#come and take a walk on the wild side really is that girl when she's updated

[alrightbuckaroo]

Fic Pride Friday

Happy Friday, everyone! I missed this last week so I thought I'd make up for it this week! I don't have in me to go through 40+ works as of late, so I just pulled some from my long form work. Thanks to @carlos-in-glasses, @vineofroses, @bonheur-cafe and @literateowl for the tags!

Rules: Post your favorite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

tender eyes that shine:

TK’s thrusts are in rapid succession; the only thing keeping up with the rhythm is Carlos’ heartbeat. It’s as if TK, right now, in this moment, is a lifeline that Carlos is tethered to that’s born out of nothing more desirous longing and trust.

TK calls him “Baby” and the last thing Carlos thinks is that he can only hope Heaven will be half as sweet as the way that word sounds rolling off of TK’s tongue. Suddenly, the darkness that’s gripped him seems to ease itself. Darkness ebbs away as the light becomes something more tangible, something just out of reach. He opens his eyes, and he sees both TK and his father. Carlos isn’t sure if he’s been brought back from death or if he’s been left to his own devices in Heaven. He’s always thought that TK has the beauty of an angel that’s come down to Earth, one that’s replaced his halo with a fireman’s cap. When he sees his father standing above him, it comes as no surprise. Carlos has always considered him to be a martyr, fighting the good fight until the very end. With the warm golden hue surrounding the both of them, he thinks this must be the highest the sky can go.

summer slipped us underneath her tongue:

TK leans down, causing a dip in the bed as he leans in to give Carlos a kiss. He tastes like last night’s raspberry tart and all of Carlos’ dreams come true. He pulls away and says, “I’ll be back before you have the chance to miss me.”  Carlos smiles, his face still cupped between TK’s hands.  “It’s hard not to miss you. I love having you around.” There’s that word again: love.  Love is a word that’s always tossed around casually, even by them; but the way it sounds rolling off of Carlos’ tongue causes TK’s heart to skip a beat. As if it’s a rock being thrown across a once still pond.  Ever since TK realized that this, this thing with Carlos is no longer casual but something very real; the word love has hit his ear differently each and every time. He loves Carlos, and all he wants to do is tell him. 

Carlos is spiraling well beyond his control. He’s trying to piece where he went wrong but then TK is grabbing his hand and saying his name like it’s the only word he’s ever know.

29 Going on 30

TK’s a little disheartened at the realization. He used to know this city like the back of his hand; now he feels like he’s wearing a glove.

“I think that part of living life is finding new ways to left love in,” Carlos continues. “Learning that love can be an afternoon serenade, a hideous sweater that you still found a way to look good in or the realization that the love that feels too good to be true is the love that you’ve been deserving of all along.” TK is quiet for a beat; a medley of mixed emotions overtaking him. Love that feels too good to be true is the love that you’ve been deserving of all along. Maybe Carlos is right, maybe he needs to let himself finally feel comfortable with the idea that this type of love isn’t meant to crumble. He won’t have to dig through the remains of what’s left to restore himself. This love has a foundation that’s meant to last. Quietly, he asks, “You still think I’m a dream?” “So much I almost can’t believe my eyes,” Carlos replies with a smile. “You deserve an everlasting love, Tyler,” The words are a declaration, a phrase that gives no room for argument. “I’ll always be here, wanting to be the one that gives it to you.”

come and take a walk on the wild side

It’s 4:02 a.m. and TK is standing on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. For the most part, the party has thinned out except for a couple of stragglers and those that had decided to spend the night. He holds the phone close to his ear; hearing the other line ring, once, twice, three times. He’s about the end the call before it can even start when a voice answers on the other line. “Hello?” The voice sounds groggy, and aged. TK still recognizes it all the same. TK doesn’t respond, feeling the words anxious to grab purchase. “Hello? Is anyone there?” TK doesn’t reply, and it’s not soon before the person on the other line hangs up. He brings the phone down, and whispers to himself, “Happy Father’s Day, dad.”

“I’d ask you to save the attitude for dinner, but,” Sam finally breaks eye contact, looking back down at his phone, knowing he’s about to win this back and forth between them. “We both know you’ll hold me to that.” TK hears the unspoken command: knock it off. He knows he should, just make the rest of the night easier for both of them; but there’s something in him that wants to fight against that feeling. Relieve himself of the weight that he’s holding for both of them. “Yeah? And give your dad another reason to hate everything about me?” TK decides not to think about the fact Winston brings out the worst in both of them. Sam doesn’t look up from his phone, wanting to treat TK’s response like it’s nothing but a low brow tactic. “He doesn’t hate everything about you.” TK snorts. “Oh yeah? What doesn’t he hate?” Sam looks up from his phone and stares directly at TK, giving him his undivided attention. His words drip with a scathing sense of frustration, “The way you know how to get under my skin.”

I'm a week late to this so I'm sure everyone has already gone, but if you haven't and want to share, consider this open tag for you :)

[yeyinde]

Brain went brrrrrrrr

Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.

She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.

🫠🫠

i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. 

noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.

You have this way of getting under his skin. 

An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering. 

Incurable. 

He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty. 

Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock. 

It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—

And that's the crux of it. 

A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish. 

He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist. 

Yet—

He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer. 

A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—

Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed. 

Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—

“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”

—pedantic little thing, aren't you? 

Obediently following the wrong master. 

It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth. 

But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him. 

But of course, you don't. 

And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands. 

In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to. 

And so, he doesn't. 

No. He blames you. 

(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)

“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity. 

"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next." 

His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners. 

"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" 

"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like— 

It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them. 

He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest. 

"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen." 

Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”

He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?” 

It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem. 

He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning. 

The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you. 

One wrong move and he'd snap it in half. 

This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.

“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”

He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.” 

“What—hey!”

Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone. 

“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—

“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”

“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?” 

Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross. 

Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging. 

They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all. 

The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle. 

“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?” 

“Shut up—”

He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation. 

Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—

Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.

The sight is hewn into his hindbrain. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?” 

“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”

He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.

You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him. 

“What the fuck, Price!”

He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching. 

He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.

“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”

“You're crazy, you're—!”

His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—

The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving. 

Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease. 

Cathartic. 

“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.” 

His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady. 

“Here comes one—”

“One?”

“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”

You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”

His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific. 

“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”

He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”

“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again. 

Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose. 

“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”

He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony. 

“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs. 

The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—

The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs. 

“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—

Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit. 

He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming. 

His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—

“O–one—”

He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.” 

You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”

“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”

He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips. 

You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose. 

But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he? 

He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts. 

But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth. 

It's addictive, this. Therapeutic. 

There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades. 

He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—

You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive. 

The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow. 

“S–seven, nngh—”

The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins. 

He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him. 

It's new, this. This meekness. 

You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—

He catches it. 

It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening. 

Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched. 

His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—

Tender. 

This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one. 

He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—

His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring. 

Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs. 

He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh. 

“P–Price—”

And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—

“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?” 

“N–no, I'm—”

He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”

The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head. 

He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No. 

You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight. 

Bracing yourself. 

His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over. 

He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—

You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine. 

There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx. 

Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere. 

Something will break. Shatter. 

He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock. 

His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric. 

In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl. 

His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.  

He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting. 

Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth. 

Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that. 

And for the puddle seeping into his trousers. 

You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins. 

He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand. 

You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you? 

Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.” 

“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—” 

He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel. 

“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?” 

Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox. 

“E–eight.” 

The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone. 

It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—

“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare. 

His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly. 

He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body. 

Waits. Waits. And—

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks. 

There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze. 

Aw, poor thing. But—

Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.” 

That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking. 

“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”

Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon. 

Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—

Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”

—ash in the palm of his hand. 

He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet. 

He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—

“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap. 

“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”

[heavndoll]

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

pairings — catholic!fem reader and eddie munson

summary — you're a good catholic girl. always have been — even though you're dating eddie munson, who's the complete opposite of that. he's crude and vulgar, and his influence may just taint you entirely.

warnings tags — adult language. mentions of religion, talks of god. eddie hates god, but has a god kink. major blasphemy. reader has daddy issues. mentions of jason craver (ew i know). graphic details of smut: loss of virginity (virgin!reader) + corruption. oral (eddie receiving). f!ngering. slight degrading but more praise. wrong usage of a rosary.

Eddie Munson was merely the Devil in your parents eyes.

To you, he was the seventh heaven.

Crossing paths with him was not a mistake, but a blessing. Eddie took care of you, and loved you. He really loved you.

You met him through a friend who went to Hawkins with him, and you couldn’t perceive him as a bad boy, whatsoever. He was genuine and kind the second you and him met, asking questions about you that no other guy ever had done.

But you knew he was not the guy you could bring home to your parents. Your parents were aware of him, since your father was a Sheriff for the Hawkins department, and always got reports of him.

You couldn’t tell them about your infatuation for Eddie, and how your heart burned for him, belonged to him. You were more faithful to Eddie Munson than you were to your Catholicism, and for you to say that to your parents, would earn you a kick to church camp.

You couldn’t say that their sweet little girl was in love with Hawkins’ freak; that he had told her many ways he wanted to deprive her of innocence and purity; that he dreamed of her worshiping him under her cross.

And you dreamed of that, every Sunday, for the past many month.

You sat in between your father and mother as the Priest read from the bible, and you fiddled with the ending hem of your white, babydoll dress. You stared mindfully at the cross, your head drawing the image of Eddie taking your virginity, rupturing your virtue, right underneath it.

You did feel a bit of guilt when you thought such lewd things, and you did blame Eddie for it. You felt even worse thinking of them in church, where you were supposed to be devoting your love and soul to the Lord, not a wild man.

“Hebrews 13:4 says, ‘Marriage is to be held in honor among all, and the marriage bed is to be undefiled; for fornicators and adulterers God will judge’”, the Priest spoke confidently, eyes glancing up to everyone for a second.

You swallowed thickly, fingers gripping tightly on your dress.

What the fuck, Jesus, you thought to yourself. I’m a fucking eighteen year old, of course I want to fornicate!

“Sweet dear,” your mother whispered, and you looked at her. “You look unwell. Are you okay?”

“Do you mind if I take a moment outside?” You wondered, brows drawing upwards. “It feels stuffy. Just for a minute, please.”

She sighed heavily, shaking her head. “Very well, then. Be quiet, dear.”

You thanked her, standing up, and quickly — but quietly — dismissed yourself out of the building, pushing open the wooden doors. The second you were outside, you groaned, the doors swinging close behind you.

“I’m damned for Hell,” you mumbled, rubbing your temple in frustration.

“So am I,” you heard a voice come from the side of you. You spin your head, finding Eddie there, smoking a cigarette. “For smoking of the Lord’s sacred grounds.”

“Eddie,” you sighed in relief, walking up to him, and he brought you into his embrace. He kissed the side of your head, before pulling back. “What are you doing here? If my parents — or anyone — sees you, they will make a fret out of it!”

Eddie chuckled. “Is that so?”

“I’m serious, Eds,” you frowned, throwing a small, playful slap to his shoulder. “We don’t need a scene.”

“Ah, I know, angel,” he cooed, kissing your forehead for assurance. “I just needed to see you. Was wondering what you are doing tonight?”

“I have homework, and finish my project on the Betrayal of Judas tonight,” you explained, annoyed at the mere thought of it. “It’s going to take all night. Why do you ask?”

“I wanted you to come by my trailer tonight,” Eddie said, and you smiled, but upset you had to decline his suggestion. “But it’s okay. I’m going to pick you up after school tomorrow, okay?”

“If Sister Josie sees you, she will report you to my parents,” you warned, and he only barked a laugh, throwing his head back. “I do not want to be sent to a camp because I was caught with you, Eds.”

“If your parents did that, I’d kidnap you,” Eddie stated, and you rolled your eyes, shooting a look at the church’s doors, eyes retreating back into his shortly after. “Go on in, sweetheart. I’ll see you tomorrow, and we can do something fun.”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Anything you wanted,” Eddie promised, giving your chin a soft pinch. “Be good for me, yeah?”

You hummed, and nodded. “Bye, Eds,” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he watched you walk all the way back into the church.

You hurried back to your row, perching yourself back in between your parents.

“Feel better?” Your mother asked.

You inhaled sharply. “Much better.”

Your fork poked at the vegetables that sat on your dinner plate, your eyes boring into it. It was always quiet on Sunday dinners, and you never said anything, unless your parents did.

Your mother poured herself another glass of red wine, and your father glanced at you, then his wife. “Got another report today about that Munson boy,” your father cracked the perfect quiet, and was visibly angered. “He’s been seen graffiting near Lovers Lake.”

“And who is reporting that?” Your mother questioned, sipping her beverage.

“Probably that ass kisser, Jason,” you mumbled, and your father slammed his hands down on the table.

“LANGUAGE!” Your father bellowed, and you dropped your fork onto your plate, slouching back into your chair. “Jason is a good boy. A good son of the Lord, and that’s the kind of guy you need in your life.”

“Jason literally tried to kiss me at the eighth grade school dance,” you recalled, scoffing. “Without my consent, may I add!”

“Well you two were children then,” your mother said, and you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “He’s a lovely boy. His friends are lovely too!”

You purse your lips. “His friends are dumb fucks.”

Okay, so maybe Eddie really did have a bad influence on you. Because you would never — for the love of God — curse in front of your parents, until now.

“What’s with the mouth?” Your father asked, and you glared at him. “You ought to pray tonight to the Lord tonight.”

“I’m just growing up, daddy,” you mocked, standing up from the dinner table, and threw your napkin on top of your plate. You stormed out of the dining room, straight into your bedroom, slamming your bedroom door behind you.

You dropped your body onto your bed, stuffing your face into your pillow. You wanted to scream and kick every object in your room, but refused not to do such a thing.

You were fine with laying on your bed, and smothering yourself with a pillow, until you heard gentle knocks at your window. You jolted up, your head craning toward the sound, and peeked at the window.

And you found Eddie, standing right outside your window.

You cursed under your breath, and stalked over to your window, snapping it open. Eddie smiled at the sight of you, though he could tell you were mystified by his unnoticed appearance.

“Do you want to kidnap me that badly?” You wondered, and he chuckled breathily, shrugging. “You can’t be here right now. My dad and I got into this fight.”

“About me, I suppose?” Eddie asked, allowing himself to jump into and through your bedroom window, and you didn’t stop him. “I know how your daddy likes to talk about me.”

“He said I should be with Jason, or someone like him,” you said, and he closed your bedroom window. “Because he is a son of the Lord.”

“Or the fucking Devil,” Eddie joked, and you snickered, but agreed. “I wonder what your dad would think if he knew you were with me, hm?”

“He would take his shotgun to you,” you admitted, and Eddie took a look around your bedroom. “Anyway, you can stay for a bit, but my father demands I pray for cursing.”

“Their little girl suddenly has a mouth of dirt?” Eddie teased, and you slapped his arm, which he laughed at. “Have I finally corrupted their innocent daughter?”

“Shut it, Munson,” you snapped, and he leaned against your desk, his eyes casting down at your Bible that sat on top of it.

“How about you pray right now? I won’t say a thing,” Eddie suggested, and you raised a brow, tilting your head. “You need to get it over with, anyway. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You want to watch me pray?” You asked.

“It’d be nice, ya’know?” Eddie grinned, and he could tell you were completely gullible to what he was getting at. “Maybe I could learn a thing or two.”

You considered it, and simply agreed, walking up next to him. You grabbed your bible, and opened it up as you made your way over to your bed, kneeling at the end of it. Your knees brushed against your carpet-like flooring, looking up at your cross.

“Wait, Eds,” you paused, and he was already giving you your pink rosary. You thanked him, wrapping it around your fingers, and held it tightly in your hand.

Your cross hung right above your bed, right in the middle of your room, and your attention diverted from him, to the Bible.

Eddie simply watched and witnessed you speak and pray, and he felt sick for getting aroused to this pure sight of you, pleading for forgiveness from a man who supposedly ruled the Earth. He wanted to touch you, for his hands to memorize and caress every curve of your body.

His eyes unpeeled that baby pink tank top you wore, then went to your white, soft sweatpants. He wondered how it’d be like for you to plead and worship him in front of the Lord as he made you call him your God.

Maybe that was an awful, crude dream to play in his head, but he wanted to have your devotion turn to him, not the Lord.

The Lord couldn’t love and care for you the way he did.

Eddie went over to your bedroom door, and locked it, seeing how focused you were on the pages of pure fiction.

He kneeled behind you, and wrapped an arm around your torso, your body shuddering. He brought you closer to him, planting an innocent kiss on your shoulder.

“Eddie, I’m praying,” you pouted, setting your Bible down for a moment. “You said you wouldn’t disrupt.”

“Just keep going, love,” he mumbled, his tip of his nose brushing against your skin. “Keep praying.”

You rolled your eyes and did so, continuing to recite every word from the pages.

Eddie’s lips made their way to the nape of your neck, getting the sweet scent of your perfume. “What a good girl,” he whispered, his hot breath sending a symphony of shivers along your body. “Doing anything to stay pure and good.”

You nearly faltered, your concentration weakening. His hand trailed to your stomach, resting on your abdomen.

Eddie had touched you before, but not fully — not under your clothes. He even afforded to show you how to touch yourself, but Sister Tina from your school said you’d be banished to Hell for such a thing; so that set enough fear in.

Now, you craved for him to touch him. You didn’t know why in this particular moment — out of every heated, lusting moment — you wanted to feel him, to take you apart, and taint every part of your body, and brain.

You began to stutter as you spoke, Eddie’s hand crawling under your sweatpants, grazing over your clothed area. “Do you think the Lord wants me to touch you?” He taunted, and you hummed, your hands grasping harshly onto both sides of the Bible. “What do you think?”

“Eddie,” you managed to breathe out. “Eddie.”

“I want him to watch me take his devoted angel,” Eddie continued, his fingers creeping into your underwear, and your body flinched the second his fingers pressed against your bud. “Show him that he is no protector.”

You nodded, and Eddie grinned, resting his chin onto your shoulder.

You wanted Eddie. You needed Eddie.

“Keep reading, or I’ll stop,” Eddie warned, and you couldn’t hold onto a single thought as his middle finger curled into your unripe cunt. You moaned, squeezing your eyelids shut to the feeling of it. It was a single fucking finger in you, and you felt like pure bliss.

Eddie continued to pump the individual finger in you, slowly and surely as you tried to read more.

Everything was going smoothly, until a knock hit against your bedroom door.

Your father barked your name, you and Eddie freezing up. “Honey, why is your door locked?” Your father asked, shaking the doorknob. “Are you okay?”

Eddie smirked, his ring finger joining his middle, both pumping into a picked up pace.

“I–I’m praying!” You announced, trying to hold back your noises. “I wanted to pray in privacy, talk to the Lord!”

“Oh,” your father spoke from the other side of the door. “I’m glad to hear that, sweetie. I just wanted to say, you know I’m just looking out for you, right?”

Eddie’s fingers struck an unknown, but euphoric, spot in you, and you choked down a loud moan. “Yeah, daddy! I know that,” you responded, throwing your head back onto Eddie’s shoulder, and the Bible collapsed to the side of you.

Eddie chuckled quietly, using his free hand to wrap onto your throat. “What a filthy girl,” he whispered into your ear, grasping onto your neck.

“There’s bad guys out there, like Eddie Munson,” your father said, and Eddie wanted to bark a laugh. “If you were to be with a boy like that, I’d lose it. Boys only want one thing, and you know that.”

Another noise was lodged in your throat, Eddie having to squeeze your throat as a warning.

“I know, I know! Now, can I continue praying, please?” You asked, and Eddie’s finger shoved into you faster, and harder.

“Yes, of course! Your mother and I are heading to the Martins for a bit,” he acknowledged, and you had to slam your own hand over your mouth. “We should be back no later than 11. Be good!”

You kept your hand over your mouth until you heard the front door slam shut, and the second they did, you freed all your noises. Your chest heaved, your body becoming pudding against Eddie’s.

