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pullhisteeth · 2 years ago

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classified | eddie munson x reader

summary at your wits end, you put an ad in the classifieds for a special kind of tutor. Eddie finds it and takes you up on the offer. (nsfw) [13k]

contains smut (18+ minors dni!) – p in v sex, oral (f receiving), lots of praise, virgin!reader, fem!reader, hurt/comfort. eddie's a sweetheart, fluff, first time turned something more (?).

author's notes this one's a long one! the idea made me laugh and then it took on a life of its own. I want to say this is meant to be somewhat lighthearted and is not a suggestion that anyone should be having sex if they haven't already – your body's yours, baby, do whatever you want! no one should ever make you feel rushed into anything!!! anyway Eddie is an angel and I want one. bye!

Eddie's not sure why he's reading the newspaper. Boredom, perhaps; he's been waiting for Wayne to get home from his shift for over an hour. He's thought about calling the plant, but the walk from the couch to the phone seems to be the perfect amount of time to convince himself that he's probably on his way home already.

It's the Hawkins Post. It gets delivered by a snot-nose boy on a bike every week, thrown far too hard at their tin front door. Wayne reads it some weeks, others it gets used to wrap his lunch. Apparently this one he'd read it, flicked through the pages half-heartedly before leaving it open on a centrefold about the local elections. Trust Wayne to get bored of small-town politics, Eddie thinks.

So he picks up where Wayne left off, slowly pulling the pages apart, skimming stories about the endemic of teen pregnancy, or columns about the rejuvenation plans for downtown Hawkins.

Finally, he reaches the only bit of the newspaper that Eddie has ever found interesting: the classifieds (and, on the back of the classifieds, the call-girl ads).

He skims them, eyes brushing past ads for cleaners, dog walkers, nannies. Finds the ones hidden at the bottom – the letters written in code, ads for attractive female friends and women seeking younger men. He's never actually interested in them, but they provide a glimpse into the underbelly of Hawkins, a small town that is, for all intents and purposes, entirely normal. But nowhere is ever truly normal, and Eddie likes to seize the opportunity to pry into the scandalous goings-on of his boring hometown.

He's reading one about swingers when the one beside it catches his eye. It's plain – whoever paid for it kept their costs to a minimum. All it says is:

WOMAN, 23, SEEKING FIRST TIME.

He stares at the bold ink, the statement in all caps that, despite being maybe the lowest cost ad in the whole paper – it's in a box about three inches tall in the very corner of the page – jumps out at him anyway. Underneath the title, it reads: young woman looking for judgement-free first time. Min. age 22, max. age 28. Must have experience. At the very bottom, in almost imperceptible print, is a phone number.

Eddie hadn't realised how close his face was to the page until he hears the familiar sound of Wayne's car pull up outside. He throws the paper down onto his lap and sighs before scrambling around to at least try to look casual, and not like all the blood has rushed to his face. In the few seconds he has between the sound of Wayne's car door closing and him coming up the stairs, Eddie tears the page out, folding it quickly and shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans as he stands.

The door opens just as he gets to his feet, and Wayne comes trudging in with his steel lunch pail and heavy boots.

"Hey, Wayne," Eddie says, breathless, trying his best to sound level. Wayne eyes him as he closes the door, before turning to dump his stuff on the table.

"C'mon, kid, you promised me a burger."

The piece of newspaper stays in Eddie's pocket for three more days.

Wayne had been late getting home – something came up, but Eddie wasn't listening too hard, brain on that stupid ad instead – so their weekly trip to Benny's had run until the early hours of Friday morning.

And then Friday was work and Hellfire, which Eddie still leads despite having graduated two years ago, and this time the kids kept him going for hours. By the time he got home he hadn't even thought about the page before crashing into bed.

And then Saturday is family day, as Nancy puts it. Eddie had woken up late, rolled out of bed into the freshest clothes he could find, and into his van to act as bus driver for the morning. His little gaggle of unruly teenagers crammed into the back of it one by one, laughing and teasing and shouting. Steve's home became louder and still, Eddie relished in that feeling of peace he gets once a week with all these misfits he calls friends.

By Sunday morning, the newspaper had been long forgotten in the pocket of his jeans that he'd left in a pile on his bedroom floor. He's laid on his back on his bed, head dangling off the edge, puffing mindlessly on a spliff he'd rolled for himself two days ago that had also been forgotten. The room's a little fuzzy round the edges, just the way he likes it, the sunlight creeping warm paws up his arms. It smells funny in here, he thinks, so he turns over, pushes himself off the bed, and reaches up to open his window. On his way back to his bed, he trips on something, landing with a huff as his ribs hit the corner of the mattress.

"Fuck," he hisses, reaching down to pull the culprit off the floor. It's just an old pair of jeans, so he throws them into the corner, out of the way, and resumes his position, splayed out across the bed.

From this angle, with his head hanging upside down, he spots something by the pile of denim he'd just discarded.

His brain's ticking over slowly under the haze of being stoned, but after a second he realises what it is, and clambers all too quickly off the bed and across the room.

Maybe it's that haze, coating his brain with thick fog; maybe it's the fact that, in the year since he graduated, he's had to settle for quick fucks behind the Hideout after a gig; or maybe, just maybe, it's dangerous curiosity.

Whatever it is, something motivates him to move through his room, down the narrow corridor into the kitchen. There's something hijacking his limbs, and it reaches up to the phone on the wall. With eyes on the page in his hand he spins the dial, listening to the tone as it rings, rings, rings.

The longer he stands there, the more convinced he becomes in his intoxicated miasma that this is some kind of prank; he's going to be met with a stupid kid on the other end, laughing at him for bothering to call at all.

When he finally decides that this is just that, a practical joke, the line clicks. There's a low buzz on the other end, so low he thinks maybe the line just went dead, but then a voice.

"Hello?"

He's taken aback by the sound of it, but not so much that he doesn't notice the sleep coating it. Despite his stupor, he can't help but apologise.

"Shit, sorry, did I wake you?"

"Who is this?" You're sharper now, coming to, and he kicks himself for fucking this up already.

"Oh, shit, uh, sorry. I called about… I got this number, uh, in the paper."

"Fuck," he hears you whisper. He's not sure if he was supposed to hear it. He feels bad.

"Sorry, I'll go, this was-"

"Look, I put that age range in the ad for a reason. I'm sick of gettin' calls from middle aged men, I-"

"I'm twenty-three."

You're silent on the other end for a moment, but he can hear your breath hitch.

"Well, shit," you finally say. "Y'don't sound it."

He laughs an awkward, stilted laugh, unsure what to say.

"Sorry, I've had so many guys – men, old men – callin' me up, tryin' to flirt with me down the phone, I just… The ad was a mistake, clearly."

He likes the way you talk. You've got a pretty voice.

"Uh, thanks," you say.

Shit.

"Fuck, sorry, did I say that out loud?" Moron.

You laugh, the sound fizzing down the telephone line, and it eases some of his insecurity.

"I'm sorry," he says, starting fresh. "I'll leave you be, have a good-"

"Wait," you bite, and he can hear you shuffling around. "Wait just a sec, I- fuck, where the fuck is it? I… Sorry, can you just wait for a second?"

"Sure, sure," he murmurs, trailing off when he realises you've set the phone down. He listens to the faint sounds of you rummaging around and swearing under your breath. He must look like an idiot, stood in his kitchen, smiling at his phone, waiting for a stranger he found in the paper.

He hears you coming back, footsteps getting louder, before you pick the phone back up.

"Y'still there?"

"Yeah," he laughs. You speak to him like he's an old friend and it keeps catching him off guard.

"Okay," you say. "Here's the thing. I put that stupid ad in the paper because I was sad, and my life has been a misery since then, because literally every guy who's called me has been, like, at least forty, which some people are into I guess but I'm not, and- Sorry."

You're rambling, stumbling over your words even though he can tell you're trying to be professional or something. He stays quiet and hopes you'll keep going.

After a beat, you say, "I guess, 'cause you called, you'd be up for it?"

"Uh, well," he stammers. "That's kinda why I called. Care to explain what it is you want, exactly?"

He's not sure where the sudden confidence has come from; maybe the weed's wearing off.

"Okay, yeah," you breathe. "So, uh, my plan, I guess, was that I'd… You'd take, uh, my virginity."

You almost whisper the last part, like it's some kind of slur, and Eddie can't help but laugh on the other end.

You start to sound exasperated, frustrated, so he tries to claw you back.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just so… frank."

"Well, bein' all coy about it hasn't really worked out for me so far."

Can't argue with that logic.

"Okay," he says, trying to ignore the excitement bubbling inside him. You're a stranger, he's a stranger, and this whole thing is kind of weird. Shit, he thinks. Am I a perv?

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well," you start, sounding like you've got this part planned out. "First I need to know you're not gonna murder me or something, so I'll give you an address near my house but not at my house, and we can meet there whenever… and, uh, what year were you born?"

"What?"

"Just… So I feel a bit more sure you're actually twenty-three."

"Hah, okay. 1965."

"Okay, sweet. You got a pen?"

"Shit, yeah, one sec."

His eyes dart around the room. With the phone between his ear and his shoulder, he moves as far as the cord will let him, to a drawer by the front door. At the back there's an old pencil and some scraps of junk mail.

"Got it!" he declares, too enthusiastic but it makes you giggle so he laughs too.

"Okay," you start, and you tell him an address he vaguely recognises, closer to the nicer side of town, halfway between here and where Steve's house is.

"It's a park, kind of. It's pretty public anyways, so if you were, y'know, planning to kill me or whatever, don't bother."

"I'll take that off the to-do list," he tells you through a smirk.

"Very funny," you say, your sentence half-formed like you can't find the words to finish it. "Wait, what's your name?"

"Eddie. Munson."

"Okay, Eddie Munson," you say before telling him yours and deciding that you'll meet him later that day. You tell him it's easier that way, that you can't bear to have to wait all week, sitting on the nerves that might make you change your mind.

That's exactly what Eddie does all afternoon. You'd decided on six that evening, when it's still light but late enough that you both have time to back out, and so he sits, stoned out of his mind on both weed and the phone call, feeling something he's rarely felt before.

It's like cola in his gut, bubbling and frothing every time he tries to move. Is this what people feel when they say they have butterflies? Because it doesn't really feel like that; it feels instead like the madness inside him is floating upwards, fizzing around his heart, prodding and poking at it at uneven rhythms. His mind is reeling, too; he hadn't really thought this through at all. What if, even after that call, you're still planning on playing some kind of trick on him? What if this is an elaborate scheme to publicly humiliate him? Maybe you get a kick out of that kind of thing.

There's another thing, creeping around at the back of his mind, lurking. It's that horrid hopefulness, the what if that feels so far from likely that if he lends too much time to thinking about it, he feels stupid.

What if you're great?

He shakes himself out, standing up off his bed. He'd been lying there for the past two hours, sobering up, dwelling on every detail of the call, lingering in particular on your voice and your laugh and the way you say sweet so often.

He doesn't know who you are. He didn't recognise your name when you told him, even though you're his age. He didn't recognise your voice either, but he likes it, and he wasn't lying when he (accidentally) told you it's pretty.

He looks at the clock beside his bed. The red numbers flicker as they change to 16:52.

One hour.

He's early.

It's ten to six, and he's early.

The sun's low but not gone yet, and the park you sent him to is actually kind of nice. He's in his van, waiting until it's a socially acceptable time to get out and wait for you. What is the socially acceptable time to get out and wait for the girl you've got an agreement like this with?

Before he can decide, he sees someone. They're in jeans and a jacket, red Chucks and hair lifting up in the breeze.

Without thinking about it too hard, he opens the door and hops out, slamming it a little too hard. The person looks over, catches his mop of hair over the top of the van, and stops walking.

"Eddie?"

He hears you call his name over the sound of his boots crunching on the ground as he rounds the front of the van. He looks over to find you, the person he saw walking over, looking at him with your hand at your brow, blocking the sun.

You're pretty – really pretty. He still doesn't recognise you, but he has decided that's surely for the best.

You don't recognise him, either, but he's hot. He's not what you expected; truthfully, you really had expected someone older, lying about their age to get in your pants, someone you'd have to turn down in this very public space, going back to your apartment alone and unsatisfied. This is not what you had in mind at all, but you're not mad about it.

As he comes towards you, you watch the way he walks, chest-first like he's exactly where he should be. His hair's long and a bit wild but it matches his style – ringer tee, messy black jeans, obnoxious denim jacket. He's got his hands in his pockets but when he lifts one out to wave at you awkwardly, you see the rings and know you're a goner.

You wave back, laughing lightly as he nears you. He's taller than you so you really have to squint to see him against the setting sun.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is even nicer in person; he does sound older than he is, and he has an air of maturity about him, like he's too sure in himself to be 23, but there's also a boyishness somewhere underneath that endears you.

"Hi," you reply. "You're Eddie, right?"

He looks around himself, head whipping back and forth.

"No, doll," he says, looking at you with a blank face. "I'm Keith."

"Oh," you say, trying to hide the flush in your cheeks and the way your face drops, but then he laughs and reaches out to hold your shoulder.

"Sorry, that was a bad joke." He squeezes. "Yeah, I'm Eddie."

You choose to ignore the overly familiar touch and the way it sends your knees all funny, and instead you laugh, a little awkwardly, and hold out a hand.

"Nice to meet ya," you say, firm.

He looks down at your hand as he drops his own from your shoulder. His eyes move between it and your face, but he shakes it anyway.

"Well?" he asks, and you watch as he smirks, staring you down, his hand still in yours.

"What?"

"Do I look like a serial killer? Scared I'm gonna murder you?"

With those final words he pulls on your hand, bringing you closer to himself. His confidence is only making that funny feeling in your knees worse, but what you don't know is that he's bluffing; before you stands a terrified boy struck dumb by a pretty girl.

"Hm," you hum, dialling up the dramatics to ponder his appearance. You take the chance to scan your eyes up and down his body, taking in the scuffs on his shoes and the pretty silver chain around his neck. From here you can smell weed and cigarette smoke, pretty aftershave and something deeper. "I don't think so."

"Damn," he quips, finally releasing your hand to run his own through his wild mass of hair. "I was really tryin' to look scary."

"You didn't do a very good job," you tell him, laughing softly, and he looks at you with a smile.

"Oh well," he says. "Maybe next time."

Ignoring the way that makes you feel, you take his hand again. It's your turn to pull him, dragging him behind you. The move startles him and he drags his feet for a moment before catching up, refusing to let go of your hand when you try. He swings them between your bodies theatrically as you walk him across the park, through a line of tall oak trees and onto the street on the other side.

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "We goin' to your parents' or somethin'?"

"No," you reply, shaking your head slightly with your eyes on the ground. You drop his hand and stuff yours back in your pocket. "I have an apartment, up by Main Street. This's just a shortcut."

"Oh."

You don't say much more after that. The walk is short; you were right, this is a shortcut to Main Street, one even he didn’t know about. It takes you past Steve's house, and Eddie prays he doesn't happen to be looking out the window at this precise moment.

You live above the pharmacy. You scramble with the lock for a moment, so he stands behind you, bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking around; it's quiet, the usual lull of a Sunday evening, the sun lower than before. He looks at the back of your hair and the way the light catches in it, hears the low curses under your breath as you struggle with the door. And then it's open, and you're inside in the dark, and he has to bring himself back down to Earth.

Your apartment is small. Behind the door there's a narrow staircase, and at the top another door. It brings him into your living space, which is cramped but clearly well-loved. You offer him a drink and step into the kitchen when he says yes.

He lets his eyes pass over the room. The ceiling is low, reminiscent of his own home, though the walls are more solid than the trailer. They're painted a muted, pale blue, a colour he's sure you didn't choose because you've covered as much of them as you can in things: paintings, framed photographs, postcards. The furniture is more to your taste, he assumes. It's all soft, rich greens and pinks.

You bring him a beer as he sits on the couch, sinks into the cushions, toes off his boots.

"Thanks," he says as you pass him the bottle and take a swig of your own. You take your own shoes off and leave them by the door, hanging your jacket on a hook there too.

"So," you begin, padding back over to him and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. "I don't know how this works."

"Well," he says, turning to you with one arm up on the back cushions, "I can talk you through it, but I need t'know where you're at."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, how far have you gone before? How far do you want to go today?"

"Uh-" You shuffle, squirming into the couch, clearly looking for the right words. "I've never… This is as far as I've ever got."

He breathes a gasp though he's trying to hide it, trying to stick to the agreement of judgement-free. "You've never been kissed?"

You just shake your head and the way your face creases, brows turned down, makes him ache.

"Okay."

"And I want to go all the way," you say quickly, all in one breath, finding your words. "Not too far, no extra shit, like, kinky shit, but the standard."

"O-kay," he says again, smiling this time. "So you know it's not as easy as… As in and out, right?"

"Yes," you spit. He flinches. "Sorry, it's just… It's hard not to feel a bit, like, insecure about all of this. Makes me a bit defensive, I guess."

"It's okay," he soothes, and his tone really does make you feel better. "No judgement here. I'm not new to sex, but I'm just as new to this whole… situation as you are."

"Okay," you sigh.

"Why don't we just chat for a bit? I'm not in a rush if you're not."

"Yeah," you agree. Eddie is easy, you're finding; no dancing around the point, but you feel you're being handled gently. Exactly what you want.

"So did you grow up here?"

Okay, so maybe the 'chatting' suggestion was a bit of a façade for the fact that Eddie has found himself fascinated by you, even in the short time he's known you. Sure, it's only been ten minutes if you're not counting the phone call, but there's something about you that piques his interest. And, if he's honest, he's not sure why he wouldn't recognise someone his own age in Hawkins.

"No, no," you say, leaning over to put your beer on the table. You wipe your mouth quickly with the back of your hand. "I'm from Illinois."

"Why are you here then?" He takes your que and puts his own beer down too, deciding that being intoxicated probably isn't the best idea.

"I dunno," you say, sighing again. Your shoulders go lax as you let yourself sink backwards and look up at the ceiling. "I wanted to go somewhere new, but not somewhere big. And the middle school here was hiring a tech assistant, so I applied."

"And you got the job?"

"Uh-huh. I start in September, figured I'd just move here early, try to find my feet."

"How's that going?"

"Alright, mister questions." You laugh as you say this and sit up, looking at him again with a smile. "It's going okay so far. People are friendlier here, but I haven't exactly found my people yet."

He hums, nodding, and you say, "My turn."

He looks up at you. "Do your worst."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Kind of. Somewhere near here, til I was eleven."

"Why'd you move here?"

"Hah." He goes all rigid and awkward at your question, shrugging his jacket off with his eyes on the ground. You take note of the ink you can see crawling up to his neck under the collar of his shirt. There's something else there, too; something pale and stretched, like a scar.

"It's complicated." That's the answer he settles on, keeping his cards close to his chest. "But I moved in with my uncle when I was in middle school. Been here since then."

"Is that why you're still here? Your uncle?"

"Kind of, but that's also complicated."

"Wow, okay, is everything complicated with you?"

"It doesn't have to be," he says. It throws you for a loop, the way his voice has dropped, fried and kind of… sexy?

You find him looking at you, and suddenly he feels really close. You feel this urge to climb out of yourself, away from this situation that isn't for you; it's never for you. No one has ever wanted to get this close.

"You okay?" he asks, his friendly tone back.

You're grateful he seems to be able to read you so quickly.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay. If you want to, y'know, stop this at any point, just let me know, okay?"

"We haven't even-"

"Will you?" he presses.

"Yes," you promise him. He looks back at you like he's waiting, yearning for something and you don't quite know what.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"Mm-hmm."

"Why are you so far away right now?"

He's gone soft, leaning forward toward you, his arm still up on the back of the couch. Your eyes flicker to his fingers and the rings on them, the way they're sparkling slightly in the dipping sun coming through the window.

It fills your mouth with glue. The combination of his proximity and the question leaves you breathless.

"I just…" he continues. "You're hiding from me over there."

He's got a sticky smirk on his face, like he knows the answer and knows you don't want to tell him. He shuffles forward ever so slightly, letting you breach into his space if you want to.

You do, you really, really do – he's a kind stranger, doing a kind thing for you, even if it is a bit odd. You want nothing more than to relinquish yourself to him, and yet you can't.

There's a momentary staring contest between the two of you. The couch feels miles long and yet he's closing in. You feel suffocated.

"I'm gonna come to you," he says after a minute. "Is that okay?"

All you can do is nod at him. It's like your body's on fire, affronted at the idea of being touched by him and yet harbouring some primal urge, deep under the surface, to let him do it anyway.

He pushes his jacket onto the floor with his elbow as he moves himself down the couch toward you. Your eyes follow his arms and the way they stretch, and then the way one of them lifts. He plants his hand firmly on your knee and it burns through the denim of your jeans. You can't tear your eyes from it, staring blankly at his fingers, the way the tendons flex when he squeezes.

