once displayed has been replaced with an eagerness that can’t be suppressed for any longer, and as he licks at a string of drool that's only beginning to slide out of the corner of your mouth, you relax into his grip, relinquishing pacing and control over to him.

Somewhere, in the back of your head, you thank your impatience because this is the best Christmas you could’ve asked for, and you wouldn’t trade this moment with Shin for anything else.

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