A hot sensation hit your stomach, and you found pleasure in it. It was an unfamiliar, enjoyable feeling. Your thighs trembled, and Eddie took a quick note to it, noticing how you were barely adjusting to this. “Are you going to cum?” Eddie asked, and you looked at him with confusion.

“Cum?” You repeated.

“Does it feel like your stomach is on fire?” Eddie asked, his fingers making themselves deeper into your core, and you nodded. “That means you’re at your climax, love. That you are going to cum. It’s very normal.”

You still had a lot to learn, and Eddie was glad enough to teach you it all.

“Just let it go, sweetheart. Let it be free,” he cooed, and you hummed, your body convulsing the second your climax poured out of you, nearly dropping to the floor. He kept you up and close to him, and you panted, swallowing thickly.

Eddie’s fingers disappeared out of you, removing his hand completely from you. He placed his two fingers in his mouth, getting the sweet taste of you, and nearly moaned. “You taste fucking divine.”

You blushed, and eyed your Bible, picking it up. “I think I got enough forgiveness,” you joked, and Eddie hummed, helping you stand up with him. “I just…”

“Hm?” Eddie wondered, taking the Bible from you, and rested it on your desk. “What is it, sweet girl?”

“I want,” your voice quavered, your head hanging low in embarrassment. “I want more.”

Eddie placed his finger under your chin, bringing your head up to look him directly in the eye. “You want more? You have to be more specific, love,” Eddie mused, and you whimpered. “Use your words, please.”

“I want you to touch me more,” you only knew how to say it like that. Just paraphrase it in that way. “I want you to fuck me?”

“Is that a question or statement?” Eddie jested, and you whined more, embarrassed. “I’m kidding, sweet girl. I know what you mean, but are you sure?”

You nodded, smiling in confidence.

Eddie tugged you closer to his body, his lips smothering yours, and his hands laid on your hips, squeezing them gently. Your arms looped around his neck, holding him close to you, your body aching for him.

He led you over to your bed, sitting down onto it as you straddled his lap. Your hands cupped his cheeks, your rosary brushing against his skin, and you could feel him smile on your lips.

His lips fell off of yours, and he stripped off his upper half clothing, dropping them to your floor. Your eyes widened to the view of his body, his abs perfectly toned, and your finger drew around the tattoos he had on the left side of his chest.

“I like this tattoo,” you giggled at the Demon and spider tattoos, and he smiled, kissing the side of your head. “But I will always like your puppetmaster tattoo a lot more.”

“Gotta get you a tattoo one day,” Eddie said, and you shook your head. “Get you a pretty tattoo, just like mine, yeah?”

“I’ll think about it,” you said, and he hummed, his fingers hooking under your shirt. You let him take it off of you, undoing your bra by yourself. You hesitantly shimmed off your bra, the straps sliding down your arms, and onto your lap.

You put it on the ground with the other clothes, and you didn’t stare at Eddie as his eyes gawked at your breasts. You were insecure and worried – he was the first guy to ever see your bare body.

Panic slowly rolled in. “Is it okay? Am I okay?”

“Baby,” Eddie breathed, looking up at you, and then at your breasts. “You are so beautiful. This body, all mine to touch and mark.”

Your worries washed away, Eddie planting loving kisses on your breasts.

“Your body is fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, captivated and enthralled by your gracious beauty. “All fucking mine.” He carefully laid you on your back, on the bed, and hovered over you, his lips falling back onto yours. His body rutted against yours, hands at the waistband of your sweatpants,

“Take them off, Eds,” you breathed into the kiss, and his taste was gone for a moment as he listened, stripping off your sweatpants. You were left in your white cotton panties, and he took a second to unbuckle his belt, and then his pants, both landing on the ground.

You and Eddie were only left in your underwear, and you could feel a hard bulge brush against your inner thigh.

Oh, you thought to yourself. That.

“Are you sure you’re ready, doll?” Eddie asked, and you looked at him with assuring, doe eyes, and he kissed your forehead. He reached over to his pants, grabbing his wallet from it, and pulled out a small wrapper from it.

You shivered, and your eyes bored into Eddie as he took off his boxers, and you tensed the second you glimpsed at his cock.

You were about to pray to God again, due to the overwhelmingly huge size of Eddie.

Eddie opened up the wrapper, taking out the condom, and slipped it on. You took off your panties and kicked them off, throwing your rosary too, seeing how they joined all other clothing items on the floor.

“It’s going to hurt at first; if you want me to stop, just say so,” Eddie said, and one of his hands held onto yours for comfort as his other was used to guide him into you. You could feel the head of him at your cunt, and you squeezed his hand whilst his cock made its way into you, slowly and bit by bit.

Your back arched, gasping aloud to the feeling of him fulfilling you. Eddie’s hand grasped onto your jaw, holding onto it, forcing you to hold eye contact with him. “Just take me, love,” he mused, and you whimpered in response.

You were being easily stretched and torn apart by his cock, your virtue draining out of you with every brush of him coming in and out of you. You continued to hold onto his hand, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand for assurance you were safe.

Eddie kept a steady, delicate pace, taking a clear eye to how you were already in shambles. He was simply dispossessing you of your longing purity, your body and devotion belonging to him now.

This was Seventh Heaven to you — this was all of the joy and exhilaration you longed for.

Your cunt adjusted to his size, and your hand let go of him, setting both of them onto his shoulders. “More, Eddie. Please,” you pleaded, and he began to drill himself deeper into you, his hands pressing onto your stomach for support.

You squealed, his eyes on the way his cock thrusted into you. Your body elevated upwards, and your glossy eyes caught a glance of the cross above your bed.

If this corruption was so cruel, so vile, why did it feel so fucking amazing?

Flares of euphoria spurred throughout your body as wanton, lewd noises elicited out of your mouth, and filled your bedroom. Embers of pure, raw desire were in Eddie’s eyes the second they fell back into yours, his breath shuddering his rib cages.

A firestorm grew in your stomach, and your nails dug into Eddie’s shoulder, earning a harsh moan out of him. “‘M gonna cum,” you told him, your chest falling up and down rapidly. “I need to cum, Eds.”

“What a sensitive whore you are,” he taunted, and you groaned, the fire spreading into your thighs. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum for your God.”

Your lids sealed shut as your climax peaked and rushed out of you, your body moving with a hard jolt to it. Eddie nearly laughed mockingly at you, your delicate, unripe body, now sweating and shaking from sinful sex.

You barely had collected the fact Eddie referred to him as your God, but you didn’t hate it.

You liked it.

“I’m going to fuck your pretty mouth,” Eddie said, and helped you sit up as he took off the condom. “I always told you I’d find a way for you to worship me. Get on your knees, angel.”

Eddie tossed his condom into your trash bin, turning his attention back onto you.

You obeyed, and stumbled to your bedroom floor, collapsing down onto your knees. Eddie seized your rosary, and took the opportunity to tie up your wrists with the symbolized jewelry. You whined, tugging at your hostaged wrists.

“Open your mouth for me,” Eddie said, standing in front of you. Your mouth popped open, and he shoved two fingers into your mouth, creeping them to the back of your throat. You gagged the second his fingers hit your throat, your eyes watering.

You stared up at him with pure and pious eyes, that were almost daunting, too.

“How are you going to be able to take my cock, when you can barely take my fingers, angel?” He asked, and a tear trickled down your cheek. He was amused by this single tear. “You worship me?”

You nodded as his fingers left your mouth, his knuckles brushing along your cheek. “Yes, I worship you. Only you,” you assured, giving the edge of his palm a delicate, small kiss. “You’re my religion.”

He chuckled. “Such a good little thing you are.”

Eddie’s fingers curled into your hair, nails scratching against your scalp. His hips pushed forward, his cock stuffing your opened mouth.

You remembered your friend told you about blowjobs — that you make sure your teeth don’t touch, or it makes it unpleasant. Your friend wasn’t as faithful or pure as you were, only going to Catechism to please her parents.

Eddie’s cock continuously hit the back of your throat, drawing inchorenet gargles from you as tears lined at the brim of your eyes. Your throat was brutalized, yet you soaked into the pain of it, taking pleasure in every second of it.

Your eyes rolled back the deeper his cock went, his teeth gritting together, and moaned your name like a mantra.

Eddie’s head fell back, his hips snapping into your face, and you gurgled, trying your best to breathe out of your nostrils. “Shit, shit, I’m close,” he told you, and that was the only warning you were given, nothing else. “Keep your mouth steady and open for your God, baby.”

His climax flooded into your mouth, your tongue getting a salty taste of his high, and he pushed his cock out of your mouth. He tried to catch his breath, sweat beading at his forehead and body, his fingers unhooking from your hair.

“Let me see, doll,” Eddie said, and you happily showed him the way his cum sat on your tongue. “Mhm, that’s a good girl. Swallow it.”

You closed your mouth, taking it all down at once, and he kissed the top of your head. He unknotted the rosary, and your wrists were glad to be free.

Eddie sat the jewelry on your bed stand, and helped you up, sitting you down on your bed afterwards. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” He panicked, and you shook your head, a few strands of your hair matted to your teary, sweating cheeks.

“Did I do okay?” You asked, and he frowned, cupping your cheeks, caressing them lovingly with his thumbs.

“You were wonderful, sweet girl. So good,” he reassured, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and dressed. You still have that project.”

You groaned, barely remembering it. “Oh fuck!”

[lovebugism]

hi!! could you write shy!reader where Eddie bumps into the new kid at school and she gets hurt? I’m a sucker when it comes to Eddie doting on people 🙈

i tried to be so normal about this request but then proceeded to write 2k words for it so... hope you like it lol :D — the hawkins high freak takes the new girl under his wing after they run into each other. literally. (shy!r, meet ugly-ish, hurt/comfort, 2.2k)

You clutch a paper schedule in a pair of anxious hands, squinting to see through the scribbles there. Three boys in bright green lettermans made a total mess of it — writing directions in chicken scratch and doodling a sloppy map of the school over your classes. They said they were helping you, but really they’ve just turned you all around.

Fallen leaves crunchbeneath your feet as you walk past the vacant football field. West of the bleachers and down the dirt trail, the stranger with a harsh jawline and quaffed blonde hair told you. His directions lead you directly to a half-decrepit building in the thick of the woods. A strange spot for a biology lab.

You’re trying to make sense of the scrawled notes on your syllabus — eyes narrowed, and chin tilted downward — when you run into something tall and firm. You don’t hit the warm body hard enough to fall, but stumble back in fear enough to slip on the dewy grass. Like a cartoon character and a banana peel, you land comically on your ass.

“Shit. Sorry,” the towering stranger grimaces. “Didn’t see you there.”

Your wrists start to sting, burdened with the weight of catching your fall. “It’s okay…” you tell him anyway. ‘Cause everything’s always okay. Even when it isn’t. 

A ringed hand enters your vision then — lanky, pale, and tattooed. “Here. Let me help you up.”

“It’s okay,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I got it.”

Your jaw clenches tight as you rise on your feet. The slippery mud threatens to pull you down again. Your wrists throb with a dull and distant ache. You stand, despite all that, before the stranger you’d stumbled into the back of. 

Eddie watches you wipe your dirt-covered palms together with a lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. He doesn’t have a clue who you are, but he’s getting a few ideas now. You’re a strong, stubborn, and shy little thing. Pretty, too. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he cautions with his palms spread awkwardly in front of him. He wants to make sure you’re alright, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Strong, stubborn, shy, and definitely skittish, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head again, finally glancing at the boy looming before you. His curls are dark and untamed, billowing in the early spring breeze. His deep chocolate eyes match the color of the frizzy strands — both equally as wild as the smile he looks at you with.

Your breath catches suddenly in your throat. You hadn’t expected to bump into him, of course, but you expected even less for him to be so pretty.

“I’m—”

“Don’t say okay,” he interjects before you can start. His plush lips quirk in a genuine smile a second later, to show he’s only joking.

You swallow hard, still hopelessly trying to rid the mud from your aching palms. “I’m… I’m— I’m fine.”

The boy scoffs a faint laugh. “Here. Let me see.”

He takes your wrists in his hands before you can protest. His fingers are long, gentle, and strangely warm as he brushes the mud off your scrapped skin — hardly flinching when it dirties his own. 

He wipes his palms on his jeans after, never minding how it stains the denim. Then he reaches a leather-clad arm behind you and plucks a leaf gently from your hair. He flicks it to the ground again.

“There,” he grins. “Good as new.”

“Thanks…” you sigh, voice wavering from a reason you can’t name.

“Why haven’t I seen you around before?”

“‘Cause I’m… I’m new.”

“Explains why you’re all the way out here,” he jokes. Most people only come around this side of the football field to buy weed off him, and you don’t exactly seem like the type. His chocolate eyes narrow. “You lost?”

You shift on your feet, feeling suddenly very silly about the whole thing. You’ve got to be a special kind of stupid to take advice from a bunch of jocks and hardly bat an eye when they lead you in the exact opposite direction. You’re too trusting for your own good. It’s embarrassing.

“I was, uh— I was just trying to follow this map, but…” you wave the paper in your clammy hand. “I think it just made me more lost.”

Eddie reaches out a ringed hand and takes the schedule from you when you hand it over. His face scrunches softly together as he squints at the sloppy scribbles. You can’t tell if he’s confused or if he needs glasses. Maybe both.

He can hardly make sense of the directions. And the map was designed in a very obvious attempt to confuse you — the sweet, shy girl who’s never stepped foot here before. Something redhot simmers in his chest ‘cause he can’t imagine doing this to someone. Finding someone who obviously needs help and doing them over for a couple measly laughs.

It’s got Jason Carver and the Dick Brigade written all over it. Literally.

“Who gave this to you?” he asks anyway, just to be sure.

You blink up at him with a pair of doe eyes, gaze glimmering with innocence. “Um… A couple of basketball players, I think. They were wearing lettermans, so…”

“Fucking Carver,” the boy grumbles under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing…” he sighs. “Here. C’mon. Let’s go.” 

“Where— Where are we…” you mutter in a mousy voice, trailing off when he stomps past you. You get a faint whiff of floral shampoo and woodsy cologne as he goes. Less inclined to stay alone in the unfamiliar forest, you decide to follow behind him. “O-Okay…”

You fight to keep up with his considerably longer strides as the stranger leads you back towards the school. His dark eyes flit over your schedule, squinting to see past the messy lettering covering the typeface. 

“No point in making it to your third period,” he announces suddenly, swinging the heavy metal door open with a ringed hand. The rusted hinges squeak in protest when he holds it open for you with his foot. You slide in past him. He walks on ahead of you again, letting the thing slam shut behind him.

“Why?” you ask the back of him, voice wavering.

“‘Cause you’re already fifteen minutes late. And take it from me— Mr. Kaminsky hates when people are late,” Eddie tells you, flashing you a stern look over his shoulder. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

Your brows pinch as your face swirls with a distant panic. You couldn’t conceal your worry if you tried. The gravity of it all hits you, then — the fact that you’re following a stranger you ran into (in the most literal sense of the phrase), who’d previously been half-hidden away in the forest behind the school.

It’s all a bit odd when you think about it. This. Him. You. 

But this strange boy, dripping in silver and all black, is the very first person to show you an ounce of kindness all day. You don’t know why you’re following him so blindly — only that you don’t mind it as much as you should.

“Okay. So. Uh… Where are we— Where are we going, then?” you squeak behind him.

“Right here,” he answers, stopping short in the middle of the hallway. 

Still a few paces back, you don’t hopelessly bump into the back of him like you did before. You watch with wide and curious eyes as he wraps a pale hand around a rusted door knob. The heavy wooden entrance squeals when he opens it.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the boy jokes with a crooked grin. Everything about the pink expression glitters with mischief. He flicks on the light switch, letting the flourescent lights buzz on in protest. “Well, not abode— I don’t live here, but… You get it.”

The room smells overwhelmingly teenage boy. A mixture of cologne, sweet soda, and sweat. Most of the chairs have been stacked on top of each other and pushed to the edge of the room to make space for the long wooden table in the center. Binders, notebooks, and miscellaneous figurines sit scattered on a gameboard.

“Is that D&D?” you wonder quietly.

Eddie lights up at the question. “You play?” he asks as he saunters to the desk shoved in the very back corner of the room.

His excitement makes you regret your answer. 

“No…” you waver, then quickly follow. “But I’ve— I’ve heard about it.”

“I’m president of the Hellfire club,” he tells you, nodding to the poster on the wall. The demon in the center of it isn’t nearly as intimidating when you can tell it’s handmade. “You should join.”

The boy eyes you expectantly as he rounds the metal desk. You shift your weight on your feet and wring your clammy hands together. He tilts his chin to his chest and peers at you from underneath his lashes. “Think about it?” he presses.

You nod once. “Sure.”

He ducks down then, out of view behind the bulky desk. You stand awkwardly in place while the boy rummages through the drawers. “Ah, here we go…” you hear him murmur after a few moments — followed by a dull thud when he bangs his head. “Shit!” he swears under his breath before rising to his feet again.

You hide your smile behind your scrapped palm as he walks back over to you. His cheeks glow faintly pink as he rubs the crown of his head with his hand — the one not clutching a first-aid kit. “Here. Shit down. Let me look at your hands,” he urges, still worried about you despite his throbbing skull.

You shake your head rapidly in response. You’re not used to being doted on like this — or at all, really — but especially not from a metalhead, wild-haired, pretty-faced stranger. “No. I’m— I’m okay.”

His chocolate eyes go wide and softly stern. They glimmer playfully down at you as his brows raise behind his fluffy bangs. “What we’d just talk about?” he teases.

You swallow down the rest of your protests. “Right…”

You sit in the chair adjacent to the one at the head of the table. The cheap plastic is a stark contrast to the heavy wooden throne the stranger descends upon — with a sort of ease that tells you he sits there often.

He digs into the opened first-aid kit and pulls out a bandaid for you. He fumbles with the packaging for a moment before ripping it open with his teeth. 

“It’s okay not to be okay, you know?” he tells you, mostly muffled until he spits out the paper in his mouth. It lands on the floor at his feet, but he doesn’t seem inclined to pick it up. “Tell me I’m a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

Your face screws in offense. “I wasn’t—”

“I’m teasing,” he interjects softly, peering at you with a pair of button eyes. “Even though I am a shithead who needs to watch where he’s going.” He takes your palm between his warm and gently calloused ones. He smooths the large bandage over the raging scrape below your thumb with an impossibly delicate touch. “I’m sorry about that, by the way. Again.”

“It was my fault,” you murmur, gaze averted to the boy’s kind hands — at the six tiny bats tattoed in the junction of his thumb and forefinger. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s just a scrape, anyway, I can handle it.”

“Agree to disagree,” the boy says with a lopsided smile, brushing his thumb over the bandage to smooth it out. He gives your fingers a small squeeze before he parts from you. “There you good. Good as new.”

Your hands buzz with the longing to feel him again. You bring both of them to your lap, wrenching your fingers into a knot and hoping your face doesn’t look as hot as it feels. “Thank you…” you murmur, trailing off when you realize you don’t know the kind stranger’s name.

“Eddie,” he finishes for you.

“…Eddie.”

“You can stay in here with me if you want,” he offers with a nonchalant shrug — trying to be cool despite his thundering heart. “Third period’ll be over in, like, twenty minutes. I can walk you to your next class— you know, make sure all the freaks leave you alone.”

You purse your lips to the side of your mouth in attempts to hide the beam tugging there. It only halfway works. “That’d be great,” you tell him in a mousy voice. “Thank you…”

Eddie swallows hard and leans forward again. You can smell the nicotine on his breath and the musky cologne on his neck. His face hardens into a gently solemn look. 

“And don’t… Don’t hang around Jason Carver and his goons anymore, okay?” he tells you, sounding like he’s half-pleading. “Those assholes that fucked with your schedule? They’re bad news.”

Feeling like he must know this better than anyone else, you nod firmly in response. “Okay,” you answer, though it comes out in a whisper when the word gets caught in your throat. Something about having Eddie to you is making your body go all funny. It’s weird.

“Stick with me, okay?” the boy smiles, pink and pretty and petaled, as he slouches back onto his throne again. “I’ll take care of you.”