"We don't have to do anythin' you don't wanna do, okay?" he tells you. He's watching you, how you're watching his hand, how your hair still lights up in the sun. You're sweet, and pretty, and most of all he longs to know more.

"I'm gonna talk you through it," he continues, "kinda like a teacher, if that's what you want."

When you don't reply, he calls your name softly, and says, "Is that what you want?"

You look up at him and nod again.

"I need to hear it, sweets."

You tell him yes, that is what I want, trying desperately to keep your voice as level as possible, not letting on that it kills you every time he uses a petname like that.

His fingers dance up your thigh and back down to your knee, a repeating pattern that sends you dizzier the closer he gets to you.

"Eddie?"

His hand stills and he looks at you.

"Yeah?"

When he responds, you feel his breath on your face. He's close enough, now; you can really look at him, at the crow's feet by his eyes, the freckles across his cheek, the bend in the bridge of his nose that looks like maybe he broke it once. His eyes are really pretty, browned sugar and syrup, flitting around as he tries to read you.

"I've never been this close to anyone before."

He's watching your eyes as they move over his face, admiring the slight sense of awe in them.

"That's okay."

There's a sudden absence on your leg where his hand leaves it and it aches, like the bone is realigning. You swallow a whine and close your eyes when his hand finds your cheek.

"I'm gonna kiss you now," he whispers. "That okay?"

You nod again and he lets the pads of his fingers smooth backwards into your hair where they take root, his thumb beside your eye. You feel him pull you in and his breath on your nose and then the strange sensation of his lips.

It's new but not unwelcome. He's soft with it, light as anything and quicker even, gone before you really know it's happened. Some kind of sudden urge takes over, though, because you don't like how quick it was, so you chase him. You plant your lips back on his, firmer than he had, your nose nudging his as you get the angle right. This one's longer and it startles him; you have to pull back when he starts laughing.

"Alright, alright, slow down," he says as you sit back, deflated. "You liked that, huh?"

You nod, giddy, desperate to feel it again.

"Can I show you somethin'?" His hand is on your neck now, burning its fires once more, and you can barely concentrate on him.

"Yeah," you breathe, a sigh of relief as he comes closer again. But as you close your eyes, expecting his mouth on yours, you can't help the whine that escapes when he misses, landing beside it. You feel him chuckle, a puff of air out of his nose, before he dots more kisses along your jaw. It feels nice, gentle and slow, like he's scared to break you if he goes too fast or comes on too strong.

The whine, lingering in your throat, moulds into something like a sigh – or even a moan – when he makes it onto the column of your throat. You swear you feel his teeth graze the skin there, lips following them over your pulse. His kisses turn hotter, heavier, and you can't help the way you keen into him. Without thinking about it, you paw at his shoulders and let your back arch as you breathe thick pants into the air of your living room.

When he pulls back again, you whine his name, gripping tighter where you've pulled his shirt into your fists. He laughs at you, head tipped back, as he smooths his hands up and down your arms; the gentle touch makes you relax and your hands unfurl.

"Good, huh?" His words are viscous, thick with want, but he daren't go too fast.

"Mm-hmm," you agree, nodding, breathing quick. Now that he's stopped, you have time to consider that, actually, you might be a bit overwhelmed; without thinking about it you sit back, returning to your comfortable distance by the arm of the couch, watching as his face falls.

"Sure you're okay?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I just-"

"Yeah, take a second."

"Mm-hmm, just need a minute."

You watch him stiffen, awkward in the wake of the moment, and take the chance to admire him a bit more until you sense his eyes are back on you, and suddenly you feel very small.

"You alright?"

You nod, looking back at him, finding his face all soft and concerned, turned down so it makes you twinge.

"You're being so nice to me," you say. It comes out more as a breath, a string of words tied together with insecurity, all in the same exhale. You're not even sure you said it at all, but his face twists into something like shock.

"What do you mean?"

You sigh. "I dunno, I… You're just being very… kind. Are you always like this?"

He seems taken aback by the question. His hands are in his lap where his left fingers toy with the rings on his right. He looks away from you to stare instead at the beer on the table and the drop of condensation running a race down the neck of the bottle.

"You've really never done this before, huh?" he asks you, and now it's your turn to be taken aback.

"I'm not lying, if that's what you're getting at," you say with perhaps a bit too much venom.

"No," he responds, stern. "I'm just… Finding it hard to believe. I'm sure it's true," he says quickly when you open your mouth to fire something quick at him again, "like, I know you're not lying, but it's so surprising."

"How so?"

He sighs this time. He twists in his seat to face you, bringing one leg up under himself, the other dangling off the edge of your couch. "I'm gonna be honest with you right now, if that's okay."

"Okay."

"'Cause I feel like that's the best way to do this whole… thing, right? Nothin' in it for you, really, if we're not honest, or whatever…"

For the first time since you met him in the park, he's showing his nerves. It gets him all wound up, stumbling through sentences like the words are quicker than he can keep up with. It's endearing, really; nicer in some ways than confidence.

"When I saw that ad it obviously caught my eye, I mean, I called, but I just didn't know what to expect, obviously, and you're… Well, you're… normal? So far, anyway." He huffs the last three words out in a laugh, but you don't return it.

"What does that mean?"

"I just think I expected someone who puts an ad like that in the paper to be weirder, or something."

Your gut twists. Red flares of anger lick up your insides, popping and wheezing in your throat.

"What the fuck, dude?"

You stand, backing away, feeling that familiar creeping isolation; distance, walls up, get away. His face has dropped to something wider, fear in his big stupid brown eyes and mouth agape.

"I didn't-"

"I'm not weird for being a virgin. And just because you think I'm 'normal' doesn't mean this-" you gesture between the two of you with both hands, "-should be surprising."

"No, shit, sorry," he pants, desperation oozing, "fuck."

"I think you should go," you finally say. Your arms are across your middle, hands gripping your forearms. You don't dare look at him, even when he says nothing.

You flinch when you feel him come nearer. He steps over the threadbare rug on your floor and over to the corner where you've parked yourself.

He calls your name and you despise the way you soften at the sound of it.

"I'm gonna touch you, 's'that okay?"

You scoff, turning away from him.

"Stop fucking patronising me, Eddie."

"I'm not patronising you. You wanted me to talk you through it."

"Yeah, that. Not this."

"This is part of that."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"Well this isn't getting me very turned on," you spit, turning back to look at him, your arms still crossed over your chest and the rising fire of anger flares when you find that cocky smirk on his face.

"Will you come sit down with me? Please?"

His hands are hovering awkwardly between the two of you, forbidden to come any closer but refusing to give up completely. You offer him an olive branch, dropping your own arms and taking his hand in yours.

He walks you back to the couch and sits beside you, turning your hand over in his on his lap. You both watch it, the way his thumb grazes your palm, tracing the lines up and over.

"Sex isn't just sex, you know," he says frankly. "Even when it's like this."

"I know," you whisper, eyes transfixed.

"It's about all the emotional shit too, and I'm gettin' the feeling there's a lot of that to get through."

"Mm-hmm." It irks you, the way he seems to know you without really knowing you. "You sound very wise."

He laughs at that, and you find yourself grateful for the reprieve, for the way the tension seems to lift just a little.

"I'm just being honest," he admits through a laugh. And then he turns to look at you, dipping his head to meet your gaze because you won't look up. His gaze on you is oppressive, unfamiliar, but you don't dislike it.

"You're really pretty, you know."

You just look at him.

"Hm?" he tries, dipping even lower to catch your eye properly. "It's true."

"A boy's never called me pretty before," you admit, words too quick for you to call them back. This is dire, this hole you're digging; after all this time, being honest is still so difficult, though it seems to come so easily to him.

"That's a crime" he says. And then he does that thing, the one you've read about in books, daydreamed about, thought about late into the night. He brings his hand to your face and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, a light pressure but enough to move you to look up at him, sat upright, with your mouth dropped open in shock.

It's just as electric as you'd imagined; more so, even. Two points of contact. Who'd have thought it?

"I'm sorry I said something stupid," he tells you. "It was dumb."

You giggle as his fingers shift across your skin. Soon enough he's holding you in his hand again and you feel yourself leaning into it, again.

"Thank you for apologising," you say. "I think I can forgive it for now."

"Good," he says. And then, more coy, the act dropped for a moment, "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes, but…"

Just like before, the words stall in your throat.

"You can tell me what you want, you know. It's why I'm here." Christ, his voice is like honey when he's this close to your face.

You pull a long breath in through your nose and close your eyes.

"I have this… fantasy," you begin, and you hear (and feel) him chuckle.

"Go on."

"I guess it's not really a fantasy, just something I've always wanted to try…"

"That's the definition of a fantasy."

"Hey," you scold, opening your eyes and swatting him on the arm softly. "You wanna hear it or not?"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, laughing again. "Continue."

"Can I sit on your lap?"

"Is that it?" he asks, laugh lingering, threatening to fire up the heat in your cheeks.

"Yes," you say pointedly. "I wanna try it."

"Go for it, baby."

He doesn't miss the way you gasp at the nickname; in fact, he smiles, grins almost. He moves his hands down, leaving your face for now so he can hold your waist as you move onto your knees and lift one over him.

It's funny, you think, how hard all of this feels; really, this is a very normal thing for two 23-year-olds to be doing, and yet something within you makes it feel mechanical, intentional. Perhaps you just need practise.

"Okay," he says as you settle, your hips halfway down his thighs. "You gonna get any closer, or am I gonna have to lean over an' break my back?"

"Am I okay to get closer?" you ask, not taking much notice of how your fingers are dancing around his chest, toying lightly with the chain around his neck. Maybe it does come naturally after all.

"'Course you are, here-"

His big hands pull you in by the waist so that you're seated on him, hips to hips. Your faces are closer now, too, so you can admire those lovely crows feet again and the bend of his nose.

"Gonna kiss me, Munson?"

"O-kay," he says, smirking again. "I like the attitude."

"Oh, for fu-"

He shuts you up with a kiss, takes your breath away like they all say in the magazines; this kiss brings the fire up to the hilt, pulls on the smoke and the kindling and sets everything ablaze. His lips move against yours like molten gold, hot and rich and bright, quick but tender all the same. You feel the heat of his stuttering breaths on your cheek and lean inwards, arching your back slightly, until you feel him moan.

It's a sensation you could get used to, for sure. It's fizzy vibrations on your lips, makes them tingle, all electric. And then, before you can really know it's happening, you feel his tongue on yours.

You're not even sure when you opened your mouth for him. But it's there, the new feeling. It feels wetter, less familiar, but it pulls an involuntary moan out of you and you arch your back even more without thinking.

You get into it, into the rhythm, and let your mind wander to the friction between your hips and the pressure of his fingers under your ribs. They're skirting the hem of your top, his ring finger dipping beneath it onto the skin of your waist. And then you think about it too much, take notice of it too acutely, and you're pulling back and panting, looking down at where his hands are.

"All good?" he asks in a voice that's new to you; it's lazy, his words fuzzy, like he's just woken up. You look up at him and his eyes are hooded, lids low, and he's wearing a dopey half-smile.

"Yeah, just… Feeling lots of things," you say; it's all you can think of to explain this.

"That's kinda the point," he reminds you, and then he's doing that thing he showed you earlier, kissing slowly across your jaw and down onto your neck. It feels just as nice the second time; nicer, even, because you're letting him do it and you're letting yourself enjoy it.

His fingers venture upwards, more of them sliding under your top, until he pulls back and says the fateful words you knew would come soon: "Can I take this off?"

His lips are still on your throat, so he doesn't see the way you wince. When you don't reply he comes back up to look at you. You turn away.

"Hey," he coos, one hand leaving its treacherous territory to hold your head again. "What's up?"

You huff. "No one's ever seen me… naked before."

He smiles, which vexes you. "I'm here 'cause I wanna, baby."

The fucking nicknames.

"I know, I just… Can you just-"

You hold his hand in yours and move it away from your skin, hold it in both of yours to keep it away from you. He breathes an apology but you continue.

"This whole thing, me never doing this before or whatever, I think it's probably got a lot to do with me not really liking this-" you look down at yourself as you speak, "-very much."

You see him take this in, how it melts his features and widens his eyes.

"Okay," he finally says. "We can take this slow, yeah? You wearing a bra?"

"Yes, Eddie, I'm wearing a bra."

"So let's start there. Top off first, and you can see how you feel."

"Okay."

You let go of his hand and he takes your shirt in both. You close your eyes as you feel him lift the fabric, bunch it around your breasts, your que to lift your arms. You do it for him and he pulls up, tugs it messily over your head and throws it somewhere across the room.

"Shit," he hisses.

"What?" you say in a panic, worried something somewhere has gone horribly wrong.

"Look at you," he croons. "So pretty."

The insecurity evaporates, coming off you like a heavy mist, as he dips his head to kiss your collar bones and across the swell of flesh beneath. He takes his time, sometimes pulling the skin between his teeth but never for long enough to leave a mark. At some point he nudges you back and reaches over his head to pull his own shirt off; before he commits, he looks at you. You nod.

This is the most flesh-on-flesh you've ever felt before. It's nice; you're both warm, and he hasn't once mentioned the eighteen thousand different flaws you know are on your upper body.

His is covered in ink – pretty, often in swirling patterns and on his arm there are bats. But between them, there's confirmation of your earlier suspicions: he's got scars everywhere.

You trace them with gentle fingers.

"Don't ask," he says, laughing awkwardly.

"Okay."

You lean back in to kiss him. You’re a lot less confident than he is at initiating, but soon enough you get the hang of it, and he lets you. He doesn't take the reins; instead, he gives himself to you, lets you find your feet by yourself.

You attempt to copy him, kissing his jaw and then his neck, and you enjoy the way he sighs and relaxes under your lips.

As you move further down, teeth grazing his collarbone, he says, "you wanna move? Couch isn't exactly ideal."

You finish your work with a peck to the bump of his shoulder and say, "Sure."

There's some awkward shuffling, and standing in your bra and jeans is somehow more vulnerable than sitting on him, but nevertheless you take his hand and lead him through the door to your bedroom.

He doesn't have as much time to take this room in as the last one, because he wants you on the bed more than he cares to admit. When you flick on the bedside lamp, finally acknowledging how dark it's become now the sun's started going down, all he really notices is how warm the room is.

"Here," he says, manoeuvring you as he pleases. "Lay back, yeah?"

You do as he says, sitting facing him and pushing yourself back so you can lay down with your knees up.

And then it happens: one of the many cataclysmic revelations of the evening.

"Good girl."

Again, you gasp, looking up at the ceiling.

"Good?" he asks.

"Really good," you tell him. You haven't really noticed that your hands have laid themselves across your chest, but he can't stop staring.

"That's it, see? Love when you tell me what you like."

One of his hands joins one of yours where it's fidgeting with your bra, and the other smooths down one of your legs, urging you to straighten them. You do, and again he says those fateful words: "Good girl. Gonna take these off, yeah?"

"Wait," you snap, sitting up and letting his hand fall so you can lean back with your weight on yours. "Can we do it together?"

"'Course."

"And can I… Can I undo yours?"

"Shit, sure you can."

You sit up and he takes your hands in his bigger ones, moulding them so you're tracing your fingers down the plain of his chest and stomach. You follow the dips and creases, the taught skin of his scars, and finally reach his belt.

He's mumbling nonsense at you, too caught up in everything to keep up the teacher façade, pinching your fingers between his so you can pull the leather through the buckle and get to his zipper.

When you unzip and brush something hard, he drops his hands and tips his head back in a sigh. It's an unfamiliar feeling under your tentative hands but it's not unknown.

"Wow," you breathe, not really meaning to say it out loud.

"Shit, gotta get these off-" He pulls back from your wanting grasp to shuffle out of his jeans, leaving his boxers in place for now. One step at a time.

"Your turn," he declares, smiling, jeans and socks gone. He reaches over to you again to return the favour, undoing buttons and the zip and his wide hand on your hip urges you to lift off the bed so he can pull the denim down your legs.

There's no turning back now; you can never again wonder what will happen the first time someone sees you (nearly) naked.

You've thought about this before, turned an infinity of possibilities over in your mind, but this was never one of them. Not one of them included a pretty boy, standing before you, just as exposed as you are, pawing at flesh and telling you you're beautiful.

His lips ghost over you, beginning at your shoulder and creeping lower. When he reaches the middle of your chest he looks up at you, the angle a little awkward. You nod.

"What're you doing?" you ask him, moving backwards again as he crowds you.

"I'm gonna take this off," he says, tugging lightly at the band of your bra, bringing himself level with you so he's breathing the words into your ear. "And then I'm gonna eat you out."

He may as well be a fire-breathing dragon. His words claw at your scalp like flames and fill your lungs with heat, pulling a sigh from within. You lean back, lying flat on the sheets, and let him have his way with you.

But he doesn't move, first admiring the way you respond and then waiting, lingering above you, too far away.

"What?" you hiccup, looking at him, confused.

"Need you to tell me this is what you want," he tells you.

"This is what I want," you repeat back to him. And then, taking the plunge, you add, "I want you to eat me out, Eddie."

You relish in his response, the way you can almost see him shiver, bare shoulders twitching and chest deflating with a shuddery exhale.

"Christ, yes, okay."

His fingers inch around your back so you arch it, letting him toy with the clasp of your bra. He gets it undone quicker than you expected, and you can't bring yourself to focus on where it goes once it's off because he's got his mouth back on your skin and now he's biting marks in places that would make your past self blush.

You feel his teeth on the swell of your boobs, first the left and then the right, and the rough pads of his fingers over your nipples.

"Shit," you hiss, and then, "no, shit, don't stop," when he halts for a second.

"Feel good?" he asks, muffled with his teeth grazing the stretch of skin across your ribs.

"Yes, yeah."

Gripping the sheets, you arch again, keening into him, chasing the buzz of his lips and the goosebumps they leave.

His fingers leave them, too, especially when they dance over your sides, that bit that makes you feel hollow if you drift over it the right way.

"Can I take these off?" he asks, lifting his head to look up at you from where he's sunk to his knees. You're staring at the ceiling, too preoccupied to meet his eye, and the sight makes him huff a laugh.

"Yes," you respond too quickly.

As you feel his fingers curl around the elastic, he says, "Okay, you're gonna have to give me a hand, alright? Tell me if it feels okay or if you want me to move. Or if you want me to stop, obviously."

"Yes, yeah, fuck, please Eddie-"

"Alright, alright," he laughs, pulling the material down over your knees and feet. At this rate, your bedroom floor must look like an explosion at the laundromat; dirty laundry everywhere, clothes all over the floor.

You're not sure why you're thinking about the logistics of tidying right now, though it doesn't last long, because the cool air on your core is a shock that jolts every limb.

Although he's wedged between them, you seem to have an instinctual reaction to the sensation of being exposed, your legs trying to close around him. His firm hands pull them apart, his fingers grasping the fat of your thighs, and then his lips.

They're on the softness between your legs first of all, nipping and pulling the skin between his teeth as he moves upwards. And then you feel them, the strange, wet contact. There's a feeling, something you think must be his tongue, licking upwards, before it makes contact with your clit.

The pressure is a thunderbolt to the centre, a shock that sends you arching off the bed with a gasp. Your grasp on the sheets tightens for a moment until you feel the roughness of his hair instead; without thinking, you've moved both hands to claw and pet at the crown of his head, earning a muffled moan when you tug ever so lightly.

He calls your name, pulling back, his words heard through cotton wool ears. "You're sure you haven't done this before?"

"Fuck, yes, Eddie I'm sure," you pant in response, desperate for the sensation of his mouth on you again. He obliges your unspoken craving, licking upwards again before settling comfortably at your clit. His firm hands dig deeper into the flesh of your thighs until one of them doesn’t, and before you can think too hard about it, you feel it just beneath his mouth.

The new feeling of his rough fingers on your cunt sends your eyes rolling back; you can't help but squirm and it's driving him wild, the way you're listening to him, the way you can't help but move, the way you're tugging at him without realising.

The gnawing tightness in your core nosedives when he slips, warm breaths replacing his mouth and fingers. You whine like a petulant child, making a noise you didn't know you could.

"I'm gonna use my fingers," he tells you, the distance between him and your cunt not enough to save you from the maddening huffs of breath as he talks. "Have you ever had anything inside before?"

It's funny, how nervous he sounds despite the fact he's knelt the way he is between your knees. His mouth was just all over you, and yet he's still a boy, turned stuttering by sex talk.

"No," you pant, "no, never."

"Okay, it might hurt, alright? You just gotta tell me to stop and I will."

"Okay," you agree.

He settles back into position, his weight rested on his elbows and his face and hand inching closer. You feel it, the stiffness of a finger, but the feeling is unusual and a little uncomfortable.

"You gotta relax," he tells you. "You overthinkin' it?"

"No," you bite defensively.

"It's okay."

You huff and lie back, dropping your shoulders.

"Do you ever…"

Another sigh.

"Do you ever touch yourself?"

There's a momentary flush of embarrassment, a conditioned response to being asked about this kind of thing, but you're here, in this position, naked, so you may as well be honest.

"Yes."

"Okay, what do you think about? When you do?"

"I, uh…"

"It's okay," he says quickly, "don't tell me. Just- just think about it now, right? Somethin' that turns you on."

Something that turns you on? What's turning you on right now is the handsome guy between your legs. His pretty inked skin, the stretch across his shoulders and the ripples in his back. His wide, firm hands, those obnoxious rings, the way he keeps telling you you're a good girl.

It swims in your mind, the vision of him cooing sweet praises, the fizzling memory of those words in his voice.

"That's it, you got it," you hear him tut, as though he can see inside your mind, read your thoughts. It pulls apart the tension in your core and across your shoulders, and then it's back, that feeling, the warmth and the fire, and you sink deeper into the pool of euphoria.

With one finger already half-way inside, he adds a second, his eyes trained on your face in case it's too much. But it's not; of course it's not. He knows he's good, but he doesn't think he's made a girl this happy in his whole life.

You feel it soon enough: there's a fizzing current that licks up from your cunt and into your gut where it lights your nervous system on fire. It runs laps around your body, pinpricks in your fingertips and behind your ears. You grasp at the sheets again, pulling, pulling, pulling, reaching for whatever you can to keep your body from floating away, because it really feels like that's about to happen; either that or you're going to implode, pulling the room and everything else with you like a black hole, hungry for more.

You barely notice the pants, your whiny moans and the repeated prayers of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, before you're coming apart. He's still going, riding you through it, basking in the sound of his name as it crawls from your mouth. So far he's kept his composure, ignored the searing pain under his boxers, but he doesn't think he'll hold out much longer.

"That's it," he coos, slowing down, rubbing soothing circles into your hip. You're panting, your breath hot and skin even hotter, and you can barely hear him when he speaks. The words carry, though, somehow; his praises of you did so good, and you're driving me wild, and, worst of all with the way it slaps you silly when it comes, I need to be inside you.

You sit up at that, holding yourself up on wobbling elbows to look at him. He's still knelt between your knees, hands resting on them, looking back at you with eyes turned dark and glistening skin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and it takes you a minute to understand that he's waiting for your answer.

"Right," you breathe. "Yeah, okay." You scramble to sit up and twist yourself so you're lying the right way but he laughs and it makes you go cold.

"Chill out, take a minute, yeah?"

His hand hasn't left you; it's on your ankle now, rubbing those same circles over the bone.

All you can say is, "That was insane."

He laughs again, a softer noise this time, and says, "It was, huh?"

"Yeah." You flop back, head in the pillows and eyes on the ceiling above you, your own fingers tracing up and down your stomach.

He watches you from the floor. You're all flushed, glowing something rosy and sprinkled with dewy sweat. And then he watches your fingers, their absentminded journey up from your belly to the dip between your boobs, and back down. You repeat it over and over, and though it's an innocent, repetitive stroke, it's not helping the pressure between his legs.

"I'm gonna take these off," he tells you, giving your ankle a comforting squeeze and tugging his waistband with his free hand. "That okay?"

It dawns on you, as you look at him, that not only are you lying naked in front of a stranger, but that you are about to see that stranger's dick. A stranger who responded to your stupid ad in the paper, who's agreed to this for some stupid reason, and who is stupid handsome and stupid nice.

"Uh, yeah, okay."

He says your name again and it sounds so pretty when he does, and then he says, "We can stop if you want, you know. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to."

"No, I want to," you say. "I just… This is a lot."

"Yeah," he says with a smile, that one that drips with charm and tugs at your gut. "But you're all good. Done so well so far."

Your body keens at the praise, your back lifting off the bed and it's then that you notice the feeling of want biting ugly marks into the pit of your stomach. You look at him, and he looks back at you, and all you can feel is a gnawing emptiness, a need to be full.

"Let's do this," you declare, sitting back up on your elbows and watching him with needy eyes. He sees it, the darkness that has settled in your irises, the itchy fidgeting of your hands on your sheets.

"Yes, ma'am."

Slowly, he stands and tugs his underwear down his legs and onto the floor. It all feels very real, now that he's stood before you like this.

He laughs at your wide eyes, trained on the straining erection he just let loose. You've never seen a dick in person before, and to be truthful you're not sure you've ever really seen one in a photograph or a video – the adult section at the rental store isn't exactly somewhere you often find yourself – so you have nothing to compare this to, but objectively it looks quite big.

"Will it fit?" you say before you can stop yourself. It comes out a squeak and makes him laugh yet again.

"Yes," he tells you, "it'll fit. But thanks for the ego boost."

He's on his knees on the bed beside you now, moving towards you until he can use his hands to move your legs apart. He settles himself between them and sits back on his heels, leaving one hand on your left leg and using the other to take one of yours. He intertwines your fingers, squeezes, and pulls you to sit up.

"Here," he says, bringing your hand to sit flat on his ribs. He's controlling his voice as best he can, hoping it doesn't sound as desperate as he feels right now. He can't help but stare at you, at how you're looking at him.

"I'm gonna show you how to touch me, okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe. His hand moves yours down until it reaches patchy hair and then he curls your hand around his dick, his own hand still holding yours.

It's a new feeling, sure, but you're mostly enjoying the short hisses of breath he's letting out. When you move upwards without his help he almost moans, and you decide you'd like to do whatever it takes to make him do it again, and louder.

"Shit, okay, wait. Here-" He brings your hand away and lays it flat, palm up. "Spit."

You look up at him and find his wide brown eyes looking down at you, waiting.

So you spit into your palm, and he brings it back to himself, and moving is easier now.

"Fuck, okay… Yeah, just like that, that's it, shit-"

He drops his hand from yours and leaves you to find your own way, so you copy his pattern of up and down, slowly, twisting your hand as you go.

"Here, move your thumb over the- Fuck-"

You do as he says, perhaps too eager to please, and watch in awe as the muscles in his abdomen tense and he leans forward, resting his weight on one hand planted right beside your hip.

"Okay, okay, that's enough," he says, taking your wrist and pulling you away, ignoring the way you whine.

When he says, "We can worry about me another time," you try to ignore the brief fluttering it elicits deep within your chest somewhere. Dwelling on things said in the heat of this moment isn't fair, you decide; he surely doesn't mean it.

With warm, now familiar hands, he helps you lay back down.

"You got condoms?"

"Oh." You don't, and the truth you're about to tell him is mortifying. "No. They all expired a few months ago."

"That's fine," is all he says, and the fluttery feeling returns when he doesn't ask any follow up questions. No judgement, as promised. "Just wait here."

His hand leaves you at the last possible moment. As he moves off the bed it runs smooth down your leg and over your foot, like he's scared that if he lets go you'll disappear. You watch him hop awkwardly across the room and into your living room, the sight a refreshing injection of humour, helping you relax into the mattress again. He comes back with his jacket in one hand, which he drops on the floor after rummaging in the inside pocket and pulling out a red foil square.

He pulls it open with fingers that you realise are shaking slightly, and you wonder if he's really nervous, and if so, if he's as nervous as you are.

It takes a few seconds but soon enough he's rolled it on, breath stuttering and dry, and then he climbs back to you and his hands return to your body almost as quickly as they left.

He's hovering over you now, his long hair tickling the sides of your face and the tops of your shoulders, all the places the sun hits on hot days. You're too caught up in watching his every move, too keen to really realise what you're saying before you ask: "Will you kiss me again?"

He smiles and dips down wordlessly, letting his lips slip against yours. It brings back the fluttering and the fizzy feeling, the craving for him. As your tongues move as one, you feel his hand by your thigh, and when he pulls back he says, "You ready?"

You nod, and then, remembering what he said earlier, cement it in words: "I'm ready."

"Alright, I'm gonna go slow, okay? It's gonna stretch more than earlier, but you just keep me clued in, yeah?"

"Yeah."

There's a new sensation at your core, of wetness and something rigid. He's moving against your folds, finding no purchase in the remnants of earlier on, but then he nudges your clit and you jolt upwards and that's when he finds what he was searching for.

He nudges in quickly at first, enough to make you whine a pained sound. He matches it with a low grumble, a vibration right by your ear.

"You okay?" he's quick to ask, head rising to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah, just- slow, please."

"I've got you."

He doesn't move for a beat, eyes trained on the scrunch of your nose. He kisses it and feels you relax, so he keeps kissing, quick flashes over your forehead, your temple, your cheek. Each one brings new relief and as your back hits the bed again, he eases himself in a little more.

The stretch is definitely different; more. There's a burn, but it doesn't completely hide the wave of pleasure you get in the fullness.

"Gonna go a bit more," he tells you, and he does just that, going half an inch further, still watching for any sign of discomfort.

When you bring your knees up by his hips, he knows you're past the worst of it. He chants praise, telling you that you're doing so well, taking me so well as he keeps going, all the way until he's seated inside you, up to the hilt. You breathe in a gasp, filling your lungs, realising you'd been holding your breath for too long. And as you open your eyes, you find him staring down at you with concern and something else.

"You good?" he whispers with his face so close you feel the words as they settle on your cheek.

"Yeah."

"Good girl."

He punctuates this with a kiss, and then another, over the hill of your jaw and onto your throat. Your hands claw up his back, pulling him in until you're sure that if he were any closer, you'd fuse into one.

"Okay," he finally says, lips against the peak of your shoulder. "I'm gonna move. I'll go slow at first."

"Okay."

The feeling of him pulling out is new and nice, but it's nothing compared to the opposite. The combination of the two, the repetitive motion he picks up, is something you want to chase forever.

As he moves, he quickens, trying his best to keep his eyes open and attentive; it's difficult, though, when you feel this good.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' tight, shit-"

"Eddie, this feels amazing, uh-"

Your stomach twists into a coil again, quicker this time, and tightens as he picks up the pace. Above you he's all guttural moans and pretty groans, his lips grazing your cheek each time he moves, and soon his thrusts become too much. You're panting his name and he's panting yours, and along with the sound of skin on skin, that's all you can hear until he speaks gravel-churned words into your ear.

"Shit, 'm so close, fuck- Gotta get you there, baby, huh? C'mon, need you to come for me."

His words are joined by sloppy fingers between your bodies. They fumble in the dark, prodding your belly before finding slippery purchase on your clit. Sparks light up your body and all you can do in response is let it arch into him with a yelp of his name.

"You close?" he asks.

"Yes, yeah, shit, yes," you splutter back. It's like a chase, and you're catching up, quickly, quickly, quickly.

All of a sudden there's a white-hot flash that burns every inch of your insides. You tense, your body yawning open for him, wide and wanting; he doesn't relent, thrusts harder than ever, chases you in return as he feels you tighten around him. You release, the coil snapping, and he brings the pace down to see you through to the end.

There's cotton wool in your ears again but you make out his praises: "That's it, that's it, atta girl… C'mon, I've got you, you did so well."

When your breathing turns regular and your eyes ease open, you feel a warm knuckle on your cheek. He's still going slow, rutting in and out of you with ease now, and when you finally look at him he asks, "Gonna keep goin', that okay?"

You nod, throat closed for the time being so you make it as certain a nod as you can muster. His thrusts become quicker again, and the more he speeds up the sloppier he becomes. You feel sensitive, too warm but also too desperate to see, hear, feel him come undone inside you. It's not long until your wish is granted; soon his groans turn to whimpers and whines, and he calls your name as he shudders to a violent halt. It's intoxicating, experiencing this from underneath him; if this is what everyone's been talking about all these years, you understand why.

The room sways and whistles as he rests his weight on you. His breath, right beside your ear, is like a hot, damp rag, pulling at your sticky skin and the thrum of rushing blood. You hear him groan and then the uncomfortable feeling of him pulling out. The bed bounces gently as he huffs and flops down beside you, and, god, you wish so badly that you could keep those flutters under control because his clammy hand finds yours between your bodies and it's nice to feel the affection he's so devoted to giving you.

Sighing, he says, "Shit."

You laugh, scrunching your face.

"Yeah," you agree, "shit."

He squeezes your hand.

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah. Really liked it."

"Okay for your first time?"

"Yeah." You turn onto your side to face him, looking up at his face. There are a few curls stuck to his pretty pink face, and you admire the bob of his throat as he swallows and the squeeze of his hand in yours.

"You're really pretty," you tell him. You're not sure if this is the post-O haze the magazines talk about, or if it's some kind of clarity, or if it's just that you have this boy in the palm of your hand and you suddenly can't bear the thought of letting him go. Instead you want to plant anchors, heavy lines that will keep him right where he is.

He turns his head to look at you and you see him flush even more.

"So are you," he whispers, with another squeeze and a kiss to your forehead.

There are a few minutes of quiet after that. The light outside is gone for good, so he's glowing a low golden in the light of your bedside lamp. He kisses you again with a fondness that surely shouldn't come with this exchange, which you had rationalised as just that: a transaction, a mutual agreement to get something done.

You see him open his mouth, as if to speak, but close it again, so you reach a tentative hand up and brush some hair from his eyes and trace your knuckle down his temple, urging him.

"My friends," he begins, hesitant, "they're having a party, next weekend. Steve, he only lives round the corner, we passed his house on the way here... You wouldn't wanna come, would you?"

"With you?" you whisper into the fizzy darkness.

"Yeah." He smiles, eyes fluttering shut under your sweeping fingers. "With me."

"Is it a date?"

"It can be, if you want. Or we can just, y'know, go as friends, or whatever."

"No one's ever asked me on a date before."

He smiles, and it's soft and curled with an affectionate pity; one that says I'm sorry, that's not fair, it's nothing to do with you.

"Well, wanna come?"

"I'd love to."

He pulls your hand up and brings it to his mouth, where he kisses your knuckles. Goosebumps raise across your thighs and arms, and you realise you're cold.

He seems to sense your discomfort because you feel him shift beside you. He pulls you up with him and helps you climb off the bed on wobbly legs.

"I should pee," you tell him, heeding the warnings of girlfriends past.

"You should," he says, a little deflated.

You don't move, though. To move would be to acknowledge the end – the end of the transaction, of the favour. It's not something you want.

"I, uh," you begin, stumbling, "Don't- Do you want-"

"I can go now, if you want-"

"No, no, it's okay, I mean, you can go if you want, that's fine, I just-"

Your eyes are darting all over the carpet, skimming discarded clothes, so you don't notice him reach up until he's touching your face, holding it in his palm.

"I'll stay, if you want me to."

"Yes, please."

He smiles at you, sticky with fondness and you can't help but smile back.

"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, leaning further into his grasp.

"I'll be here."

"Munson! You made it!"

In the middle of the busy room, there's a tall guy, broad and burly, like all the jocks you went to high school with. He's startlingly pretty, with golden hair and honeyed skin, a wide, bright smile plastered across his face.

He steps on unsure feet over to Eddie, who is stood partially in front of you; you're cowering behind him, willing the courage to lift you and push you into the arms of strangers. For now, holding his hand will do just fine.

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie greets, meeting him in one of those boyish embraces. You look around, taking in the faces; it's not the level of the high-school parties you used to go to, and definitely not the circus of the frat ones you've sometimes found yourself at, but it's busy enough. Where the guy – Harrington – came from, in the living room, there's a circle of people who are all smiling in your direction.

"Who's this?" The guy is looking at you over Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie tells Steve your name, and then turns to you. "This is Steve."

"Hi," you say to him, smiling, trying your best to hide the cruel nerves.

"Nice t'meet you!" he beams back. It's infectious; your smile turns firm and genuine in return. "Here, come meet the gang."

"C'mon," Eddie whispers to you with a kiss to the crown of your head. He pulls you through the entryway, into the large living room, following Steve. He drops your hand to give and return hugs, saying hello to each person. You stand and watch, unsure of what to do, until one of the girls – the first one Eddie greeted – appears by your side.

"Hey," she says, perhaps a little too close.

"Hi."

"I'm Robin." She sticks her hand out and you shake it clumsily.

Eddie's back, with his hand in yours again, on your other side. He calls her Rob and tells her your name, and then does the same for each person – Nancy, Jonathan, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Dustin, El – too many for you to remember tonight, but you have a feeling you'll see them again.

"Hi, guys," you return with a wave.

Everything settles after that. You take a seat next to Eddie on the couch, legs up and over his own, making conversation with Robin who you like a lot. Nancy comes over and introduces herself again and you find you like her, too.

And then Steve appears, having disappeared twenty minutes before. He's a little drunker, and he hands you and Eddie a can each. You take it gratefully and open it, taking a swig.

"So," he begins, sitting on the opposite side of the circle to yourself and Eddie. "You from Hawkins?"

"No," you tell him, and repeat the story you told Eddie.

"Sweet! So how'd you meet?"

You turn your head to look at Eddie and find him having done the same thing. His eyes are wide, just as wide as you're sure yours are.

"Uh," you begin, drawing out the sound to buy yourself time.

"I did her a favour," he says, to your surprise, turning back to look at Steve with a sickly smile. "Just somethin' she'd put in the paper."

"That's so cute," Nancy says from behind you, her words chased by Robin adding a sarcastic, "Adorable."

The conversation moves on after that, and you turn around to Eddie again. He's looking back at you, his face pink and a smile tugging at his mouth. Before you can stop yourselves you're laughing, bursting into happy noises, bent double giggling.

He gives you another kiss, on the cheek this time, and quickly you settle back into conversations. The night is long and for the first time in a long time, it isn't lonely.

Hello! This is SO long - it really did take on a life of its own. I considered splitting it but couldn't find somewhere to do it, so I hope you enjoy this absolute beast nonetheless. I love you!

#ha ha I am sorry!#god it's long #I hope you love it <3 #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things 4 #st4 #eddie fic #eddie x fem!reader #eddie #eddie stranger things

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gunnerfc · 7 months ago

Text

breakup with your boyfriend, I'm bored | Steph Catley x Arsenal!Reader (18+)

Summary: You and Steph, despite your past situationship ending, still have a tension-filled relationship and it eventually amounts to something during a night out with the team

Warnings: cheating, bottom steph, top reader, strap use (steph receiving), some angst, fingering (r receiving), thigh riding (steph), r calling steph ‘baby’ ‘babe’ and ‘good girl’

WC: 4.7k

AN 1: cheating bad but 🧎

AN 2: this became my longest fic ever without me planning it to be 😭 I think it might be in my top 2 fics I’ve written tho 🥴

You sighed as you got out of your car, the tough preparation for the match against Manchester City starting to affect you. You stretched your arms as you stood up fully, a small groan leaving your lips as your muscles stretched. While stitching and getting your training bag from the car, you missed when a familiar car pulled into the parking lot.

A familiar car you spent plenty of evenings fogging up the windows.

Your jaw locked when your eyes finally landed on Steph getting out of her car. You two haven't spoken in a few weeks since the defender ended your “relationship” and started dating someone else. Your relationship with Steph was complicated, there were feelings from the both of you mixed with the excitement of sleeping together. It all became too much for Steph when some of your teammates almost caught you two during an away game.

Without talking about it, Steph ended your friends-with-benefits relationship and moved on quickly in hopes of getting over you. The defender refused to talk to you unless it was during training or a game and she had no other choice.

You stopped in your place as you watched her get her things, hoping she’d at least make eye contact with you. You leaned against your car door slightly just as Steph turned in your direction, freezing in her place. You two looked eyes for a moment before she quickly rushed inside, leaving you alone once again.

You couldn’t help but feel jealous over her new relationship, you thought there was something between you two and you hated how easy it was for her to find someone new. With a small huff, you pushed off your car and headed inside, already dreading being close to Steph and not being able to do anything.

Normal pre-training things took place and went by quickly and soon you found yourself on the training pitch with a drizzle hitting your skin. You listened as Jonas and the other trainers explained the drills for the day, your eyes drifting toward Steph every so often. She caught your eye after a minute before you could look away and the look in her eye made you weak in the knees. You might have been upset she wouldn’t talk to you but she still had the same effect over you.

You looked away first, trying to refocus on Jonas’ instructions rather than the defender across from you. You subtlety rilled your eyes when Jonas mentioned a small scrimmage, knowing you would be placed on the opposing team Steph would be on. Being a forward meant you two often went head to head on the pitch and with tensions rising between you, you were sure it would translate in your play.

The training drills went by quickly as the rain became heavier. You tried your hardest to divert your eyes away from Steph’s soaking body knowing the thoughts that would pop into your head would distract you. Each time you looked away from her, the defender’s eyes were locked on you, though she was less subtly as her eyes scanned your body. She knew it was wrong to still feel this way for you when she was seeing someone else but she couldn’t help it.

You groaned softly when Jonas shouted the teams for the scrimmage and your suspicion was proven correct when you were handed a different bib than the one Steph received. After listening to the quick instructions from one of the trainers, you joined Stina on the halfway line waiting for the whistle to be blown. You threw a quick glance toward Steph as you wiped the rain from your face, the defender’s eyes already locked on you.