[birchleavesdawn]

Bitter Taste

Fromis_9 Saerom x Jo Yuri x m!Reader 4.2k words Warning: Watersports, Food play Authors notes: Fulfilling a couple of pretty old requests. The first one is a bit of a vague request and I don't really know what someone would be looking for for that so I hope this story is different enough. This will have at least a part 2 as I like the characters and already have the next part completely mapped out. Will see about anything beyond that. There is also a few easter eggs related to the title of the fic (song) in there, if you know the song maybe you'll catch them.

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Another night on your phone. Eyes exhausted from having the same empty conversations over and over, just for the tiny chance of spending a boring night with someone you'd never see again. Your finger tapped on the same apps you did every time, hoping it would be different, but knowing it would be the same.

Enough of this.

*Ring*... *Ring*...

"Hello?"

"Hey Captain. You busy tonight?"

"Why? Did daddy's luck run out on his dating apps? I knew it wouldn't be long before I was hearing from you again." You could hear her grin through the phone.

"I'm tired of those girls. I just keep swiping, I need something new."

"Well, I'm working right now but I get off in an hour. Why don't you pretty yourself up and come meet me here. I know how we can have a little fun."

*Click*

Saerom was a bit of a wild card. She had gotten you to try many things you would never have even thought possible on your nights together. You couldn't begin to guess what she had in mind, but you were looking forward to something, anything different.

She texted you the address, it was one you recognized and It wasn't very far. After a quick shower, you put on something nice and headed down. A short walk and a couple minutes on the subway and you were there.

Sweet Indulgence Adult Ice Cream 19+

So she was working at an ice cream place now? You wondered what the 19+ meant. Maybe they sold alcohol? The bell chimed as you entered the shop. Saerom was leaning behind the counter on her phone.

"Oh! Hey there handsome. I'll be with you in a minute." She smiled and walked into the back room.

You took a seat near the front, deciding to wait there for her return, taking a chance to size the place up. It was small but not too small. There were three tables in the middle of the floor and two booths on the left wall. A glass counter ran through the middle of the room, filled with various flavors of ice cream. Basically it looked like any standard ice cream shop, with the only difference being the big "19+" written next to the milkshakes on the menu.

Yea must be alcohol. You thought.

That's when you noticed Saerom's coworker pop up from below the cash register. A short girl with shimmering blonde hair tucked neatly into her hairnet. Large, expressive eyes and a smile that was warm and inviting. She looked cute. Like a puppy. "Yuri" was written on her name tag. You watched her, hard at work, unsure if she was even aware of your presence.

Saerom reemerged a few moments later, walking to the door, pulling the blinds shut and flipping the open sign to closed. She whispered something to the other girl who then promptly disappeared into the back where Saerom had just come from. Saerom then made her way over to you. You stood up from your chair to meet her. Without saying a word she grabbed your face and licked firmly up the side of your cheek before growling quietly in your ear. She lifted up her white tank top and flashed you her breasts, before pushing them into your chest. You could feel her erect nipples poking you through your shirt. They probably spent a lot of time like that in such a cold place like this.

"Wow I guess we're getting right into it?"

"You have no idea how badly I want you right now." She grabbed your crotch and gave it a firm squeeze.

"But..."

She let go of your crotch and pulled her shirt back down. Leaving you confused.

"I thought we could play with Yuri tonight. She's pretty cute right?" Saerom said

You turned to look towards the back, the young blonde girl was now standing there, a bright smile on her face, wearing a frilly white apron with nothing on underneath. Her perky breasts were on display, along with a clean shaven slit that peeked out from below the bottom. Her legs were slender and shapely. You turned back to Saerom, who had a big grin on her face.

"So, what do you say?"

"Well she seems pretty excited and you know I'm not one to disappoint a lady. Especially one that looks like that."

"Great, then pick a flavor and Yuri is going to begin preparing our milkshakes."

"Chocolate cookies looks good."

Saerom nodded to Yuri.

Yuri spun around, revealing her perfectly plump backside. You caught Saerom staring out the corner of your eye, her mouth open, a lustful gaze. You really couldn't blame her, Yuri's body was incredible.

Yuri bent over the freezer, sticking her ass out as far as she could, and pulled out the tub of chocolate cookies ice cream, before carrying it into the back.

Saerom approached you once again, now fixated on the tightness on display in the front of your trousers. She breathed hot air into your ear while playfully biting your lobe. Her hands going for your belt.

"I'll make this quick. But don't worry, this is just a taste of what's to come." She winked.

Saerom wasted no time. She dropped to her knees, pulling down your pants and underwear, exposing your stiff and twitching member to the cool air. She took your head between her lips. She bobbed her head, quickly and forcefully, sucking hard while swirling her tongue. Your hands reached down to hold her, feeling her silky black hair slide through your fingers. You moaned softly, watching her move her head, sliding her glistening lips up and down your cock. The sloppy sounds of her movements were only outdone by the soft moans she was making as she worked. She knew exactly what you liked.

"READY!"

You heard Yuri shouting from the back. And once again Saerom let go of you, your shaft slick with her saliva, now feeling exceptionally exposed to the frigid air. She rose and straightened herself out.

"We'll finish later. For now let's enjoy our shakes."

"You're really just going to leave me like this?"

"Of course!"

Saerom motioned to the back.

You walked in after her, following her lead. The back of the store also looked like any ordinary ice cream parlor. Stacks of boxes labeled cups, spoons, bowls. The freezers and mixers sat along the far wall, a large refrigerator filled with various types of milk on your right, and a large steel door that clearly led to the walk-in freezer beside it. What caught your attention though was the floor to ceiling curtain that was hiding another part of the room. On one side of it, there was a steel chute that came from behind it and then led to the countertop where several milkshake glasses stood. Each one was filled to the brim with a thick, creamy shake.

"Grab your shake and give it a taste!" Saerom said excitedly.

"It should be that darker one there at the end."

You grabbed the shake she pointed to, and gave it a taste. The rich chocolate flavor was sweet and delicious. You hadn't expected ice cream to taste this good.

"Mmmm." You hummed, taking another sip.

"I like it."

"Like it?"

"Love it!"

Saerom laughed, pleased by your reaction.

"That's so good." You said, wiping a bit of it from your lip.

"I've never tasted anything quite like it. That bitter taste. Is that the alcohol?"

She looked confused. "What do you mean? There's no alcohol in this."

"Wait, really?"

"Of course not, silly. I wouldn't do that to you." She was now grinning ear to ear.

"So then, why did she call this the '19+' menu?"

"That's because of our secret ingredient."

Saerom motioned to the curtain.

"Would you like to see?"

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded.

She took hold of the curtain and drew it back, revealing the real reason for the 19+ on the menu. Yuri was knelt down on top of a small wooden platform with a thin mattress atop, her legs spread wide, her hands resting on her thighs. The steel chute that you had seen from the other side of the curtain, now entirely visible, was attached to the platform between Yuri's legs.

"I think you've figured out what's going on here, but why don't you let me show you anyway. Yuri, are you ready?"

"YES MISS SAEROM" Yuri shouted, her voice dripping with excitement.

"Now the girls who work here will often do this part on their own, but for the sake of the demonstration, I'm going to help her."

You watched as Saerom stepped forward and took Yuri's chin in her hand, leaning in and planting a passionate kiss on her soft lips.

"I'm going to make you feel really good." She whispered in her ear, before taking a step back and slapping her ass.

Yuri yelped. "Thank you Miss Saerom."

Saerom then climbed up onto the platform and moved behind Yuri, squatting down. She pulled Yuri's ass up to meet her face, spreading her cheeks and sticking her tongue inside.

"Mmmmm." Yuri moaned, closing her eyes.

Saerom's tongue danced around inside Yuri's asshole. Spreading her spit and getting her ready. After a few moments, she stopped and stood up.

"I can still taste the chocolate cookies ice cream you asked for. Good choice!"

Saerom reached forward and grabbed a spoon and a small white tub off the shelf in front of her, opening it and placing it on the platform next to Yuri's leg.

"We're going with classic vanilla for this one."

She then scooped out a spoonful of the ice cream and smeared it on her finger, pressing it against Yuri's rear, and then pushing her finger inside with the ice cream.

"Hnnng" Yuri groaned.

Saerom continued, working her finger deeper and deeper inside Yuri's asshole until she had the whole thing buried. She then slid it out slowly, letting her anus tighten around it.

"How does that feel?" She asked.

"Mmmmmm" Yuri responded, unable to manufacture any words.

"Yuri is really sensitive. It's how she's able to produce so many drinks over the course of a day."

Saerom scooped another glob of ice cream, pressing it into Yuri's asshole. Once again pushing her finger inside.

She repeated the process a couple more times before deciding that that would be enough. Yuri was starting to tremble now, her body beginning to shake as the effects of the ice cream began to take hold.

"How are you doing, baby girl?"

"I'm doing good, Miss Saerom." Yuri whimpered.

The ice cream had already begun to melt from Yuri's asshole, coating her pussy and running down the back of her thighs before being collected by the chute below her. Saerom dipped her finger in the melted liquid, bringing it to her mouth and giving it a taste.

"Mmm. Just right." She said.

She then turned her attention to Yuri's cunt, rubbing her fingers over her folds.

"And what's going on down here. Is it time yet?"

"Yes... Miss Saerom, I think so."

She gave her lips another pass over before sliding her fingers inside, eliciting a low moan from Yuri. She then removed her fingers and brought them up to her own mouth, savoring another taste of her favorite girl.

"You taste delicious, Yuri. Like a little angel. So sweet and pure."

"Thank you Miss Saerom."

Saerom then turned her attention to you.

"Why don't you come up and get yourself a taste straight from the source?"

She motioned for you to approach. You eagerly climbed up onto the platform and crawled behind Yuri, her beautiful ass and pussy now just inches from your face. Her sweet smell was intoxicating.

"Come on, take a bite." Saerom encouraged.

You reached out, taking hold of Yuri's ass cheeks, squeezing them together and spreading them apart, the melted ice cream having left them looking glossy and inviting. You stuck out your tongue and licked along her crack. You could feel her body twitch slightly at your touch. You followed the trail of vanilla down the curve of her ass, the smooth skin sliding under your tongue. She tasted amazing. You pressed your tongue to her cunt, licking the melted ice cream from her lips before finally sliding your tongue inside. Her pussy was warm and offset the cold of the ice cream. The taste was even better than her asshole.

"That's it. Get nice and deep." Saerom cooed. One of her hands had found its way into the front of her pants, she was visibly getting off to the sight of you tongue fucking her baby girl.

You pushed your tongue deeper into Yuri's pussy, feeling her clench and squirm. You danced your tongue around inside her, her moans growing louder.

"Ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhhhhhh." Yuri had become a whimpering mess.

Saerom reached her free hand down and rubbed Yuri’s clit. Yuri's hips began to rock and sway as she fucked your face.

"I'm gonna cum, Miss Saerom."

Yuri's breathing was labored, her moans desperate. You felt her pussy clamp down on your tongue. Her legs were shaking, losing their ability to hold her weight. Before you knew it a stream of her nectar was pouring out of her, filling your mouth, splashing all over your cheeks and running down your chin then collecting in the chute between her legs.

"Good job, baby girl. That was wonderful." Saerom praised her. "Look how much we got!"

She ran her hand through Yuri's hair and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"You were a perfect little angel for our guest."

"Thank you Miss Saerom."

Saerom turned to you, seeing the mess Yuri had made on your face, a look of pride washing over her.

"Here, let me help you clean that up."

Saerom pulled you close and licked your face clean. Taking her time to lap up every last drop.

"Mmmm." She moaned. "God it tastes so good."

You could feel her hot breath on your face. She kissed your cheek, while her hand returned to your crotch, massaging your cock through the fabric.

"Alright I've waited long enough. It's my turn now."

She didn't wait for a response, instead she threw you down onto the mattress next to Yuri, who was still recovering from her orgasm.

"Clothes off. Now." She commanded.

You hastily pulled off your shirt, throwing it to the floor. Your pants and underwear following.

"That's it. You're always so good."

"Now get over here on your knees. I want you to look into my eyes the whole time... or so help me..."

She pulled down her skirt and kicked off her panties. Her pussy looked so inviting, juices had already begun leaking down her thighs. You wasted no time, crawling over and stopping before her feet.

"Wait. No touching yet. I've been holding this in all night."

You sat there obediently, your cock painfully hard. Saerom took a step towards you and lowered her folds to your face, an intoxicating scent of lilac and yearning emanating. Grabbing your hair with both hands, she tilted your head back, forcing your mouth open and giving herself full access.

Suddenly a warm stream hit your tongue, catching you by surprise. You made sure to keep your gaze locked with hers just as she directed, disobeying her when she was like this would only spell bad news for you.

Her golden liquid flooded your mouth. You swallowed as fast as you could but the stream was relentless. The pressure causing it to spill out over your chin, down your chest and falling onto your twitching member. You could feel her fluids warming you on the inside and out.

It tasted like heaven, sweet and bitter and everything in between. She looked down at you, satisfied. 

"Drink up, baby." She said between hitched breaths, her grip on your hair tightening.

She finally ran out and lifted herself from your face, leaving your mouth and nose drenched. She licked the sweat from her lips, taking a moment to admire her work.

"Fuck!" She exhaled.

She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back out of her face.

"Look at the mess we've made. Tsk Tsk. You know I can't have you inside me all filthy like that."

Saerom stepped over and sat next to Yuri, who had managed to sit herself up and had been enjoying the show.

"Yuri, darling, could you do me a favor and clean our friend's cock for me? But do not let him cum."

"Of course Miss Saerom."

She got to work immediately. Her eyes grew wide at the thought of tasting Saerom's juices on you. She wrapped her small, soft hand around the base of your cock and gave it a firm squeeze.

"It's so big! And the smell..." She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "It's so good!"

She licked her lips, before leaning in and taking the tip of your shaft into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around, coating your head with her saliva. You let out a quiet groan. After the blue balls you'd been getting all night, the mere contact from her mouth was almost enough to push you over the edge already.

Saerom was clearly enjoying the show, a satisfied smile on her face. She leaned in and whispered something in Yuri's ear. Yuri's eyes lit up again. She nodded and went back to her task, wrapping her lips tightly around your shaft.

"Now that's a good girl."

The way she looked down at Yuri with such adoration, such pride, it was enough to make your heart melt. You could tell she cared for her deeply.

Yuri continued, bobbing her head up and down your shaft, her tongue working furiously to clean you. She was making quite a mess with her spit leaking down her chin. She didn't seem to care one bit.

Saerom leaned in and kissed Yuri on the forehead.

"That's enough, my sweet."

Yuri released your cock with a wet pop. Your shaft now absolutely coated in her drool.

Saerom turned her attention to you. "I think you've earned a reward, don't you?"

You nodded, the ache in your loins was getting completely unbearable.

"Go on then. Come and take it."

Saerom lay back and spread her legs, showing off her glistening pink slit. You crawled between her legs, and pressed your tip against her opening.

"That's it. Don't hold back."

That was all you needed to hear. Those words producing a feral response deep inside you. You thrust your hips forward, burying your cock inside her, causing a gasp to escape her lips. You were on top of her, your body moving entirely on instinct. Hands grabbing at her thighs, pulling her close, trying to get deeper. You could feel her nails digging into your back, her teeth on your neck. The sounds of her moans were enough to drive you crazy.

"Ah.. f.." She bit down on your shoulder, her moans muffled, unable to get any words out.

Your thrusts were growing more erratic and less controlled. You were both losing yourselves. The tension inside her was building. She clung to you, her arms wrapped around you tightly and her breath hot on your neck. Her walls were pulsating, clenching around your shaft . You could feel her orgasm approaching.

"Aaaah." She cried out, her eyes rolling back. "I'm going to ..."

"Fucking do it then." You growled. The feeling of her pussy spasming around you. You kept the pace steady and guided Saerom through her orgasm. Her body shaking and trembling beneath you.

"God damn you're beautiful." You whispered. "But I’m not done. Ready to go again?"

She summoned the last remnants of her strength to offer you a delicate nod.

You rolled her over flat on her stomach and pulled her thighs together, placing your knees on either side. You admired the sight of her glistening backside for a moment, the sweat beading down from her ass and her shoulders before coming to a rest in the small of her back. You took a fistful of each of her cheeks to support yourself, before slowly tracing one long line up the length of her back with your tongue. The saltiness of her sweat paired well with the bitterness of her piss that still lingered in your mouth.

"Ah..." She gasped, shivering as a reaction to the surprise sensation.

You pressed the tip of your cock against her asshole, feeling her muscles clench. You plunged forward, the pressure giving way and the head of your shaft slipping inside. She let out a loud gasp as you slid deeper, continuing until your hips met hers.

You began to thrust, her ass was clenching around you. The wet slap of your skin on hers filling the air. She was gripping the mattress with everything she had left, causing her knuckles to turn white. You picked up the pace, feeling her insides stretch around you. You reached under and took hold of her breast, squeezing and pulling at her nipple. She let out a low moan as you continued to pound her.

"Fuck me harder." She panted, her voice strained.

You did as you were told. Thrusting faster and harder, slamming her into the mattress. She was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath you. Her voice growing louder, the sounds escaping her becoming increasingly animalistic. She was reaching her limits.

"Fuck. That's it. Make sure you cum inside me."

Her body was tensing up, the pressure inside her growing. You could feel her muscles contracting around your shaft, gripping you like a vice. You could tell she was going to burst at any second. You picked up the pace. Thrusting even harder. You wanted her to explode.

Saerom's whole body began to shake. You could see the strain on her face. You continued to fuck her. You couldn't stop. She was cumming. Her whole body convulsed, her screams echoing off the walls. You continued to pound her, driving her body into the mattress, not letting up. She was lost in the throes of pleasure. The orgasm had completely consumed her.

Her voice was hoarse. You couldn't tell if she was even making any sounds anymore. She had stopped moving, her eyes rolled back and her body limp. You continued to pound her ass, until your own release finally came. You let out a loud growl and thrust forward one final time, burying yourself as deep inside her as you possibly could. You could feel the warmth of your seed flooding her insides, the excess spilling out onto her aching pussy.

Saerom lay there motionless, but breathing heavily. You could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm still rippling through her body. You gently pulled out, releasing your hold on her and letting her fall back down flat on her stomach.

You collapsed beside her, panting, both of you completely spent. The next thing you knew, Yuri was standing above you, smiling. She handed you each a glass of water, which you happily accepted and chugged it down.

"Thank you Yuri. You've been wonderful."

She simply smiled and bowed.

"Well, I suppose we should clean up and be on our way." Saerom said, having partially come back to her senses. “As much as we’d all like to sit here for a while, it’s getting late.”

"Yes. It's quite late and we have a busy day tomorrow." Yuri chimed in.

"By the way, I promised Yuri that you would take her home tonight. I'll tidy up here, why don't you two get going. I don't want to keep Yuri up any longer than necessary."

"Ahh.. what?"

"Don't worry, you've already made her cum so she shouldn't be any trouble. Plus she can make herself useful. Now shoo. Get dressed and get out of here."

Saerom and Yuri dressed while you did the same. Once everyone was presentable, you took Yuri and headed for the door. As you walked out, Yuri handed you a new shake in a to-go cup.

"This is the one we just made together!"

"I can't wait to taste it." You replied, smiling.

You held her hand and walked her home. You enjoyed the silence, not saying much on the way, but enjoying each other's company.

When you finally arrived back at your place, you unlocked the door and motioned Yuri in, following close behind. You both kicked off your shoes and made your way into the kitchen, where you put the milkshake down on the counter.

"I only have one bed, but it's pretty big. I'm assuming that after tonight you won't mind sharing one anyway. You go on in, 2nd door on the right, I need to find a spot in the freezer for this milkshake."

You watched Yuri walk away, admiring the way her hips swayed, before heading over to the freezer. You placed the shake in empty corner and shut the door. You then made your way to the bedroom. Despite only being about 30 seconds behind her, she was already fast asleep on your bed. You made sure she had enough blankets before crawling into bed next to her. A moment later, you were also fast asleep.