A small surge of cockiness filled your body as you planned how to get past her, the need to show off suddenly present. You took off the second you heard the whistle go, quick to find the open area waiting for the pass from your teammates. Just as Leah’s eyes landed on you, the blonde was passing you the ball allowing you to turn toward goal. Right as you turned, your legs were kicked from under you and landed on the soggy ground with a low groan.

Steph didn’t bother offering you a hand as she quickly got rid of the ball, passing up the field toward Alessia. You lay on the ground for a moment to collect yourself before standing. You pulled at the wet training shirt that clung to your torso which gave a nice shot of your toned stomach. Steph’s eyes trailed across your body as she watched you, her breathing picking up slightly as memories flashed in her mind.

The rest of the scrimmage was spent similarly. You were thrown to the ground every time you attempted to get past Steph. The very few times that you did manage to get past her, you sent a cocky smirk her way as you walked past her after scoring. You were thankful when Jonas finally called the scrimmage, the rain was steadily falling from the sky and no one wanted to be out there any longer than they needed to be.

Everyone quickly made their way to the locker room, the showers calling everyone’s names. You took your time, allowing some of your teammates to shower first as you waited. You were hoping that Steph would be one of the ones to go first but as she sat in her usual cubby, you were proven wrong.

“I think after this shit show of a training, we should go out for some drinks,” Katie’s accent sounded throughout the locker room.

A few cheers of agreement were her response but none from you. You weren’t sure if going out was something you needed when you had all these pent-up feelings. Hooking up with a stranger was not something you saw yourself doing. When you heard Steph agree when Beth asked her, you were quick to agree as well. Maybe this would be your chance to get the Aussie to speak to you off the pitch.

After a few minutes of waiting, showers were once again free and you quickly jumped up from your seat to claim one. You took your time in the shower knowing you were one of the last ones and there wouldn’t be anyone else waiting. You were too in your head to realize you weren’t alone during your shower.

With a towel wrapped around your body, you made your way back to the locker room to find it empty. You paid no attention to the other training bag on the other side of the room with a small ‘7’ etched into it. You hummed to yourself as you got clean clothes out of your bag and started getting dressed.

Just as you had your lower half covered, Steph rounded the corner with a towel wrapped around her body, seemingly under the same impression you were. She froze when she realized it was you and that you were completely topless. The defender’s eyes closed tightly as she swallowed softly, trying her best to forget what she had just seen. You rolled your eyes when you finally looked up from your things.

It’s not like she hasn’t seen you with less clothes on before. Steph did her best to navigate the room with her eyes closed until she knew you were no longer in her eyesight. Her breathing had picked up again as more memories flashed in her mind, memories she wasn't sure she’d ever forget. “You can look y’know. You’ve seen me in less, plenty of times,” you huffed as you finished getting dressed.

“That... was different,” Steph’s voice was raspier than normal, her thoughts too loud and too sensual to process anything else.

You quickly glanced behind you, your eyes landing on the defender’s bare back as she tied the sweatpants around her waist. As your eyes trailed down her back, your mind flashed back to all the small kisses you’d left on her skin. This time it was your breath that picked up as you quickly looked back to your bag to finish putting everything back in there.

Steph quickly threw on the hoodie she had with her, not realizing it was your hoodie that you had left at her place. When you both turned to leave, your eyes locked on the clothing she was wearing. Your cockiness returned as you smirked slightly while heading toward the door. “You always did look good in my clothes, babe,” you teased as you threw her a quick glance over your shoulder before you left her standing alone.

A tint of red dusted Steph’s cheeks as she looked down at the hoodie, noticing the logo of the university you attended. The defender tried her best to forget your words as she exited the locker room, though your voice echoed in her mind the entire walk to her car. You were long gone by the time she sat down in the driver's seat, sighing loudly at the confusion she felt.

You huffed softly as you sat down on the couch, your body screaming at you to rest. You had a few hours before some of the team would be heading out so you opted for a short time until you needed to get ready. You quickly set an alarm before you got comfortable on the couch, eyes falling shut instantly as sleep took over you.

You groaned an hour later when your alarm went off, pulling you from an exciting dream. Your moment with Steph in the locked room followed you into dreamland and your dreams were filled with the low moans of the defender as she begged for more. You took a deep breath before sitting up and stretching. You took as much time as you could picking out an outfit, doing your best to pick things out that you knew Steph loved seeing you in.

You quickly sent a text in the team group chat to say you were on your way and headed out the door. Thankfully the place Katie had picked out wasn’t too far from your place and you were there a few short minutes later. You quickly parked before heading inside, most of your teammates had gotten there a few minutes early but already had a table for everyone.

“You look hot, y/n/n,” Leah whistles as you take a seat opposite of her at the table. You playfully roll your eyes at her words before blowing her a teasing kiss. The defender dramatically acted out catching the kiss before winking at you.

Steph’s fist clenched at her side as she watched you with Leah, a small wave of jealousy hitting her. She shouldn’t feel this way anymore, not when it was her that ended things and was dating someone else. Her mind was drawn away from you as she chatted with Beth and Lia at the other end of the table though every so often her eyes would fall on you.

“We should go dance!,” Leah shouted to the table, though she earned a few no’s from the more introverted people.

The blonde cheered when you and Katie stood up, the Irish captain pulling Caitlin up with her despite the Australian’s protests. Steph followed you to the dance floor, her eyes scanning over your entire body as she took in your outfit for the first time that night. You’d worn different pieces that drove her crazy and it proved successful as her chest heaved slightly. Your teammates who stayed at the table laughed at the four of you before they returned to their previous conversations.

Steph was in the perfect position to make it seem like she was still involved in the conversation while her eyes stayed locked on you. The defender’s jaw clenched when Leah was pressed against your front as you two moved to the music. You had a very fun friendship with Leah but it would not go beyond playfully flirting with each other, which Steph knew. But seeing you pressed so close to each other as you grind against one another had her seeing red.

Steph offered her two cents here and there as she remained locked on you and Leah, her fists clenching under the table with each passing second. It became too much for her when you leaned in slightly in what looked like you kissing Leah’s neck.

Steph quickly stood from the table, practically scaring Lia as she jumped slightly. “I’ll be back,” the Aussie cleared her throat as she made her way to the bathroom, passing you as she did so.

Steph was grateful when she entered the bathroom to find it empty. She leaned against the sink for a moment before throwing some water on her face to cool her down. As she stood up again, a few paper towels were seen in her peripherals. She took them before dabbing her face, her eyes locking with yours when she could see again.

You wore a teasing smirk on your face as you leaned against the wall with your arms crossed. “You alright, babe,” you asked, your voice laced with a teasing tone.

Steph didn’t respond as she threw the paper towels away. Your eyes followed her sharply as you waited for her to say something. Steph sighed as she leaned back against the sink, her arms mirroring yours as they crossed in front of her chest. The silence in the room was tense as you could just barely hear the echo of the music playing.

You took a small step toward her as one of your hands landed on the sink behind her, her chest moving faster when you were this close to her. You slowly moved your other hand to rest on the counter as well, giving her enough time to push you away. When she didn’t, you had her pinned softly against the counter.

Her eyes locked on the stalls behind your shoulder as your eyes traced her features. You moved one of your hands to her chin, guiding her head up slightly and forcing her to look at you. Your eyes dropped to her lips, not trying to hide it as you licked your lips lightly. Your eyes flashed up to hers, you two have done this enough times before that she knew what you were asking.

With a small nod from the defender, your lips were on hers. You both moaned into the kiss, your lips fighting against each other’s. Steph’s arms uncrossed and moved to wrap around your neck, her hands locking behind you to keep you in your place. You moved your hands to her waist as you pulled her flush against you, your lips still battling for dominance.

Steph’s body rolled against yours softly, your lips moving against hers as you slipped your tongue into her mouth. Your lips stayed locked until you could hear voices getting closer to the door. You pulled away from Steph, both of you slightly out of breath as you leaned your forehead against hers. “Do you wanna go back to my place,” you whispered slightly against her lips before giving her a quick peck.

You could see her fighting with herself before she said yes, the cockiness you felt early making its reappearance. You smirked as you pulled away from her, your hands grabbing hers just as the bathroom door opened and two strangers walked in, completely ignoring the two of you.

You dropped Steph’s hand the closer you got to your table before explaining that Steph wasn’t feeling well so you offered to take her home since she rode with Beth and Viv. You quickly told everyone goodnight before you headed for the door, Steph’s hand back in yours when you were out of range of your teammates.

Excitement filled your body as you made your way to your car and opened the door for Steph. The defender gave you a quick peck as a thank you before you closed the door for her. The short drive back to your place was quiet, but this time it wasn’t filled with strong tension. Once you had parked, you were quick to open Steph’s door, offering her a hand as you helped her out of the car.

You wasted no time before you made your inside, quickly throwing your jacket and taking your shoes off. Steph followed you and as she was done, her back was pressed against your front door and your lips were on her neck. “Fuck,” she mumbled as her hand tangled in your hair as your lips left scattered kisses on her skin. You sucked hard on her skin, deep bruise-like marks soon to form.

You pulled away from her neck, eyes locking with hers before kissing her again. This kiss was deeper than the one in the bathroom, your lips pressing against hers harshly as you held her against you tightly. With your lips intertwined, you guided her to your bedroom, having done something similar multiple times before.

Her back was pressed against your soft mattress as you hovered over her, one of your hands holding her hip tightly. You pulled away from her slightly, the necklace you had worn dangling between the two of you. “Can you be a good girl and strip for me, hmm,” you mumbled as you pulled away from her completely.

You moved off the bed as she sat up slightly, her breath labored as she watched you move the bottom drawer on your dresser. She shook her head slightly before she started stripping, her clothes falling to your floor. When you stood from where you crouched down, Steph was completely bare as she lay on your bed, one of her legs propped up as her chest heaved.

Her eyes dropped the strap on in your hands as you made your way back to the bed, sitting the toy on the edge of the bed. Your eyes trailed over her naked form as you hurriedly removed your clothes, tossing them to join hers on your floor. Steph’s eyes dropped down your body as she let her eyes linger on your bare chest. You took your time harnessing the toy around your body, not wanting to rush anything between the two of you.

You stood at the end of the bed as your eyes raked over her body before leaning forward to plant a small kiss on her calf that was propping her leg up. You trailed small kisses up her thigh, crawling forward as you did so. Steph moaned when you blew softly on her dripping cunt, your name falling from her lips as her hands held your comforter tightly. You laughed softly to yourself at how worked up she was when you had hardly done anything.

You kneeled in over her, the strap on rubbing against her thigh softly. You pushed her propped-up leg down before pushing it open so her legs were stretched open for you. You moved slightly until you had the tip of the strap-on lined up with her soaked core before you pushed the toy into her.

Steph’s moans grew louder the more you pushed into her until you bottomed out. You moved one of her thighs to wrap around your waist as you kept the other pressed open against the bed. You rolled your hips softly, letting her get used to the size again. Steph’s head fell back against your pillows as your hips moved, her jaw slack as small moans escaped her lips.

“Faster, please,” Steph begged, her fists white as her grip on your cover never let up. Her back arched slightly as you sped up your movements.

Your hips snapped against her skin loudly as you fucked her, your tight grip on her body sending shock waves through her. Your name fell from her lips in a broken chant as you roughly thrust into her, lewd sounds echoing off your bedroom walls.

“D’you like that baby,” your voice was rough as you moved the hand that was holding her waist to press softly on her lower stomach.

“Fuck.. yes, yes!,” she managed to moan in between whines as you hit the familiar spot inside her.

Steph’s hips rolled in time with your thrusts, her back arching more off your bed as she grew closer to the edge. You could hear just how wet she was as you fucked her, the loud sounds of your strap fucking her mixed with her moans had your head spinning.

You sped up your movements even more, pushing her leg that was around your waist open to fuck her at a slightly different angle. Steph gasped a the new feeling as her eyes screwed shut, not far from letting go. “You gonna be a good girl and cum for me, baby,” you husked, your own orgasm close.

“Yes! I’m a good girl,” the defender whined as you moved one hand to rub her hardened clit. Steph didn’t last long after that as she let go making a mess all over your strap as she came. You didn’t slow down as you continued to fuck her, helping her ride out her high.

You slowed your movements when Steph whined at the overstimulation and you slowly pulled out of her. She whined at the loss of contact as you undid the harness around your body, tossing the toy to the floor. You let go of her leg, chuckling softly when it fell to bed immediately. You moved up her body to give her a deep kiss, one of your hands running up and down her body to help her calm down.

“You good, baby,” you mumbled in between small kisses.

Steph took a deep breath before nodding, still slightly out of breath. You smirked to yourself at her fucked out state before placing more kisses along her collarbones. After a minute, Steph had gotten control over her breathing and suddenly you were on your back, Steph straddling your thigh. You both moaned at the contact, the defender’s breath stuttering before she was good again.

“It’s your turn, y/n/n,” she mumbled as one of her fingers traced your hip bone.

Your breath faltered slightly as she traced closer to your wet core. After fucking her, it wouldn’t take much before you came as well. Two of Steph’s fingers ran through your slick folds, earning a low moan from you in the process. Without warning, her fingers were thrusting into you. You threw your head back in pleasure, your jaw falling as low moans fell from your mouth.

The sight of you in pleasure with her fingers pumping in and out of you was driving Steph crazy. As her fingers moved inside you, her hips rolled against your thigh, chasing another orgasm. Steph’s breathing was labored as she fuck you and herself, both of your moans mixed as you both chased that toe-curling feeling. Steph braced herself on your hip as she sped up her fingers, her hips following suit.

“I’m so close, baby. Be a good girl and make me cum, please,” you grunted, your back arching off the bed slightly. One of your hands moved to hold her waist as she listened to your words.

You flexed your thigh just as you let go, earning a loud moan from Steph as she came for the second time that night. Her fingers paused inside you as her eyes fell shut in pleasure. Both of your chests heaved as you came down from your high. Steph pulled her fingers from you, your eyes flying open at the loss of contact.

Your eyes locked with hers as she brought her two fingers to her mouth, the defender loudly moaning at the taste of you on her fingers. Your mouth fell open slightly as you watched her lick her fingers clean, your grip on her waist tightening as the sounds she was making. Steph pulled her fingers from her mouth with a small “pop” and moved to lay next to you.

You both lay there staring at each other as you finally catch your breath. Your eyes trace over her face, taking every part of her features in before your eyes lock with hers. “Old habits die hard sometimes,” you joked, trying to keep the mood light.

Steph chuckled softly at your words before propping her head on her hand, her eyes filled with a look you had only seen once. “Don’t say it,” you mumbled, not wanting the mood to be broken just yet.

Steph sighed softly before finding the art piece on your way much more interesting. “This shouldn’t have happened,” she muttered after a minute of silence.

“Because of him,” you asked, even though you knew the answer.

Steph swallowed softly before nodding which earned an eye roll from you. “Tell me you genuinely like him and I’ll agree, but otherwise it looks like you don’t really like him if you’re here with me,” you scoffed as you sat up slightly.

Steph moved to mirror your position, her fingers fiddling with each other as she thought about what to say. The defender took a deep breath before her eyes locked with yours again, this time small tears welled up in the corner of her eyes.

“I love you,” she started, her eyes widening slightly as if she couldn’t believe she said that. “I love you and that scares me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, certainly not him. I thought this was just a fun hook-up for you and I was too scared to ever say anything because I didn’t want to lose you,” Steph finished as she blinked rapidly to hold her tears in.

You didn’t say anything for a moment as you processed her words and your silence had Steph doubting everything she had just said. Steph licked her lips as more tears welled in her eyes before you chuckled. Your chuckle turned into a loud laugh as you shook your head.

Steph’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, as she waited for you to explain. “You thought I didn’t feel the same way? Damn, I must suck at giving signals,” you joked as you made eye contact with her again.

“Steph, I think I’ve been in love with you from the moment we first met,” you confessed as you looked at her, she could see the truth in your eyes as you spoke. “I never knew how to tell you and then we hooked up after winning some game and I thought maybe you felt the same way but the next day you acted like nothing happened,” you continued, recounting the first time you ever slept together.

“But then we kept hooking up and I didn’t want to mess anything up so I never said anything. And then you ended and wouldn’t talk to me,” you finished, not wanting to go further about how jealous you felt about the man she was currently seeing.

Steph took in everything you said, realizing how much suffering you two could have avoided had you just communicated. “We suck at communication,” the Aussie joked as she slid closer to you, one of her hands moving to cup your cheek.

You turned slightly, pressing further into her touch as you laughed softly at her words. Her thumb ran across your bottom lip before she pressed her lips to yours. This kiss was softer than any kiss you ever shared, more love than lust behind it as you wrapped your hand around her wrist. Steph pulled away first, her forehead resting on yours as she kept her eyes closed.

“I need to call him,” she muttered, an irritated groan following her words.

“In the morning,” you cooed, “for now, I wanna make you feel better than he ever could,” you husked as you pushed her back into a laying position.

You spent the rest of the night pleasuring each other, a new feeling behind every action now that you both had your feelings out there. You two might have sucked at communicating how you felt before, but now, you wouldn’t make the same mistake. Once Steph broke up with her boyfriend, the two of you could pursue an actual relationship that didn’t equate to just sex.

#woso x reader #awfc x reader #auswnt x reader #matildas x reader #steph catley x reader #steph catley #arsenal wfc x reader

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kpop---scenarios · 2 months ago

Text

Take Me Home

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Warning: Jealousy, Smutty smut. [18+ ONLY. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I forgot I had some of this written...so here you go lol

“Y/N…Y/N.” You hear, your body being shaken. You open one eye, seeing a man you didn't want to see. Your husband's bodyguard and the only person he truly trusted.

“What?” You groan, looking over at the clock. Shit. 6pm, your afternoon power nap had gone on a lot longer than you expected it too.

“Your presence has been requested tonight.” San says, holding up a dress for you.

“By who?” You ask, sitting up, rubbing your eyes.

“Your husband.” He says.

“My husband? My husband, who I haven't seen in the last few weeks since we've been married, that husband?” You ask.

San nods his head, while you stretch out your still sleepy body. “Where?”

“Club K.” He tells you.

“Is there anything specific happening tonight?” You ask, crawling out of your bed, the one you were supposed to share with your husband but you'd been sleeping in it alone.

“There's a deal. He needs you to get ready and meet him there.” San says, laying the dress down on the bed before exiting the room.

You hadn't even heard two words from Mingi since he'd been gone but yet he was able to just demand you show up somewhere? That's really fair. You would go, because you were a good wife, but you weren't going to be happy about it. It had been instilled in you when you grew up that what your husband asks of you, you do so without hesitation, and that's what you would do.

You'd fallen for Mingi over the short time your parents had you meet and get to know each other before you got married. And you knew he felt the same too, but unfortunately for you, he let his work take over his life, but part of you had expected to be a little more involved with him after the wedding. Maybe that would come, in time. You hoped but you weren't expecting much.

Over the next few hours, you took your time doing your makeup and your hair, until San began aggressively knocking on your bedroom door, trying to rush you.

“I'll be out in a minute. Just getting dressed.” you yell as you slip on the long black halter dress San had brought in for you earlier. It fits you perfectly, hugging the curves of your body just right, the long slit showing off your legs. You smile to yourself, slipping on your heels, feeling extra sexy tonight. You grab your bag, pulling open the door where San waited for you.

“Let's go.” You tell him, making your way to the staircase. San follows closely behind you, he was the best of the best and the only one your husband trusted to keep an eye on you when he was away.

“Just go in the front. Yunho is working at the door. He knows you're coming. I'm gonna park the car and I'll meet you inside.” San says, pulling up to the club. You get out of the car, adjusting your dress before you wave to Yunho, who opens the rope for you to pass and make your way inside, leaving the line of groaning people behind you. As you walk inside, you don't see your husband anywhere, so instead of trying to find him, you make your way to the bar, getting a few shots before you begin your hunt.

“Hey.” You hear from behind you. You turn to look, hoping to see someone you knew but it wasn't. “You're gorgeous.” The man smiles.

“I know. Thanks.” You say, turning around, walking past him to continue the hunt for your husband, but when you spot him, he's not alone. He's surrounded by a few men that you know, some that you don't and a beautiful woman, with her hand resting on his bicep.

If that's how he wanted to play things, you were more than capable of doing the same.

You headed back to the bar, ordering a few more shots, taking them as you glared at Mingi and the woman. This isn't something that was done, especially in public. You could feel your buzz set in almost immediately after the fifth shot. You keep your eyes on them as you make your way to the dance floor, feeling every beat of the song that was playing, rubbing your hands all over your body as you sway your hips. You watch as one of Mingi's men points you out, just as someone slides a pair of hands around your waist, holding you closely. You watch as Mingi’s smile fades from his face, anger quickly replacing it. He pulls his moves away from the group, yanking his arm from the woman, who stumbles slightly but the sudden movement. You turn around, seeing the man from earlier dancing behind you. “Get off me.” You scoff, pushing him away.

“I just wanted to dance.” The man laughs, trying to go back to the same position.

“So did I, alone.” You say, rolling your eyes. Before the man can answer, Mingi slips past you, grabbing the man by his collar.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Why the fuck are you touching my fucking wife?” Mingi spits, tossing the man to the floor. Minhi gets on top of the man, smashing him in the face with his fist, over and over again.

“Fuck, Mingi!” You yell. He stops, turning to look at you, anger still spread across his face. You roll your eyes, storming off the dance floor, heading towards the bathroom. You open the door to the ladies room, highly loudly as you lean against the sink. You look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your makeup before you move back to grab the door. Before you can, the door is pushed in, Mingi steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“Where do you get off letting other men touch you?” He asks, cocking his head to the side as he begins to roll up his sleeves.

“Me?” You scoff. “Where do you get off letting other women touch you?” You ask.

“That wasn't…” he begins. You put your hand up, moving past him, to leave the bathroom but he grabs you, pinning you against the door.

“You don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. He pulls himself back slightly, staring you in the eyes. Your eyes dart from his down to his plump lips before back up. Mingi pins you against the door as his lips crash to yours. He pushes his body against yours as he slides his tongue into your mouth, the kiss becoming needy and passionate. Mingi's hands roam your body. You move your hand to his chest, feeling his hard muscles beneath his shirt, before moving your hand down over his stomach, feeling the rigidness of his abs. You move your hand lower, grazing your palm over the bulge in his crotch, making him moan into your mouth.

Mingi pulls himself away from you. "Open." He demands. You open your mouth, watching him as he places two fingers in your mouth. You close your mouth around his fingers, sucking them hard. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, turns you around,lifts your skirt up and moves your panties to the side. He takes his two fingers pushing them inside of you, making you moan.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, turning you around to lift up your dress, and moving your panties to the side. He takes his two wet fingers between your pussy lips, pushing them deep inside of you, making you cry out.

"Shit." You cry.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times before pulling them out, unbuttoning his pants, letting his cock spring free before lubing his cock with your juices. Mingi moves you to the counter, harshly bending you over. He lines his cock up with your opening, ramming himself into you.

You clench your teeth together as your pussy stretches out to fit his large cock. "Fuck." He grits, his hands holding onto your hips and he starts harshly thrusting in and out of you at a rapid pace. You can feel your pussy juices seeping from inside you every time he pulls himself out just enough, before slamming back into you. Mingi moves his hand from your hips wrapping his arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest.

“So fucking tight.” He groans, squeezing his arm around your neck tightly as he pushes his cock into you, even harder. His thrusts are fast and hard, your eyes roll back into your head with each thrust.

"Oh.. my.. god." You stutter, his arm squeezing tighter. His other hand reaches down between your legs, using two fingers to rub your clit quickly. "Shit. Fuck I'm going to cum." You cry out. His fingers rubbed quicker, moving his other hand up to your mouth, shoving his fingers into your mouth as he continued to rub your clit with his other hand. You suck on his fingers harder, your orgasm hitting seconds later, your body shaking as you work through your high, Mingi still pounding your pussy.

Mingi takes his hand from your mouth and away from your clit, bending you back over the sink, his fingertips digging into your hips as he works on his own orgasm.

“Cum in my pussy… please baby.” You pant.

Mingi grunts as his own orgasm hits, his legs shake as he shoots his load inside you. "Fuck." He groans, his cock throbbing, his thrusts slowing down as he milks himself, filling you up.

Mingi breathes as he pulls his cock out of you, tucking himself back into his pants before grabbing some tissue to clean you up.

“Thank you.” You murmur, your legs still shaking. Mingi laughs, helping you adjust your dress before throwing you over his shoulder.

“Let's get you home and in bed. You're not gonna be able to walk after round two.” He smirks.

“You think you're getting a second round?” You giggle. Mingi slaps your ass as he walks out of the bathroom with you.

“I'm getting a second, third and fourth round.” He murmurs. “San, cancel the meeting. I've got plans with my wife.” He shouts, walking out of the club with you draped over his shoulder.

“That's right baby, take me home.”

#mirohsaurorasociety #mingi smut #song mingi smut #ateez mingi #ateez mingi smut #ateez smut #mingi x reader #mingi x reader smut #ateez #kpop fanfic #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop smut

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doumadono · 2 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT

This is a turning point for me. I've been silent for too long, but I can't stay quiet anymore.

I'm going through writer's burnout, and it has hit me hard. I've been writing on Tumblr and Ao3 for nearly eight years now (with about 1.5 years on my private blog, doumadono). Over that time, I've written more than 400 stories across various fandoms, created the Sinful Sunday event and a series that many people like, helped many with numerous emergency requests — so many that one masterlist wasn't enough to cover them all.

But all of this has brought me to a place where writing no longer feels like a joy, but rather a duty. In my effort to make everyone happy, I lost myself and took on too much, accepting even the most twisted and difficult requests. It made me anxious and unwell whenever I thought about writing. This is why I haven't been posting much these past few weeks. I missed the breaking point and let myself reach a place where I was seriously considering quitting writing altogether and closing both my Tumblr and Ao3 accounts.

There's something else I need to address. I feel completely detached from Jujutsu Kaisen and Demon Slayer. I no longer feel comfortable writing for those fandoms. From now on, I'll be focusing mostly on My Hero Academia. Even though the manga recently ended, both the manga and the anime hold a special place in my heart. I’ve fallen in love with the story and its amazing characters. This is what feels right to me at this moment. That doesn't mean I'll never write for Demon Slayer or other fandoms again, but not now, not at this time. Maybe in the future — who knows?

Some of you might know that I've been dealing with a flood of hateful anonymous messages. Even though I’ve grown stronger and no longer consider them relevant, it still hurts to read such nasty words. This is another factor why I need to take a break.

So, what's going to change?

Sinful Sunday will no longer cover requests, and the event won't be as regular as it used to be. From now on, I'll post some sinful pieces specifically written for this event whenever I feel it's right. I'll write only for the characters I feel attached too.

Emergency requests will be limited to two slots and will no longer have a 48-hour window to be fulfilled. Once both slots are taken, emergency requests will be closed until I manage to clear the current asks in my inbox.

As of today, my ask box has been completely cleared. I won't be replying to any past asks, regardless of their origin or topic.

Commissions will remain open, as nearly all the requests have been fulfilled.

Regarding the following projects:

The Kvitravn series will be completed this year, but I can't provide a specific date just yet as I'm still working hard to bring everything together.

There's also a new series on the horizon featuring Dabi in the lead role, with a psychiatrist!Reader as the other main character.

As for Kinktober, I made a hard decision it will not be held as an event on my blog this year at all.

As of now, I want to focus on my own little My Hero Academia based AU that I created with my best friend @crystalwolfblog , and this is something that brings me a lot of comfort nowadays, and it's what I want to focus on. I’ll likely create another blog to post everything related to this AU, to keep things organized (the blog will be linked to my pinned post). This little AU was and is my safe haven for the past year and half, and since it contains all of my favourite characters, I want to focus on it fully.

The time for purification has come. I need to rediscover my purpose and find joy in writing again. To those who understand and have stuck with me since the ThePaperPanda days — you’re amazing and adorable, and I can never express how much I appreciate you, guys 💞

I want to share one last thought. This isn’t a statement, but rather a plea to readers: please respect writers, no matter the content they choose to explore. Writing is not as easy as it may seem; it requires a significant amount of time and effort, often taking up our personal time to craft a story. Don't send anon hate. Spread love instead! The least you can do to show your appreciation is to leave a comment, even if it’s just a word or two. For you, it’s a small gesture that takes less than a minute, but for the writer on the other side, it may be a much-needed sign that their work is meaningful. So if you enjoy an author’s work, don’t hesitate to leave a comment. It truly makes us writers feel like we’re on cloud nine.

Love you all, Marcianna

#announcement #writer burnout #my hero academia #dabi x reader #viking dabi #kvitravn #mha viking au #personal #writing commissions #commissions open #writers on writing #hard decisions #but i need to protect my own mental health #i am so sad #amd so tired #writer's life #writers on tumblr #author's rant

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zepskies · 3 months ago

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What Does "Supporting Writers" Mean? ✍️

Apparently it's Fanfic Writer Appreciation Day! To all my fellow writers, I truly appreciate you for bringing me joy, making me smile on rough days, and giving me my weekly/daily dose of escapism and warm fuzzies. (Shoutouts to you personally below.) 💓💓

But what does it mean "practically" to appreciate your favorite writers, especially on Tumblr?

For example, I know some fanfic authors are starting to block "serial likers": people who'll go through someone's entire masterlist and hit the "like" button on 20-something stories without commenting or basic reblogging.

While I think blocking them is extreme, I understand the authors' frustrations. I've actually been asked if I'll ever leave Tumblr, since many of them have dropped off over the past few months, or even the past few years.

I'm still here for two very important reasons:

I love to write about my favorite characters. I write primarily because I love it, not just for the kudos.

I'm friggin' blessed to have a lot of friends and lovely readers on here and Ao3 who support me immensely on my writing and on this blog in general. I love and appreciate each and every one of you! Which is why I do my best to reply to your comments and reblogs. 💖💖

Of course, there are many reasons why a writer might take a break or stop writing entirely, but one of those reasons is also why the #supportwriters tag exists...

And why you'll see us include banners like this on our posts:

(Credits: cafekitsune, me, inklore)

That being said, here's my own rule of thumb on how I try to support my fellow writers when I read something I enjoy:

If I "liked" something, it means I had the time to read a story all the way through and I enjoyed it! (Or I'm bookmarking it for later in the day lol)

If I have the time to read it, I have the time to leave a comment on what I liked the most about it.

If I have the time to write out a comment (anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes), I typically put that comment in a reblog -- maybe even add a gif or two for ✨razzle dazzle.✨ That way I can share it with the rest of my followers, so they can see it and hopefully enjoy it too...

Why? Because Tumblr isn't TikTok or IG. Reblogging is the best way to help a post gain traction on Tumblr. The algorithm doesn't care much about likes.

But on a more human level, supporting writers is just the basic thing of -- if you enjoyed something you read (that a writer shared for free), just let them know what you liked about it.

Remember that there's a person behind the content you enjoy. They might have been working on that story for weeks or months, or even years before they got the courage to post it.

They might really be putting themselves out there, writing about a topic or subject matter that they're not sure people will even like or engage with.

Maybe they're exploring something new, like a character or trope they've never written before.

Maybe they're expressing part of themselves that they haven't even told another living soul.

Maybe they just wanted to write something fun and smutty or angsty or fluffy and want to share the escapism with you.

Whether they've been writing for years or are just starting out, any and all is valid.

For me, as a writer and a reader, supporting my fellow writers often means supporting my friends. And 9 times out of 10, the way we became friends was by leaving feedback on their work and asking them questions, or responding to their awesome feedback on mine.

If you want a little jumpstart on how to leave feedback, whether encouraging or constructive, here's an awesome post about it (not mine).

Shoutout to some of my favorite writers 💞:

(In no particular order)

@waynes-multiverse @luci-in-trenchcoats @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior @thatonewriter15 @rizlowwritessortof

@waywardxwords @tofics @kaleldobrev @deanbrainrotwritings @deanwritings

@jawritter @deanwinchesterswitch @justagirlinafandomworld @ravengirl94 @waywardxwords

@spnbabe67 @deanwanddamons @ejlovespie @kittenofdoomage @venus-haze

@talltalesandbedtimestories @sam-is-my-safe-word @jacklesbrainworms @artyandink @princessmisery666 (I just starting reading your stories, but I'm continuing with Samnesia soon!) -- and I'm sure many more! 💋

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joelscruff · 1 year ago

Text

stress relief (boyfriend's dad!joel x f!reader) 18+

this is part of my boyfriend's dad!joel series and takes place relatively early on in their relationship, between "safety" and "quickie". so due to me getting covid, i haven't written anything in the past little while. i'm still struggling with a lot of brain fog but i needed some more boyfriend's dad!joel in my life so here we are. hope yall like it 💕 and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip (completely optional but always appreciated). summary: joel has a deadline he has to meet. perfect time for you to try cockwarming ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ratings: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: age gap, daddy kink, unprotected p in v sex, cockwarming, creampie, biting (blink and you'll miss it), cheating word count: 3.4k

sex with joel starts slow and easy.

the next time you see him, about a week after that tender moment between the two of you, you have sex with him in his office. it's quiet and careful, a private rendezvous that your boyfriend is blissfully unaware of. he games downstairs in his bedroom while his father pushes his cock inside of you and kisses you sweetly, over and over. your hands tangle in his hair, his glasses bumping against your nose until they fall to the floor along with your panties and his belt.

"oh honey," he groans in your ear as he fucks you deep, your hands digging into the cotton of his sweater as you lay beneath him on the couch, "that's it, sweetheart, there you go." his words have a power over you that you can't define, can only feel. you shudder and pull him closer as you come on his cock, whimpering in his ear.

"daddy," you find yourself whining; it's the first time you've said it out loud, and for a moment you're scared he'll stop, your hands still scrambling against his back and trying to pull him closer in case he does.

he doesn't say anything at first, but he pulls back and looks down at you with a curiosity in his soft brown eyes that doesn't seem disgusted or angry. your fingers dig into his back and you pull your lip between your teeth, panting as he continues to fuck you slow.

"daddy," you whisper again, staring directly in his eyes; a challenge? a message? you're not sure. he stares back for a few more moments, a few more thrusts. and then-

"that's right, babygirl," he murmurs, picking up the pace and reaching down to cradle your face in his big hands, thumbing your warm cheeks, "takin' it so good for your daddy, aren't you?"

and that's it. no complex conversations, no questions or arguments, he takes it at face value and that's that. he understands you. he knows that you need this. no judgement.

he finishes inside you - upon your request. you've been on birth control for a long time and you trust him, somehow even more than your own boyfriend. he wraps his arms around you tightly on the couch, pistons into you while you tug at his hair and moan against his lips. he fucks his come deep inside you until you see stars, then kisses you all over and murmurs the sweetest things, tells you you're perfect, that you did so well. the words and actions leave you in a state of pleasure and contentment you've never felt before. not until him.

he cleans you up and gets you dressed and then holds you in his lap while you bury your face in his neck and tell him all the things that have been bothering you lately. he listens and hums and kisses your nose and tells you he'll be here for you always. and you believe him.

"thank you, daddy," you say softly to him as you leave his office; he seems surprised by the word in a non-sexual context, eyebrows going up. but his surprised expression quickly fades into a tender smile.

"you're welcome, sweetheart," he says, voice soft and kind, "text me if you need to."

the next time you go back, you're afraid he'll have changed his mind. now that he's had you, fucked you, part of you anticipates that he'll end it, especially considering the daddy shit. you plan out in your head what you want to say before he can get a chance to break it off: i've never called anyone it before, it just slipped out. i just feel so safe with you. if it makes you uncomfortable i won't say it anymore, but please don't leave me. please.

it turns out your speech is unnecessary. when you find a free moment to sneak up to his office, he immediately pulls you into his arms and kisses your forehead, trails his fingers up and down your back and whispers, "how's daddy's girl?"

you don't worry about it anymore after that.

"are you stressed?" you ask him one evening, that special day of the week when your boyfriend is beyond distracted by a tournament and barely even registers your existence; you'd come up to joel's office about fifteen minutes ago and he still hasn't noticed you never came back.

you've been watching joel work; that's what you like a lot about this relationship - it's not always about sex. sometimes you just sit in each other's presence, him working while you study a bit for a community college exam you've got coming up. you feel so safe just co-existing with him, never bored or on edge like you are when you're with your boyfriend.

joel is poring over blueprints at his desk, running his hands through his hair and grimacing down at the stack of papers like they're his worst enemy. he looks up at you when you speak, throws you a crooked smile.

"a little bit, honey," he says, eyes scanning back down at the papers as he gnaws his bottom lip, "got a job comin' up and we don't have nearly enough people to get it done in time. tryin' to figure out a schedule without overworkin' these poor folks."

you smile softly, "you're a good boss."

he shakes his head and chuckles to himself, "i don't know about that, but i'm sure as hell tryin'."

he leans back in his desk chair and sighs deeply, pushing his glasses down his nose and thumbing the space between his eyebrows like he always does when he's a little stressed. the way he pushes his legs open, presses up against the back of the chair... it looks like the perfect place to sit.

you get up from the couch and seat yourself in his lap, smirking when he doesn't even protest. he just leans back and smiles up at you, clicking his teeth and shaking his head, "you here to de-stress me?" he asks playfully, one of his hands coming up to squeeze your ass through your shorts.

"maaaybe," you reply melodically, rotating your hips a bit and smiling when you feel his cock already starting to harden in his pants, "if you'll let me."

he sighs to himself, still smiling but shaking his head, "you know i can't today, babygirl. got so much on my plate, need to have it done by five."

"i know," you pout, bringing your hands up to massage his shoulders a bit; his eyes close at your touch, lips parting as he enjoys a brief moment of pleasure, "i just hate seeing you stressed."

he grunts at that, eyes still closed as he leans back even further in the chair. you take this opportunity to grind your hips down into him again, your clothed pussy already getting wet with the sensation. he's almost fully hard now; it's so easy to get him turned on, to make him hard. how he has a better sex drive than your boyfriend is a complete mystery to you - the man is in his 40s and still manages to fuck you every time you ask for it, no pills necessary, sometimes not even any foreplay. meanwhile you can barely even recall the last time your boyfriend gave you any kind of worthwhile experience.

you lean forward to rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, still rubbing and grinding as you whisper in his ear, "want you inside."

he groans, low and quiet, "fuck, sweetheart, why are you doin' this to me?" he doesn't sound irritated, proving it to you when his hands come up to slowly caress your back, "you know how hard it is for me to say no to you."

"then don't," you whisper, breath hot and wet in his ear. your hands move from his shoulders and carefully begin to undo his belt, fingers fumbling slightly due to the odd angle.

"honey, i gotta do my work," he murmurs, but you feel him press a soft kiss to the side of your face, almost like he's encouraging you to keep going, "daddy's busy right now."

you free his belt from its loops and toss it aside, your thighs loosening around him as you go for his zipper and start to pull it down, "then keep doing your work, i just wanna sit on it."

"oh fuck," he mutters, swallowing tightly as you finish unzipping him and begin to tug his waistband down. you both watch as his cock springs free, big and solid between you. you're practically dripping in your underwear, only getting wetter at the sight of him.

"can i sit on it, daddy?" you breathe, pulling back a bit to look into his eyes and give him your most innocent and pleading stare, "please?"

he groans again, shaky and husky as he begins to quickly nod, "yeah, okay, babygirl, you wanna sit on it? you sit on it."

with elation warming your chest you hurriedly stand up and yank off your shorts and underwear, loving the feeling of his eyes on your pussy for the briefest moment before you're back in his lap. he's dripping precum and you use it to your advantage, thumbing it from the tip and spreading it along his length in a few slow pumps. he moans softly and you smirk as you pull yourself up to position him at your entrance, warm and wet.

"you just keep doing what you're doing," you murmur in his ear as you slowly ease yourself down on his cock, letting out a few shaky whimpers, "a-and i'll just sit here 'til you're done."

he waits until he's fully sheathed inside of you to speak, one of his hands squeezing your ass again as he bottoms out, "and you really think you can just sit there without movin', huh?"

you nod, burying your face in his neck again and pressing your body tighter against his, gasping slightly when you feel the head of his cock prod your favorite spot deep inside you. he's so big and thick, exactly what you need every single time.

"i guess we'll see," he says softly, then carefully wheels the chair a bit closer to his desk, hands moving to grip your thighs as he goes back to his blueprints. the movement makes you whimper again, eyes shutting as you gasp into his skin, "i know, babygirl," he murmurs, "i know."

you both do surprisingly well for the first ten minutes or so. it's certainly an adjustment, having joel's cock so deep inside you without any sort of riding or thrusting, or any movement at all for that matter. you close your eyes and just focus on the feeling of being held, being full. you inhale his cologne and bask in the comfort and safety of it, nuzzle against the scruff of his beard and settle more loosely into his lap.

joel manages to do some work, pencil scratching here and there as he crosses things out and adds new things in, consults lists and tries to organize things better. you like listening to him work, like it even better when you can sit like this and be so close to him while he does it. why haven't you tried this sooner? there's something so relaxing about it, so soothing.

you wonder if your boyfriend has noticed your absence yet; it's almost like a game for you at this point, finding out when exactly he cares to notice that you're not in his room anymore, that you're not just sitting on his bed watching him yell at people online. it usually takes about an hour or so, and by that point you and joel have usually finished. you wish you had more time to spare with him, wish you could just be with him like this without the constant time limit looming over your head.

"feels so good," you find yourself whispering softly, and the sound of your voice makes his cock pulse inside you; you smirk at the reaction.

"it does," he agrees quietly, typing something into his computer but wasting no time in turning his head slightly to kiss your temple, "so tight around me, baby."