[roseyuri]

⋆｡𖦹°‧ MAGNETIC ahn yujin x reader x wonyoung

💿 yujin & wonyoung flirting with yn for 10 minutes 1M views

masterlist. next

— 𝜗𝜚 clip one

yn tightened the blanket around her as she clapped for yujin who had just finished filming her scene for the music video for their comeback.

yujin walked over to yn with big smile on her face, “did I look good?” she asked with a teasing look in her eye, taking the bottle of water yn passed to her.

yn nodded her head before turning to the camera that was filming for their behind the scenes with a thumbs up, “really good.”

yujin hummed stepping closer to yn, “I look really good?” she asked while smiling at the flush that immediately makes its make to yn’s face.

yn yelps at how close yujin was getting stepping back only to bump into wonyoung who just walked up behind her.

yn let’s out another sound turning to face wonyoung who giggles at yn’s state, “it’s my turn do you think I’m gonna look really good yn?”

yn let out an awkward cough turning to look at yujin and then back at wonyoung “I think we will all look good.”

— 𝜗𝜚 clip two

the girls were gathered for a photo shoot, and yn was standing between yujin and wonyoung as they adjusted their poses, the camera zoomed in closer on three picking up on what they were saying to each other.

"yn, come closer," yujin murmured, wrapping an arm around yn’s waist, taking notice of the photographer motioning them to get closer, “you know we need to look good together."

yn’s froze at the contact, her face heating up as yujin pulled her in.

wonyoung, noticing yn’s reaction, lightly draped her arm around yn's shoulders from the other side, bringing them even closer. "don't be shy, Yn. We’ll take care of you."

yn tried her best to post , caught between yujin and wonyoung, unable to hide her embarrassment, causing the staff to laugh in the background.

— 𝜗𝜚 clip three

yn was sitting in the van, staring out the window as the group drove to their next schedule. yujin, seated next to her, gently nudged her shoulder.

“yn, are you ignoring me?” yujin pouted playfully, leaning closer.

yn blinked, turning to face her. “what? No, I was just—”

before yn could finish, yujin rested her head on yn’s shoulder. “good, because I wanted to rest on you,” she teased softly, her breath tickling yn’s neck.

yn froze, feeling her face heat up again, but before she could speak, wonyoung, sitting in the seat behind them, leaned forward and lightly tapped Yn’s other shoulder. “yn, save some space for me, too,” she teased with a wink, sending yn into yet another flustered mess.

— 𝜗𝜚 clip four

during a live, the members were answering fans questions , and it was yn’s turn to answer a fan’s question about who she would choose to spend the day with if she could pick one member.

yn hesitated, unsure how to answer without causing too much teasing. “um… I guess I’d choose…”

before yn could finish her sentence, yujin leaned in with a playful grin, “oh, I know it’s me, yn.”

yn laughed awkwardly, trying to deflect. “well, I didn’t say—”

wonyoung cut in, scooting closer on yn’s other side. “but I know you’d rather spend the day with me, right?”

yn’s flustered face immediately made the fans go wild in chat while the rest of the girls laughed at her.

— 𝜗𝜚 clip five

during a break in rehearsal, yn was lying on the floor, exhausted, when yujin suddenly sat down beside her, close enough for their arms to touch.

“tired, yn?” yujin asked, flashing her a teasing grin. “you know, I could give you a massage if you want.”

yn’s face turned red at the offer, her mind racing. “I’m good…”

wonyoung, who was sitting nearby, perked up and walked over, kneeling down beside yn. “a massage from yujin? or one from me? which one do you prefer, yn?” she asked with a smile.

yn groaned, covering her face with her hands as both yujin and wonyoung laughed, clearly enjoying how easily flustered she got.

[cottonlemonade]

Mr Steal Your Girl

word count: 1311 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kenma x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, University

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Kenma tries to ask you out but has awful timing

It was already hard enough to dress for a normal date but finding an outfit for a blind date you didn’t want to go to to begin with was impossible.

Your best friend was annoyed that she couldn’t take you and your chronically single self on any double dates and so decided to take matters into her own hands. At least once every few months she would close her eyes and pick a random guy walking around the campus cafeteria and ask if he was interested in a “cool, funny, smart girl that was just too shy to ask herself” and most of the time that was enough. The date was set, your friend dragged you along and you had a miserable two hours before being allowed to return to your natural habitat - your dorm room.

In her defense, most guys she selected were actually very nice. And except for the last one who had forgotten his wallet, then ate his weight in burgers, let you pay, and had since vanished without a trace or payback, they all knew how to behave. They kept the conversations going, complimented you, and usually asked for a second date, but you liked being alone and besides, dating was stressful. Who needed the whole hassle of getting dressed up and leaving the house? You wanted someone who liked to spend their time indoors, watch movies, play games, build a Lego set or two, snuggle, and snack.

Kenma was convinced that you were perfect for him. Witty, had excellent taste in games and music, and a figure that put every body pillow he ever received as a promo gift to shame. He spent the better part of any lecture twirling his pen in his long fingers and staring at the back of your head, then quickly snapping his eyes the other way, pretending to look intently at the monitor upfront if you happened to turn around during a stretch. He remembered overhearing one of his former classmates once saying that asking someone out was easy, but now that Kenma absently drew a heart with your initials on the side of his notes, he found he didn’t share that sentiment. Partly because he didn’t like to go out in the first place, so how would he convincingly invite someone to something he didn’t even want to go to either?

None of his friends knew about his crush on you and he wasn’t going to admit it to them. Not because he would be embarrassed if they knew, but because he didn’t want to be grouped together with your small and not-so-secret on-campus fan club - a bunch of desperate boys who all wanted a piece of the chubby queen of homebodies. So he denied any allegations that quickening his sluggish steps on the way to the lecture hall to sit in your vicinity, his sleep-deprived heart eyes and doodle-adorned notepads meant anything. Pondering, he tapped the tip of his pen onto the paper, trying to figure out a way to invite you to play games with him, romantically. He wasn‘t going to stoop as low as to ask Kuroo for help and instead took to the wild seas of the internet for advice.

As he scrolled through the many many forums, sifting through mostly bad ideas, he overheard one of your friends say, “It‘s just dinner and a movie. Give him a chance. He is the captain of the swim team after all.“

Kenma‘s heart sank - and then bounced back up immediately when you groaned.

“Look, it‘s sweet and … a little concerning how much you care about my love life, but I‘m not interested in him. Or anyone really. I just prefer to be alone.“

100% understanding and agreeing with you, Kenma chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking if it would come across as weird and creepy if he were to ask you to be alone together.

“But I worry about you.“, the friend pouted.

You laughed and gently put a hand on her shoulder, “Not everyone meets the love of their life at university.“

In truth, you just didn‘t want your friend to know about your ridiculous crush on Kodzuken. Your heart had almost jumped out of your chest when you first spotted the tell-tale half-dyed ponytail in your class and heard the all too familiar voice during a presentation project. It was silly, really, and you did well pushing your infatuation to the very back of your mind.

After all, whenever you tried to catch a glimpse of him he would look away immediately, making it all too clear that wasn‘t interested in a conversation.

It was no use either way. Your friend wouldn‘t stop pushing until you were social for an evening so you chose your usual - well fitted jeans and a thin, long sleeved sweater to keep the cold and any potential bodily contact to a minimum. Your friend waved when she recognized you getting off the bus. She was already waiting in the arms of her boyfriend with a tower of a guy right next to them, who, when seeing who his set-up was going to be, looked a little disappointed. Oh great.

Kenma felt more pathetic by the second. All day he had tried to work up the courage to catch you in a calm minute to ask you out before your date. If it went well with that guy, chances were he wouldn’t ever let you go (if he knew what was best for him), so this was basically his last opportunity ever. When he didn’t manage to ask during class, then neither during lunch, nor in the library he never went to before, and neither at the bus stop, he thought he might as well face the fact that it wasn’t meant to be. But he found himself a few hours later behind you in the queue at the movie theater, he heard you were planning to go to. He would have to ask now before he’d have to buy a ticket. As he politely waited for a lull in the conversation between you and the Iron Man your friend set you up with, Kenma tried to busy himself with a game on his phone to calm his nerves. But he became so engrossed in a level that he missed his chance and could only watch you walk away with your friends. He should just give up. This was ludicrous.

“One ticket to whatever movie they just went to.”, he said before he could stop himself.

Just turn around. Turn around and leave. Come on.

But his feet had other plans. With the overpriced movie stub in hand, he shuffled to the auditorium and searched in the crowd for you. Unfortunately, the first marker he found was the tall guy next to you, talking to your friend and boyfriend, leaving you to sit quietly and awkwardly to the side.

He walked up the steps and your eyes met. Your cheeks blushed, as did his, and with the confidence of a deflated balloon, he came to a halt next to you, hands in his pockets.

“Hey y/n, I’m Kenma. I’m in your business class.”

“I know.”, you said and he was already relieved. First hurdle down. Now, carefully…

“Do you wanna go to a gaming café together?”

“Wha- right now?”

“I mean, yeah, if you don’t have anything else going on.”, he looked past you to the guy who just stared at him in disbelief and added in appeasement of your date, “Nothing personal.”

You exchanged a look with your friend who was just as shocked as the others and she shrugged. You turned back to Kenma.

“Sure thing.”

He held out his hand, then felt silly doing so and was about to lower it when you grabbed it.

“Lead the way.”, you said brightly and he did.

[reysdriver]

i need more dad James 🫣🫣🫣🫣

James comes home from a trip to the farm supply store with a wild surprise — dad!farmer!james x mom!reader fluff

warnings: a little bit of fighting but it's absolutely not angsty, some parental nervousness ig

words: 1.3k

a/n: I need more of him too lol (I'm gonna use this ask to test out my new au tho so I hope you're ok with that <3)

James came home right when you were starting to prepare dinner, much to the joy of you and both your children. You scooped up your baby girl from her play mat on the ground, then right on cue, your toddler showed up at your side, rushing to the front door with you. 

“I guess you heard the door too, Haz?” You asked your son, holding out your hand for him to take.

As he looked up at you and nodded, he took your free hand so that the three of you were all going together to see James. 

Once you saw your husband at the door, all you felt were the butterflies in your stomach that still hadn’t flown away even after all these years. But then, you noticed how he was leaving very little space between him and the door as he closed it, and how he was covered in little strands of fur even though he was just running a few quick errands. 

Before you could even ask him about it, he wrapped his strong arm around your waist and pressed his lips against yours. It took you a bit of time to register what was even happening, but as soon as you started to melt into the kiss, James pulled away and flashed you a sweet smile. 

He then bent down to greet both Ivy on your hip and Harry standing beside you. 

“I have a surprise for you and the kids.” James said, mostly excited with a hint of guilt. 

You raised an eyebrow at your husband. “What are you talking about?”

He shrugged and touched the door handle, ready to open it. “I can’t really tell you. It’s better if I show you.”

He opened the front door to reveal a ridiculously small horse standing fifteen feet away from you and tied up to the bannister outside. 

It was half your size and incredibly fluffy. You had to resist going over to pet it just because you were so in shock at the fact that your husband came home from the farm supply store and surprised you with a whole horse—or maybe just a third of a horse, based on its size.

A thousand and one thoughts raced through your head but before you could make sense of any of them, Harry giggled loudly and began to run towards the horse in front of you all. 

Panicking, you called your son back and walked him back to the porch. You used your free hand to hold him tightly against your thigh so he wouldn’t run back the animal James just surprised you with. 

“You bought a pony on a whim?” You asked your husband. 

“No, of course not.” He shook his head. “She’s a miniature horse. They’re totally different. The guy I bought it from told me all about them!”

Of course. Now that the horse’s title is settled, everything is fine. 

“James, we need to speak in private. Stay here.” 

His face flushed. He knew you were mad because you almost never called him by anything other than your various pet names for him unless you were upset. 

You then ushered Harry back inside the house to the living room, where you set Ivy back down on her play mat. 

“Play with your sister for a minute, Haz. If she gets fussy at all, you can come get me outside, okay?”

He smiled and nodded, sitting down next to the one year-old. “Can we play with the pony soon?”

You exhaled, unsure of how to respond. “Your dad says it’s a miniature horse, not a pony. And maybe, if you’re good.”

The boy seemed satisfied with that, so you pressed a kiss to the top of his head and walked back outside, where you found your husband looking extremely guilty as he awaited your return. 

Once you closed the door behind you, he immediately tried to make the situation better. 

“Lovie, I knew you’d be reluctant about all of this, but I swear I can explain—”

“You bought a horse, James! You were only supposed to be going out for a new shovel and some paint, then you come back with a horse?!”

 “Well, I got the other stuff, too, it’s just in the truck. I just got to talking with a man at the supply store and he said he was selling some of those cuties right out of his horse trailer in the parking lot.”

You sighed and crossed your arms. “How much did it cost?”

“Not much at all! The guy was selling them for bottom dollar ‘cause he’s moving soon and needs ‘em gone!” James rested his hand on your upper arm and stroked lightly. His voice softened, and so did his expression. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have bought her if we couldn’t afford her. I’m always thinking about our family.”

You were trying real hard not to look into your husband’s pretty eyes because you knew the second you did, you would have no choice but to give in. You stared at the porch swing, the miniature horse, the chicken coop, anything but James. 

And he could clearly tell you weren’t convinced just yet, so he kept going.

“Look, I know we got rid of most of the animals before Harry was born, but those were the more unstable ones, and that was back when we were nervous about everything. Now we’re more experienced, and she’s just the sweetest thing.”

You exhaled, peeking through the window to check on Harry and Ivy playing on the living room carpet. 

“They’re just babies, Jamie.” 

He bit back a smile at the use of his nickname, letting him know you were warming up to the idea. 

“Harry’s already three, love.” He removed his hand from your arm and gestured at himself. “I was just barely older than him when I started riding the real horses, and now look at me!”

He smiled and posed with open arms, which in turn made you smile. 

“I love looking at you.” You said sincerely. “You’re the best.”

“Your words, not mine.”

You giggled, then pulled him in for a kiss. And not just one to distract like when he first came home. A real kiss, and a good one too.

When you pulled away, you left your hands where they were and caressed softly. 

“Next time you want to do something extravagant for the kids like this, talk to me about it first, okay? If you kiss me enough, I’ll say yes to anything.” 

James raised an eyebrow, insinuating things that made you glad the kids were inside. 

Your jaw dropped in mock stun. “Not like that, Jamie! What do you take me for?!” 

The two of you both laughed, and he pulled you in for a sweet hug. “My wife, the mother of my incredible kids, the love of my life. I could go on.”

You would have claimed he was just flattering you as an apology for buying the horse, but you had already told him he could keep it. Plus, he says things like that far more than he had ever bought something crazy and needed forgiveness. 

“So I can go introduce the kids to the horse for real now?” 

Your gaze moved over to the animal a few feet away from you, and you nodded as a response to your husband’s question. 

“As long as you have a saddle for that thing.”

He grinned, then kissed your nose quickly before darting away. “Thank you! It’s in the truck! I love you!”

You laughed to yourself, and shook your head amusedly while you walked towards the miniature horse that you now owned. 

“Hi there, sweetheart.” You greeted, brushing her mane with your fingers. “Welcome to the family. James there can be a bit daft, but I think you’ll like it here.”

[the-monstermash]

UNBROKEN BETROTHALS

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Synopsis: After running away from an unwanted proposal, you find yourself working in a brothel as a cook. When a certain guest takes an odd liking to you, secrets are revealed and betrothals unbroken

Warnings: Angst, Brothels, Mature, 18+, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language

Word Count: 2,187

> **A/N:** AHHHHHH this is my first character fic, and only the second one I've ever been brave enough to post! I also had to post this on mobile because my browser was being wild so sorry for any formatting issues!

The sound of senseless fucking had never seemed to bother you. Easy to filter out, truthfully, and not as traveling as one would think it to be. No, there are many things worse, like for instance the smell. One never takes into account the smell of sex, much less the smell of alcohol fueled, desperate, old haggard men driving the last of their life-force into some disinterested cunny eager to make a coin. Eager to spend a coin, as well.

That's where you came in. Whores work up quite an appetite, one you are all too happy to satisfy, no pun intended. You'd been with Sylvi for years, after you'd run from your family in the dead of night, afraid of the life they'd planned for you.

"Everybody must eat," Sylvi sighed the night she met you, disinterested. "If you will not fuck, you will feed. We earn our keep around these parts, you'll do well to learn quickly."

That was the start of a very standoffish, albeit maternal, relationship. Sylvi had never truly cared for your company, but she cared for you, and that was more than many could say, and more than you could say of any kin. She had taken you in, given you shelter among her girls, and had asked very little of you, knowing your past. She'd seen you into young womanhood, and taught you all you wished to know about life. She was not coddling, nor cruel. She was just what you needed, and it seemed many shared the sentiment.

You were in a daydream as you went about your nightly tasks. The brothel would be closing in a few hours, the girls would need food, and you had really set into it, working quick and messily, spinning and turning about in an attempt to do too many things at once.

Just as you'd turned from the broth and made way to the oven, a wall had manifested itself and blocked your passage. No, not really a wall. Moreso a tree, in it's slender and sharp way. The branches had reached out to hold you, wrapping around your waist and breaking you from your reverie. Suddenly before you was a bare chest, pale in color and smooth like silk. He was taught with muscle, cut like marble. The kind of statue kings pay fortunes for, just to place in their hallway and walk past every morning.

"Sir, no one is meant in the kitchens." You had spoken before you'd had the chance to understand what you were saying, turning from him and back towards your oven to retrieve the loaves. "You'll need to return back to the brothel, Sylvi will not have men in her kitchen."

"'Twas Sylvi that sent me. I've come for wine." The voice was quiet, but in a way that made the ears strain to hear him, instead of drown him out.

Wine? Why would he not stop at the many*tables he'd have to pass to get here?You'd thought. This man must have ill intentions.

Slowly grabbing your bread knife, you turned your head to the side to face the intruder.

Prince Aemond Targaryen.

"My Prince! " The sound of metal rang through the room as you dropped the blade unto the table to turn fully towards him. "My sincerest apologies, my prince! Please forgive me, I had no idea!" You did your best curtsy, and prayed to the Seven that he wouldn't find me impertinent, and would be in a forgiving mood. What you'd just done could be viewed as treason, an attempt on the prince's life.

In the state he was in, which you had noticed, you surmised he just might be in a forgiving mood. He was nude from head to toe, his brow beaded from heat and, hopefully, exertion. The hook of his nose looked sharper as his purple eye followed it to look down at you. He was beautiful, almost overly so. It could only have been Prince Aemond, the eye patch gave him away, even though you'd never seen him before, you'd be a fool not to know the stories of the one-eyed prince. And you'd known him to be a rather fond client of Sylvi's, as she boasted often to the other girls at dinner.

His presence there in your safe haven was unnerving, and once again the sounds of debauchery were drowned out, but now it was as if he'd sucked the noise from the room. He was too tall for the room, it was not made for him. What would a kitchen made for a God even look like? The very notion to build such a thing seemed almost blasphemous to you. He was looking at you like you didn't even exist, almost through you. His stare was too deep for that of a stranger, but perhaps he had to look so intensely because his lack of an eye.

He finally cleared his throat, as if it would've pained him to repeat himself.

"The wine, yes. We are a humble establishment, so you will have to be forgiving with our selection. I'll have our best sent to you at once!" And with that, he let out a low hum and left you to your duties.

You'd quickly managed a carafe and two goblets, and sent it through with a boy, with strict instructions to deliver it to the prince. You'd have delivered it yourself, but as you did not know where he was, and did not have the time searching the brothel for him, you'd relented to send it through a lord's boy, and hope he was competent enough to manage it.

As the sounds died out from the front of the house, you'd began shuffling out with bowls of broth and loaves for the girl. They took it gratefully, each dropping two coins in your hands and sitting to eat, sharing small talk and whatever gossip they had learned from their clients.

"Ser Lannister had quite a bit to share tonight. He speaks of war. Do you know what war means?" Lauryn spoke excitedly.