"love being full of you," you murmur, placing a kiss against his jaw in return, "love your cock."

he hums and noses your cheek, still typing something as he does it. you can't help but think of all the times you tried to show your boyfriend some affection while he was gaming and had just been met with anger and irritation. meanwhile joel has a deadline he's trying to meet but still makes time for this. the difference is staggering.

things start to get a bit difficult around the twenty minute mark; joel had moved the chair slightly and it had somehow resulted in his cock pushing just a little bit further inside, brushing the spot that makes you crazy. you're tensing around him now, breaths coming out a bit shorter as you dig your nails into his back and try your hardest not to move. he knows something's different, can feel the way your body language has changed in his lap.

"just a few more minutes, babygirl," he whispers, one of his hands dancing soothingly along your back, "almost done."

"i can't," you find yourself whining, thighs tightening in his lap as the head of his cock pulses and throbs against the deepest part of you, "i can't daddy, it's so much."

"i know," he murmurs, still rubbing your back as he clicks a few things with his mouse, "i know, baby, it's so deep, huh? but you can do it, just two more minutes."

you nod against his shoulder and whimper pitifully, wishing and hoping internally that it'll somehow be less than that. you're so wet, body aching as you brace down on his cock and wrap your arms tightly around him in the chair. you can feel every inch of him within your walls, every vein, every heavy throb, so big and thick inside of you that you almost want to cry. you're so full of him and so overwhelmed by his scent surrounding you, pulling you in.

"daddy," you whimper, biting down on your lip to try and keep your voice down, "daddy, i'm gonna come."

he's done clicking the mouse and back to typing, hand coming down from your back as he does the last few finishing touches to the schedule he's been working on this whole time, "that's alright, honey," he says quietly, "that's okay, you can come."

"n-need to move, just a little bit," you whisper, "just for a second."

"thought you said you'd be able to stay still, babygirl?" he murmurs, a hint of playfulness in his voice, "thought you just wanted to sit on daddy's cock, nothin' else?"

you whine in his ear, arms tightening around him, "i can't," you moan, almost shaking as your orgasm stirs in your belly, so close but so far, "it's too much, it's too big, i-"

"shhh," his hands are suddenly at your hips, fingers pressing into the soft skin as he holds you firmly on his cock, "it's okay, baby, i'm done, i'm all done."

"you are?" you pull back to look at him and you're ridiculously surprised to see that he looks just as wrecked as you feel; he's taken off his glasses, brow furrowed in pleasure while spots of red bloom across his skin. his eyes are dark and hooded, lips wet and red like he's spent the past half an hour biting them - he probably has.

"i am," he says, voice deep and husky, "you did so good, sweetheart, so good for me," his gaze falls to where you're connected, and you can both see the way your wetness has stained his jeans, his underwear. he groans at the sight and pulls you against him again, one hand pressing flat against your back while the other travels upward to tangle in your hair, "hold on to me, angel."

it's all the warning you get before he's fucking up into you, hard and fast. it's like you haven't both spent the past twenty five minutes in quiet agony, the way he holds you tight and fucks you like you only have a few minutes. and maybe you do - you never know when your boyfriend might knock on the office door, wondering where you are. but that's part of the fun.

"there you go" he grunts in your ear, and you swear you feel him smile against your skin when you start to come, body shaking around him as you cry out and hold onto him tighter, "that's what my babygirl needed, huh?"

it's so hard to be quiet when you're having sex with joel - it's arguably the best sex of your life every single time. you're so close to screaming from the pleasure, from the relentless thrusts of his cock against your cervix while his balls slap against your ass. you have no choice but to dig your teeth into the thick cotton of his sweater, hoping he'll be okay with it, that it won't hurt him too much.

"oh fuck," he groans; clearly he's okay with it because the second your teeth dig into him he's gone, hips stuttering as he stills inside of you and pumps you full, fingers digging perfectly into your hips just the way you like.

you try to say daddy but your mouth is too full for the word to sound like anything substantial, though somehow he knows what you're trying to say. his hands come up to hold you close to him again, his lips pressing kiss after kiss along your cheek and jaw, murmuring praises until he's finished.

both of you sit there in silence for a few moments, catching your breaths and just existing with each other. eventually you have to clamor out of his lap, cock slipping out and making you both moan at the loss. it feels so strange to not have him inside anymore, not after being connected for so long.

he stands and tucks himself back into his pants, zipping himself up and looping his belt while you tug your panties back on. he watches, eyes still dark as you finger some of his come back inside yourself before pulling up your shorts. if there's anything you've both learned from these secret sessions, it's that you love being full of his release. and he loves that you love it.

"that was certainly something," he says with a breathless laugh, eyes coming back up to meet yours, "lasted much longer than i thought i would."

you grin, "did you actually get your work done?"

he grimaces, eyeing the computer, "i think so, but i'm gonna have to check it again and make sure i didn't accidentally put something about your pussy in there."

you feel yourself flush, looking shyly down at the floor, "yeah, that'd be bad."

he takes a step toward you and brings you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head a few times before settling his chin there. you shiver and press your face against his chest, unable to stop tears from pricking in your eyes. you squeeze him tighter and he tilts his head down a bit, nosing your hair, "what's on your mind, sweetheart?" god, he always knows when your mind is somewhere else, can always tell when there's something you're not saying.

"i just..." you sigh contentedly against his chest, squeezing your eyes shut and reveling in the safety of his embrace, "i just really like being with you, joel."

you don't say the other thing you're feeling, the big L word that's starting to feel like a weight on your chest every time you're with him. but it's only been two months, not to mention you're literally dating his son. how did you manage to get in this situation? how have you managed to fall in love with your boyfriend's father?

"i really like being with you too," he whispers softly, presses another kiss to your hair.

and it's enough for now.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #*#fic: bd!joel

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easy-there-leftovers · 4 months ago

Text

Doctor

Summary: Spencer's been there when you had been feeling rather inadequate, for lack of a better term. It's about time that you return the favor. (Written with early s2! Spencer in mind)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem! (mentored by Hotch!) reader| cw: Spencer being unsure (is that a warning? lol), touchy reader, non canon case, vague timeline, reader and Spence being sapiosexual dumbasses, as per usual (weirdos) | word count: 2.3k

Budget cuts suck, especially if that meant doubling up and sharing a room with one of your colleagues. Or worse— your boss.

It's been a few months since your last GSW, and things haven't been much different. Or maybe it only was because you had been so out of the loop for a while that you hadn't noticed if it was. You hadn't changed up your routine nor your demeanor, so perhaps the others were just following your lead and brushing it off as nothing.

You still feel the occasional stares of literally anyone from your workplace, but you've learned to ignore it since dwelling on it never did you any good.

But you suppose something had changed.

Your relationship with your contemporary.

To be more specific, Dr. Reid had become more accustomed to seeking you out. Engaging in conversation with you more than the previous usual. It wasn't extremely unlike him to do so before, but his persistence has surely increased since your conversation at the hospital. Keeping to his intentions of having more dialogue between you two.

The same couldn't be said about the past week or two, however. While it didn't seem like he was completely avoiding you, you've noticed that you've had more opportunities to talk to Elle, JJ, and Morgan more than you have him. As if the overall frequency of his exchanges with everyone had somehow diminished.

You were going to find out why.

"Looks like we're doubling up." Your unit chief had briefed when you made it the shitty motel.

And your plan starts now.

Spencer feels an arm snake around his waist which makes him look up from his notes, and he's not surprised to see that it's yours. If anyone had to be making decisive contact with him, it would've been you.

"What is it?" He whispers carefully since Hotch is still talking. Used to your touch it at this point.

"Would you like to sleep with me, Dr. Reid?" He clears his throat instinctively.

Your indelicate remarks however, most likely never.

Since your little incident, he's discovered that you're less careful with your diction outside of work and it has certainly thrown him off but he knows that's just how you are. You and your forever unreadable expressions and contrasting sentiments.

Before he can answer however, Morgan's voice cuts through.

"I'm not sleeping with Reid." Everyone looks to him, except Garcia who immediately calls dibs on Derek, and he feels your arm slowly pull away.

Aaron looks from you to Spencer with that usual expression of his before exhaling deeply with crossed arms.

"I assume you're rooming with her?"

Seeing that you're no longer facing him, Spencer can only give your mentor a meek nod. Feeling the same wariness one would feel in the presence of someone's father.

The rest then picked their respective roommates and disband. Reminding one another to meet at the entrance tomorrow bright and early.

———————————————

Lately, Reid has become aware of a lot of things. Things that he never had to worry about before, but ever since Morgan had told him how you felt about the team, he had started questioning his place too.

He has never been ashamed of his intelligence. Far from it, actually. It's the one thing that he's ever been confident in and it's lead him to places that, he thinks, bettered him. Like coaching his high school basketball team, graduating with three PhD's, or getting into the BAU.

But he also fears that part of him alienates him from the others. That his intellect might be the very reason that will, or already, keep him from forming lasting and meaningful relationships. Even more troubling, that he might never live up to the expectations that everyone has of him.

Both as a colleague, and as a friend.

It's worse when the only person on the team that might not feel this way about him is you. Which then comes with its own set of problems.

You had been nothing but well-intentioned since the very start, practically shadowing him throughout everything. Being there to reinforce his confidence with your keen insight, your reflective encouragement, and your comforting presence—all things that made him feel seen.

But with the few times that you weren't there, it unnerved him. As if something was missing. Like it became an unshakeable habit to look over his shoulder and he would find you right there. So when you weren't there, it jus didn't seem right.

And he felt bad about it.

By the time that you had finished showering, you see Spencer with his hair still lightly damp from the one before yours. Head resting on his hand with a lone finger covering his mouth as if thinking deeply while sitting on the bedside's edge.

You take the opportunity to sit on the floor adjacent his tucked legs and he blinks out of his trance when he sees you lay your head on them. He doesn't mind, but he still feels a little bad.

And it's not about the shared single bed.

He felt as if he was taking advantage of your kindness. That by allowing himself to indulge in your brand of 'friendship,' he was effectively isolating you from the others. That for whatever reason, he just got lucky that you seemed to prefer him over them when he was arguably the most difficult to be with

That if you ever caught wind of his feelings towards you, it would ruin the current dynamic you had. He wasn't the type to catastrophize, he of all people should know the dangers of entertaining such thoughts, but lately your presence has had quite the influence on him.

Which is why he's been trying to make himself scarce until he found out how to deal with it.

You wait patiently by his legs. Gauging when he would finish his line of thought before asking, plainly and simply,

"How are you feeling, Spencer?"

In this room where it's just you and him, he's called 'Spencer.' No titles, no niceties, just his name. A luxury that no one else from the team has yet to earn from you.

He breathes out slowly when the pressure in his chest finally feels like too much, but he still can't seem to say what's on his mind. Worried that by telling you any of this, it would only add more weight onto your already abundant plate.

You trace your fingers on the skin that you can reach and he laughs a bit when it tickles. That seems to make you smile, and the sight makes his own grow ever so slightly before you continue,

"I'm not a doctor, nor do I have a doctorate like you—,"

"Three doctorates." He corrects and you roll your eyes playfully at that.

"Three doctorates. Fact of the matter is; I'm not a doctor but— I think I might be able to help."

You motion for him to lend you his hand, the one no longer holding his head, and he gives it to you willingly. Still feeling somewhat guilty when just that amount of contact does actually help him.

You know that you shouldn't profile your friends, but there's a reason why you're in the BAU and not anywhere else.

"So what are your symptoms?" You sense that this is a case that must be handled with a bit of humor, so you make that evident in your delivery.

He clears his throat and furrows his eyes, as if actually treating pretending that he was your patient before ultimately shaking his head with a tight-lipped smile.

"Actually, the symptoms aren't that simple." You hum at that, and get up to stand in front of him.

When he sees you get up though, he feels his hand instinctively tighten over yours. Worried that you were closing the conversation because he was being inarticulate, he goes to apologize but he feels yours squeeze him back before he can.

You notice a few stray strands of hair from your new vantage point. You carefully free both of your hands to tuck them behind his ears, and let one rest gently on the side of his face. Holding it in place, and allowing you to see his expression more clearly.

He feels a bit shy at the attention, but he finds himself leaning onto your hand with a confused expression. You breathe out in mirth and that only seems to confuse him even more.

"You better stop looking at me like that before I do something terrible."

He furrows his brows at that. Hand coming up to rest on top of yours. "Like what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty boy." You continue to observe him, much to his chagrin. Assessing the situation before sighing out.

His hesitance from earlier told you everything you needed to know.

"Do you want to try telling me again, or would you like a diagnosis now?"

He looks into your eyes and sees that you're serious so he just nods slowly. Not really sure what to expect since there's no way that you could've gotten anything from him.

"My diagnosis says that you have 'intellectual schism syndrome.' Common to manifest in young geniuses like you. Characterized by a dependence on one's intelligence as their source of fulfillment, and yet simultaneously fear it as the root of their social isolation and relational difficulties."

You pause to gauge his expression once more before continuing.

"You may have been born with all the wonderful things that help you with this job, but you need to remember that's not the reason why people care about you. You can ask for help. Your worth as an individual isn't dependent on your perceived use."

You let the words hang in the air a bit before correcting yourself, "I mean, that's only when it comes to personal relationships. This job? Well—maybe we'll think about it before kicking you to the curb."

He lifts his face from your hold, still grasping your hand, before shaking his head. As if still not understanding something but he eventually finds the words the words to express that.

"That—That's not an actual syndrome; it's not recognized nor documented in any psychological or medical literature."

You scoff at that. "Yeah, I sure it hope it's not. I'm not a doctor, remember?"

He searches your face for an answer before breathing out incredulously. "Did you know that you have an incredible knack for saying the most terrible things?"

You smile at that. "Was I wrong?"

He think about the answer to that, before shaking his head 'no.' Because you're partially right, but he'd rather not correct you on what you're missing.

He looks down at your still intertwined hands, god he's been holding onto it for a while now, before quietly asking,

"Uh, how did you—?" He trails off. Not really knowing what he's asking.

You shrug. "You forget who you're working with. I notice these things, I notice you."

He flexes his eyebrows and thinks for a moment. "So what's your prognosis?"

You look to the corner of the small motel room to think before eventually settling on an answer.

"Only you can really find that out, Spencer."

You look back to see him already looking at you. "Your intelligence is an integral part of who you are, and that's why you're here. Your intellect isn't a barrier—it's a strength. So do what you will with that information."

"What if I can't find the answer?"

"Hm,"

Your legs are starting to get tired, so you move to get on the bed with him. Making sure that there's enough space for the both of you as you settle in. "You always have friends that can help you. Miss Jareau, Sir Morgan, Sir Hotchner, Miss—“

"Even you?"

The face he's making makes your chest feel tight, like there's a pressure building there and yet you don't know why. With his unusually shy behavior, and rounder eyes, it makes your usually impassive expression (to everyone else on the team, at least) soften.

"Especially me."

You pat the spot next to you as you recognize that you should've been asleep an hour ago. Telling Reid that you two should probably sleep so that you can make it tomorrow without being tired and he does just that.

"You don't think I rely on you too much?" You furrow your brows at that. Now looking at him from down on the bed.

"Not any more than you do sir Morgan."

He tries to see the point you're making but fails. So he turns to look at you.

"I don't really...rely on him."

"Exactly."

"...So I don't?"

"How about this," you can tell that being roundabout your answer isn't going to cut it, so you're going to have to switch gears.

"I don't think you do. But even if you did, I wouldn't mind. So if you find yourself ever needing, or wanting," you punctuate this with an earnest look into his eyes, "help from me specifically, in any way, at any time, just come to me—and ask for help. Say something like um, I don't know, uh—" you shake your head as you try to think.

'I need your help,' is too vague, you hear it all the time during cases. 'Could you do me a favor,' won't work either since it doesn't really excuse the both of you so—

"Can we look at this?", "I need you?"

You laugh. Actually laugh out loud at what you just heard. The words you just said practically blended into one another to the point where you don't even know who said what anymore, but that didn't really matter.

Spencer feels his face flush, and his volume increases due to his embarrassment. "Hey, I was just trying to—"

A loud knock is heard from the room's wall, followed by Morgan's voice.

"Newsflash, kids. Some of us are actually trying to sleep. Go argue about your theories later."

The boy-genius and you make eye contact before trying to stifle your laughter, you having a much harder time than the former before revisiting the conversation.

"You know what to tell me when you need me, yeah?"

He nods.

"Let's go to sleep."

You say goodnight, before turning your back to him so you can process what's going on. You wonder if the buzzing feeling you have would go away in time for an actual restful sleep.

You could use one on this case because it seems like the more you uncover, the more you're confused. Theories of all kinds swim in your head, ready to occupy your thoughts for a little while longer before hopefully sending you to a peaceful slumber.

Hotch is going to need you two ready and working.

And because of your nerves, you don't even notice Spencer turning his back to you too. Wondering if you had been feeling the same thing he was from the situation, from the contact, from the conversation, from everything.

Unlike you, he's for sure not getting any sleep.

[a/n] Every time I write for Spencer with this reader, he just can't catch a break-- Send in some ideas for the next part of the anthology if you'd like!! Like certain character interactions, dynamics, etc. I'd like to see what you're interested in seeing :DD

taglist: @crazychaoticizzy

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x mentored by hotch! reader #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot

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gor3-hound · 11 months ago

Text

are you lonely?

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, incest, dad leon, 18+ reader(obviously), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dubcon??(just to be safe), a lot of self-loathing and guilt on leon's part

a/n: i apologise wholeheartedly if i tagged anything incorrectly, this is my first time ever posting something i've written(and one of my first times finishing an idea), but i will try my hardest. THIS IS DARK CONTENT, so please be careful reading and scroll if you don't like it!! also genuinely please tell me if i missed any tags! hope you like it :)

word count: 2.4k words

It never gets easier. Every single mission manages to drain Leon more than the last. He almost just gave up on it all a long time ago - he would have if it wasn't for one thing.

You.

As he opens the door from another exhausting mission, he's hit with the smell of home cooked food that has his mouth watering. The house is spotless, as always. Floors completely polished, the sound of music coming from the kitchen has him dragging his feet there on autopilot, eyes settling on you.

His sweet daughter is at the stove, stirring something in a pot. You haven't even noticed he's home yet, humming along to the music coming from your phone softly as you cook. He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest, just gazing at you for a few moments.

God, he missed you.

“Hey, honey.” He hums, the corner of his mouth twitching in a close approximation of a smile, about all he can manage after the shit he's seen this past week. Your movements pause, and then you're tilting your head over your shoulder to look at him.

“Dad! You're home!” You exclaim, shooting him a smile that lights up your whole face. He barely has time to react before your arms are wrapped around his torso, giving him a tight hug. He never feels like he deserves your affection. He's barely even around, but you're always clinging to him like a needy puppy when he is.

“Mhm. Managed to finish up a little early.” He mumbles, a hand coming to your head to press it against his chest, giving your waist a little squeeze with his other one. Doesn't bother telling you about what he was doing. Doesn't want you worrying. “You miss me?”

“Course I did.” You reply without hesitation, giving him a squeeze in return before pulling away from him. “Gotta keep cooking before it burns, though. You hungry?” You ask softly, returning to the stove.

He hums softly, eyes lingering on you as he walks away. He finds himself looking at you for a little too long, blinking his eyes to snap himself out of it. “Yeah, I could eat.”

His gaze finds you again before long. His eyes flick over your form, hovering on your curves for a moment before he frowns. Jesus. Since when did he look at his daughter like that? Since when did his daughter look like that? Must of been a while, but he's only really noticing it now

He's only been gone for a week, but it feels like a lifetime. You're always so happy to see him, always acting so domestic. You cook for him, clean for him and cuddle up to him after he's had a particularly tough day.

You'd make a good wife for someone one day.

His frown deepens as his brain supplies that thought to him. Is this what's happening to him now? He's so sick that he's attracted to his own damn daughter? Is that really how fucked up his life has got?

He gets a little weird after that, eating dinner with you in silence when it's done before rushing off to the bedroom. You ask him about 100 times what's wrong, but he always gives you the same ‘it's nothing, honey, just tired.’ You don't believe a word of it, naturally. You know your dad better than that, know when something’s bothering him

And you're a sweet girl. Too sweet for him, if he's being honest. So he shouldn't be surprised when you go to check on him after you clean up the dishes before you go to bed. But he wasn't thinking right, and you walk in on him right as he's pumping his dick to the thought of you.

“Shit…” He breathes out as he sees you in the doorway. He thinks he's going to be sick when the sight of your surprised face is what tips him over the edge, your pretty lips parted in shock as he cums harder than he has in years.

Post-nut clarity hits him like a train, guilt clawing its way up his chest, nausea setting in. “Fuck, baby. I'm so sorry.” He says quickly, too stunned to move. His hand is still gripping his cock, still hard and leaking, his hand coated in his release.

And you're just staring, unable to take your eyes away. Makes your stomach flip and your heart beat faster. You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He quickly seems to snap out of his daze and yanks the cover over himself, his jaw tightening as he refuses to meet your eyes.

You find yourself disappointed that you can't see him like that anymore, a frown tugging at your face. “It's okay, dad.” You manage to say, voice a little strained. Heat pools in your stomach, and you fidget a little as you stand in the doorway, your common sense warring with what you wanted.

“I just wanted to check on you.” You say after a moment of silence, Leon still not looking at you. “You seemed… weird at dinner. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You continue to stand awkwardly in the doorway before you shift further into the room. Against your better judgement, you sit on the edge of his bed, trying to catch his eye.

“It's okay, dad. Really.” You tell him, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek. He lets out a stifled groan, his eyes squeezing shut. You're too good for him. “My fault for not knocking.”

His eyes crack open to meet yours, and he slowly realises he's found you beautiful for a long time - more than what's considered acceptable as a father. Ever since you came back from college during one of your breaks, filling out your clothes in a way you never had before, looking up at him with those pretty eyes…

Fuck. He's sick. He deserves to rot in hell. He'd noticed long ago, pushed the thoughts away so he could be the father you deserved. And you're perfect. So goddamn beautiful, like you were made for him. Your hand is so warm and soft where it cups his cheek, your touch so gentle.

He's been so, so lonely. And you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen, brows furrowed in concern as he refuses to answer you. Knows if he opens his mouth, he's gonna say some shit he regrets.

He ends up doing something he's gonna regret, anyway. Can't help himself when you're giving him those eyes. He's grabbing you by the cheeks, pulling you into a kiss without even thinking about it.

You pull away, and he whimpers. He tugs you back in again, kissing you with more fervour this time. Your body freezes up, then you find yourself kissing back, and he's not sure if that's worse or not. Guilt is eating him alive, but he can't help himself.

“I'm so sorry, baby.” He murmurs between kisses, desperately tugging you closer to him. His tongue slips into your mouth, and he moans softly as your own prods against his. “Can't help it. You're so pretty.”

This time, you're the one deepening the kiss. His hands find your waist, his grip tightening. He didn't realise how badly he needed this. Needed you. He can feel how badly you want him, the way you're pressing up against him as he kisses you.

It's so wrong. He wants to do so many things to you. You want him in a way no one has ever wanted him before, even more than your mom ever did. It's intoxicating, makes him dizzy. He feels so pathetic. What kind of sicko wants to fuck his own daughter? He's your dad. He should be protecting you from creeps like this, not making a move on you.

“Baby…” He breathes out, pulling away from your mouth, his heart hammering in his chest at the disappointed look that spreads across your face. “We can't do this. Y'know that, yeah?”

But his hands move to settle on your hips, tugging you into his lap, the duvet the only thing separating you from sitting on his bare cock that he never had a chance to shiver back into his pants after you caught him. He's not strong enough, needs you to be the one to bring him to his senses. You just needed to say no, and he'd be able to stop. But you don't, and he's too weak to do it himself. Far too weak.

“Daddy…” You breathe out, frown tugging at your lips. “Please? Just this once?”

How is he meant to say no to that? He buries the guilt, buries the self-loathing. He's good at that - pushing away his feelings and pretending that everything's okay. He can't deny his pretty girl of anything, especially not when she asks so sweetly.

So he kisses you again. It's a messy, sloppy kiss, one that has him groaning and rocking his hips up to get some kind of friction on his aching cock. It twitches, already leaking pre-cum. He can't even remember the last time he fucked someone. Can't believe he's about to fuck you. He's tempted to cut his dick off after this. Doesn't deserve it.

It's not long before his hands are pawing desperately at your pants, tugging them off along with your panties. He keeps your shirt on, pretends that makes him better, even if he wants to see how your tits bounce. Hey, he thinks, at least I had some self-control.

You moan so prettily when his thumb brushes your clit, rubbing slow circles into it. You're already so wet, his cock jumping with interest. Even Hell is too good for him.

Your hands slip down to tug at the fabric separating the two of you, your hips only hovering long enough to pull the duvet down and expose him, a low whine spilling from your lips.

“Want it, daddy. Please?” You murmur, dipping your head down to kiss his neck, making him suppress a groan.

“Yeah, baby. Anything you want.” He breathes out, his free hand reaching for the base to make his cock stand tall, offering it up like some kind of treat while his other hand still rubs lazy circles onto your clit.

You both moan in sync as you lower yourself onto his length. His hand slips to your hip, gripping it to guide your movements. His hips buck up into you, his tip brushing your cervix whenever you sink down fully onto him.

You're so wet, and you squeeze him just right. He's going to go insane. There's no way he can help himself now. He's never gonna stop thinking about how good you feel wrapped around him.

“Fuck, honey. Pussy's made just for me,” he groans, cringing as he says the words. He's never been a fan of dirty talk, feels awkward. Worse when he thinks about who he's fucking. But you feel so good, he really can't stop himself. His brain isn't working anymore.

“You're so big.” You whine, grinding your hips down against him more than actually riding him, like you don't want his dick to leave you for even a moment. Cute. He almost cums just at the way your face twists as he fucks up into you.

“S’all yours, baby. C'mon,” he coos, thumb slipping away from your clit and making you whimper, just so he can grab your waist with both hands. “Ride daddy.”

He lifts you up and down, helping you ride him. You rock your hips desperately, moaning as he presses up against your sweet spot with every thrust, picking up the pace as he fucks into you. He's able to manhandle you so easily, which only has you moaning louder, your eyes fluttering shut.

With his hands occupied with gripping your waist as he helps you fuck yourself on his dick, you bring your own hand down to rub at your clit, making the heat in your stomach build rapidly.

The bed creaks as he picks up the pace again, rutting deeper into you than before, your pussy making the most obscene squelching noises. It's downright sinful, Leon has to use all of his focus to stop himself from cumming right then and there. Fuck, if it wasn't for him jerking off right before you came in, he'd have cum as soon as he saw your pretty pussy.

You're close, biting your lip to sniffle your moans as they grow louder, fingers moving faster against your clit. Your dad notices, shifting his hips until he's pounding relentlessly into your sweet spot, making you see stars.

He feels his chest swell with pride when he feels you tense up, pussy clenching around his cock deliciously as your orgasm hits, juices gushing past his cock and coating his balls. He didn't even know he still had it in him, thought his dick game died in his 20s. This was a pleasant surprise.

His balls tighten, and he knows he's about to cum. He grunts and goes to pull you off of him, but you whine and shake your head, pushing yourself down. “S'okay, daddy. I'm on birth control. Wanna feel it, please.”

He frowns a little at that. He doesn't like thinking about other guys fucking you. You're his princess, a sweet girl. Your daddy will take care of you, not these other losers. God, he's fucked up.

“Yeah, baby? Want daddy to fill you up?” He grunts, flipping you over with ease so your back's pressed to the bed, him hovering over you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, head hanging and bangs covering his eyes.

“Fuck.” He hisses as he buries himself balls deep in you, cock kicking inside your pussy as he cums. He pants a little as he fills you, he's not quite as young as he used to be. Takes it out of him sometimes.

He pulls out and slumps next to you. You cuddle up to him instantly, and that guilt and shame comes to the surface again. He pulls you close to him, pets your hair and kisses your forehead like he always does.

“Love you, baby girl.” He murmurs, his free hand pulling the covers up and over your body, his fingertips scratching your scalp lightly.

“I love you more, dad.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #dark content

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zushikiss · 1 year ago

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jealous skater bf!scara w/ ballet s/o! reader

summary ; there's a fellow student in your ballet class who just can't seem to leave you alone, so your boyfriend (tries to) intimidate him.

warnings ; like one profanity (hell), none other than that

pairings : skater bf!scara x ballerina!reader (gender neutral)

notes ; IT'S FINALLY HERE !!! i'm sososososo sorry this took so long i've been so busy recently and tbh i haven't been able to even open my phone a lot of times 😭 soooo i hope this makes up for how late it is :,) also scara has a car here ermmm, green quotation marks for the guy!

written part below !

you see your boyfriend's familiar black car pull up near your ballet studio, as expected the guy still hasn't left you alone.

he's been bugging you for the past few weeks asking for your number and even for the both of you to go out to dinner sometimes, you've repeated to him that you had a boyfriend several times already but it seems as though he doesn't believe you.

and it's understandable, neither you or scaramouche we're completely showy, you never denied your relationship but you never made a big deal about it either, confirm it to those who asks but don't say anything to the ones that aren't curious.

simple as that.

so the fact that this heathen from your ballet class wasn't believing you wasn't exactly new to you, both you and scara has had your own experiences with people doubting your relationship.

exhibit a, childe who is your boyfriend's self proclaimed best friend, exhibit b, your literature teacher who was worried for you since scaramouche started waiting for you after their classes, you and scaramouche were nothing alike which is why people found it hard to believe.

and yet, here's your boyfriend. walking to your studio angrily while muttering things beneath his breath, what do you mean he doesn't believe you?? was he not picking you up enough? was the matching hoodies not a dead giveaway? was he not as boyfriend-y as he needed to be? whatever the hell that is??

so here he is, storming nearer and nearer with his matching black hoodie, the same one you wore when he dropped you off earlier that day, once he arrived he saw your ballet buddy close to you, not enough for it to be extremely alarming, but close enough to cause you discomfort.

"babe? hey, c'mon let's go."

you let out a nod, relieved more than anything since he was getting a little too close for your liking.

"little demanding there, don't you think?"

"no actually, i don't think it's demanding."

"y/n do you really wanna go with this ass? i mean look at how he's treating me! not that i believe he's your boyfriend.."

"i do wanna come with him, actually. and it doesn't matter to me if you believe that he's my boyfriend or not, cause i know he is and that's all that matters. also please stop asking me out, the answer will always stay the same, it'll always be no."

scaramouche smiled at the guy before dragging you away to his car, he starts taking a familliar route to the ice cream place you guys visit often, he breaks the comfortable silence by speaking.

"so, i think he was pretty intimidated."

"yeah, by me!"

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genericpuff · 8 months ago

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STAY OFF MY TERRITORY - Time Travel in Lore Olympus (feat. Springlock, our resident time traveller)

AH YES. TIME TRAVEL. BUILDING COFFEE TABLES FROM IKEA. BOTH A MESS, BOTH SOMETHING YOU SHOULD NEVER ATTEMPT EVEN AS A GAG.

THERE WILL BE FASTPASS SPOILERS IN THIS ANALYTICAL DISSECTION OF LORE OLYMPUS' TIME TRAVEL !!!

Let's establish the "time travel" in LO first of all - it's briefly introduced by Hecate, who says that Hades isn't in a 'where' but a 'when' , hahahaha i so love time travel jokes /s THIS ISN'T A LAUGHING MATTER-

We had already covered this in the criticisms that Kronos' 'dream comas' would have been better allocated to his time travel abilities, and it seems now Rachel is trying to make that a reality at the last possible minute. I'm going to completely tear apart that reality to present to you why it doesn't work in LO.

Aw, Kronos' time abilities are finite? Get on my level, sir.

The caveat is the existential toll that time travel takes on the jumper, and the fact that in most cases, it's impossible to perform due to paradoxes. And Lore Olympus' time travel presents a lot of paradoxes. No wonder Kronos went crazy, I'm going crazy just thinking about everything that's wrong with this.

So Hades is trapped 'somewhere' in time. This isn't something I haven't seen before, but the issue it presents is getting someone back to their present time, as it presents the first paradox -

PARADOX #1 - There are no accidents. If someone is to jump into a timeline outside of their own, even if by 'accident', that would still have to be predestined by the timeline itself. This is in line with the grandfather paradox, which I will let the almighty Google define for us all to keep things brief:

You cannot travel back in time 'by accident'. If you were to travel back in time, it would have been written into the script of reality already, so any effects caused by your jumping would be purposeful, even if they seem like 'accidents' to you - such as becoming your own grandfather, Philip J Fry.

Moving on, in the most recent FastPass episode, Melinoe reveals that she was taken from her timeline by Kronos.

PARADOX #2 - Which version of Kronos took her? Was it the present version travelling into the future to take her from her timeline into his present? Or was it some future version of Kronos who has escaped yet again at some point in the future and then travelled back into the past to interfere with the events of the current present, possibly in an attempt to rewrite the script? If it's the latter, this means that Hera and Persephone can't feasibly stop Kronos indefinitely, as to stop Kronos would mean that he wouldn't exist in the future to take Melinoe from her future timeline and thus this present timeline of events would cease to exist. If we want to get even more granular with it, 'present' Kronos is still 'past' Kronos as it's the Kronos from ten years ago who got his hands on a deity to help him mess with people's dreams, and that deity has been revealed to be Melinoe, who would have had to be ripped from some point in their future timeline. This falls in line with a temporal paradox, or as most people know it, the 'kill baby Hitler' paradox, which designates that one cannot go back in time to kill baby Hitler, as killing baby Hitler would remove all the subsequent events that would lead up to you deciding to build a time machine and go back in time to kill baby Hitler.

Melinoe claims she's only been here a few days. That would be all well and good, as time is funny like that - I've done my fair share of jumps into the distant past only to return a few minutes later - but what doesn't line up is the present timeline of events that would only work unless she's actually been trapped for longer than a few days.

PARADOX #3 - So it's only been a few days, but Hades and Persephone have known about this child trapped in Tartarus for weeks, and we know Kronos has had her since the dream diving arc back near the end of S2. So unless Kronos is simply jumping to different points in time to cause shenanigans - which leads to even MORE paradoxes as you feasibly cannot travel to your own past to change it due to it creating a different future - then it can't have only been a 'few days' for Melinoe, it would have been at least a few weeks, giving some wiggle room to the past events of her appearing before Hades in his dreams due to her being the goddess of nightmares. Kronos escaping Tartarus after using Melinoe to put people to sleep and possess them was not something that happened in a pocket dimension, it was very real and very present.

Hades commits an even bigger sin, however, and the biggest issue with this 'time travel' plotline:

PARADOX #4 - I truly hope 'home' means 'home point in her timeline' and not their literal home. Hades and Persephone cannot take Melinoe, for two reasons: they haven't had their daughter yet, and the future timeline versions of Hades and Persephone need their daughter back. If Hades and Persephone were to adopt this version of Melinoe in their present timeline, it would create a clone paradox, as they would have a duplicate Melinoe from the future, OR it would create the grandfather paradox if they opted not to try for a child knowing they already have Melinoe which would erase the whole sequence of events that led to future Melinoe's birth in the first place.

Ultimately Lore Olympus' time travel suffers from the same issue many time travel stories suffer from - not having consistent rules. It is choosing now , near the finale of the series, to introduce time travel, rather than establishing it back in Season 1 when Kronos was first hinted at. It's also still not clear in what Hades' role is in this, as him being taken to a 'when' could still be read as a dream sequence rather than actual time travel. After all, Kronos supposedly "exhausted" his time travelling powers centuries ago - surely as a way for Rachel to have her cake and cover for the fact that she's had Kronos in the series since S1 and never actually had him do what he's known for - but now she's trying to eat it too by just giving him his time travel powers again for no reason besides rewriting the dream diving finale from S2 but with ambiguous time travel instead.

It's all a huge mess and the best thing I can do for myself is simply not let it keep me up at night. I have enough time travelling problems to worry about as it is. I will be sticking to the Austin Powers method -

youtube

(I am not enjoying myself.)

#keep your hands OFF time travel rachel #you can't even tell a coherent LINEAR story and you think you can do TIME TRAVEL ???#she's deadass just using this as a last minute crutch to make up for her piss poor writing #it's really easy for people to just go “well yknow timey wimey stuff!!!!” to handwave away every single plothole and inconsistency #lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #Youtube

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sheepispink · 2 months ago

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Hornets, Wasps and cuddling— wait what?

summary: Rational and calculated: those are the traits that kept you alive on the field and thus made you popular for how you seemed to never crack under pressure. That’s exactly why Ghost was confused when he found you breathless in the hallway after hearing a barrage of footsteps down the long corridors of the barracks and, of course, still clad. in your pyjamas.

Tags: Simon “Ghost” riley/reader, fluff, cuddling, wasps obviously, reader has paranoia, slightly gory description (mentions of skin being scraped out), slowburn, platonic/romantic (can be seen as either), hurt/comfort

Gifted to python333 on ao3, i love all ur fics

It was almost half past one in the morning when you entered your room in the barrack; the fresh air blowing around your room was absolutely perfect considering how sweaty you were after returning from your mission. Your usual routine went as follows: dump your uniform into your laundry basket, take a warm shower (shampoo like three times; you always did so after missions), dry off, and apply a very simple skincare routine before knocking out until someone dragged you out of bed the next morning. It wasn't like you missed your alarm; Price has written the force a day off so, for once in your life, you’d actually get the sleep you needed after such a tiring week in the field.

While you undress, your mind starts to drift to all the close calls your own small team had faced today due to an unforeseen event changing the plan. You seemed to be the only one there who ever had their head on their shoulders, but then again, most of them only had a few months actually doing field missions, and the others were fresh out of training. Due to that, the mission was obviously not very high risk, and so you weren't setback that much, but damn, it did tire you out having to always watch out for each member on the team. The bathroom tiles are cold against your feet as you step inside, turning the handle of the shower and slowly climbing in once the water becomes warm enough.

Soon enough, you’re feeling a lot cleaner and relaxed, the tension in your temples disappearing as soon as you wash the cleanser off your face. With a small dollop of cream now rubbed into your face, you climb into your small bed in the corner with a soft sigh. The duvets aren't nearly what you used to indulge yourself in before you joined the military, but damn anything is better than those annoying uniforms. You allow your eyes to finally slip close once whilst the wind whistles past your curtains again, the slight coldness making you snuggle up to your pillow as you grow sleepier by the second. You’re so close to dreamland now, the usual worries no longer clouding your head like they’ve been sucked away by your fluffy pillows.

bzz

It was probably just a notification, and knowing how dry your phone was, it was likely going to be the weather app with the latest forecast. You roll over onto your side, pressing your cheek into your pillow to hopefully drown out your constant thoughts.

Then you hear it again, louder and intrusive, like it’s right by your ear. It’s threatening to crawl in and eat away at the skin of your ear until you wake, scratching at your ear canal until blood begins to seep and your brain—

With a small gasp, you jolt awake, your eyes searching the perimeter frantically for the source of the noise. Driven with confusion and a slight terror you wouldn't ever admit to feeling, you scramble out of bed and pat down the curtains, your desk, and the laundry basket. Though nothing appears—not even a damn mosquito or the like. You were sure you heard something, absolutely positive but you can't exactly fight the air, could you? Reluctantly, you pull the covers over yourself and settle back into the bed. It’s probably an annoying fly that escaped through the window— not exactly something to concern yourself over. It’s not like you haven't slept through rickety army trucks or the loud whirring of helicopter blades before; it shouldn’t bother you any longer. With a groan, you close your eyes again and lean back, ready to let your exhausted mind enter that quiet state again.

BZZ

It doesn't sound like a fly now, nor a wasp or anything familiar. It’s noisy and destructive, buzzing in calculated yet violent ways. It makes you jump up straight again, only to be met with the sight of your plain old room. Had all those explosives really banged up your hearing? You’d have to get it checked out at the infirmary tomorrow, but for now you couldn't say you were a little paranoid. It was just a little strange how it always seemed to appear whenever you were on the verge of sleep, and even though you’re exhausted, you decide to just wait it out at least a little bit. Just in case.

After twenty minutes of no noise, you finally get tired enough to just fall asleep without knowing, your head slightly turned to the side as you nod off peacefully, now without a doubt that it really must’ve been a trick in your mind, nothing to worry about in the slightest.

Unfortunately, you were proven wrong when you woke up the next hour, the buzzing extremely loud and the sound bouncing around your ears like you’re in a cinema. Your limbs feel like they’ll fall apart as it is, and you silently swear to yourself that if Soap is trying to piss you off again, you will slap him this time. Cracking your eyes open, your worries immediately fester into terror as you see whatever the hell that is, running rings around your ceiling. It’s larger than the average fly, even more so than a wasp, and by the sound of how aggressive it’s buzzing is, you’re likely to become it’s next meal. Before you can consider your next move, your hand is already wrapped around your phone and your feet tucked up in your fluffy slippers as you immediately make a run for it. You’ll be thankful later for the automatic locking on your room door, but for now you couldn’t give more than a passing thought as you practically ran down the hallways of the barracks. Your head is empty, just focused on the nightmarish idea of that buzzing wasp, hornet—vile creature—flying around your room for the whole time while you were deep asleep. What the hell are you going to do? It was almost deafening how loud it all was, now you’re starting to think further into it, wondering if there was more than one in your room; hell, maybe there was even a nest in there. Now your lungs feel like they’re being blown up from how heavy you’re breathing. Your heart is hammering against your chest, almost painfully, before you finally snap to reality once you realise you’re about to crash into the doors that lead to the rest of the base. Now out of breath, you force the adrenaline to skid to a stop and quietly pant, trying to get back to your senses, which are clearly left behind in your bedroom with that horrible thing.