"Rapers." Another girl, Cate called from farther away, monotone. "Foreign men coming into the city in siege, taking over the villages."

"It means more clients, Cate." Sylvi's voice quickly silenced the small talk, as she walked to the table and sat, ready to be served her complimentary meal. Her place at the table, as always, was already set, and she reached for her wine immediately. "War means the king calls for more men. They leave their wives, and with no one to warm their bed, they come to us."

"Precisely." Lauryn agreed readily. "If war comes, I welcome it. I don't give a shit who sits the throne, as long as the crown prospers enough to put gold in my pocket." She lifted her goblet, a smirk on her face at her own clever musing.

"I'll drink to that." Another girl called from the back, which caused an rupture of quiet laughter through the room.

As you passed to fill an empty cup, Sylvi grabbed you arm, and pulled you in close enough to whisper.

"I require a moment with you." At your confirming nod, she raised from her seat and left to her room. You were quick to follow, leaving the carafe with the girls, who took it readily and saluted your departure.

Once in her lavish rooms, Sylvi sat at her vanity and peered at you through the mirror, an air of drama filled the room and caused you to rock on your toes in an attempt to soothe yourself.

"I see you've met the Prince."

Oh. You'd thought surely this would be a serious conversation, but as you had spoken so few words to the man, you could not see how possibly she could have taken issue with your conversation. Unless the prince had told her about your grabbing the knife, in which you were in deep shit.

"Yes, ma'am." You sat in an armchair and folded your hands in your lap. "He came to ask for wine, and I had some sent with a squire, I believe."

"He seemed to take a liking to you." She brushed off your words just as she now did her hair, her lips pressed into a tight line that betrayed her nonchalant tone. "He asked for you, the next time he graced us with his patronage."

Your throat tightened and your stomach lurched. This can't be. Your conversations were short, and you had nearly insulted him, and then only half obeyed his order by sending someone in your stead with the wine. Perhaps he hoped for a moment alone so he could punish you for your insolence. Perhaps he was just playing at a joke, and Sylvi had taken it for more than he had meant it. Though he did not seem to you a joking type, and Sylvi seemed sure in her words.

Would she sell you to the prince? It hardly seemed as though you would be in a position to refuse, should he insist on a private meeting with you. But perhaps Sylvi had a sway with the prince that others did not.

"I...don't understand, ma'am. I do not-"

"Of course, I told him you were not that type of girl." She reassured. "He listens to me, you know. I'm one of the only he bears his heart to." Her voice took on a dreamier tone. "I'm the only woman he's known."

"I had no idea." I spoke distantly, still reeling at the idea of being asked for personally, and by a man of such high standing.

"What did you say to him? When he came to the kitchens. I sent him for wine, and he comes back without wine, and with a sudden interest in you" She turns around now, her eyes appraising and scrutinizing.

"I did not say anything, ma'am. I had mistaken him for a mere lord at first, I told him to leave. And then he ordered the wine, and I told him it would be done! I promise, there was nothing untoward, and no advances."

You spoke at a mile a minute to plead your case. It was clear this woman had an attachment to the prince, and you would not give the impression that you were there to threaten it. Sylvi was a kind woman, but a burn so scalding might just scorch her heart enough to cast you out.

"I swear it to you, ma'am. I've no interest in the prince, and he none in me. If anything, he only wishes to punish me privately for the way I behaved before I knew he was the prince." She nodded at your words.

"Nonetheless, I let him know you were not available. He did not take the refusal well, but such is his way. Dragons are not used to the word 'no'." She readjusted and smiled at you. "It's nothing to worry at, my dear. Just go about your duties, and do not speak to the prince again. He'll forget you in time." You nodded and stood to leave.

"Thank you. You've done such a kindness for me, and I owe you my life. I would never make such a slight against you, please know that." Her dismissing nod and small tired smile was enough for you to turn and take your leave.

The women had filled their bellies of wine and broth, and some began to make way to their beds, others staying around to gossip. You approached the lingering girls, grabbing a loaf from the table and sitting on a chair to eat.

"So, will you?" Lauryn, who still remained, asked you, as if the incomplete question was all you needed to know. When you only responded with a questioning look, she rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Will you fuck him? Everyone here heard the prince and Sylvi's clash. He wanted you. He begged for you!" The other girls began giggling and wiggling their eyebrows at you. "It drove her mad! He doesn't want her anymore."

"Not wanting Sylvi is one thing, but wanting you is another." Another girl, Maria, a Dornish delicacy, played with her hair as she spoke with a natural coolness. "If you don't want to, of course you shouldn't, but you should consider it. A prince would pay handsomely, perhaps even enough for you to move on."

"I would not do that to Sylvi, I would not do it at all. I wouldn't even know how, I'm not versed in the...fetishes of men."

"She told him such, but he would not hear it. He asked for an exception to be made, perhaps a private arrangement. If anything, it seemed to appeal to him more, knowing you were still untouched." Lauryn jumped back in, eager to return back to her teasing.

"I would only lay with a man I chose. I did not have the option before I left home, but I do now, and I will choose myself who I bed." And with that, you stood to leave, retiring to your room for the night.

[satorhime]

. ･｡･ right where you left me ࿐gojo satoru.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ content : angst, fluff, dad!gojo (reader ‘n’ gojo have a daughter), set in 2018 and 2023, reunion, beach trips, established relationship ! f!reader. ･｡･ w.c. 3.7k & not proofread.

── ◜ ⪩⪨ ◞ synopsis : time remains the one enemy gojo can’t defeat. ໒꒰ྀི ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ྀིა notes: ik there’s a gazillion reunion fics but this has been sitting in my drafts since oct n i suddenly felt like finishing n sharing so i hope u enjoy <333 ‘m gna go cry over this fic now ;u;

satoru is having a damn good day.

it’s suspicious, it feels like a fever dream, and he can’t really pinpoint where the dubiousness comes from. maybe it’s because he feels as if he doesn’t deserve it, like if he allows himself to relax like this something terrible will happen while he slacks off. or maybe, it’s because he’s only ever had those truly good days in his youth when he was devil may care and his concerns for the wellbeing of the world slid off his shoulders weightlessly, like sheets of rain on a rooftop. a wild and selfish kind of happiness that begun in spring and ended too quickly in winter.

but today is a good day. he forgot to charge his phone last night, he is in the best mood he’s been in all year, and he can’t stop fucking smiling. gojo satoru is thriving, on top of the world, a little bit of that nostalgic, adolescent joy warming up his chest.

and it’s all because it’s a sunny day, the water is cool, and he’s on the beach with you and his baby girl.

the three of you decided to steal away on a spontaneous trip to okinawa that forced him out of his work uniform and into swim trunks with a bare chest, simply because you burst into his office with big droplets of tears in your eyes declaring yourself a terrible mother because you realized that your daughter was already three years old and she had never seen the ocean before.

it had taken him ten minutes to book three first class tickets and secure the private family villa for the weekend, fifteen to get packed, and twenty to board after hearing that.

he would do anything to please his girls, after all.

“‘anna go into the bathtub, mama!” your baby whines impatiently from the embrace of your arms, squirming and squiggling for you to let her down as she points towards the rolling ocean waves behind you. ever since she learned how to walk, she’s lost all patience for her doting parents carrying her around— especially when something catches the attention of those big, pretty blue eyes. it didn’t take long for her to become enamored with the sea, wanting nothing more than to get out of your hold and toddle towards the shallows.

“it’s called an ‘ocean’, cupcake,” you correct her, voice full of amusement and affection as you crane your head forward to kiss the soft skin of her chubby cheek, bouncing the toddler in your arms. “too bad we’re being held hostage by dada right now.”

“i heard that,” satoru mumbles with a pout, his third melon popsicle of the day hanging from one side of his mouth. droplets of green slush drips onto the broad planes of his chest in a sticky mess as it melts but he’s wholly focused on the two of you, one summer blue eye winked closed as the other peers through the lens of the polaroid camera looped around his neck. “but wait, just one more photo of my two favorite girls!”

“you’ve been taking photos for the last twenty minutes, satoru,” you huff. “we aren’t going anywhere, you know. you don’t have to take so many.”

“our baby needs to see what the three of us looked like in our prime, before we grow old and gray together.”

“you’re so ridiculous, gojo satoru.”

but despite your exasperation, you remain put. it’s hard not to feel the same way he does on a perfect day like this— contentment, light in the heart and full of love because of this little trip. the camera focuses in on you and your daughter before the shutter clicks, each snap immortalizing the sight of you and your baby girl illuminated by the lazy autumn sun.

“and done!” he cheers, catching the polaroid in his palm as it slides from the slot. it wobbles between two of his fingers as it develops, but he can already see that it’s a perfect picture. he feels his heart sink in his chest, melting into a syrupy sweet puddle of happiness that makes him lightheaded and anxious.

oh, you’ve never looked as pretty as you do right now. like a dream, a forever kind of love he never plans to let go of. wearing that cute little swimsuit he likes so much with his sunnies perched on top of your head and his baby propped up on your supple hip. the two of you are beaming, cheeks squished together, your daughter’s hand cupping your face fondly.

it’s the kind of picture that others would coo at and fawn over if he framed it in a museum, but satoru retrieves his wallet from the pocket of his swim trunks, tucking the polaroid safely in the trifold for his own selfish keeping.

“i think she really likes the beach,” you tell him, squatting to set your daughter on her feet. she waves to you and satoru before waddling toward the shallow surf, her little legs stumbling in the thick body of sand. “this was good of you, satoru.”

“what? you think i’d miss the opportunity to spend time with my best girls?” he asks you, a hand on his chest with an affronted look on his face. you resist the urge to snort as the two of you follow closely behind your stumbling toddler, rushing towards her every time she gets distracted and attempts to eat the sand or chase one of the seagulls.

“you’ve been busy lately, that’s all,” is how you respond, the accusation washed out of your tone for the gentle words instead. you don’t bring up how many milestones, how many little memories he’s already missed, just by being who he is— that no matter what, he’ll always belong to his duty first and his family second. no, you’ve always shown patience and understanding. never complaining when his side of the bed is empty before morning or your girl requests for her father to read a bedtime story in that animated, comical way you can never replicate for her. making her settle for your offkey, wobbly lullabies instead.

“i know,” he says quietly, suddenly serious— keeping one eye on your baby girl who is currently splashing her hands around in the sand and water. “one of my first year’s a vessel so the curses are getting more pesky. i don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

“you think something’s about to happen?” you ask, looking up at him, but he presses a kiss to your temple and you wrinkle your nose at the sticky feeling of his lips.

“nah,” he replies, and you almost roll your eyes because you know he’s lying. even though satoru has done his best to keep you hidden from his world, you’re no fool. you already know why he rarely comes home at night, why he was absent for christmas last year, why your daughter has never met her paternal grandparents. you know that with the reappearance of several ancient cursed objects, there is thunder crackling among the clouds. “don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

satoru turns up the volume on the waterproof boombox half-buried in the sand next to your belongings. he can’t stand your choice of music, finds it noise most of the time, but it’s the distraction the atmosphere needs to throw off your questioning. he pulls you to sit down between his legs, your back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around your body.

ocean foam splashes against the tips of your toes as the two of you sit at the surf of the tide in peaceful silence, time getting away from you both in the warm sun as your baby girl plays, her energy endless— waddling around and squealing at the different curiosities and wonders the beach has to offer.

whatever will happen, satoru won’t allow it to be today.

“satoru,” you call after a long quiet, craning your neck to look up at him. “if you—”

“what, you think i’m gonna croak sometime soon?” he shoots back, already knowing where the conversation is heading. so he holds you tighter, his strong arms a protective cage around your body as his shades slide down the attractive slope of his nose. he cracks a grin at you, another obvious deflection because he knows you can’t resist when he looks at you that way. not with his hair mussed from humidity, a strip of sunscreen on his nose as he chews on that damn wooden stick from his ice pop earlier.

“i know what you’re doing,” you shake your head. “and it’s not working. i’m just worried, i’m allowed to, as your wife. you think you’re invincible but if something happens to you that’ll… it’ll—” it will break us.

satoru’s smile fades, but he thankfully doesn’t need to reply because your daughter is waddling up to the both of you now, her sand-caked hands full of seashells and stones that glimmer in the sunlight. he wants to scoff because if anyone understands the consequences of failing those you love, it’s him— it’s all he’s ever known.

“what ya got there, princess?”

“fish—!” she cries in her sweet, babyish voice. some of the shells tumble from her hands, and you watch as her expression switches from happiness to dismay to finally confusion. you have to bite your lip to hold back laughter when instead of picking them back up, she dumps the rest of the seashells in your lap. “now i don’t have any fish.”

“i think those are seashells, princess,” gojo says with a grin, picking up a shell that rests on top of your thigh and holding it up to the sunlight. “this shell looks like it belongs to a hermit crab, like your megumi-nii.”

“you’re a terrible influence on our daughter, you know.”

“i’m just setting up future dynamics, angel face,” he grins.

“look look look!” your daughter gasps, bringing your attentions back to her. “this swee-shell looks like dada—!” she squeals excitedly, her new finding held delicately in her little sand-covered palm. she stands up on your thighs to reach her father sitting behind you, holding an iridescent blue seashell next to gojo’s eyes, her tiny mind comparing the colors in wonder. meanwhile, satoru wears a smile that burns so wide it hurts his cheeks.

“it looks like you too, princess,” he boops her nose, gently taking the seashell and holding it to her eyes next. her answering giggles sound like a sweet bell calling him home to heaven, but he can’t answer it because there are two people on this earth who laugh and smile at him like he hung the moon and painted the stars. “if you put it in your pocket now, the ocean won’t call the cops on you for stealing it.”

“no, this one ‘s for dada,” she insists, shoving the pretty blue seashell back into his hand.

“thank you, my mini angel,” he ruffles her hair, and you smile softly at the little exchange because though she may be enamored with her new discoveries at the beach, her father will always be one of her favorite wonders of the world.

“i ‘anna go find one for mama now!” she announces, and you wonder how she hasn’t run out of energy yet, but you nod and stand to your feet, dusting the sand away from the bottom of your swimsuit. your baby’s entire hand curls around your pointer finger, and she pulls you along with great effort.

you glance back at satoru and find that he’s watching the two of you head closer to the water, that uncharacteristically genuine smile still on his face, and you part your lips to call him to your side— where he’s always supposed to be.

“you didn’t think we’d let you slack off, did you? finding seashells is serious business, satoru!” you tease, pretty eyes crinkling with unbridled happiness, haloed by the waning sun and the orange dreamsicle sky that holds it. “hurry up!”

“wait for me just a little while, i’m coming to you,” he calls back, a lopsided grin spreading across his mouth before he raises the polaroid camera to his face, snapping one last candid photo of the two of you before he jogs towards his little piece of heaven.

but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things when the distance between heaven and earth keeps growing further and further apart—

“satoru, you can’t stand outside forever,” your voice is gentle as it speaks behind him, your hand laid delicately on his back in comfort; breaking the sorcerer out of deep reverie, the edges of the old memory fading, replaced by the pink paint of his daughter’s bedroom door that he’s been standing in front of for the last thirty minutes. his thumb brushes over the polaroid in his hand, the one that had been his salvation and his undoing in the prison realm. he’d taken it out without knowing, his eyes reading over the date written in his handwriting.

october 30, 2018

the picture of you with your daughter on your hip that he took at the beach all those years ago— that had been the last time he’d seen her.

four, no, five years?

his feet are nailed to the floor because change makes satoru shut down, and everything has changed since then.

while time was immeasurable and immovable inside of the prison realm for him, the clock had ticked on outside of it and just like that, his little girl is no longer three years old, giving him seashells that matches his eyes or hitting the back of his ankles with her big wheel or—

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you sigh. “you’ve been unsealed for months. you’re her father, no matter what.”

“i’m a stranger to her,” and to you, but he doesn’t say it. you had waited for him, in every aspect of the word. held out on hope and faith in his strength that he would return to your side, where he’s always supposed to be.

“you’re n—” but you’re cut off when the door opens to reveal your daughter standing on the other side. the child standing before him is almost unrecognizable. she’s much taller and older, wearing track pants underneath her school dress with ribbons in unruly waves of white hair. the last time he’d seen his daughter, she had been three years old and still learning things like colors and sight words and that feeding megumi’s demon dogs her vegetable purée was against the rules. now, gojo satoru was the father of an eight year old and he’d missed everything because of a mista—

“you can come in,” she says, blinking up at satoru with an expression void of emotion. “but i’m not finished with my homework so if you stay too long, you’ll bug me.”

“how did you know i was outside?” he whistles nonchalantly, unbothered by the attitude that she gives him. it fills him with bitter satisfaction that she isn’t excited to see him, that someone is angry that he failed, regardless if he won in the end. he can handle bratty children who hate him and only look at him as a tool for their success, he can’t handle a daughter who cried herself to sleep every night waiting for him while he was losing his sanity away in a cube.

or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“i could see you and mama through the door, duh,” she replies, hip cocked to the side in an amount of sass she had to pick up from you. “mama says i have your eyesight. i don’t really get it, but it makes it easy to cheat on tests.”

he could see it in the bright blue of her eyes, even if she hadn’t confirmed it. plain as daylight, she’s exactly like he was at that age. easily irritable and bratty, cocky and spoiled rotten. suffering from the weight of being an uncontested heir to an ancient dynasty at the age of elementary.

“i used six eyes to cheat on tests too,” he relates with pride, and then he bends down to her height, waving his palm. “sooo you probably got some questions about where i was—”

“not really. grandfather said you were sealed because you’re foolish and let weakness distract you.”

“you shouldn’t say things like that,” you scold, “apologize.”

“why? i don’t want to.”

your daughter turns, disappearing back into her room after that and seeming like she doesn’t care if satoru follows or not. your hand travels up the long expanse of satoru’s back in a soothing circle as you step closer.

“huh, that’s new.”

“sorry, she’s… i don’t know if acting out is the right term,” you say, pain in your voice. “she doesn’t really understand why she’s so different, or why you were … gone for so long. i know you didn’t want her around your family so i kept her away as best i could, but she started to have crippling migraines because she didn’t know how to use her ability and well… they were the only ones who knew how to help. filled her head with foolishness every time she visited the estate, though and it’s changed her.”

“huh,” is all he says, a broken record, tongue running across his inner lip in thought.

“do you need me?”

“what, you think i can’t handle her?”

“well, you were outside the door for a half hour, ‘toru.”

he shoots you a lopsided grin before he’s stepping into his daughter’s bedroom, glancing around at the unfamiliarity of it all. you follow close behind, watching with a heavy heart as he takes in the difference eight years can make.

her tiny baby crib has been traded for a poster bed decorated with a sanrio duvet and various stuffed animals where a laptop and study papers lay scattered on top. the angel themed decorations, along with her first ultrasound photo you and satoru had hung up in her nursery had been replaced by pink paint and pictures of her with a group of friends from school and a photo of her on a volleyball team.

he has to rip his gaze away.

“so,” he starts, standing in the center of the room and trying not to feel like an intruder, desperate for something to say— something to relate to her with. “how many episodes did i miss? did aya-chan ever get married?”

“i’m too old to play with dolls now, father,” she huffs, scrunching up her nose, and though satoru expected that exact answer, it doesn’t stop his heart from shattering into a million pieces. he feels that familiar itch, anger welling in his body until it burns at his fingertips because this is no one’s fault but his own. “don’t you know anything about me?”

“my bad, you’re a big kid now,” he snorts, even as his chest aches. he sits on the edge of her bed, flipping up one edge of the coloring book laying next to her laptop. “maybe you should start paying taxes.”

“i’m also too young to pay taxes. you really don’t know anything about me anymore,” she snaps, and she’s right— he doesn’t and it burns like saltwater on a wound. now he knows why you asked if he needed you; he’d hide behind you if he could, but he settles for flickering his eyes up to you helplessly.

you realize that neither of you can be upset with her for being angry that one of her favorite people vanished out of thin air. that while he was sealed, his clan had taken advantage of his absence and your powerlessness against them, and had begun spoiling your child rotten, teaching her how to use her ability— plumping her up for the inevitable day that she becomes her father’s successor, turning her against him.