“When Capt’ said to keep on top of our training even after missions, I’m positive he didn't mean this.” A gruff voice states, slicing through the panic in your heart to make you look up in surprise only to be met with the familiar face of the other team’s lieutenant. He had been yours for a mission, but other than that, you had no experience talking to him other than the shared chats in the mess hall with a couple other sergeants in his team. You often made an effort to catch up with others on the weekend, and despite not even being in their taskforce, you wormed your way into being invited to all of their small chats.

Even so, this was very different from just a normal chat about the new K9s or the tough Russia mission another group was on. It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and if you weren't so shook by the buzzing creature, you definitely would’ve noticed the way his eyes rake slowly over your trembling form. Not like he was trying to check you out—jaw-dropped and tangled hair definitely was not your best look. When you don’t respond but instead just look at him like a deer in headlights, he raises a brow beneath the mask, his eyes visibly widening as your shaking state. “You look like someone just threw a grenade into your room.” He scoffs, still trying to figure out why the hell you’re just panting like that. “Get in here.”

Soon enough you manage to push your feet to walk past his intimidating form into his private quarters. You can’t tell if you’re lucky or extremely cursed to have garnered his attention of all people, considering he was known for being a no-nonsense type of guy. At least with Gaz or Soap, you could’ve at least tried to argue why you were absolutely terrified of such a small bug. He doesn't fail to notice the way your head flings back when the door buzzes as he locks it, your eyes turning into saucers before you quickly realise you were worked up over nothing and snap your gaze back to the ground. As predicted, he doesn't bother to ask you to sit and gets right to the root of the problem.

“So are ya gonna tell me why the hell you ran down from your room, at the end of the barracks, to the entrance?” If he wasn't covered by that black balaclava, you’re positive he would’ve raised a judging brow at you long ago. He doesn’t let you escape it just because of that and instead opts to narrow his eyes to really enforce it. “Well um..” You begin, suddenly at a loss for words for once in your life. Maybe it’s because you’re still shaken, or the fact you’re in fluffy bunny slippers in front of a lieutenant, or maybe it’s because he’s staring down at you like you’re a kid again, wiping the spilling tears from your eyes as you try and steady your voice. That’s far too many maybe’s to let you think straight, so you opt for the best response—the vaguest one—in an attempt to save a shred of your dignity. “I got startled by something.”

Great, he’s eyeing you even more than before; you should’ve cartwheeled down the corridor too while you were at it—maybe you could have convinced him you were in the circus. “Which was?” His large arms cross over his torso, years of strenuous work hidden by just a thin black shirt. Your teeth graze your lips awkwardly, trying to ignore the small pit of shame in your stomach for overreacting so much. This wasn't you, and yet you were still somewhat trembling where you stood. “It was..” Placing your hands on your hips, you force a sheepish smile, pretending like it wasn’t as serious to you. “There was a…uh.. thing flying around my room. Buzzed a lot—you know those um, things..” You babble, trying to reach the point and yet not getting even close to the answer he wants in the slightest. He lets out another scoff at your reluctant demeanour, clearly on the tipping point with how terrified you looked, stumbling over your words and your eyes practically like moons in their sockets. “A fly?” He suggests as he tilts his head down at you, which makes you shrink just a little.

“No.. uhh. bigger.”

“A bee?”

“No.. the uh.. the ones that can sting multiple times.”

“A wasp?”

“Yes- but no… worse than those.”

“Damn it, sergeant, spit it out!” He exclaims, his head shaking exasperatedly as he places his rough hands onto your shoulders, and gives you a light shake. “It was a hornet—a damn hornet, okay? I was terrified of a hornet in my room.” He suddenly lets go of his firm grip on your shoulders and you almost topple over from the lack of support keeping you upright since your heart is way too occupied trying to compensate for all the oxygen you just used acting like a lunatic. When you see him let out a heavy sigh and rub his temples with his hand, you’re already planning the walk of shame out of his room and back into the hell you only just escaped. “I- I overreacted; it’s fine. I’ll just go back-“ You begin, scrambling to save the shards of your dignity that shattered the moment he caught you in this pathetic state. Your foot pivots, ready to turn on your heel and make a dash for it before his hand swiftly catches your wrist, halting any movement you intended to make. ”Where is it?”

”What?”

”The hornet, where is it in your room?”

The walk back to your room is deathly silent, partially because it is three thirty in the morning and partially because Ghost has never been on the vocal side anyway. It’s not like you were intent on filling the quiet anyway, already dreading having to hear that horrifying thing again. Eventually, you reach the door of your room again and you open it with the spare key attached to your phone case. It’s more of a card than a key, and the room opens with another small buzz, which of course makes your heart jump no matter how much you mentally pumped yourself up before reaching the door. Of course, that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and he turns to you before he unlocks the door, looking a little annoyed, but you can't really tell as you try to calm the thump. “Stay here.”

Despite your fear, you can't help but peek in after he enters, watching how he stalks around the room like he’s preparing for a murder. He checks the bed first, shaking the sheets to see if it has landed there but nothing seems to come about. Thankfully, he seems to take your fear somewhat seriously, and even waves your spare towel around the room to startle the creature out of hiding so he can chase it out for good. Just your luck; nothing appears in the slightest, and he’s approaching you again, a tired look in his eyes, and you suddenly feel guilty for wasting his time. Why did that damn thing just have to disappear right now?

“Ghost—I swear, it was literally buzzing around like crazy. I could hear it like it was literally in my ear!”

“Must’ve flown out. Just close your windows; It’s yer fault for opening that big anyway.”

The exasperated look quickly returns to his face as he starts to head for the door, convinced by the theory he had chosen.

”But what if it’s still in the room and I close the windows? I’d trap it with me!” That makes him pause for a second—what the hell has gotten into you?

”What do you want to open the window and coax another one in? You’d rather two than one?”

By the tone of his voice, though it never really changes, it’s clear he’s not impressed by your very irrational thinking, and you can’t exactly argue with his words. However, having to sleep with even one of those things near you was a million times worse in your head than being an idiot in front of him and whoever else might’ve witnessed your antics earlier. That’d be revealed the next morning, but for now you were pretty adamant about your own words.

”Ghost, you have to believe me. Before I went to bed, I heard the buzzing, and I literally searched the entire room like it was an assigned mission! Then as soon as I woke—It’s just there in my face; my windows aren't open that much anyway!” You say frantically, your voice rising to a much higher pitch which leaves your fear on clear display for him to see.

He cannot deny it; he’s never seen you so worked up in the past four years he’s known you. Even with spiders, other bugs, and bees, you had never been this stressed over their existence, but it seemed to shake you to your very core this time. Hands flailing about, flushed cheeks and hair like a bird's nest on your head— the last time you were this dishevelled it was because of a damn explosive that went off right next to where you were stationed. He’s about to open his mouth when he hears a sudden buzz, but it’s not in a specific part of the room, and even for a lieutenant like himself, he can’t even figure out what direction it is in. You squeal before he can even glance at you, already dashing to hide right behind him, which happens to be right next to the door as well. He can't exactly argue with that when he had just heard it himself. “Wait outside the room.” He orders, and this time you don’t hesitate, closing the door firmly behind you.

Anxiously, your slipper taps against the floor as you wait for him to emerge from the room and tell you the news you wanted to hear. Unfortunately, it was much worse than you originally expected. “Seems to be a wasp nest near yer window.” His arms cross over his chest as he leans against the door of your room, unaware of the way your heart just stopped at that single sentence. “There's nothing in your room, though. They’re in the space between yer ceiling’s insulation and the roof.” He attempts to reassure you, thinking surely you’d just go back to sleep since you’re usually quite rational.

He definitely wasn't expecting your teeth to graze your lip as you bite down, trembling with eyes practically wide as saucers. “There’s a nest…?”You practically whisper out, not even daring to blink for a second. That makes him raise his brow— didn't he just tell you that? “Yes but it’s in the rafter—“

“I can't sleep there—I heard it, I saw it above me! What if they get fed up with the lack of space and come into my room? What if someone next door makes a loud noise and it scares them so hard they all come into my room?!” You begin, practically pacing back and forth outside your room now with him left in complete shock.

What the hell are you talking about?

“Sergea-“ He begins, but you cut him off, still frantically pacing and reciting all the possible outcomes in hushed whispers.

“They could like the smell of the perfume I bought and come in, or maybe they’re already in my room stuck behind a cabinet or somewhere—they’ll be so angry when they come out, right?” You suddenly halt to a stop and look down at your pyjamas, the bunnies patterned across, though your shorts has a flower printed across the pocket.

“Ghost— what if they think this is a real flower and chase after me?!” He slaps his glove across your mouth before you can continue your incessant talking, leaving you mumbling against his hand with your pupils blown wide.

“They’re the damn size of yer thumb, Sergeant. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Even though it’s the same gruff British voice, there's a hint of concern beneath it as his sharp eyes bore into your own. You’ve never quite been this up close with him before, especially since you were more of a friend of a friend than his actual friend. Though, then again, you had no idea who he even considered his actual friends. You didn't know much about him at all. So you instantly fall quiet, even when he eventually steps back and crosses his arms, still close enough to intimidate you. “They’re really loud...” You say, voice still a hushed whisper since it is the dead of night and you’d rather not get a scolding tomorrow. “Sorry.. I- i’ll just go to sleep.” He lets out a sigh of relief as he sees you stiffly turn on your heel, turning back into the lion's den, also known as your room.

Ghost is a straightforward man; he doesn’t mess around with what-ifs or irrationality. He prefers to get the job done as soon as possible and as efficiently as possible. He didn’t get his reputation for just doing his work; it’s how he does his work. That also includes knowing the people around him, especially the people in his team—working solo isn't always the way to go; he’s not stupid to compromise the mission just because he prefers his own company. It also meant he grew to appreciate the help of other soldiers—specifically the way you constantly saved him and his teammates’ asses on the last mission. In fact, he saw it all too well the way you had a constant eye on them, no matter how experienced they were compared to you. You were quick to give up your rations for Soap, even faster to bandage up Gaz’s scrape when you reached the safe house. He supposes you deserve at least a good night's sleep after all you’ve done.

When he sees you practically trembling, trying to turn to the door handle, his hand lands on your arm, stopping you before you enter.

“I never said you had to sleep there.” He could practically feel your fear radiating off of you, and despite his usual notions, he couldn’t just leave you with the way you were shaking like a leaf in a storm. “Then where am I supposed to sleep..?”

He turns a blind eye when you suddenly hook your finger around the sleeve of his shirt, having heard a small noise that startled you. Now that you’re sure you’ll be safe from the hornets, you’re able to finally relax your mind, and you start to let your eyes wander. That's how you suddenly realised that Ghost was in his usual training outfit, a tight black sleeve shirt and dark grey sweatpants. You had seen him in this before, but you never knew that he trained this late at night.

“Were you training before I.. y'know, ran down the corridor?” You tilt your head as you walk alongside him, your slippers making soft patters against the flooring. “Yeah, I had just come back when I heard you making a racket.”

“I was not making a racket!”

He gives you a deadpan look, making you drop your hand from his sleeve and a small frown to curve on your lips. “Alright, maybe I was a little loud. Is anyone even in the gym this late..?” You ask, a finger tapping your chin thoughtfully, and he just lets out a grumble in response.

“No.”

“So you’re trying to avoid everyone?”

“You’re still making a racket.”

He opens the door of his room for you the second time that night, allowing you inside. His room is the standard: desk, chair, bed, and closet although he has a few weights in a corner too. Does he ever stop training? He gestures for you to walk forward, which you do without question, and he follows behind you before patting the bed and speaking once more.

“Go on, I'll take the floor. You’ve been up long enough.”

You give him a grateful nod, sliding your slippers off at the foot of his bed before awkwardly walking over to the edge of his bed. Just before you get in, you pause, your teeth scraping against each other uncomfortably before you glance at him. “Are you sure? I can just go back, y'know, suck it up. It’s just an insect.“ He cuts you off as he heads to his closet, pulling back a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants to wear to bed, wanting to get out of his sweaty gym wear even if you couldn’t smell anything when walking beside him. “For the most rational soldier of your age in this base, you sure did act like you’d been shot. So no, I don't think you can just go back with how terrified you clearly are.”

“But-“

“Do you want to shit yourself over a hornet hiding underneath your pillow?”

You have to hold back a squeal at the mere thought and quickly nod, climbing beneath his thick duvets and settling your head onto the pillows. It’s obvious you're exhausted by the way your eyes are drooping, and he quietly steps into the bathroom to shower and change, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by his presence looming around. Unfortunately, when he returns, you’re still tossing over, jumping at every little creak of the door and whistling of the wind from his curtains.

“What’s wrong now?” He asks gruffly, some part of him knowing well that he won't even get a proper answer to that question.

“Nothing’s wrong..” The voice that had previously been frantic and panicked is much quieter now, slightly muffled by the covers as you bury your face into one of his pillows. He can't even stop himself as he makes his way over to the side of the bed where you lay, sitting on a chair and rolling it forward so he’s in front of you. Your cheeks are smushed against the bed, duvet tight over you, and covering your ears as well. He faintly remembers you mentioning that you could hear it in your ear, so he’s sure you’re likely traumatised by that too. “You still haven’t fallen asleep, and it’s four am. Didn't you just get back from a mission?”

“Yeah, but..”

“But what?”

“I feel bad.” You murmur, letting out a small huff in annoyance. “Can’t you sleep in the bed too? I don't want you sleepin’ on the hard floor.”

He rolls his eyes at your incessant complaining, placing a steady hand onto your head to annoy you with the sheer weight of it. Surprisingly, it’s less of a scolding that you’d receive in training and more of a pat. You hadn't realised he could actually be well…nice. “I’ve slept in far worse places, trust me. I have a feelin’ that's not what’s still keeping you up though.” Most would let you get away with such a thing, but he’s determined to at least get you to admit the core cause of this whole issue. After all, he can’t help if he doesn’t know, and seeing as you’re still shaken, there's definitely a reason behind this. “My feet barely touch the end of this bed; just get in.” You ignore the second part of his statement entirely, quickly butting it with our small voice. He wasn't used to sleeping beside someone, not that he’d ever get worked up if the situation came to where he had to do so. It was the same with touching people—he didn’t like it, but he was no coward; he liked to think that he could handle anything thrown at him. Not that he has an ego either.

So, with a reluctant grunt to show his annoyance, he slides underneath the covers beside you, his large body practically engulfing your shorter form. This is exactly why he didn’t want to— you were practically going to fall off the bed at this rate. It’s obvious you’re on the same page as him now as you shuffle around, trying to not touch him yet also not meet your fate for the second time tonight. It wasn't like you’d consider complaining anyway; you had practically disturbed enough of his night, and you were also slightly terrified of worsening his current opinion of you.

”You’re uncomfortable, aren't you?”

You can’t help but nod as you slowly roll over, meeting his brown eyes that narrow at you through the holes in his mask that allow you to just read a hint of emotion on his face if he ever decides to let it show. He’s about to get back up again when he watches your eyes widen and you quickly speak up. “I shouldn't even stay here; I'm not even going to be able to sleep..” That makes him raise a brow, and for some reason, he pulls the covers higher over you as he settles on his back, head slightly turned to face you. “Why not?”

”I’ll uh.. I'm worried that I'll hear it again, yknow, the hornets.” You mumble out, not wanting to beat around the bush much longer than you have. If he must find out that you secretly are a coward, especially to insects with stingers, so be it. It’s better than lying to him and then he forces the truth out of you.

You’re expecting your fourth judging look of the night when he just lets out a heavy sigh, resting his arms behind his head. “So, you’ll be too scared to sleep?” He doesn't need to turn his head to imagine your sheepish nod. “You know, I'll kill it, right? I don’t ever give those cheeky bastards a chance.” However, there’s still an uncertainty in your voice, despite his confidence in his own abilities. “But what if you can't find it and-“ It’s clear it’s more than the idea; it’s a deep-rooted paranoia that sets you off as soon as you hear the noise of them. He’d never thought he’d come close to ever thinking about doing this—even when Johnny teased him when he was caught staring in bars or even when he had been younger and his hormones had been wack. In fact, he’s been more affectionate to that K9 Riley than he’s ever been with a woman, yet here he is, lifting his arm and beckoning you over.

”Come ‘ere then. You’re shaking, Sergeant.”

You glance down at your hands, which are indeed trembling, but you’re more occupied with his invitation to come and lay down beside him—literally to press your face against the side of his chest and have his arm tucked behind your body as you doze off. The mere thought sounds like something that should be forbidden, especially with someone as stoic as him who has plenty of rumours surrounding his deadly skills on the battlefield. Your body reacts before your mind can catch up, the need to settle the fear in your heart leading you to shuffle a little closer before you catch yourself; your body goes stiff as a board as you contemplate the situation through your muddled head. If you said no, you’d make it weird, but if you said yes, does that change anything between the two of you? When he speaks again, you’re half expecting him to tell you to hurry up or the like, but instead he just lets out a gruff shrug. “You don't have to, just an offer.”

That’s enough to convince you, and you finally give into your fears, settling right beneath his arm. He doesn't bother to ask this time, taking your movement as permission as he tucks his arm around you and pulls you easily into his side. “Breathe; you’re as tense as a damn rookie.”

“Fine, don't go complainin’ then.”

His insistence makes you grumble, slowly growing frustrated at your own pathetic display of fear that you press your cheek into his shoulder and an arm lazily resting over his chest—half expecting him to scoff at your slightly clingy behaviour. You don’t quite see the smirk he hides beneath the balaclava, tugging the duvets snugly over your huffy form before his hand lazily pats your back, easing the anxiety that knotted your muscles.

Trying to stay professional is near impossible when you can hear the thump of his heart beneath your ear—the sound crawling through the canal and seeping into your brain like a sweet serotonin shot. It’s steady and somehow peaceful, a constant reminder that you’re now safe from the deadly silence that makes you wait for the worst. It allows your lashes to finally press against your skin, the lines in your forehead easing as you begin to lose yourself. You know for absolute sure now that for as long as you hear the thump of his heart and his arms swallowing your smaller stature whole, no fears will consume you tonight, nor will anything harm you ever again.

bonus:

“Five more minutes..”

The mumbles leave your mouth as you steady the horse you ride upon, a lasso in your hand as you ride through the barren land. It’s so exhilarating—the air on your face as you rush through the land—well, it would be if not for the constant nagging you feel on your cheek.

“Stop that—“

You frown, bringing a hand up to your cheek as you force you and your horse to halt to a stop, surprised to feel something there despite you being the only one upon this beauty.

“What?”

You snap awake, eyes fluttering open to see the blur of a skull balaclava before you and your body being slightly squeezed. Not to mention, your hand was holding another’s which was gently prodding at your cheek but now stopped.

“G-ghost?”

You blink in confusion, the world before you finally clearing up before you finally realise that you’re still curled up against him, though much closer to his neck now, and well, your legs have somehow managed to hook on top of his.

“Took ya long enough, sleepyhead. Kept mumbling about your next ‘bounty’.” His gruff voice rings out, the air from your dream now revealed to be his warm breath before he sits up properly as do you.

“Had a dream that I was a cowboy..”

You reluctantly admit, still half awake as you rub at your eyes, unable to escape from his comfortable hold on you.

“Try explaining that to the others then. They’ve been waiting all morning for you to reply to their messages.”

That makes you blink again, grabbing your phone just to realise it was twelve in the afternoon. Now that you think about it, Ghost had his gloves back on as well as his typical army shirt and cargo pants.

“What?! Why didn't you wake me?”

You exclaim, scrambling up before he rolls his eyes and almost hesitantly pulls his hands from you.

“You were out like a light; besides, it is your rest day. I’ve already cleared out your room and called pest control for the nest to be removed, so get your ass up and go get changed; we’re leaving at twenty.”

Your eyes light up at his confession of what he had achieved all while you had snoozed in his bed, lips slowly widening as you realise he had sorted the problem right through the core for you. Quickly, you swing your legs off of the bed and back into your slippers again before noticing the army attire he had brought for you to change into so you didn't have to walk the halls in your pyjamas.

“Thank you, Ghost.”

You say warmly, bundling the clothes in your hands. “I mean it.”

“Hmph. And I mean it when I say you’ll be late.” He huffs out, watching as you stand before him, all giddy and raring to go for the first time in a while. “You weren’t wrong by the way. They’re mostly active in the early hours of the mornin’ so that’s why you didn’t see anything until you woke up a few hours later.” Your face falls in relief at that, looking happier than before— if that was even possible.

“I suppose if you’re still scared that they could magically return—“ He rolls his eyes, emphasising your irrationality from the night prior despite having just proven that wrong. “— you’re welcome to sleep here. Only in emergencies, got it?”

“Yes sir.” You grin before he quickly dismisses you, getting up from bed to continue his duties around base. “18 minutes now; don’t make Johnny wait for you.” Your eyes go wide, and you quickly scamper into the bathroom to change, his eyes still locked onto you until you disappear behind the door. He kind of regrets fixing your problem now; he should’ve at least let it fester for a day or two more.

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