“i think,” you say softly, leaning against the frame of the door. “that your dada— your father— would like to learn, though. he’s missed a lot, baby.”

she considers this for a long while, then she heaves a great sigh, hackles lowering. she scoots off the bed and before satoru can feel the hurt of figuring she doesn’t want to be near him, she does something unexpected. she moves one of her trophies out of the way to open her closet door, rummaging around for the longest before she yanks out a cardboard box you had labeled ‘donate one day since my snotty kid is a hag now’— it’s a box full of old dolls, covered in dust. she sits on her knees in front of the box, peering inside.

“aya-chan didn’t get married, but hinata-chan did,” she explains with an exasperated sigh and a roll of her eyes, taking out the dolls one by one and setting them on the floor in front of satoru’s feet.

“to the mailman that lived in your ugliest dollhouse?”

“you remember,” her eyes widen a little in surprise before her expression shutters again, smoothing out the doll’s colorful polyester dress before reaching back into the box and retrieving a brush covered in synthetic hairs. she looks at it for a while before extending her arm and offering the brush to her father. “aya-chan decided to be independent and explore the world. she’s planning to go on a trip soon so she needs to get ready. do y’wanna brush her hair?”

satoru is sliding off the bed and sitting cross-legged on the floor before he knows it, barely wanting to breathe because he doesn’t want to shatter the fragility of the moment between them. he takes the brush, and seconds later she hands him one of the dolls that had once upon a time been her favorite one that no one was allowed to touch. you would giggle at the delicate way he brushes the doll’s hair with utmost care and precision if you weren’t about to cry at the scene instead. “oh, and where’s she headed?”

“okinawa.”

“ponytail or messy bun then?” you don’t think you’re imagining the wobble in his voice. “to compliment her swimsuit.”

a tiny, hopeful smile twinkles over your lips at the two of them on the floor, babbling away to each other about the outlandish stories they’ve created together with her dolls. how many times had you offered to play with her, only for her to burst into tears because it wasn’t the same? you know that this won’t bridge the gap between the years that have been lost, but it’s a start. just hearing the soft murmurs of their conversation, the sound of your little girl giggling for the first time in ages, makes your heart swell.

time may be an undefeated opponent, and with it comes change that no one can control, but something tells you that as long as the three of you are together— everything will be okay.

you tiptoe out of the room, because they need time to catch up and apologize and reconnect, to learn one another once more, but before you close the door, you don’t think you’re mistaken when you hear, “can we go back to the beach too, dada?”

[vvampirelust]

PLSPLSPLS I NEED SOME MORE READER X ELLIE X SHANE

of course baby girl xx

warnings: smut, the plot was plotting omg, fingering (e and r receiving), oral (e!receiving), jealous shane?? 🫢 not proof read as always xx

part one here

“CUT“

The lights are blaring as the studio returns to normal. You laugh awkwardly with your co-star as you are finally able to detach from the intimate position you’ve both been in. “I think that’s the one, guys” the director announces after what felt like 50 takes of the borderline wild sex scene you’ve been filming, “Great job, you two. Seriously.”

You sneak a glance over at Ellie whilst slipping on your robe. She’s staring intensely over the directors shoulder, watching the playback. It sets off butterflies in your stomach, the way she’s so infatuated with you. Her face bright red and throat bobbing, as if she’d never seen you in that way before. You’re doing your best to conceal the grin threatening to come to life.

“Hey, Els,” you chirp, passing by, “Walk with me?”

The trailer wasn’t far, thankfully. Taking her hand in yours once you were out of sight. Knowing it would make her nervous. “So you liked the show, huh?” you joke, watching as she drops her chin in a huff. “Shut up.”

Ever since that night, you’d been seeing her more often. Shane too, of course, but that was mostly for sex. Not that you didn’t love that time with Ellie, it just felt like it always meant more to her. That she seen you for more.

Once inside, you begin fixing a drink for each other. Beer, as fancy as it sounded. “You know,” you start, popping off the lid, “Seeing you watching me like that, it uh, kinda turned me on.”

“Oh really?” She takes the bottle, fingers lingering as they brush yours yet again. After a swig, she continues, “Tell me more.” You take a step closer, humming as you faux think, bringing a hand up to brush her bangs back. Leaning in, you whisper in her ear, “I was thinking about you…yano, when i was,” you cut yourself off, taking her ear between her teeth.

“Fuck,” Ellie sighs, rolling her head back. Her palm gently finds your waist, walking you backwards ever so slowly. A sharp gasp leaving you when your back hits the edge of the table. Ellie sets her beer dow, stealing your own next. The subtle clank of the bottle sending a shiver up your spine. “Well, we could turn that into a reality.”

You waist no time in kissing her. Feeling Ellie’s plump, chapped lips slotting between your own. Ellie moans, letting you take the lead. Your hands slide to cup the sides of her face, planting kiss after kiss to her sweet lips. You want her so bad, to make her feel as good as she always does to you.

Ellie’s panting when you pull away, attempting to chase after you. “Uh-uh.” Keeping your eyes on her face, Ellie keeps close watch as your fingers trail down to the knot keeping your robe in place. You almost coo at the way Ellie gulps. She’s so cute, you think. “Want me to take it off, baby?”

“Please,” she blurts almost immediately.

And with a smirk, you do. You let the fluffy white robe drop from your shoulders, fabric sliding over your skin almost sensually.

Black lace adorns your body, lingerie from your scene not so long ago. Tight bra holding your breasts perfectly, pushing them up in a way that has Ellie near drooling. Matching garter wrapping around your waist, securing your pretty lace stockings. Ellie doesn’t know where to look, pretty eyes trailing up and down your body. There’s a change in the way she breathes, as if the air was becoming thinner.

“You’re so beautiful,” she swoons, hands finding your waist, needing to feel you against her skin. You smile, always feeling so adored in her presence. All you want is to show her the same. Your own hands finding purchase on her slender shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, Els,” your voice is sickly sweet, “Let me show you.”

It’s why you now have Ellie beneath you on the couch. Straddling her now bare thighs as you swing your hair over to one shoulder. Knowing exactly what you’re doing to her. “Baby, you’re killing me,” Ellie near whines, head dropping back. You laugh teasingly, whispering “I know,” as your lips brush against the sensitive and exposed skin of her neck. Taking the opportunity to litter her with kisses and nips of your teeth, feeling the way she squirms in response.

You don’t have the strength to stop there, leaving a trail of wet kisses in your wake as your lips move lower and lower. Pushing the strap of her bra aside, Ellie’s fingers bury in your hair, soft sounds puffing past her lips. You push lower, exposing her perky tits, nipples already hard and begging. You can’t help but moan at the sight, letting your tongue swirl around her hardened peak. Ellie arches into you.

And that’s when you both heard the door, “Well well well.”

The voice is familiar, you don’t even need to look to know who had shown up unannounced. Ellie however releases a sigh of relief, confirming your suspicions, “It’s Shane.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Shane announces, there’s a hint of a scoff in her voice. This time you do look over your shoulder, her arms are crossed as she leans against the wall of your trailer. You can’t read her expression, yet her eyes are trained on you perched atop Ellie, head tilting ever so slightly. “Gonna fuck her or what, babe? Go on.” It sets off a spark in your tummy, that she wants to watch.

Feeling a new wave of confidence, both women appearing to enjoy you putting on a show, you drop down to the floor at Ellie’s feet. Kneeling between her parted legs, your hands softly trailing along her thighs. They tremble beneath your touch as you near the place she wants you the most.

You moan once her boxers are hanging from a single ankle. Ellie’s wet, wanting cunt a sight for sore eyes. You can hear her ragged breath ringing in your ears, she clenches and your eyes follow the dribble of slick which pours from her. You can’t wait any longer.

Ellie groans out loudly, finally feeling your warm tongue delving through her folds. Her hands fist at her sides, the unbearable need soothing at last. You can’t get enough of her taste, humming into her pussy as you lap at her sweet slick, nudging your face closer than possible, no care in the world for the mess you both make. You paw at her thighs with force, silently communicating how much you love having your mouth on her.

“Fuck,” Shane mutters, Ellie whimpering in response. You sneak a glance up at her face, mouth agape and cheeks flushed, those pretty eyes of hers on the woman standing behind you. It causes your cunt to clench, the erotic nature of the situation at hand turning you on more than ever.

With a suck to her puffy clit, those eyes are back on you, a mewl tumbling past her lips. Ellie calls your name, thighs tightening around your head, keeping you in place. Not that you’d rather be anywhere else. Your tongue toys with her clit, circling in a way that has Ellie arching off the couch as she moans, sounds catching in her throat when you hit a spot that has her feeling euphoric.

A sudden heat at your back has you flinching slightly, Shane’s cool hand sliding to your waist to shush you. “I think she likes that,” she chuckles, giving your side a squeeze.

“Mhm!” Ellie whines, beginning to grind against your face, fucking herself on your tongue. You can’t enough of her. Her scent, her taste, her warmth, the feeling of her soft pussy pushing on your tongue. Everything about her. You’re moaning as if it was your own cunt being ate.

“Gonna make her cum, baby?” Shane rasps, palm now slowly running up your back, “Yeah, you are.” She slides her hand into your hair, gripping the back of your head as she forces your face further into Ellie’s cunt. Whose pitiful moan in response is music to your ears, morphing with the heavy breaths falling from Shane. Each puff hot on your back. She leans down, planting light kisses to your bare skin, urging you on.

Ellie shakes when she cums, barely able to make a sound as the feeling takes over. You watch her face contort into complete pleasure, an image that will be imprinted in your mind forever. The defined crease between her eyebrows almost adorable despite what you were doing to her. She’s gushing on your tongue and still you make no move to stop, letting her ride out her high until it’s too much.

And then Shane’s hand in around your throat, tugging you back against her chest. Your head falls back on her shoulder, blinking up at her as you catch your breath. “Good girl,” She praises, so simply getting you under her spell. She knows this and smirks. Her free hand rises to your face, thumb smearing the mix of Ellie’s slick and your spit over your lips.

“No invite for me, hm?” Shane was jealous. That was obvious to you now, it was side you would never have expected from her. As you go to respond, the hold on your neck tightens, she doesn’t want you to answer that. You sneak a glance at Ellie, still droopy from her recent orgasm. “Hey.” Shane steals your attention once again, “S’okay.” You’re unsure if she means it.

“You look so pretty in this getup,” Shane hums, hand leaving your face to trail down your body. Taking the time to trace the lingerie decorating your figure, stopping only when the tip of her finger dips ever so slightly beneath the waistline of your panties. Shane dips down, kissing the side of your neck passionately, sucking on your skin, she was gonna leave a mark. Part of you knew she was doing it on purpose, an attempt to stake claim. “Keep going,” She whispers, gently pushing you back between Ellie’s legs.

Shane’s hand fully dips into your underwear as you lay your head down on Ellie’s thigh, her fingers skimming through your soaked folds and wasting no time sinking her fingers into you.

Your teeth sink into Ellie’s flesh to muffle the moan dragged from your throat, she whimpers loudly from the pleasurable pain. You’re winding your hips down, meeting every thrust from Shane. Her fingers are so deep inside you, gliding against your walls, the sound of your wetness filling the room. You can feel her smiling smugly against your shoulder before she plants a kiss, free hand giving a light slap to your ass, reminding you to stop neglecting poor Ellie.

You skim your own fingers up along Ellie’s thigh, dragging close to her cunt. Your eyes flick to meet hers, she’s staring right back at you, eyes glossy and hooded. Keeping them there as you slide your fingertips up and down the length of her cunt, watching as she gasps and flinches from how sensitive she is.

You start with one, staring at one another in such overwhelming pleasure, you’re sure if you were shown a side by side of your faces, your expressions would be identical. Lips parted as soft sighs fall, eyes seemingly so innocent as you both beg for the pleasure to continue.

Shane’s fingers curl inside you and you whine, bucking into her hand. Ellie strokes your hair, nodding to you, she knows. You slip in a second finger, fastening your pace, Ellie’s head falls back against the couch as she basks in your touch.

Turning your head, you seek for Shane, whimpering out her name. She fucks you faster, harder, leaning forward to press her forehead against your own. “Please,” You mewl, unknowing of what you’re even begging for. Shane captures your lips, letting you release every sound into her mouth, her tongue sweeps in, having missed the way you taste.

The connection urges you to fuck Ellie with more passion, matching Shane’s rhythm. You can feel her clenching around your fingers, hear the way her moans rise. You know exactly how she’s feeling, Shane bringing you closer and closer to the high that’s been building ever since you first put your mouth on Ellie’s cunt.

You whimper into Shane’s mouth, feeling her hum in response, she knows. And squishes another third finger into your cunt, you gasp and she grins against your mouth, whispering, “Cum for me.”

You want Ellie to slip over that line with you, and with another few pumps of yours and Shane’s fingers, you’re both letting go. Hard. Your shared whines echo, almost in tandem. Shane’s kissing along your jaw, your neck, soothing you as you release, soaking her fingers, clenching so tight she keeps them snug within you. The pads of her fingers pressing rhythmically against that spot, hurtling you into overstimulation.

Ellie’s fingers tighten in your hair, legs shutting around your hand, hips raising off the couch. You don’t stop until she’s grabbing at your wrist, murmuring “Too much, too much” through high pitched gasps.

Shane slips her hand out of your panties, leaving you cold on the floor as she gets up and plops herself down on the couch beside Ellie. She brings up her fingers to Ellie’s mouth, pushing them inside so the freckled brunette could get a taste of you. Her eyes flutter as she moans around Shane’s digits, the sight downright erotic in your eyes. Shane’s mouth is wide in a grin, watching Ellie suck your juices off her fingers.

She pulls them out slowly, and the pair both look down at you. Ellie, fucked out and panting for air. Shane’s eyes hooded with lust. This was gonna be a long night…

[luveline]

𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Eddie asks you out on your very first date, indulging you in huge philly cheesesteaks, a vanilla milkshake (with two straws), a largely neglected bucket of popcorn, and a sugary first kiss. requested here. shy fem!reader, 3.2k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

I'm actually going to die here, you think morosely. 

This was a very bad idea on your part, and perhaps a worse one on his. What possessed Eddie —ripped jeaned, silver-chained, aspiring heavy metal rockstar Eddie— to ask you on a date? Perhaps you'd appeared more formidable outside of Hawkins library than you usually did.

You were in a particularly bad mood after a chilly fall afternoon spent checking the quality of the returns, and the prospect of walking home in the cold was a dismal one. You'd been glaring at nothing when a big, hulking bucket of a van slowed to a crawl beside you, thumping bass leaking from the closed window. It rolled down, the music quieting with it, and out came a head of inky dark curls. 

"Hey, sweetheart," Eddie said, pet name rolling around in his mouth, "you heading home? Do you want a ride? It's a long walk." 

Somewhere between the library and your driveway, Eddie asked you on a date. You genuinely can't remember what you talked about or how it happened, your adrenaline high enough you could've used it to climb Everest. You do remember the quiet way he'd asked, as though he was waiting for an impending rejection, and his smile bordering goofy when you breathed out, "Yeah, okay." 

You rub at the seam of your cream sweater over and over, the pad of your thumb numb. The wind runs through you, ruffling the skirt of your black dress against your thighs. I'm an idiot, you think. Hypothermia might kill you if your racing heart doesn't. 

Eddie holds a similar sentiment, "What the fuck are you doing out here?" 

You flinch embarrassingly hard. He wasn't there a moment ago. Eddie cusses and holds his hands out to you before you can slip backward off of the low brick wall you'd been waiting on, his fingers shooting tingles down into the epidermis of your skin like wild golden sparks where they grab you, hoisting you up into a more secure standing position. 

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. Like, really really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you, just– it's like, minus ten out here? What are you doing?" 

"I–" You give him a more petrified look than you mean to. "You said to meet you here?" 

Does he not want you here? Was it a joke?

Eddie laughs out of the side of his mouth like he's holding a cigarette between his lips. "Well, yeah, but I meant inside. I've been waiting for you at the table." His amusement dissipates as he feels the chill emanating from your clothes. "Jesus, I'm sorry. Are you ready to come in?" 

Minus ten was dramatic. It's a solid 30 Fahrenheit, but the cold wind makes it feel colder. As soon as you enter the diner you're warm, heat nibbling at your fingers as the blood starts to pump. Eddie takes you to the side of the restaurant away from the noise of the games machines and the bathrooms, slipping into a booth where a worn paperback book is waiting. 

"I left that in case someone decided to steal our table." 

"What if they stole your book?" you ask, sliding into the booth seat opposite. 

"They'd love it," Eddie says. He leans forward with a mischievous air about him. "It's about a bullied teenage girl who loses her shit and gets psychic powers. I think she's gonna kill someone." He blinks. "Not that that's cool." 

"It's just a book, right? You're not a murderer."

You wonder why the fuck you'd say something like that, but he nods his agreement breezily. "Exactly." 

"Plus," you add, eager to say something he'll like, "it's hard not to root for the underdog." 

His smile twitches with an emotion you can't name. "Exactly," he says again. 

A waitress with thick rings of eyeliner comes to take your order. She has a sunny attitude, like Eddie in that way, an exterior some might say was intimidating and a bright smile. You're nervous from the get go and you have a cliche worry, watching Eddie interact with her from the corner of your eye. 

"For you?" she asks you. 

You stammer. What you'd thought about on the walk here this evening can be pinpointed into two simple lines of inquiry —what should you say to Eddie, and what should you say to the waitress. Shy to the point of aching, you'd rehearsed your order ten times, but all that comes out is hot air. 

"Um," you say, wishing you'd paid more attention to what Eddie said rather than how he looked at the waitress, "could I have, uh. Just the same? As he had, please." 

"Are you sure?" Eddie asks, nothing but patience in his tone. "Do you like pink lemonade?" 

You don't want anything carbonated tonight, nauseous enough. "Um, the same but with water instead, please." 

The waitress writes a short sentence with a big flourish. "Water," she reads, giving you and Eddie each a glowing smile. "No worries, I'll bring your drinks right out, food in twenty at most."

"Thank you," you and Eddie say together, in starkly different tones. 

Eddie waits for her to leave before he shucks off his jacket. He puts his elbows on the table and runs his knuckles up and down the length of the opposite forearm, smudging the whorls of his inky tattoos, the skinny silver chain around his wrist catching the light. "You know, I don't mind doing the talking, if you don't want to." 

You can't describe the embarrassment that bites at you, then. "It's– I'm sorry, I just couldn't think of what I wanted–" 

"I'm sorry," Eddie interrupts. "I should've told her to come back in a minute, I didn't give you chance to read the menu. I swear that's the only time I'll make a dick move tonight." 

You cough. He grimaces, teeth sinking into the pink of his bottom lip as he laughs it off. "Not like that. Or, not not like that. No dick moves," he says, "I just wanted to talk to you over a table rather than that pillar of a desk in the library." 

"It's a really tall desk." 

"It's so tall! I get that they want us to have somewhere to put the books but they have to go down to you guys anyways when you stamp 'em." 

"I don't know what the idea was behind them," you say. 

"Maybe they hired a bunch or very small librarians initially," Eddie says. He spies the waitress approaching with your drinks and leans back to accommodate her. He thanks her, but as soon as she leaves he's staring at your tap water with critical eyes. "It looks a little cloudy. You want my lemonade, instead?" 

"No, it's okay," you say, though drinking it feels like a bad idea. There's a whirlpool of scum at the top like clouds circling a mountain peak, ice cubes drifting in slow laps beneath. 

"I can take it back–" 

"Please don't," you say, "I'd be so embarrassed, it's only water." 

"I get you. Maybe I can get you something else, then. I'd say we should get hot cocoa but it's weird having hot cocoa with cheesesteaks." Eddie knocks the table. "I'm really sorry I asked you here." 

Your heart could be likened to a balloon popped by a sharp pin. You knew he'd regret asking you, knew it was too good to be true–

"We should've gone somewhere nice. Like Enzo's or Bullock's. Hey, we even could've gone into Indianapolis. And I have to say sorry double 'cos I should've asked you if I could give you a ride, I really messed it up." 

"It's not messed up," you say. "It's not." 

Eddie smiles at you, his most stripped back to date. 

Things are awkward and you theorise that it's your fault, but Eddie doesn't let you flounder in it. He asks questions, he says kind things. You have no choice but to relax and laugh at his ill-conceived jokes. You almost choke on your sub and he goes as far as to say, "Hey, you even make choking look good," having leapt up to pat your back. It's too much but it's weirdly nice at the same time. It's almost worth dying if it means Eddie's gonna rub your back with a big, unflinching hand. 

He wanders off when he's sure you're alive and you catastrophize: choking is far from attractive. He saw the way your nose wrinkled and your jaw went soft in your coughing and jumped ship. You dab the tears (from choking, though they could change at any moment) away with a napkin, sniffling. Your throat hurts and your sandwich doesn't look as appetising now. 

"Here," Eddie says, placing a tall glass in front of you grandly. 

"What is it?" you ask, though it could only be one thing. 

"Vanilla milkshake. Benny uses full fat cream, it's basically ice cream and nothing else. Is that okay?" 

You take a sip through a red and white striped straw without answering, the cold soothing your raw throat. A second straw stabs you in the cheek. 

"That ones for me," Eddie jokes. 

You swear you're gonna catch fire, putting the milkshake down with a thunk. "Oh," you say. 

"I'm kidding," he says. 

"No, I mean, if you want to share–" 

You're offering in the interest of being polite, but the look on Eddie's face reminds you of the more romantic connotations. "You sure?" he asks. 

You could say no. "Yeah. Of course." 

Between sips, you talk. Your conversation begins to feel like the unwinding a tight knot, unravelling defences you were unaware of, like a tapestry you never agreed to shaken out. Sure, you're shy, but you're interesting, and you have things to say. Eddie's eager to hear them; he won't stop pulling on the thread. 

Your throat tickles intermittently with scratchy pain. Eddie tucks a rather lustrous curl behind his ear, exposing a small stud earring and a hoop behind it. 

"I never noticed you have your ears pierced," you say, leaning forward to take another sip. 

Eddie pulls his straw from the glass to hit at yours teasingly, the slope of his eyebrows arching steeper. "Then you should look at me more often," he says. He stabs his straw into the glass and meets your eyes. To the outside observer, you're sure you look like partners getting gooey. "Notice anything else new?" 

Your pulse tangles in on itself, a snag in the thread. "Um, well…" You glance over his pale cheeks, their gentle caress of freckles. "You have freckles… and," —there, nestled between his lashes like a tiny dotted star— "a beauty mark under your eye." 

He doesn't smile, but some sweet softness plays in his eyes, his lashes kissing as they close ever so slightly. "You're prettier up close," he says quietly. "I didn't think you could get much prettier, but I've never been this close before, I guess." 

You take another sip to avoid further mortifying yourself with a stammering answer, but Eddie has a similar idea, leaning in. More awkward to pull apart, you share your drink and try not to bump his nose. The drink slurps and crackles as you finish it off together. Sitting back with twin smiles, awkward and flushed and not knowing what else to say, you fluster. There's a lot of stuff you want to ask him, but now he's finished his food and the milkshake is empty, you might not have time.

"Did you, like, wanna catch a movie or something?" Eddie asks, sounding for a second not quite as confident as he appears. 

You like metalhead Eddie, but you're starting to love this earnest version of him too. 

"Yeah, I'll see a movie with you," you say quickly. 

"Yeah? I know that's weird to plan more date in the middle of the date, I'm not trying to pressure you." 

"I've never been on a date before, so. This is setting the precedent." 

"The precedent," he says. "For future dates?" 

Is he hopeful? You open your mouth without thinking. "With you." 

His lips purse to one side, tamping down a big smile. Your cheeks hurt from how much you've smiled tonight. Is it always like this? Being with someone, dating, is it always unnervingly pleasant? You're eager to find out, and Eddie's eager to show you. 

"Let me go track down our waitress and we can probably get to the Hawk before the seven thirty," he says, clambering sideways out of the booth. 

You and Eddie are fifteen minutes late for a slasher movie, but you get there. Dark, two lone seats at the back are your only options, and you cram into them together with a frankly ridiculously huge bucket of popcorn to share. Eddie keeps whispering even when it's quiet and ticking off your rowmates, but he's being so sweet on you that you forget where you are. You forget to worry about what people are thinking. 

It's bliss. 

"Look at that," Eddie says, a handful of popcorn to his lips. "Ew, that's bloody. Shit, sweetheart, don't look at that." 

Sweetheart. "What do you think that is?" you whisper. 

"The fake blood? Isn't it pig's blood?"

"Is that legal?" 

Eddie almost drops the popcorn as something super gross happens, a silver flash and a spray of sticky orange movie blood coating the protagonist. "Holy fuck," he says, much too loudly as he puts the popcorn in your lap and covers your eyes. 

You laugh in surprise, "Woah, wait a second!" 

Someone shushes you loudly (and deservedly) from the row in front. 

"Sh, we're at the movies!" Eddie whisper-shouts. "Don't be inconsiderate." 

You peel his hand from your eyes. It doesn't drop entirely, long fingers slipping slowly down your cheek, turning your face to his. He's close, the nature of the small seats and your low conversation, his skin glowing with a red-pink and dappled white as the movie plays to your left. 

"Can I kiss you?" he whispers. 

On the walk to Benny's, your mind had drifted to the fantasy of a kiss. Eddie and his hands, the small silver bands of his rings and their heavier signets, how he'd offer to drive you home, walk you to your door, and peck you chastely in goodbye. He'd smell like his cologne that you tend to notice when he returns his borrowed books on Saturday mornings, chamomile and something deeper you've never been able to identify, no matter how long he stood there chatting. His lips would feel solid and cold from the weather, and here's where you stopped yourself from thinking any further, blood rushing to your wind-bitten cheeks. 

It's not so simply condensed, here. 

"I've never kissed anyone before," you whisper. 

"I'll have to set a good precedent, then," he says, rubbing the hollow of your under eye tenderly. "Or you can say no. That's okay, too."

You shake your head, "I want you to." 

The eagerness that's been simmering behind his eyes all night rears as he ducks in for a kiss. It's not what you're expecting, but it isn't bad; it's lots of things, his hand on your face and your elbow, your hands vying for him in startled delight, the popcorn between your knees tipping dangerously to the side as your lips give under his. 

He doesn't smell like chamomile at first, but hairspray. He presses against the seam of your lips and only as they part, forcing you to suck in a breath through your nose, do you smell it on him, close now. The cologne must linger on his shirt. 

He pulls away to shush you gently but urgently, Don't get us kicked out, it seems to say. 

And he's kissing you again. Nothing heavy, charged all the same, the barest taste of sweet popcorn shared between you. His hand does half the work, the tracing of his fingertips and the soft line they draw as he slots them behind your ear puttyifying you, like jelly in his warm palm. You make an unsure sound and he pulls away a second time, sugary brown eyes widened in concern.

"Bad?" he whispers. 

"Am I doing it right?" you ask. 

The concern becomes adoring. You feel like you've been injected with manic butterflies, having a guy like Eddie looking at you like that. "You're doing it super right," he says, so quietly you can barely hear him. "I'd tell you practise makes perfect 'cos I'm dying to do it again, but it was already perfect. You lying to me?" 

"No, of course I'm–" 

"I was kidding," he says, his side pressed heavily to the back of his chair as he drops his hand to your elbow casually.

"Oh. I knew that." 

He pats your arm, sympathetic, a tad condescending but he's hot enough to get away with it like this, lips kissed rosy and a glossy black curl falling into his eyes. 

You look down at his lips. Eddie doesn't make you beg, but he does gesture you forward, your hand landing atop his thigh as you angle up for another kiss. It's unlike you, but it's such a rush of feeling, you don't give your hokey-pokey brain time to consider the things you'd usually worry about. 

That being said, you pause just before your lips connect. You close your eyes too hard, head listing to the side self-consciously. 

Eddie must see it, whispering reassurances with a rough scratch, "Hey, it's okay. You can kiss me. You worry a lot for such a pretty girl, you know that?" He takes your hand. "Don't overthink it." 

"I can't," you say. 

"Take the night off. Let me worry…" His breath fans over your lips. "I'll take the lead," he suggests, closing the short gap between you. 

Your hand goes limp in his. 

—

The flowers are delivered to your desk sometime in the mid-afternoon. Pearly white lilies with green spots creeping toward the soft edges. Your chest yawns open and your lips curl into a smile like you've been hooked, rubbing a thick petal between your thumb and your forefinger. 

There's a long note folded and tied to one of the stems. 

Y/N, 

I am so, so sorry. So sorry. I am the sorriest boy who has ever lived, and I would love to make it up to you. Please call me when you get the flowers and tell me if they're a sufficient apology, or don't call me and I'll send you more. I know you said it was fine, but still.

Yours, Eddie Munson. 

P.S. did the flashlight guy have to be that mean? He pretty much blinded us with that thing. And did he have to make fun of my jacket? 

P.P.S I promise I will get you unbanned from the Hawk. Best date ever, yeah? 

You'll call him. Getting kicked out was a joint effort, after all, and you really want him to kiss you dizzy again, even if you found it hard to look at him on the drive home.

Maybe if he kisses you enough, you'll forget how it felt to be shepherded out of the movie theatre like a common criminal. 

You drop the note between the pages of your current read with a sigh. "Best date ever," you say. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you so much for reading! i really hope you enjoyed ♡ if you did, please considering reblogging, it means the world and makes a difference :D 

[mariahcarreyyy]

What about Lando and his girl getting drunk one night out. And when they come back they’re super horny but then when they’re in the middle of things they see a champagne bottle and they think it’s absolutely amazing idea to fuck her with it. She comes around it and Lando has pictures but then the next morning it just so happens they don’t remember much so when she’s sorer than usual they think they just got carried away but then they discover the pics and are shocked because the things they did w that bottle are wild even for them

accidentally slipped into my docs n wrote this 1.6k 'blurb' mb yall extreme nsfw 18+ under beware⬇️⬇️

The uncontrollable giggles, muffled by Lando's pillowy lips on yours, tumble out of you and his mouth at the same time you both stumble drunkenly into your shared flat. His hands never left your body, trailing up your sides, kneading desperately at your tits over your skirt, and cupping the globes of your ass.

"Lando, fuck," you whine against his lips, arching your back further into his fingers when he starts rolling the nub of your nipple between his index and thumb.

Lando hums, pulling off of you and grinning hazily at the string of spit connecting you. Too drunk and horny and desperate to fucking cum, you two don't bother walking oh-so-far (a few steps) to your bedroom. Hell, neither of you bother to take off your clothes.

A small gasp leaves your red, swollen lip when Lando's massive hands grip the underside of your thigh and haul you up onto the living room table. The pleasure bubbling in your lower stomach made your hips buck in the air involuntarily.

Except, it wasn't in the air. It was Lando who had you splayed against the wood and leaned over you, placing your bodies flush together, heatedly.

"Lan, Lan, I need..." you trail off when his hand trails up your inner thigh, palming your pussy.

And lando fucking moans, all high and whiny, when he realizes that you were bare and that you hadn't worn any fucking underwear. One piece of cloth had covered your grinding bodies at the club, and it makes him feral.

"Fuck, baby, yes, yes, whatever you want," he and you gasp in unison—him because he can't fucking get enough of you and you because he's not fucking giving you enough of him. "Whatever you want."

Apart from the hitching of your breath from Lando's relentless fingers rubbing between your folds—close but never quite where you needed it—you're silent. You don't really know what you want. You could barely fucking breathe with the amount of alcohol you'd downed tonight.

Lando seems to sense your frustration because he pulls away from your wet, needy pussy, wiping the slick on your inner thigh, and suggests breathily, "My fingers, hm? Want me to fuck em into you, get you all nice 'n full? Or d'you want my mouth, baby? I'll give y'anything, anything you want."

"Hmm, uh uh," you protest, placing one of your hands to tug on his curls as you ponder. "Wanna be full, fuller."

The light pout on your face made Lando coo internally, resisting the urge to kiss your jutted bottom lip away. You crane your neck to the side, met with a fancy tablecloth and glass vase adorned with your favorite flowers Lando had gotten for you. As if the objects in the room would verbally tell you what you wanted. And, to be fair, they kind of did.

Your bottom lip is now pulled in between your teeth, and the wheels in your head are visibly turning with the lewd scenarios at a thousand miles a second. Lando catches your sudden mood switch, following your eye line, only to be met with the gifted champagne bottle he'd gotten for new years.

Unopened, clean, and perfect to be fucked with.

"Shit, y/n," Lando growls low when his drunken brain wraps itself around your idea, dipping down to your jaw and pressing wet, frantic kisses against it.

"Lan, lan, please," you whisper. "Need it, wanna be full, wanna."

Lando groans loudly at that, nodding frantically and reaching over the table to grasp his fingers around the thick bottle. Your thighs rub together needly, fingers tightening on the little hairs at the back of Lando's neck in anticipation.

"Okay, okay, fuck, y/n," he breathes out, tugging your skirt further up your abdomen and almost choking on his spit when you spread your legs far, your pussy glistening with need and want and Lando and that fucking champagne bottle.

One of Lando's hands presses your lower stomach further on the couch while the other edges the knob of the bottle closer, closer, closer to your swollen clit. A loud, high moan fills the room, and you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at the scene between your thighs. Lando's eyes are stuck on it too, wide and slightly red from intoxication.

You buck your hips up, coating the top of the bottle with your slick when you pant. “Lan, please, no teasing, I can't—fuck!”

Lando typically prides himself on his ability to resist you. Just enough to get you really worked up and begging for his cock. But, looking into your eyes, glassy and desperate, he is just a man. He’d lined up the knob to your hole, rubbing languidly just to see your pussy clench on absolutely nothing. And then he’d thrust it inside your walls, almost groaning with you when he saw the stretch.

The stretch, almost ripping you into two, and you weren’t even taking a quarter of it yet.

“Lan, ‘feel s’good, full, fuck, fullfullfull," you blabber incoherently, but Lando feels the weight of your words and fucks the bottle back into you with the same intensity.

You aren't going to last long. And with the thought buried deep in the back of your mind, you knew you wouldn't. Not when Lan was practically doubled over, fucking the stupidly thick bottle into your walls. While his massive hands gripped onto the base of the bottle, your walls gripped onto it like a vice, like it was a cock you needed to milk.

Lan balances the bottle slightly on his thigh to bring his shaky hand down to your pussy, tracing the letters of his name onto your clit.

"Holy shit, Lan, fuck, I can't," you gasp, arching your back into his touch. "I'm close, I-I'm so fucking close."

"Let go, baby, cum f'me, go on," Lan heaves, like he's the one being fucked.

So, when Lan sends a particularly hard tweak at your wet clit, your hole tightens impossibly around the bottle, and a choked moan slips past your lips. If Lando wasn't aware of just how durable champagne bottles were, he'd be worried about it cracking.

"Fuckkk, yeah, baby, j'st like that, such a pretty slut, a cock's just not enough for you, hm?"

You don't bother responding with words. The white spots filling your eyesight and borderline pornographic moan do it for you, whimpering pathetically when fucks you with it through your orgasm.

A blinding flash illuminates the dark room. With furrowed brows, you look up at Lando—or rather, his phone and his shit-eating grin.

You can't find it in you to tell him to delete it.

And that, the look Lando's giving you behind the camera, drunk off of you now, and not the drinks from the club, is almost enough to get you needy again.

"Shit," you whimper out when Lando drags the bottle out of your pussy, walls gripping onto it like you'd die without it.

Lando grins from above you, and you want to kiss the dip of his cupid's bow where it forms a heart. So, you do. Cupping the back of his neck, you tug at his hair to meet his soft lips, smiling when his palms grasp onto the back of your thighs.

Lan picks you up like you weighed nothing—youcannotgethornyyoucannotgethorny—and you wrap your legs around his waist, detaching from his lips and burrying your face into the crook of his neck as he carries you into the bedroom and under the covers.

Even drunk, he was a gentleman.

"I love you," Lan mumbles when he circles his arm around your waist and pulls your back flush against his chest.

You hum, interlacing his hand with yours and squeezing once, twice, three times before your eyes fluttered shut. A fond laugh leaves Lando's mouth; he kisses the nape of your neck until his eyes burn sleepily.

"Lan, lan, lan," you say, shaking his limp frame with two hands on his broad shoulders. "Goddammit, Lan, wake the fuck up."

A less-suggestive groan than last night filled the room, and Lando buries his head further into the pillows. Maybe if he smushed his face hard enough, the pounding in his head would transfer onto the cushions.

You huff, extending your arm to your bedside table, and curl your fingers around your phone. The shriek that echoes across the room when you click on the camera app is enough to have Lando shooting up, eyes wide on your frame.

"Shit, fuck, what's wrong?" He exclaims, cupping both of your cheeks and eyes and flitting over your face once, twice to make sure you're not hurt.

You glance back down at your reflection on the screen. "Sorry, I j'st look horrible, and also."

It's Lando's turn to shriek when your palm strikes his shoulder, muttering while he rubs over the red mark, "Fuck was that for?!"

"I don't fucking know, Lan, I think your dicks' tripled in size," you whine embarrassedly, pointing at your gaping hole and aching thighs underneath the covers.

Lando's brows furrow, glancing down at himself. He's hard and fully clothed. "Baby . . . we didn't fuck last night."

"I- what?" you pout, confused.

His hand pulls your phone out of your grasp. But whatever Lando had planned to do was quickly discarded when he accidentally swiped left and his eyes blew wide.

"Uhm, y/n," he murmers almost shyly. "I may have found out what happened."

You crane your neck to the right, nervously so. Out of all of the things you'd expected your boyfriend to show you, it had not been a picture of you, sweaty and writhing with your pussy wrapped around a fucking champagne bottle.

"What the fuck?" You choke out, bringing a hand down to your pussy and fuck, how the hell had you taken that?

Lando's still staring at the photo with a gaping mouth—almost as stretched out as your hole. You'd laugh at yourself if you weren't equally shocked. "Fuck, y/n, that's . . ."

Weird? Nasty? Slutty?

"Hot."

Yeah, you probably should have expected that from Lando and the bulge straining his pants.

# not calling this a fic bcs of how poorly written this is HAHAHAHAHA i just love this idea and knew i had to write it

# reblogs and likes are appreciated if you liked it tho 🩷🩷 !

[jaredpadonlyyyy]

𝙎𝙀𝙓 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝙃 𝘼 𝙃𝙊𝙏 𝙎𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍

• 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙔, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏𝙏𝙄𝙀𝙎, 𝙎𝙈𝙐𝙏

• 𝙈𝙄𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙎 ����𝙉𝙄 𝙄 𝙒𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝘽𝙇𝙊𝘾𝙆 𝙔𝙊𝙐

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙏𝙀𝘾𝙏𝙀𝘿 𝙎𝙀𝙓 (𝘞𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴) 𝙋 𝙄𝙉 𝙑, 𝙁𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀 𝘿𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙔 𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙆, 𝙁𝙀𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙀 𝙍𝙀𝘾𝙄𝙀𝙑𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝙎𝙌𝙐𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂, 𝘾𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙀, 𝙐𝙎𝙀 𝙊𝙁 𝙔/𝙉.

𝘿. 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙭 𝙔/𝙉

• ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ •

It’s been a while since Y/N has thought about even going out to a bar, or has had a hook up. She hasn’t done either of those in a while. Work had her going crazy, she was always so busy to even think about a relationship with a man. “Come on! You’ll have fun!” Her best friend said as she pulled out a sexy black dress that was really short, and sparkled. “Yeah, I know! But I have a lot of work to do and I don’t have the time.” Y/N told Luna as she rolled her blue eyes at her. “You won’t die if you leave your work there for a bit.” Luna told her as she went back into Y/N closet to pick out some heels for her. “Actually I will.” She said as Luna walked back out with some red heels.

“No you won’t, now get your sexy ass up! And get ready.” Luna said shutting her laptop off and she sighs and reluctantly gets up and walked into the bathroom to take a shower and get ready for the night. She really didn’t want to go, she really did have a lot of work to do, but a night out with her friends won’t hurt her job. She didn’t have to turn in her report until Monday morning. It was Friday, she is single, and most of all. She needed some dick. She’s been single for nearly a year and she hasn’t been with anyone. She was way too busy to even think about men or woman. Her last boyfriend cheated on her with a woman who called herself, her best friend.

Finally after an hour, Y/N walked out of her room, dressed in the shiny black dress, black heels, her make up done to perfection, red lips, hair in loose curls. “How do I look?” She asked as she walked over to her best friend. “Oh, man. Are you sure we can’t fuck?” She asked her as she rolled her eyes at Luna.

“No! Now come on, before I change my mind.” She told Luna as they both walked out.

The two of them got out of the taxi and walked over to the front of the bar. Y/N caught sight of a black Chevy impala. It was beautiful. She followed after Luna both girls entering inside the bar. Their other friends are supposed to meet them at the bar and they were already there drinking. Y/N entered and her eyes wondered around the bar. It looked cool and not creepy. She liked the vibes it was giving her and not creepy vibes like the other times, Luna has taken her to other bars, with a bunch of creepy older men.

“Y/N, Luna! Over here.” Gisela called out waving them over. Both of them smiled as they walked over to their group of friends, putting shots in their hands already. The good thing about Y/N is that it took a lot of drinking to get her drunk. When it came to her and her family. Not a lot of people could keep up with her.

It was an hour later when the girls were drunk and Y/N rolled her eyes smiling as they all started to dance and act all wild and everything. “Come on!” One of her friends pulled Y/N to the dance floor with them. While the girls were drunk, she was just buzzed a little bit. The music was playing as she moved her hips from side to side. Her eyes fell upon a man with green eyes just devouring her body like a starved man. He took a drink from his glass as he didn’t break eye contact with her, she could see he had a little smirk as he drank from whatever he was drinking. Y/N was buzzed but, she wouldn’t deny the handsome a one night of hot sweaty sex. After all, she’s been single for a year and she desperately needed to distract herself for the shitty year she had.

She ran her hands over the side of her body as he kept his eyes on her. She smirked and turned around and started to dance with her friends and for a while she could feel his eyes burning holes into her back. “I’m thirsty! I’ll be back!” Y/N said as she left her best friend’s and went up to the bar. “Hey, barkeeper! Can I get water?” She asked as she fanned herself from the dancing. The man behind the counter nods as she feels someone sitting beside her. “Hey.” He then greeted her. She smiled at him as the barkeeper gives her the water. “Hey there!” She said as she drank her water. They both kept their eyes on each other. The tension between them growing by minute.

Dean as he presented himself and Y/N burst through her apartment door kissing each other roughly in hunger, ripping each other’s clothes off. Dean’s jacket falling on the ground as she kicks off her heels. Dean reached to the hem of her dress lifting it over her head throwing it to the side as she pulled his shirt over his head as well. They went back to kissing, his big hand getting ahold of her chest as she backed him to her room. She pushed him inside as he admired the beautiful woman in front of him making him instantly hard. She was only wearing a black thong underneath her dress. He could see how hard her nipples looked. He pulled down his pants along with his boxer shorts making his cock sprint up.

Y/N looked at his dick and it was big. She has never had dick that big before. She bites her lips as she walked over to Dean and pushed him on the bed as she takes off her panties throwing them to the side. Both of them naked now. She got on top of him and she place her lips on his lips kissing him, Dean grabs her from her hips and flips her on her back making her gasp. With him in between her legs, he rolled them making his cock slid up and down her folds.

Dean kissed down her body making her back arch off the bed, his hands gripping her hips as she rolled them against his trying to get some kind of friction. Her pussy clenched wanting him inside of her. Now. Dean kissed her hipbone making her softly moan as he nips on her skin, getting to the top of her pussy as she spreads her legs more open for him. “Mmm.” He hummed as he licks a stride up to her clit making her gasp. She hasn’t had that kind of pleasure in a long time. Especially when she doesn’t have any time.

Dean kissed her inner thighs, his hands gripping the back of her legs and pressing them more into her chest. “Oh, ah.” She moaned, her legs trembling. He then placed his mouth on her clit and started to devour her. “Oh, fuck!!” She squealed as he just took her in. He also plunged one finger inside of her and went in and out making her fall apart as his fingers hit her cervix over and over again. Her legs shaking as she could feel she was edging closer to her first orgasm. She was breathing heavily, moaning loudly.

It’s been a year since she’s had an orgasm so it was crashing into her rather quickly than she thought. Dean added another finger as his head started going side to side making her gasped. The hunter groaned as he felt her pussy clench on his fingers, her pussy juices getting on his fingers. “Dean, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!!” She squealed as falling apart as he curled his fingers making her explode, her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she trembled hard.

Dean kept on fingering her as he lifted his head to look at her. He could tell she stopped breathing her legs and her body didn’t stop shaking. She finally lets out her breath. “aAAH!!” She tried closing her legs but Dean pushed her leg back as he kept on going inside of her. “Dean, it’s t-to much!” She squealed.

3 orgasms later Dean took out his fingers as Y/N squirted. “FUUUCK!!!” She moaned and moaned and moaned as Dean was pumping his very hard cock as he watched her fall apart. The hunter groaned as he touched his sensitive head. She opened her eyes as she looked at Dean. Her breathing was slowing down as her body twitched from the after math of her orgasm, and the fact that she didn’t know she could squirt like that. She loved every second of that. Dean looked at her as she ran her fingers through her fluttering pussy making her twitch at how sensitive she was. “Fuck, that was amazing.” She told the man.

“Yeah?” Dean asked her as she nodded her head. Her eyes heavy lidded with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’ve never have a guy make me squirt like that.” She told him as the Winchester hunter smirked at her. She sat up and crawled over to him, she ran her hands up his body as she looked up at the man. Her mouth hovering over his throbbing cock. Dean’s breath hitched as she kissed his tip and then licked his slit where the pre-cum was oozing out of. He was so turned on, by the way she had fallen apart by his touch. He didn’t know her, but she was extremely sexy. Her moans were the most beautiful he’s ever heard in his life. The way she squirted by his fingers.

He loved every single moment of that. He wanted to make her squirt again and again and again. But he only had one night with her, since they were only in town because of the case they were working on and successfully finished without anyone being killed.

She took in his tip making the hunter gasp as she then swirled her tongue around his head.

She took out her mouth as she pushed him onto the bed, making him fall into the pillows as she got in between her legs. “Fuck.” Dean moaned throwing his head back as she licked from the base of his dick all the way up to the head of his dick making it twitch. With one hand she slowly pumped his cock and with the other, she got a hold of his balls gently playing with them making the man groaned at how amazing that felt. Her mouth hovered over his cock as she spits on it and she placed her lips on his cock and she went all the way down, pumping what she could not fit. “Argh!” Dean moaned as she started to bob her head up and down up and down up and down.

Dean looked down at her and she looked up at him and his dick twitched at the sight of her.

“Such a good girl sucking my cock.” Dean grunted as she went faster. Y/N went deeper making her gag and Dean lets out a loud moan at how deep she went her hands gripping his thighs as she tried to go into him deeper. Her eyes watered as Dean grits his teeth. Dean grabbed her from her hair pulling her off as her saliva was still connected from his cock to her mouth it was messy the way she looked like a total mess.

“What happened?” She asked him as she wiped her mouth. “I was about to cum.” He told her as she smirked at him. “I would have swallowed you.” She licks her lips and he groaned his cock twitching at that. “I seriously wouldn’t have mind, but I want to fuck you.” He told her as he pulled her up to him and she placed her lips on his as he flipped her on her back, getting in between her legs, his cock hitting her entrance making her moan against his lips as he rolls them into her hips. Dean and Y/N looked into each other’s eyes as he slowly slides inside her right pussy.

She gasped as Dean groaned feeling her tightness. “Fuck, so tight.” He gritted his teeth. His big cock filling her up stretching her walls. Dean’s eyes closed staying still as he felt his dick start twitching. With all the cases he’s had back to back. He’s had no time to be with anymore or do it himself. So it was becoming difficult not to cum right away. She tapped his shoulder as he nods his head. “Just give me a sec.” He told her as he tried to relax a bit. “What’s wrong?” She asked him as he blows out air and opens his eyes. “Nothing, it’s just it’s been a while, with work, and all that.” He told her as she smiled up at the man.

“Don’t worry we’re literally in the same page.” She told him as he smiled at her grateful he understood. “You know it’s okay, if you do cum? I mean I already came twice and squirted, I’m satisfied.” She told him as he just shook his head. “Nah. I have to at least make you cum again.” He told her as she nods her head. “Okay.” Dean said as he sat up putting her legs over his shoulder, he hugs her legs and started to move inside her pussy making her let out a moan as he started to pick up his pace. “Dean, oh god!” She moaned loudly. Her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she saw the stars with how his cock was hitting her cushioned G-spot. Her legs trembled on him. Dean hissed as he felt his cock start to twitch.

He was afraid that he wasn’t going to last any longer. He lets go of her legs and Y/N’s fingers reached down to her clit and started rubbing it because she could feel how close the man was to releasing his cum into her. “Fuck, fuck, argh!” He grunted out as she could feel her orgasm about to hit her again as she ferociously rubs her throbbing clit. “Oh, god! Are you ready?” She asked him as her legs started to shake uncontrollably. “Yes!” Dean lets out as finally she screamed out as her walls start to flutter hard.

Dean slammed so hard into her making her gasp so loud staying still as he moaned loudly. His cum filling her up. Ropes and ropes of his seed, the way he was slowly rolling his hips still balls deep inside of her as he grunted calling out her name as his nails dig into her hips, which she was sure was going to bruise.

The man slumped his head thrown back as he breaths heavily his body still twitching to the waves of his climax. After catching his breath. He looked down at her as she smiled, as well as Dean. He pulls out his soft cock making her shudder lowly at that.

He threw himself beside her pulling her up to his chest as they both chilled and talked, getting to know each other, eventually they fell asleep.

The next morning, after a blowjob in the shower. Dean ate breakfast and he was on his way out.

Dean turned to her as she walked him out. She was only wearing her thong, her bare chest out with her hard nipples. “I had a good time.” Dean told her as she smirked at him. “I did as well.” She told him as he smiled. “Can I see you again?” Dean asked her as she smiled and she blushed. She guessed her liked her as well. So, she nodded her head as he took out his phone. He hands it to her as she puts her number in.

“You better use it, because I need you to fuck me like that again.” She told him as he nods his head.

“I’ll see you.” He told her waving as he walked over to his beautiful black Chevy impala.

He got inside turning it on as she waved at him and on his way he went. Leaving her until next time.

• ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ • ★ • ☆ •

I kind of want to write in the end that she ended up pregnant with Dean’s baby. But I decided not to. 😂

𝘿. 𝙒𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝙈𝘼𝙄𝙉 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

[sunny44]

She’s mine

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!reader

Warnings: just a sexy blurb.

Summary: Where Y/n makes a plan to get Max to finally admit that he likes her.

The night was young, and the vibrant atmosphere of the club pulsed with electrifying energy. I walked across the dance floor, my scandalous red dress capturing the attention of everyone around me. I knew I was being excessive, but sometimes, being subtle simply wasn't an option.

My eyes met Charles's across the dance floor, and a mischievous smile played on his lips as I approached him. I knew Charles was Max's friend, and we had exchanged messages earlier for me to explain my plan to make Max act once and for all.

"Charles.” I said, my sweet voice laden with a suggestive tone. "Having fun?"

Charles winked, a wicked smile playing on his lips. He knew exactly what I as up to, and he was more than willing to help.

"Loads, but eager to see Max's reaction to your plan.” Y/n laughed, a melodious sound that echoed over the thumping music.

"Thanks for helping me, by the way. Your friend is a slowpoke."

"Yeah, I thought he would have made a move by now with the way you two act."

"Me too." He laughed, and I noticed Max finding me in the middle of the crowd, his smile evident as soon as he saw who was with me. So, I leaned close to Charles's ear and spoke. “Max is not liking what he's seeing right now. Do you think we should dance and make him even more jealous?"

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

And so, the two of us began to dance, moving to the rhythm of the music as my plan unfolded. I could feel Max's eyes on me, and it was exactly what I wanted.

I was determined to make him finally take action.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the dance floor, Max watched with jealous eyes ablaze. He knew I was flirting with Charles, and he couldn't contain the whirlwind of emotions consuming him.

He navigated through the crowd to the DJ booth, where Martin commanded the beats.

"Martin, turn off the music.” he ordered, his voice heavy with urgency.

"What? Why?"

"Just turn off the music for a minute, please.” he said, somewhat irritated.

Martin raised an eyebrow but nodded, understanding that something important was happening.

With the music dimmed, all eyes turned to Max as he pointed to Y/n, who was now illuminated by the spotlight, her red dress shining like a blazing flame in the club's darkness.

"Are you all seeing that girl?" Max's voice echoed through the club, and besides the light, he also pointed his finger at me. "Talk to her, look at her, or breathe near her, and you'll have a problem with me. She's mine."

I felt a shiver run down my spine as Max's eyes locked onto me, a wild intensity that made me tremble slightly.

But then I saw Charles's mischievous smile, and I knew it had all been worth it.

My heart raced as I saw Max coming towards me, maneuvering through the people who had started dancing again when Martin had turned the music back on.

"Max..."

He took my hands, pulling me close to him, and kissed me, and it was one of those breath-taking kisses.

"I know I've been an idiot all this time, procrastinating instead of asking you to be my girlfriend, but I can't deny anymore what I feel for you."

"Finally.” I say, and he looks at me surprised. "You really are an idiot, I had to plan with Charles to make you jealous so that you finally admitted out loud that you want me as your girlfriend."

"You two planned this?"

"Obviously, don't get me wrong, Charles is hot but not really my type."

"And what's your type?"

"Dutch, world champion, and completely clueless when a hot girl is after him." He laughs and pulls me closer.

"There are plenty of hot girls after me."

"Yeah, but I'm the only one who will get something else out of you." I whispered back and saw the hairs on his neck stand up.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"Definitely."

Bonus scene!

Maxverstappen instagram stories

“She’s definitely mine”

[rezwrites]

If the requests are open, can I request a Dark! Agatha Harkness x fem! Reader?

Where Agatha gets tired and takes action to own Reader. Agatha had acted kindly to win Reader’s heart but Reader never noticed because she is seriously innocent

Something dark with possessive behavior, dub-con and obsession pls 💕

yes, of course!

Warning: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, heavy drinking, not explicitly stated age-gap, mommy kink

Another failed date. Another wasted talking stage. Disappointment and heartache is all you feel walking out of the crowded restaurant. Slamming your car door you pick up your phone, calling the one person that’s always there for you. It didn’t ring long before Agatha picked up, “Sweetie? I thought you were supposed to be on your date.”

“Got stood up again,” you take a wobbly breath as you try not to cry.

“Oh, honey,” her voice sweet and sympathetic, “Come on over, I’ll have ice cream and Worst Cooks ready.”

The drive home was full of silence, your mind racing with questions about what could’ve gone wrong. Parking into your driveway, you sat there for a second before heading over next door. Knocking on Agatha’s door she answered almost immediately, holding the door open for you. Sitting on the couch you notice two pints of ice cream with spoons; two wine glasses are also set on the coffee table.

“I pulled out the wine too. Figured you could use a drink.” She popped the cork out of wine bottle pouring you both half a glass. Grabbing a thick blanket from the back of the sofa Agatha draped it over the both of you, “We’re just starting season twelve right?

You nodded grabbing both pints, handing Agatha hers. You lost yourself in the show and wine; your ice cream long gone. A light fuzzy feeling washes over you as you lay your head on Agatha’s shoulder. She’s been a such a rock: bringing you gifts after unsuccessful dates and taking you out around town.

“This sucks.” Sighing deeply you sit up, putting your head in your hands. She pauses the television, rubbing your back. All the alcohol running in your system slowed your thought process, making it tough to get words out. You finally managed to mumble, “Disheartening.”

“I’m gonna go home.” You start to stand but quickly lose your balance. Agatha held you steady, worry etched into her features, “Dear, you can’t even hold yourself up.”

“I didn’t mean to drink so much,” you speak slow, a slight slur of your words, “Sorry.”

“I understand, sweetie, there’s no need to apologize. You’ll stay in the guest room.” She left no room for argument. Nodding wordlessly, she carries you to the spare bedroom. Laying you on the bed gently, she drapes the covers and extra blankets over you. Thanking her groggily you turn onto your side, back facing her as you curl in on yourself.

Agatha turned on the nightlight plugged into the wall, lingering in the doorway, reluctantly leaving you. She waited a hour and a half before she got up again. She really didn’t have to wait so long knowing all the alcohol running in your system would’ve put you out immediately, but she wanted to be sure. She prepares herself slipping into her robe, before venturing down the hallway.

You were jolted awake by a hand wrapping around face, your body pinned to the bed. Eyes widening when you see Agatha on top of you, her eyes wild. You want to shake her off, talk this out with her, but your body is still heavy and uncooperative. Sensing your discomfort she lifted up off of you a little, ”Shh, I know. I know you must be so confused, dear.”

“I didn’t like resorting to such dirty tactics with those girls, but every advance I made went over your head. My oblivious little girl,” she tapped your cheek with her finger, mockingly. Sighing, “don’t worry sooner or later you will see that I’m the only one for you.”

You couldn’t deny that you had felt something for Agatha at one point, however the more you thought about it the more it didn’t seem possible that she would have any reciprocation. You truly didn’t see any hints she gave you, just thinking she was being a good friend.

She took her hand off your mouth, replacing in with her lips. Lightly pecking your lips not wanting to smother you knowing it’s hard for you to move right now. Cool fingers creep up your shirt over your stomach, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble.

She was too fast for your mind to comprehend. Throwing the covers away from you, shucking your clothes off and tossing them at the end of the bed.

Your hands sluggishly move to cover yourself, trying to shield yourself from the cold air and Agathas gaze. Agatha catches your hands moving them back to your side, squandering your feeble attempt. Littering your neck and chest in kisses, she traced back up sucking multiple hickies into your neck and collarbone.

“Seeing you traipse about with those girls,” Agatha nipped at your neck, “Pissed me off knowing they can’t satisfy you like I can.” A whine escapes you when you feel something press against your core. She sheds her robe revealing her nude body with a strap attached to her hips.

She spreads your thighs apart, placing them over hers. Your mind may be quite inebriated, but your body was alight with pleasure. Agatha smiled to herself running her fingers through your wet slit. She mixed your juices and her spit onto her strap, delicately sinking into you.

“Doesn’t it feel good, sweetheart?” She plays with your bundle of nerves her strap bottoming out. “See how wonderful I can make you feel?” She leaned over you sucking a nipple into your mouth.

“Yes!” you weakly moaned out reaching out for her knees to ground yourself, “so good, Mommy.”

You both froze. She released your nipple with a pop, both of you staring at each other like deer in headlights. You struggle to find your words, face heating up. A smile grows on Agatha’s face, “Again. Say it again.”

“More, mommy, please.” you will yourself annunciate clearly. She began thrusting, cradling your face in her hands resting your foreheads together. She stares intently into your eyes, snapping her hips rhythmically, “That’s right, sweetheart, I’m your mommy.”

Agatha focused her thrusts, the tip of her strap hitting deep with you. The minuscule moans you let out intensified her concentration, ”Come for Mommy, baby.”

She watches you fall apart as your body quakes underneath her. You hold her onto her knees tightly as shocks of pleasure reverberate with each thrust, coupled with the tight circles Agatha’s drawing on your clit. Sucking in deep breaths, your heart pounds in your chest. She eased out of you, setting the strap on the nightstand for now.

Agath pulled you close to her, dragging the covers back over you both. She knows you’ll want to talk extensively about this in the morning, but the way you’re pressing up against her already falling back asleep, she can’t bring herself to dwell on that conversation.